Currant Creek Valley (2 page)

“Are you sure? Lila and I are the last ones standing, now that Riley and Maura have taken the leap, and Lila’s too far away in California for you to meddle with.”

“Do I meddle?” Mary Ella asked, her tone mild but her eyes flashing.

That wasn’t fair to her mother, she knew. “No,” she admitted. “But I know you would like to see me settled in a relationship like everybody else.”

“Only if that’s what you want. I don’t care if you never marry, Alex. I’ve spent the last twenty years of my life single and thought I would remain that way for the rest of it. I certainly never expected Harry Lange to come blustering in.”

She was glad Harry made Mary Ella happy, for reasons she still didn’t understand, but that didn’t mean she wanted to discuss her mother’s love life.

“You can stop worrying about me, Mom. I have nearly everything I want.”

“Nearly?”

She gestured around to the empty, echoing space. “I just need Brazen to catch fire on the local restaurant scene, so to speak.”

Mary Ella didn’t look convinced but she said nothing as she slipped her arms through the sleeves of the jacket she had shed during the picnic.

“I just hate to see you so...restless.”

The term was painfully apt. She couldn’t focus on anything, she was cooking up a storm trying out new recipes, she wasn’t sleeping well.

Alex wanted to think her trouble was only jagged nerves prior to the restaurant opening, but she had a deep-seated fear the root was something else.

She had been looking for something for a long time since she had returned to the States. She had convinced herself it was only anticipation for this time in her life, when she was finally in control of her own restaurant, but what if Brazen still didn’t fill that emptiness inside?

“I’m perfectly content with my life. Everything is just the way I want it.”

Mary Ella stepped in to brush her lips to Alex’s cheek. “If that’s truly the case, then I’ll try to stop worrying.”

“I do believe you could survive without air and water longer than you could go without fretting over one of your children.”

Her mother smiled, as she had intended. “It’s a good thing I have so many of you to spread the love, then, isn’t it? Imagine if you were an only child.”

“The mind boggles.”

Her mother’s laugh trailed behind her as she headed out into the April afternoon.

She closed the door behind Mary Ella and twisted the lock then returned to stand in the empty space that would shortly—she hoped—hold her dream kitchen.

Though the kitchen faced away from the street, leaving the prime views for the diners, Jack had still designed this space with a few well-situated windows that offered lovely views of some of the older homes in Hope’s Crossing that climbed the hillside and then the mountains beyond.

This was hers. She loved it already.

All the years of planning, working, dreaming, and in a few more weeks, that dream would be real.

She had worked as a sous-chef in other restaurants for years, since she had returned from Europe. She had been offered opportunities in the past to take over as executive chef but none of those situations had ever felt quite right. Either she had always told herself she wasn’t ready or she didn’t like the restaurant owners enough to work that closely with them or she had just plain been afraid.

When Brodie Thorne approached her with his plans for this old firehouse, she had instinctively recognized this was her time. She had known Brodie her whole life and she trusted him completely, both as a savvy businessman with a well-established track record of running restaurants and, more importantly, as a person.

The stars had aligned and she couldn’t make any more excuses.

She closed her eyes for a moment and imagined this place crowded with customers, standing in the middle of a gleaming kitchen giving orders to her own sous-chefs, smelling delicious things cooking, listening to the clink of glasses and contented conversation.

And a string of colorful words coming from the back entrance.

She jerked her eyes open as the words pierced the last of her hazy fantasy and sent it whooshing away.

A man was here, in her restaurant. An unhappy man, by the sound of it. Seriously? Somebody really thought they could break into her restaurant in broad daylight, probably hoping to steal construction tools left on the site?

Guess again, asshole,
she thought.

She reached for the closest weapon she could lay her hands on, a two-by-four about the length of her torso, and edged around the corner.

A hallway led off the main dining room toward the restroom facilities, as well as a space she intended to make a separate dining room for private parties.

With her heart pounding, she peeked around the corner, two-by-four at the ready. Afternoon sunlight filtered in through the windows and she registered only a few quick impressions of height and muscled bulk, dark short-cropped hair and an unmistakable air of menace.

The man had already pilfered a reciprocating saw in one hand and had a tool belt dangling from the other. Thieving bastard. No way was she going to let him get away with robbing her place, even if the stuff belonged to the contractor responsible for these knuckle-gnawing delays.

She was too angry to think about the wisdom of taking on a very large man presently armed with power tools. This was her restaurant and she had worked too blasted hard for it to let some jerk think he could march in here and loot the place.

Gripping the two-by-far in suddenly damp hands, she stepped forward. “Don’t even think about it.”

He whirled around, even tougher and scarier than she had first thought. He was also surprisingly clean-cut for someone up to no good.

“Don’t think about what?” he growled, his voice as hard as his features.

“You picked the wrong place to rob, buster. My brother just happens to be the chief of police.”

He cocked his head, one eyebrow lifted. “Is that right?”

“You better believe it. Now put down the tools and get out of here before I call him.”

“Trust me, you don’t want to do that.”

Her anger kicked up a notch at his tone. As a sous-chef, she had spent more than a few years in the kitchen with temperamental, patronizing little men who thought they could intimidate her with their bluster and bluff. She was tired of it, yet another reason she couldn’t wait to open her own restaurant.

She refused to acknowledge the grim truth of his words. She absolutely
didn’t
want to call in Riley to help her deal with this. As a general rule, she had always tried to take care of herself, not drag her family into her problems.

She wasn’t about to tell
him
that. Instead, she shifted the board—now growing increasingly heavy—and whipped out her cell phone. In this case, she would do whatever was necessary. Even if that meant turning to her brother. She scrolled through her address book and found Riley’s number but paused, her thumb hovering over the name.

“You’ve got until the count of three to clear out,” she said, aware she sounded perilously close to something out of a spaghetti Western.

He apparently agreed. “You’re going to feel really stupid if you call in the cavalry right now. I’m not doing anything wrong.”

She sniffed. “Funny, that’s exactly what I would expect a criminal to say.”

“I’m not a criminal.”

“Again, I would have
totally
expected you to say that.”

He gave a rough laugh that seemed to sizzle through her. Just nerves, she told herself. To fight them, she gripped the board more tightly and stared him down.

He looked a little bit old to be doing the smash-and-grab thing, maybe her age or slightly older, but he did have a biceps tattoo dripping beneath the short sleeve of a worn T-shirt that showed off every hard muscle.

All in all, he was really quite gorgeous, for a criminal, even if he didn’t seem in the least threatened by a woman holding a two-by-four and a cell phone.

“Can I ask who you are and what you’re doing here?” he actually had the effrontery to say.

She gaped at him. “None of your business!
You’re
the one who’s trespassing.”

“Really? You think? Then why would I have this?”

He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a key that looked remarkably similar to the one she had used to unlock the door for her book club over an hour ago.

“You think I’m stupid enough to fall for that? For all I know, that could be a key to the storage shed where you hide your victims in barrels full of acid.”

He blinked a few times but didn’t lose his amused half smile. “Wow. Been watching a few too many horror movies, have we?”

Okay, maybe it was a bit of an overreaction to accuse him of being a serial killer, but she wasn’t about to back down now. “My point is I don’t know who
you
are or why you’re breaking into my restaurant.”

“Your restaurant? Wrong. This is Brodie Thorne’s restaurant.”

The board slid a little in her hand and she finally set it down to rest one end on the ground, wondering uneasily if she might have made a teensy little mistake here.

“Okay, technically, yes.” The restaurant was Brodie’s, if one considered that he was the person who took all the risks and paid all the bills. “But I’m his chef.”

The guy’s half smile turned into a full-fledged one and her stomach fluttered at the impact of it.
Oh, my
.

“We appear to have a little misunderstanding here. You must be Alexandra McKnight.”

She squinted at him. “Maybe.”

“Brodie told me about you, but for some reason I thought you would be older.”

She made a face. She would be thirty-seven this year, which felt ancient sometimes. “Okay, so we’ve established who I am. Now who the hell are you?”

“Oh, sorry.” Coming out of that rough-edged, dangerous-looking face, the charm of his friendly smile caught her off guard.

“I’m Sam Delgado. I’m going to be finishing up your kitchen.”

His words finally penetrated her thick skull and she wanted to throw her face in her hands. She was an idiot who shouldn’t be let out in public.

This man was charged with building her kitchen in an insane handful of weeks and the first thing she did to welcome him aboard the project was accuse him of stealing what were probably his own tools.

If she wanted this kitchen to provide ideal working conditions, she had to work closely with the contractor Brodie had picked. How would she be able to do that now, with this inauspicious beginning?

She propped the board against the wall and faced him with what she hoped was an apologetic look. “Oops.”

To her relief, he didn’t seem upset, even though a little annoyance would be completely justified. “Now aren’t you glad you didn’t call the police?”

“It was an honest mistake. You have to admit, you’re a scary-looking dude, Sam Delgado. It must be the ink.”

“I’m a pussycat when you get to know me.”

“I doubt that.”

“Just wait.”

She knew perfectly well the words shouldn’t send this little tingle of awareness zinging through her.

At least he was being decent about her almost beaning him with a board. She had to give him points for that. “I wasn’t expecting you until the weekend. Brodie said you couldn’t start until then.”

“I wrapped up some other projects in Denver ahead of schedule and was able to break away a few days early. Figured I would come to town and do a little recon of the situation before my crew comes up tomorrow.”

The way he spoke, the short haircut and what she glimpsed of his tattoo—which she could now see looked vaguely military-like—reminded her that Brodie had told her the guy was ex-army Special Forces, like Charlotte’s brother, Dylan.

She figured it was safe to move closer to him. “Well, welcome to Hope’s Crossing, Sam Delgado. I can promise you, not everyone in town will greet you with a two-by-four.”

He smelled good, she couldn’t help noticing. Like wind and sunshine and really sexy male. She really
was
an idiot to even notice.

“I don’t blame you for being cautious. Any woman would have to be a little wary to find a stranger invading her space. No harm done.” He set the reciprocating saw down on the floor and the belt with it.

“Brodie tells me you have definite ideas for your kitchen. I’m glad you’re here, actually, so we can go over what you want. Care to fill me in?”

“Now?”

He shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”

She could think of several reasons, beginning with her heart rate, which still hadn’t quite settled back down to normal. “Um, sure. Come on through to where the kitchen should be and we can talk.”

“Let me grab your plans,” he said, pointing to the back door.

When he returned, he unrolled the blueprints and she spent the next few moments detailing what she wanted in the kitchen, and the design she and Brodie had already come up with. Much to her delight, Sam had a few suggestions that would actually improve the work flow and traffic patterns.

“Are you sure you can bring us in with only a month before our projected opening?” she asked.

“It will be a push, I’m not going to lie to you, but my guys are up to the challenge. I wouldn’t have taken the job if I didn’t think we could do it.”

“I admire confidence in a man,” she said. That wasn’t the only thing she was admiring about Sam Delgado, but she ordered herself to settle down. For all she knew, he might indeed have a storage unit full of severed heads.

On the other hand, Brodie trusted him, and that carried a great deal of weight, as far as she was concerned. He wouldn’t have brought Sam in on the project unless he had vetted him fully.

Even if Brodie weren’t giving her this unbelievable chance at her own restaurant, he was also the husband and son of two of her dearest friends.

What was wrong with a little harmless flirtation? In fact, Sam Delgado might just be the cure to the restlessness her mother was talking about. She hadn’t dated anybody in months, not since Oliver, the very funny Swiss ski instructor who had returned to the Alps midseason.

Sam was actually just her type—big, gorgeous and only in town for a few weeks. He would be leaving Hope’s Crossing as soon as he wrapped up work on the restaurant. Why couldn’t she spend some enjoyable leisure time with him while he was here, as long as he still had plenty of time to finish the project?