Dal ran his fingers through his hair, slicing her a cautious glance. “Ainsley at the hospital too?”
“Aye,” she replied sympathetically. “Ben says things aren’t going too well with ye and her. Sorry to hear that.”
Dottie’s husband and Dallas MacIntosh had been friends since forever, and it was Ben’s recommendation of Dal to Heaven’s Gate for his veterinarian internship that had swung Darro in Dal’s favor.
“She’s only been home fer the holidays since last week,” he protested.
“Well, it’s two weeks until Christmas and she’ll be gone back to Boston after New Years. That MacIntosh charm ye are overflowing with is on a tight time schedule ye know.” She grinned at him with an easy camaraderie.”
“Ye were never susceptible to it,” he mocked, his eyes laughing at her. “I tried to get ye to go out with me and ye refused hands down.”
“That’s because Ben got there first,” she replied. Truthfully, Dottie had known Dal was a player and nothing serious would ever have occurred between them. Not that she hadn’t been tempted. But she’d been looking for someone with plans to settle down and a future mostly mapped out. When she and Ben had met, she’d fallen in love with the handsome Scot almost immediately. Finding out he was attached to Heaven’s Gate and Neamh had been a bonus, but she would have married him without it.
“Aye, that he did, the lucky jobber.”
Dottie blushed slightly. Compliments were difficult for her to take. Even from a friend. In her family, compliments were rare. You knew you were doing a reasonably good job as long as no one was complaining. Her parents were not effusive people—except with the criticism. They had plenty of that stored up for those who didn’t live up to their expectations. She changed the subject and grabbed the plastic bin with the cinnamon rolls from the end of the table.
“Here, put one of those in yer gob and save yer lines fer Ainsley.”
Dal’s eyes lit up and he took two out of the container. “Wow, I wonder who made these? I love all the extra icing smeared all over them.” He took a big bite out of one and wiped his lip with his tongue to get the icing clinging to it.
It kind of hurt; he hadn’t even considered that she might have made them, but then she had only herself to blame. She’d trained everyone around her not to expect much from her and they’d finally started acting like it.
“So, who did ye make the lasagna delivery fer this morning? Did Poppy make it?” Dal mumbled around another bite of the cinnamon roll.”
Her temper flared. “I made it, thank ye very much!”
The look on his face was comical, or it would have been if it hadn’t hurt more than she wanted it to.
“Ye made it?” His voice had abject terror it which only escalated her temper.
Her eyes narrowed and she spit her comments out through gritted teeth. “I can cook well enough to be passable when I have to, ye know. I cook fer Ben all the time. Now, if ye’re done with yer coffee and doughnuts, get lost. I’m tired of looking at ye.”
Dal held up his hands in a gesture to ward off her temper. “Take it easy, Dottie, I was just playing with ye. No need to get so heated up.”
The nickname Ben had given her rolled off his tongue with the ease of friendship. Her full name was Dorothy. Trying to calm her rising temper for both their sakes, she kept reminding herself that she couldn’t blame Dal or anyone else. She’d asked for this—but it still hurt.
Dottie was a natural achiever driven to succeed in her endeavors, so it pricked her pride that she was such a total failure in the kitchen to the point that everyone just expected it. Well, they would be surprised soon enough.
“I know, I know,” she finally relented with a sigh, then shot him an evil glare. “Are ye eating dinner here tonight?”
Dal choked on his donut, his face reddened, and he made a bigto-doof washing it all down with his coffee before jumping up. “Uh...I’m supposed to be going out with some friends tonight. Sorry.”
Then he hightailed it to the door and was gone while Dottie still had her eyebrows raised and her mouth open at his antics. Was she really that bad? She felt like laughing and crying at the same time. Suspiciously she stared at the pans of lasagna sitting on the cabinet. What if no one ate her lasagna? Would they just throw it away and have Poppy whip up something else fabulous in just a few minutes? She was sure they would never tell her if they did. If she asked and they hem-hawed around and said it was good, then she would know they had thrown it away. That lasagna should garner her plenty of bragging rights and accolades.
Plus, it would be a waste of the horrible amount of money she’d spent to have an actual chef friend prepare the few dishes she’d volunteered for over the Christmas holidays. She shuddered at the memory of the cost of the dish she’d hidden in the walk-in freezer and the two pans sitting on the cabinet. Especially the Clootie Dumplings she was contributing to Christmas dinner. That was a recipe she would never in a million years attempt to make. Clootie Dumplings took a lot of time and effort. The delicious dessert, similar to Christmas pudding, had been the most expensive of all. Cripes! If Ben ever found out...
That thought didn’t bear finishing and she shuddered a full body shiver. He’d never spanked her before, but the possibility was always there. It certainly wasn’t an uncommon practice in the highlands, or in the family. Ben was pretty laid back and she wasn’t a brat, so there hadn’t been any real issues in their marriage. Just her cooking—and he totally accepted that she couldn’t cook. Another twinge of guilt. Was that an actual lie?
The image of Angus, her father-in-law, practically breathing fire when he tried her Habanero Roast Lamb flashed through her mental video. She’d known better than to use a handful of those hellfire peppers instead of the one the recipe Lucerne had given her called for, but she resented having to take the cooking lessons. That wasn’t the only recipe she’d ruined just to keep up her image of a lousy cook.
Suddenly impatient and frustrated with herself, Dottie jumped to her feet and took her coffee cup to the sink to rinse it out. She would be late for her dance appointment this afternoon if she didn’t get a move on. The roads were clear at the moment and they weren’t expecting more snow until next week. She’d grab lunch in town and head over to the studio where she was learning to belly dance. It was a surprise for Ben for Christmas.
Of course, she’d told Ben she was going Christmas shopping, so she’d have to bring home at least one bag, but he didn’t have to know if it was her favorite candy or whatever. That was the fun of Christmas, so many things could just be labeled as a secret, and no peeking allowed.
Brushing aside her confusing and uneasy feelings about paying for food she would pretend she had made, she headed out the back door. A little niggle wormed its way into her thoughts wanting to know why she’d allowed herself to let pride get the better of her. She couldn’t have it both ways. Either she was a good cook or she wasn’t. Which was it?
“Just shut up,” she shouted out loud to no one and yanked the cab door open. Bo and Misty just stared at her as she climbed up into the blue cab. She didn’t see Bubs and Joe just coming around the corner of the barn in time to see her gun the truck to leave as they headed to the kitchen for coffee.