I don't own the characters and make no monetary profit from this story. Peter Gunn and Edie Hart own each other. I wish I could tempt him away from her but that will never happen.

A Lifetime in Eight Days

Chapter 31: The Gift of Family

Edie Hart glanced up with a warm smile for Frank Gunn as he stepped into the kitchen. He pulled at his necktie and opened the top button of his shirt, his actions so familiar to her, so much like Pete, it caused the woman's smile to widen. As he began to unbutton and roll up his shirtsleeves she had to look away to hide her amusement. The elder Gunn moved to stand next to her for a moment and gave a look over her shoulder at the recipe book that lay open on the small kitchen table.

"What's up?" He noticed it was one of those old church cookbooks, the kind that would contain every conceivable recipe under the sun. "Today's brunch day, right?"

"Mmm." Edie turned a page browned with age, not knowing precisely what she was looking for but wanting something special to go with the eggs and bacon waiting in the refrigerator. Something bready but better than toast. And most importantly something she and her limited cooking skills wouldn't make a mess of. "How was mass?"

"It was good. I knew that little church up the street from Pete's old place had a seven o'clock service so I drove over there." He had left a note taped to the coffee pot stating his whereabouts, figuring one or the other of them would eventually discover it if he didn't make it back by the time they made their way downstairs this morning. He pulled out a chair and sat down across from Edie. "They've made a few changes and there's a new priest on the job but the service was still very nice." Frank reached for a second book lying open next to the girl's elbow. It was old and yellowed, of medium-size with tarnished metal rings, its lined pages filled with glued-on recipes cut from newspapers and magazines. He gave the living room a glance then looked at Edie. "Pete not up yet?"

She shook her head, telling him that Pete was having trouble sleeping and when he did sleep he was very restless. Last night had been the first since he'd been home that he had slept through without any problem and she hadn't wanted to wake him. Fetching a mug from the cabinet she poured coffee for Frank and refilled her own cup then went back to her recipe search.

"What are we looking for anyway?" Frank smiled at Edie over the rim of his mug. He decided she looked very pretty in her lacy white blouse and dark gold slacks and her hair pulled back in a ponytail.

"I'm not sure. Breakfast rolls, coffee cake, muffins. Something easy." She smiled back.

Several minutes were spent in companionable silence disturbed only by the occasional flip of a page or shared murmur of discovery. After thumbing through the last few pages of the homemade recipe book he was perusing Frank turned his attention to the inside front cover and the name written there.

"Alice Kelly?"

"My grandmother. Mama's mama." Edie's lips curved in a smile. "She has a collection you wouldn't believe. Every once in a blue moon she goes through them and hands a few out to her daughters and granddaughters. She says that by the time she dies they'll all be in the hands of those who'll use them best."

"And these are the ones she gave to you."

"No. These are some she gave to Mama." Edie smoothed her fingers over a dog-eared page and flashed Frank an amused glance. "Mama sent them to me after her and Papa's last visit along with a note informing me that I need to learn to cook if I expect to find myself a husband."

Frank wasn't certain how to respond to that. He scratched his head. Edie chuckled.

"According to Mama a man wants a woman who can put dinner on the table when he comes home after a long day on the job," she continued. "She wasn't impressed that the first evening they were here Pete took us all out to dinner and the next night he cooked supper for us." She paused for a long moment as she contemplated the next recipe and then grimaced and spoke without raising her eyes from the book. "She also wasn't impressed that he was in my kitchen in his boxers making breakfast the morning they showed up unannounced at my door."

Edie watched as Frank leaned his elbow on the table and rubbed his hand up and down his face and then covered his mouth with it to hide what looked like a smirk.

"That's the exact same expression Pete had on his face," she confessed with a wry smile. "Mama was embarrassed. From the look on her face you would think she'd never seen a man's bare chest before. And Pete's boxers certainly covered more than his swim trunks would have. Of course she wouldn't have known that since Pete hid behind the counter until she turned her back for a minute and he was able to sneak down the hallway to the bedroom. Papa-" She afforded Frank a shamefaced glance. "I'm not sure what was going through Papa's head and to be quite honest I really didn't care. That was terrible of me wasn't it?"

Frank apparently couldn't trust himself to an answer beyond a shrug. He seemed to be having a difficult time trying to keep a straight face.

"I tried to explain to Mama later that Pete doesn't care if I'm the worst cook in the world and that he enjoys cooking because he finds it relaxing. She's of the opinion that any man who thinks like that has an ulterior motive when it comes to women." Edie felt a sudden warm flush of embarrassment rise in her cheeks at the manner in which she was prattling on and on. Neither she nor Pete made a habit of discussing their personal life with anyone else but it felt natural talking to Frank. "I'm sorry. I have a feeling that's a little more than you really wanted to know isn't it?"

Frank abruptly pushed himself to his feet and began removing measuring spoons from drawers and mixing bowls from cabinets. Edie could see the man's shoulders shaking as he kept his back to her. He brought out the flour canister and picked a few herbs from the rack and gathered several other baking utensils together on the counter. Finally the woman heard him release a sigh and emit a little chuckle and give a small shake of his head.

"I know for a fact that Pete has a soft spot in his heart-" he gave a sideways glance over his shoulder at Edie, mirth still evident in his eyes "- and his stomach - for the breakfast biscuits his Grandma Ross used to make. I'm going to teach you how to make them. You do it right..." he gave her a wink and motioned with his head for her to join him, "...and I know you will, you'll earn his undying devotion. Not that you don't have it already," he quickly amended, finally allowing a gust of laughter to escape. He moved aside to allow Edie room to stand next to him and together they procured the remaining items Frank deemed necessary.

"Flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, sugar, buttermilk, butter. That's everything we need." Frank set the oven to 375° then pushed a big yellow Pyrex mixing bowl in Edie's direction. "You do the honors," he instructed. "You'll need four cups of flour. Spoon it into the measuring cup and level it with a knife. You want to be precise." He watched as the young woman followed his directions. "Your Mama doesn't like Pete. Why not?"

Edie remained silent as she spooned and leveled the flour. She wasn't used to discussing the vagaries of her mother's notions when it came to her and Pete. She wasn't sure where to begin. Or if she even should. Wasn't that one of those things that was between her and Pete? But Pete seemed to take Mary Grace Hart's attitude toward him in stride, as he did most things in life, enjoining her not to worry about her mother and her odd ideas. Mrs. Hart's aversion to their relationship was something the woman would have to work out in her own time and at her own pace. If she eventually accepted him it was fine, if not that was okay, too. Those were Pete's words. But she knew it bothered him that Mama Hart was working hard not to accept him as a permanent fixture in her daughter's life. Edie's lengthy silence had Frank Gunn wondering if he might have overstepped. Maybe he was being too nosy.

"I'm sorry, Edie, I shouldn't have asked that. It's really none of my business."

It was the gentleness in his voice that was her undoing.

"He doesn't conform to her expectations of..." Edie's voice trailed off and she offered an uncertain shrug as she added the final cup of flour to the bowl. "He doesn't conform to her expectations," she repeated and left it at that.

"Add four teaspoons of baking powder. Level it off the same way you did the flour."

"When she found out Pete and I were – " Edie spooned the baking powder on top of the flour and wondered how one went about discussing sex with one's someday in the future father-in-law. "When she found out Pete and I were together– " That was as good a way as any she guessed. Frank wasn't a stupid man. He would know what she was referring to. "–she made up her mind he was some sort of Don Juan. She came to the conclusion he was after one thing and one thing only and he was taking advantage of me to get it." She snorted a chuckle. "And that once he got enough of it he'd be out the door."

Frank made a scoffing sound which he quickly covered with a fake cough.

"I've assured her that's not the case. That Pete's not– That Pete is an honorable man. We have a life together and we make our decisions together. She doesn't listen. She thinks I need to come home, find some nice man to marry that she totally approves of and live a respectable life with two kids, one dog, a station wagon and a thirty year mortgage." A long-suffering yet tender smile curved the girl's lips as her eyes met Frank's. "I love my parents very much and I would do anything in the world for them. Except that."

Edie added a teaspoon of baking soda, one and a half teaspoons of salt and one teaspoon of sugar to the bowl. Using a wire whisk she mixed the dry ingredients together and then followed Frank's directions for cutting the butter into the dry mixture.

"I take it you didn't say anything to them about what's been going on with you and Pete."

The woman shot him a look that told him he was as much an idiot as his son.

Frank chuckled than watched as the blonde frowned at the two knives he had suggested she use to cut the butter. With a roll of her eyes she pulled open the corner drawer by the refrigerator and pulled out a red-handled pastry cutter and held it up for him to see. She dropped the knives into the sink with a clatter.

"My parents have met Pete twice. The first time they met Mama seemed to like him. The second time-" The blonde shrugged and offered an apologetic smile. "She complained none too subtly that Pete spent too much money, that he wore a new suit every day, that his car was too fancy and that his apartment was far too nice for a single man. Whatever that means. Heaven knows what she'd say about this one. I was also told he was far too familiar with my apartment and he sat much too close to me on the sofa." She uncapped the Borden's bottle. "How much buttermilk?"

"Two cups. Just mix it in until everything's blended. But before you do that add about a teaspoon each of basil and dill." Frank rescued the aluminum measuring spoon from the sink and motioned toward the small tins containing the herbs. "Not heaping spoons but they don't have to be leveled off either." He maintained a watchful eye as she carefully added the two herbs to the mix.

"Pete likes basil," Edie said with a quick smile.

"Now sprinkle in exactly one-half teaspoon of rosemary. That's the extra ingredient that makes these biscuits special."

Frank refilled his coffee mug and took a sip as he leaned against the counter, watching the girl's face as she concentrated on her task. Once he considered the batter mixed to his liking he gave directions on flattening the dough and cutting the biscuits, then pulled a baking tin from the bottom cabinet as Edie finished up.

"I hope that one day my mother will accept that my place is with Pete," the blonde said. She reached for the butter dish in the cabinet next to the sink, removed the wrapper from the quarter stick she found beneath the lid and began brushing a thin coating on the pan. "That she'll learn to-" Edie sighed. "That she'll accept him if for no other reason than I love him. She doesn't have to love him. She doesn't even have to like him. But she can at least respect him. There's no one better than Pete. He's the finest man I know."

"How about your father?"

"He and Pete seem to have some sort of understanding." She frowned thoughtfully as she aligned twelve biscuits neatly on the pan. "What that is and how they came about it is a mystery to me-" her blue eyes flashed with a look of amusement, "-and I have no desire to solve that mystery any time soon."

A gentle bump against her leg and the sound of a muted purr had Edie glancing down as she let the oven door fall shut. Thomas had appeared out of nowhere to caress her ankle with his furry orange forehead and give her an appealing stare. The woman laughed and lifted him to her chest as she set the timer.

"It's nice to see at least one sleepyhead decided to crawl out of bed." She spoke to the cat's face and rubbed her cheek against his softness then set him down as she heard the sound of running water from the upstairs shower. "Make that two."

Edie washed and dried her hands before grabbing eggs and bacon from the refrigerator and setting them on the counter.

"What about you?" Frank placed his mug in the dish drainer and slipped his hands into the pockets of his gray flannel pants.

"What about me?" Edie gave him a confused glance.

"Does Pete conform to your expectations?" He gazed at her with kind blue eyes as he continued to lean against the counter.

"He makes me happy," was her simple answer.

Frank Gunn chuckled, not for the first time, as he settled himself on the chair in his son's bedroom and watched patiently as Pete shifted a shoe box, several smaller boxes and a bag from the dresser to the bed. The expression that had crossed Pete's face that morning upon learning that Edie made the biscuits had been comical. Frank wished he'd had his new camera handy just on the off chance he might have captured that look. It had been priceless.

"I can't believe you ate four of those big biscuits along with a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon." Frank's shoulders quaked as the chuckle became a full blown laugh. "And that sausage left over from yesterday morning. I don't know where you put it all."

"And I can't believe you showed Edie how to make those biscuits," the younger man groused as he sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled at the tape holding down the lid of the shoe box. "Do you realize how long I've been trying to figure out that recipe?" He sounded just like a little boy who had been denied his favorite toy and Frank told him so.

"You know as well as I do that the recipe is handed down to the daughters in the Ross family. That means Edie gets it and you don't. So live with it." The look he gave Pete was brimming with chastising amusement.

"Grandma Ross gave it to you." Pete sifted through the top dozen or so photographs that topped the pile in the tattered box that had once held a pair of Nunn-Bush oxfords. Pop hadn't been kidding when he said the box was packed to the brim. The pictures he held in his hand included some of himself in his Army uniform, a candid shot of he and two cousins he hadn't seen in years and a crinkled brown three by five print of a large doe-eyed dog curled beneath a porch swing.

"And you know why that was." He didn't remind his son that he'd been given the recipe by his mother-in-law after Pete's mother died, that she'd passed it on to him because she knew that one day her grandson would find a nice girl to marry and she herself might not be around to pass it on to his wife. She had been right about that. "Just be thankful you now have the opportunity to eat the darn things for breakfast any time you want to for the rest of your life." Pop's twinkling blue gaze sized up his son. "If you ask her nicely," he amended.

Pete sighed and his eyebrows tilted upward.

"You did write it down for her." It was more statement than question. "Right?" Much as he loved the woman he knew from firsthand experience that she could make a shambles of even the simplest recipe. And if it was written down maybe he could get his hands on it if for no other reason than to satisfy his own curiosity. "You know Edie's not..."

Frank raised his hand and tapped a finger to his forehead, a knowing smile tilting his lips. "She has it all up there. No need to worry."

Pete gave his dad an impassive look before shaking his head and releasing a chuckle.

"Fine. I give up." A smile lingered as the PI opened the first of the smaller boxes. There was the Buck Rogers ray gun that his Gramps had given him, just as Pop had told him, the gleaming red of the painted metal chipped in some places and worn in others. Pete managed to pull the trigger of the toy gun back and was rewarded with a loud popping noise that brought a reminiscent grin to his face.

"That sound drove your mother crazy."

"I know." Pete's grin became bigger, more gleeful than it probably should have been. He lay the toy aside, placing it gently on the quilt Edie had thrown on the bed when the two of them had straightened the bedroom that morning after breakfast. She had brought it with her from her apartment the other afternoon when she brought Thomas back with her, one of the pretty hand sewn quilts her Grandma Hart had passed along to her every other year or so that she'd gone home to visit. He had admired it as he helped her align the edges, the ginger-haired cat scurrying after their hands and pouncing on their fingers when appropriate. He'd wondered aloud at the pattern. He didn't know much about such things. A Double Wedding Ring was her answer. Somehow he had managed to hold his tongue and keep a straight face but he could see the knowing twinkle in her eyes.

Pete pulled a small cloth bag from the box and undid the tie to find the set of tin soldiers. His coin collection lay underneath, mostly pennies and dimes, some buffalo nickels and a few quarters, some wrapped in envelopes, others stuffed into Red Top match boxes. He held a box to his nose and inhaled, the odor of sulfur still evident after so many years. In the second small box the PI found three Hardy Boys mystery books – Footprints Under the Window, The House on the Cliff and The Secret of the Caves – along with a tattered copy of The Three Musketeers. The final item turned out to be the service edition of the New Testament he'd received when he was in the Army. He opened the front cover of the pocket-size item and quietly contemplated the almost juvenile scrawl of his name on the first page before finally setting it aside with the other items.

"Thanks, Pop." His lips tipped in a little smile as he met his dad's eyes. Then he watched as the older man stood up and moved to sit next to him on the bed, drawing the cloth bag to rest between them as he did.

"Maybe those ten kids of yours will enjoy the books as much as you did."

Pete's eyes widened and he shot the other man a comical look.

"Six, Pop. Just six," he choked out. Even that number sounded absurd. "Whatever you do don't let Edie hear you say something like that. You'll fill her head with more ideas."

"Was she serious?"

"She's always serious."

"She's also a girly girl."

Pete wondered where that came from, where his dad might be going with that comment.

"She's a girl all right," he said with a smile.

"I mentioned that to Barney last night," Frank continued. "He agreed with me, said she's the girliest girl he's ever known."

"She has her moments."

Pete's expression held curiosity but he didn't push his dad. He saw the hesitation in the older man's posture but knew he would get where he was going eventually. And he did. Frank reached into the bag and withdrew a handful of items.

"There are a few things I want you to have," he said, looking at his son. "You and Edie."

Frank placed an off-white oblong jeweler's box in his son's hand. Pete didn't have to open the box to know what was inside. But he did anyway and felt the quick tears the sight brought to his eyes.

"Pop..."