Capture the Wind for Me by Brandilyn Collins Page B

“Well. We’ll have frozen dinners, then.”
    â€œLike that would make a great impression,” I replied with bitterness. “Especially after she’s displayed such talent.”
    â€œIs that what this is about? You worried about cooking for her?”
    Yeah, right. I shot him a look.
    â€œOkay, okay.” He sighed, dropping all pretense. “Will you do this, Jackie? Will you just . . . give it a chance?”
    I gazed at Daddy, wanting so much to be happy for him, but too steeped in my own hurt to feel anything else. His eyes pleaded for my understanding. Fleetingly, I wondered what he would do if I told him I could never, ever accept Katherine King. Then I thought of his siding with her during the at-home and told myself I didn’t want to know.
    â€œI’ll make a nice supper.” I tried to smile.
    â€œThank you for tryin’.” He started to say more, then apparently thought best of it. Instead he rose and crossed to my chair to hug me. “Just keep it simple, all right?”
    I closed my eyes. Nothing about this would be simple. “Yeah, Daddy. Sure.”

chapter 8
    P ork medallions with orange glaze. Wild rice. Broccoli and cheese casserole topped with dried onion pieces. Spinach salad and fresh-baked herb bread. Peach cobbler and whipped cream. No matter that I’d not made even one of these recipes before. I merely chose the most exotic dishes I could find, poring Friday afternoon over Mama’s cookbooks.
    Herein lay my fallacious A+B=C logic: A—I would demonstrate that my skills in the kitchen could stand up to Katherine’s. B—Katherine would realize there was neither room nor need for another female in the Delham family. C—Through sheer intimidation, she’d quell her pursuit of my father.
    Such colorful rationale that strutted before me, fluffing its plumage.
    I realize now the underlying, driving need to this logic—the need that Katherine’s appearance in my life had wrought. The need that, at the time, had anyone dared name it, I would heatedly have denied.
    In proving myself to Katherine, I would prove myself to me.
    After supper on Friday, I drove to the IGA to buy all the ingredients.
    â€œI thought we decided you wouldn’t go to any great trouble,” Daddy said when I told him where I was headed.
    â€œDon’t worry, I’m not. But I still need a few things.” I wouldn’t look at him. “Oh, Daddy,” I said as I turned to leave, “would you fetch the bread machine down from the cabinet above the fridge?”
    Half an hour later as I lugged two bags of groceries into the house, Robert met me in the kitchen. “Where’s Daddy?” I asked.
    â€œIn the backyard, pullin’ weeds.” He rescued a bag from my lagging arms and dropped it on the counter.
    â€œAnd Clarissa?”
    â€œPlayin’ with Della.”
    Winnie trotted across the floor, ears up. I petted her quickly. “Go on now, out of my way.” She paced to her favorite spot between the table and wall and huffed down, tags clinking against the floor.
    â€œMaybe we oughtta let Katherine bring the dessert,” Robert offered.
    â€œI’ll make my own, thank you very much.”
    â€œWell, you’ll have to work pretty hard to beat her cookies.”
    â€œThanks a bunch, Robert, but I am not working hard to ‘beat’ her at anything.” I pulled a package of cheese from a bag. “Any other wise remark you’d like to add?”
    He regarded me with mild perplexity. “No.”
    â€œGood.” I turned away from him. “Now get lost. I have work to do.”
    â€œLike what?”
    â€œLike cooking.”
    He peered into the other bag. “But we just had supper.”
    â€œI’m cooking for tomorrow night, you idgit.”
    I bustled about, too busy to look him in the eye. He sidled in front of me. “I thought you weren’t workin’ to beat