Shelter from the Storm

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a/n: This is for "B" who nicely asked for more Stephanie scenes and "Anonymous" who feels that my characters and I do not respect or love Stephanie! (When really it's all JE's fault, I wasn't the one who made Steph silly and incompetent...and my Stephanie is smart and funny and loves her little family and her life in my Plum world. And Ranger definitely loves her! You can love someone but still laugh gently at their flaws and foibles, can you not? No one is perfect! )So...enjoy.

a/n 2 film quotes are involved here,lol.

Chapter 39 ~ Mission Accomplished

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Stephanie

I have a secret. Well, not exactly a secret secret...more like a new skill. No! I didn't learn self defense. No, I—well, you'll see.

I was in the kitchen in our loft on Haywood Street. It was early morning, barely daylight. I was starting the coffee when Ranger appeared. He was followed by his half brother Anthony. Both men smiled at me, Anthony said, "Good morning." Ranger said, "Babe."

They each kissed me, in turn.

Ranger just returned from his daily five mile run. He looked sweaty, happy and athletic in flimsy running shorts and a sleeves-ripped-out sweatshirt. Anthony was wearing neon paisley board shorts and a surf shop tee. He didn't seem to have been running with Ranger on this early April morning. And now that I thought about it, I'd never seen him run. Anywhere.

Anthony offered, "Nice day."

Ranger was very close behind me. He smelled delicious and I licked my lips. Oblivious, he reached over me to snag his herbal organic blueberry tea from an upper cabinet. He nodded a little, "Early spring this year."

"More like summer, dude." Anthony looked at me and added, "I'm trying to get Ranger to take the day, do some surfing. Nice and warm...the air is so dry, actually it feels more like fall. Perfect to hit some waves down at the shore."

Ranger ignored him.

Anthony said, "But no."

I took the tea out of Ranger's hand and told him, "I'll do that. Go get your shower."

''Thanks, babe, call Ella for breakfast."

He handed me the tea container and disappeared. I breathed a sigh of relief. His half naked, pheromone-exuding body was verrry distracting.

I gave Anthony a little shove and told him, ''Go read the paper or something. I have things to do.''

He smirked at me, his eyes tracking from my flushed face towards the sound of the shower running. Sauntered off.

I stayed on task!

...

Ten minutes later, Ranger reappeared with our five-year-old daughter Zoë and her little pug dog Killer. She was dressed inappropriately for early April in a little yellow cotton sundress, salmon red capris, and neon blue Crocs. Ranger, bless him, had fixed her hair and it coiled in perfect ringlets around her sleepy face.

Ranger looked at me, looked at my secret project and asked, "Breakfast?"

I motioned to the bowl of raw eggs, the frying pan, the mound of chopped onions and mushrooms. "I'm making breakfast today!" My voice echoed with pride.

''Babe.''

''Here's your tea."

''What are we having?''

''Omelets! Both Ella and my mom have been coaching me. Since Christmas! And today's the day.''

''Hmmm.'' He looked me over, traced a gentle finger along my apron's neck string. "Cute."

I was flustered. I heard myself babbling. "Now I know you usually don't have American full fat cheese and so on, but mom says it's important to make a recipe the real way first. Then when you get good at that, you can start doing the healthful—uh, substitutions? So I hope you'll eat American cheese** and eggs with yolks just this once! Because so far I, um, haven't quite mastered separating the egg whites."

"Babe. And what's this...?"

''Butter." I think he cringed a little.

Anthony came over, leaned against the breakfast bar to watch. I stared him down. "You'll try an omelet too?''

Anthony's eating habits are as weird as Ranger's though very different. Either he doesn't want to eat at all, picks like an anorexic girl—or now and then he'll eat what I consider normal food—like pizza. But now he smiled at me, said, "Go for it."

I nodded firmly. "Okay. Here goes!'' I lit the gas under the omelet pan. Ranger hovered. I told him, "Stand behind me, this might get dangerous." I laughed nervously, added, "Or maybe I ought to get behind you."

"You let me know when it gets dangerous," he told me calmly.

"Barrel of laughs, Ranger!"

Okay, so the first omelet wasn't so pretty. "I'll eat that one! Set it in the microwave."

The men watched me carefully as I tried again. I'm pretty sure Ranger was trying to remember if there was a fire extinguisher handy, Anthony just looked amused. Probably both of them could flawlessly separate eggs. Behind them I could see Zoë at the dining table, quietly engrossed in what looked like a comic book, her little dog Killer alert at her feet, his face saying Food!

My all-male audience made me nervous. Ranger was mopping up spilled egg goo, trying to be supportive, I think. I snatched the soggy paper towels from his hand, said, ''Maybe you can pour Zoë's milk and take your tea...and your brother...and go sit down!" I gave him my best burg glare, he smiled and did as ordered.

The kitchen was again my private domain. And, yes! just as Ella promised, a few minutes later the last omelet slid onto a heated plate. It was extra small, for Zoë. I delivered the food and hustled back to the kitchen. Oops. I guess I should have turned off the stove? The pan was billowing greasy blue smoke so I flipped on the exhaust fan and tossed the frying pan into the sink.

''Not bad,'' I heard Anthony say.

''Hmmm.'' Ranger.

Zoë looked up from her comic book, shoved a bite of omelet into her mouth. ''Oh it's gooey, mommy!'' she called. ''And YUMMY." My heart swelled up like a helium balloon. Food is, indeed, love.

I began cleaning up. My mom had told me a good cook always cleans as she works. So I was already way behind. I took a second though and peeked again at my family. All were eating. No one looked sick...yet.

Zoë turned a page, asked, "What's a Thark?" and shoved more omelet into her mouth.

"A what?" asked her daddy.

She read from her comic book. " 'Tars Tarkas said, And you fight like a Thark!' ''

Ranger lowered the Wall Street Journal, said, "Zoë, you're not supposed to read at the table."

She stared at both men reading the financial pages. "But daddy..."

Anthony said, ''A Thark is like a Klingon only meaner. Uglier."

"What's a Klingon?"

Ranger shoved back from the table. ''Baby, look at the time. Britta will be here any moment to take you to school. Run, brush your teeth.''

I scrubbed pots and pans. The men finished their coffee and tea in peace until Britta, Zoë's nanny, appeared.

Britta looked at Zoë's outfit, shook her head. ''Zoe, get your parka, it's supposed to snow later.''

The guys: ''Snow?''

Britta shrugged, "Springtime in Jersey." She sniffed. "Is something burning?"

''Not anymore...'' said Ranger.

Zoë reappeared with her backpack and her neon pink parka clutched in her arms. "Mommy! My eggies were very yum!" She did her best to hug me and I bent down and hugged her back. I whispered, "I'm so glad, baby."

"Can you make pancakes tomorrow, mommy? I extra, extra, love pancakes!"

"Uh..."

"Zoë?"

''Coming, Britty! '' My beautiful daughter departed happily, singing [badly], ''Klingon, klingon, kling ooon Harvest Moon! Haaaar-Vest Moooon! January, Feb-YOU-ary, June and July! Haaaarrrvest Mooon!'' *

Britta said, "What is Klingon?"

The front door opened again, and Zoë stopped singing, looked back at Anthony and said, ''See?''

The guys followed her back out, Anthony engrossed in a convoluted Klingon explanation worthy of Mooner at his worst. Best? And Ranger rubbing his forehead like a migraine was imminent.

...

Silence. I was alone in the disastrous kitchen mess. My own omelet was untouched, congealed. Cold. I zapped it for 30 seconds. Now I know why my mom never can sit down with everyone, is always jumping up.

Ding!

I sighed and looked at the egg-y mess in the microwave. I forked a bite into my mouth and told the omelet, ''Okay, yeah. We did it! You are ugly, but you are beautiful because I created you. Despite my shortcomings and fears. Mission accomplished. I cooked."

...

Ten minutes later, Stephanie Plum starts the dishwasher and heads off to her job at Plum Bail Bonds. She is happily contemplating the next highlight of her morning. Donuts for Tasty Pastry.

Omelets...and cooking, are overrated.

... ... ...

the end of the story, series tbc

* My brother loved Star Trek and for some reason whenever there was a Klingon episode, in the original old series, I guess on cable? - he'd crack up and sing this song to the tune of a really old song [no clue why he knew it, he's only a year older than me]. The lyrics are: shine on, shine on, harvest moon. That's all I know. Check out You Tube, also for Klingons and Tharks.

** from Wikipedia-American Cheese: (in case you live elsewhere):

American cheese is a processed cheese-like product. It is orange, yellow, or white in color and mild in flavor, with a medium-firm consistency, and melts easily. Today's American cheese is manufactured from a set of ingredients[such as milk, whey, milkfat, milk protein concentrate, whey protein concentrate, oil, and salt. It is emulsified, rolled out and sold sliced. In the United States it cannot be legally sold as "cheese", and must be labeled as "processed cheese", "cheese product", or similar—e.g., "cheese food". In Canada, exactly the same product, often by the same manufacturer with the same label design, used to be sold as "Canadian cheese" or "Canadian slices". Today most such cheese in Canada is vaguely labelled just "slices" or "singles". In the United Kingdom, packs are labelled as "singles" although it is commonly called cheese slices.