“I’d be happy to help you cook. I’m not a bad cook. I mean, I’m not Emeril, but I can boil water.”

She nodded. “Great. You’re hired. The kitchen is right through that door.”

“I’ll go wash up,” I said.

I carried my pack into the room Analise had pointed to. The guest room was quaint and tidy, the kind of room you’d expect in a bed-and-breakfast. It had a high-mattressed canopy bed with white carved posts. There were pictures of the children on the wall. The largest picture was a portrait of the entire family. I figured the photograph was fairly dated as Casey was still a toddler. Matt, Analise’s husband, was tall and muscularly built. I thought he looked more cowboy than farmer. He was handsome. In fact, the whole family was rather attractive.

I washed my hands and face, then found my way to the kitchen. Analise had put on an apron and was standing at the stove frying something in a skillet. Next to her was a large pot with a high flame beneath it. The room already smelled wonderfully of garlic.

“Smells delicious,” I said. “What would you like me to do?”

“Would you mind helping me fry the garlic?”

“No problem,” I said.

She stepped away from the stove. “Great. I’ll get the clams and pepper ready. The garlic’s only supposed to cook for a few minutes. When you’re done, we add crushed red pepper and clams then cook for two more minutes.” She walked over to the counter and put the clams and peppers in a bowl, then brought them over to me. “The garlic should be about ready.”

“It looks ready,” I said.

She poured her bowl into my pan. The clams sizzled loudly. “Okay, do you know how to sauté?”

“Just stir, right?”

“Right.” She left, then returned with a cup of white wine, which she also poured into my pan. “All right. Just let that cook until the wine reduces a little, then we add the tomato sauce. I’ll get the pasta going.” She opened a package of spaghetti and dropped it into the boiling water.

“I think it’s ready for the tomato sauce,” I said.

She glanced over. “I think you’re right. Just pour it all in.”

I took the can and added the sauce to the sizzling mixture. The aroma was delicious.

“How long do I let it cook?” I asked.

“According to Emeril, just until the clams start to open.” She looked at me. “You’re from Seattle; you probably cook clams all the time.”

“No,” I said. “But I do love a good chowder.”

She stirred the noodles a little, then went to the door and shouted, “Casey, come here.”

A moment later the little girl walked into the kitchen. “What, Mama?”

“Where’s Christian?”

“He’s in his room. He’s playing video games.”