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event.”
“I’ll have meals catered and focus on smaller events at first—teas, bridal and baby showers, meetings.”
Her father studied her a moment. “You sound excited. That’s good.”
“I’ve been dreaming about transforming this place ever since I learned it was up for sale. It’s happening faster than I expected, but so far, so good.”
“I don’t have to tell you it’ll be a lot of hard work. What kind of food are you offering?”
“I thought I’d base the menu on herbs.”
“Herbal hors d’oeuvres, herbal bread, herbal soup, herbal dessert? Like that?”
Olivia grinned. “Yeah. Like that. People can wander in the gardens and woods, and I’ll offer books and lectures on various aspects of herbs—cooking, drying, using them in potpourris and fragrances.” She grabbed her rake and flipped it on end, pulling off wet leaves stuck on the metal tines. “I have lots of ideas. Right now I’m concentrating on cleaning out the gardens. You’re staying for lunch, right? I thought Mom was coming, too.”
“She’s home planning her trip to California. She wants to do the coastal highway.”
“Sounds beautiful.”
“She’ll never go, but don’t tell her I said that.” He seemed to give himself a mental shake and nodded toward the house. “How’s Buster?”
“Staying. He refused to be persuaded not to dig up the lavender.” Olivia was relieved at the change in subject. Buster, a large mix of German shepherd and who-knew-what-else, had shown up at her house unaccompanied by owner, collar or leash, and for the past ten days had gone unclaimed. “I was thinking in terms of getting a friendlier dog. A golden retriever or a chocolate Lab, maybe. Buster looks like he could chew someone’s leg off.”
“Good. Keep Buster. I’ll feel better about you living out here alone.”
She felt her father scrutinizing her again as she set the rake against the garage. “I should have worn gloves. My hands are cold, and they’ve taken a beating since I moved out of the city.”
“It’s only been a couple weeks. You got enough money in the bank, Liv? You’re not betting everything on this place, are you?”
“I have time to make it work before I go broke.”
“A business plan?”
Sort of. She didn’t like discussing her finances with anyone, including her well-intentioned father. She smiled at him as she headed for the kitchen door. “Blood, sweat, laughter and tears. How’s that for a business plan?”
“Liv—”
“I’m still freelancing. Jacqui Ackerman gives me as much work as I can handle.” Olivia pulled open the door. “Come on in. Lunch is ready.”
“Where’s Buster?”
“Cooling his heels in the mudroom. You’re safe.”
Not, clearly, that her father was worried. Olivia led him into the kitchen. She had set the table for three and felt a pang of disappointment and frustration that her mother had bailed on lunch. She probably was home planning her trip, but if she couldn’t get herself out here for a visit, how was she going to get herself to California? After two weeks back in Knights Bridge, Olivia still hadn’t seen a sign of her mother on her doorstep. So far, any contact was at the mill, her parents’ house or her mother’s usual haunts in the village.
Olivia watched as her father quietly stacked up the extra place setting and set it on the butcher-block island. Randy and Louise Frost had known each other since kindergarten and had been married for thirty-two years. Olivia was confident that whatever was going on between them—if anything—would sort itself out. After her experience with Marilyn Bryson, Olivia was resisting the temptation to help anyone, much less her parents. She was essentially working two jobs as it was with her freelancing and her efforts to turn her house into The Farm at Carriage Hill.
“What’s that, Liv?” her father asked, pointing at the pot of soup simmering on the gas stove.
“Parsnip, turnip and apple soup.”
“Ah.”
“It’s seasoned with a