Love Letters from Ladybug Farm by Donna Ball Read Free Book Online Page A

imagine.”
    Bridget said quickly, “You’ve had a long drive. You’ll want to freshen up. Let me show you inside.”
    Paul held his smile until the two blondes had followed Bridget inside, and then he came forward to kiss Cici, then Lindsay. “If this works out,” he said, “you are going to owe me so big.”
    “Or maybe,” Cici replied dryly, casting an uneasy eye toward the house, “you’ll owe us.”
    Catherine was effusive about the staircase, the chandelier, the stained glass over the landing, the bay window in the living room. Traci whipped out her cell phone for pictures of the garden, the stone patio with the view of the mountains, the bubbling fountain, and the statue of the girl with the flower basket. She wanted to know what color the roses were and when they bloomed. Other than that, she didn’t speak.
    Bridget served minted asparagus soup with a smoked bacon and rosemary-infused olive oil garnish, and glowed beneath Catherine’s praise. “Darling, you can’t mean you have no formal training! This is indescribable. I’m telling you the truth, if you were to open a restaurant in Washington, you couldn’t keep the crowds away. Paul, am I right?”
    The four-cheese soufflé with a roasted pepper puree was as light as air, and elicited nothing but superlatives from their guests, and the mini scones stuffed with cherries and cream cheese were a sensation. In a very European move that caused both Cici’s and Lindsay’s eyebrows to shoot skyward, Bridget served the wild dandelion salad with raspberry vinaigrette after the main course, accompanied by miniature cheese biscuits and an exotic touch of pinot noir jam.
    “It’s absolutely transcendental,” Catherine rhapsodized. “The difference fresh ingredients make—why, it’s just miraculous, isn’t it, Traci? I assume everything is organic?”
    “Not officially,” Bridget tried to explain. “Although we don’t use pesticides or chemicals, you have to meet certain standards...”
    Traci gazed out toward the meadow. “Do the sheep come with?”
    Lindsay looked confused. “I don’t know where else they would go.”
    “Now, darling.” Catherine placed her hand warmly over Bridget’s. The giant diamond on her finger prismed a brief spark of sunlight across the table. “This is what I’m thinking. Simple canapes, quiches, these wonderful little biscuits with your homegrown jams, fruit medley, fresh vegetables ... everything organic and fresh from your very own garden ... Why it’s exactly the kind of menu we were looking for!”
    Bridget said uncertainly, “Well, we can’t really call it organic. And there’s not an awful lot in the garden in June ...”
    “You could do that for fifty, couldn’t you?” Catherine persisted hopefully. “With some of these lovely sauces?” She gasped with sudden delight and clapped her hands together. “Traci, I have it! The theme will be everything Virginian! We’ll serve local wines and all the food will be homegrown right here on this beautiful farm! Locally grown is so trendy right now and incredibly politically correct.” She turned quickly to Bridget. “You can get locally milled flour, can’t you? And milk from your own cows?”
    “We don’t actually have cows,” Bridget said.
    Cici added, “And we really don’t grow that much of our own food.”
    Catherine whirled on Paul, blond hair rippling. “Darling, what is the state flower of Virginia? Does anyone know?”
    “Virginia creeper?” suggested Paul with a perfectly straight face, and Lindsay kicked him under the table.
    “I know that,” Bridget said helpfully. “It was in that movie, The American President , remember? Dogwood, I think. Yes, that’s got to be it. Dogwood.”
    “Dogwood is a tree,” Paul pointed out.
    Bridget grinned. “That’s exactly what they said in the movie!”
    “God, Mother,” Traci groaned, her thumbs working the keyboard of her phone. “I am not walking down the aisle with an armful of tree