LYRICAL UNDERGROUND

      Kensington Publishing Corp.

       www.kensingtonbooks.com

      Lyrical Underground books are published by

      Kensington Publishing Corp. 119 West 40th Street New York, NY 10018

      Copyright © 2018 by Lynn Cahoon

      All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

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      New York, NY 10018

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      LYRICAL PRESS Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

      Lyrical Press and the L logo are trademarks of Kensington Publishing Corp.

      First Electronic Edition: March 2018

      eISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0381-2

      eISBN-10: 1-5161-0381-5

      First Print Edition: March 2018

      ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0382-9

      ISBN-10: 1-5161-0382-3

      Printed in the United States of America

      Dedication

      To the little girl who turned into the writer. Who knew all the bits and pieces we picked up along the way would be useful someday?

      Acknowledgements

      Farm to Fork came out of a need to write about the place where I grew up, the Treasure Valley in Idaho. I lived most of my life within 40 miles of the place I was born. They say you only have so many memories you can keep in your brain before you write over them with new experiences. This is one way of downloading the love I feel for this rural farm area. Big thanks to my Mom and Dad (Viola and Robert Gardner) for moving their growing family in true pioneering spirit out of South Dakota to Idaho. If not for that one move, this book might have been completely different.

      Thanks to Esi Sogah and the Kensington crew for taking a chance on a new cozy concept. And thank you to Jill Marsal, my agent. Welcome to the family.

      CHAPTER 1

      Angie Turner knelt in the grass beside Nona’s herb garden, loosening the soil around the rosemary plant and cutting back the chives, the beat of June sun on her back reminding her of childhood summer days. Back then, she’d loved visiting her grandmother. On warm mornings, Angie would lie in the tall grass, listening to the bird songs in the trees and the cattle wandering around the pasture near the house. Later in the afternoon, her dad always saddled the horses and took her riding after lunch. Growing up in rural Idaho had reminded her of the stories from those Little House books.

      Dom, her newly adopted St. Bernard puppy, sat nearby, watching Mabel, the lone surviving white and black hen from her grandmother’s flock. She was inching closer to the garden, probably looking for the worms Angie disturbed while she turned the soil. She stood and brushed the dirt off her hands.

      “Time to make dinner.” Angie held the back door open for the dog and he trotted inside. Then she loaded her arms up with russet potatoes and a large onion from her storeroom. River Vista farmers’ market had just started carrying the sweet Vidalias, so last visit she’d bought several and had been playing with different recipes all week. She would have to refill her stock soon. The star of today’s menu was her version of Nona’s potato soup. She’d take that and a fresh onion sandwich over to Mrs. Potter’s house, her only neighbor on the mile road.

      The recipe for the onion sandwich consisted of thickly sliced sweet Vidalias, the last of the herb bread she’d baked on Sunday, and Miracle Whip. The only upgrades she’d made from her grandmother’s recipe had been to change the white bread to whatever homemade loaf she had on hand and adding sea salt.

      While she cooked, she was serenaded with snores that came from Dom’s puppy bed in the corner of the kitchen. Right now, the world made sense. Buying a St. Bernard puppy might not have been the smartest idea, especially if she ever had to go back to apartment living. Yet, as she worked in Nona’s newly remodeled kitchen, Angie didn’t think staying here in River Vista would be a problem at all. Especially if her new restaurant became successful.

      The previously agriculture-based town of River Vista had become a bedroom community for Boise. As a small town filled with corporate working couples who didn’t have time to cook dinner, it was just the right time and place to open The County Seat. While the soup simmered on the stove, she checked her tablet. Since that morning, she’d received ten new emails from Felicia Williams, her best friend and now, business partner.

      This wasn’t the first time they’d opened a restaurant. The trio of friends from culinary school, Felicia, Todd Young, and herself had opened their first place, el pescado, five years ago, after working for some of the best restaurants in the San Francisco area. When the lease on their location expired, the landlord wanted more than what the restaurant could afford so they’d closed the establishment. Todd had gone back to Jersey and the two women had moved north to Idaho and the farmhouse Angie had inherited.

      She sent Felicia a quick text telling her to come over for dinner and that soup was ready. Then Angie finished packing her basket and took it across the road to Mrs. Potter. When Angie returned to her own kitchen after a few minutes of idle gossip, Felicia had arrived. Her