Читать книгу Family: The Secret Ingredient - Leandra Logan - Страница 10

There was a tall dark stranger standing in Grace North’s kitchen.

And he was…Chopping an onion?

Grace stopped short on the threshold of her back door, shoulder weighted by a huge cloth tote bag, keys digging into her palm. She blinked in disbelief. Twice.

Unexpected company did sometimes show up in her absence, let in by her brother who lived next door. But at first glance she couldn’t place this man—or his onion!

“Uh, hello there,” she ventured warily.

He paused in midchop to run a lazy eye over her—the pretty flushed features, vivid green eyes, mass of auburn curls and the denim jumper with a tiny pink T-shirt underneath. An approving smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“You look wonderful, Gracie.”

Ditto, Grace silently noted. Big time ditto. He cut a lean and fit figure in worn jeans and faded red T-shirt, exuded strength in a clean-shaven jaw and neatly clipped black hair. Deep sexy voice and twinkling blue eyes ensured the most devastating effect.

Devastating is right. The sudden realization of who he was caused her pulse to jump a mile.

This was Kyle. Kyle McRaney.

Clearly oblivious to his impact, Kyle went back to wielding the wide chopping knife around the wooden paddle, working the thick muscles in his arms, dicing the pungent onion to smithereens. Grace took a deep shuddering breath, sliding her tote bag onto her small drop-leaf table. Not to worry. This impossible scenario was one of those dreams starring her girlhood crush. A regular occurrence over the past seven years since his abrupt departure, whenever she was feeling a bit low or unsure of herself.

So Kyle had returned to ravish her thoughts. Strange, she’d never mentally aged him before, given him a haircut and shave. But it was a fine improvement.

So how would it be this time? Passionate loveplay on the table? The sofa? The bed? She anticipated his touch all over her body. Would her senses be keen enough to smell the onion on his hands? Not in any dream of hers, thank you.

He spoke again, gently chiding. “Wasn’t expecting you home so soon.”

Her sculpted brows jumped. “Wasn’t expecting you at all, Kyle.”

“Of course not. This is supposed to be a surprise. I intended to be finished here before you returned.” He winked. “But in any case, happy birthday.”

Ah, that was it. She was indulging in a birthday gift to herself.

“So how was the dentist? Any cavities?”

“No,” she replied dazedly. “It was just a clean and polish.”

“Michael assured me I’d have free rein in your kitchen for at least two hours, so I figured you were having major work done.”

Grace rubbed her temples at his mention of her brother. Michael was never welcome in these dreams. Not once. And the residue from the dental paste still clung to her teeth.

She reached down to pinch herself hard. Ouch! It really hurt!

This was no dream. Kyle was really here. Matured to perfection. Better than ever. She blinked, leaning a hip into the table. Amazing what a thread of silver hair and a few grooves around the eyes could do.

“So how old are you today, Gracie?” he asked conversationally. “Twenty or so?”

“Twenty-four,” she corrected briskly.

“Really.” He grew thoughtful, staring into space. “Why, that’s old enough for…”

She smiled thinly. “Let’s just say it’s old enough.”

He tossed his head back, laughing richly.

How easily he slipped into the tease mode of the old days. It was a swift reminder of how things had been left between them. Not being able to discern between true flirtation and masculine jest had landed her in the heartbreak hotel for an extended stay.

Looking back, it seemed highly unlikely that a man fresh out of college would have fallen for a whimsical schoolgirl of seventeen. Being the sister of Kyle’s college buddy hadn’t helped enhance her womanly image any, either. The guys had shared an apartment near the University of Minnesota campus for four years, but had spent many hours at her parents’ suburban Minneapolis home, witnessing her in the throes of teenage angst. She should have known better, no matter how rich her fantasy life.

Common sense suggested a cool head here. Offering proof that she had truly come of age would perhaps finally give her closure on the trouncing she took at his expense.

Still, hope nudged her as she watched his large hands lever the knife through the hill of chopped onion. His ring finger was bare. Could he and Libby have parted ways?

No one had expected the union with Libby Anderson to happen, much less last. A slender, quiet, intense girl, Libby seemed all wrong for the jovial Kyle from the start. Sure, they were dating casually, and she and Kyle worked at her grandparents’ downtown bar and grill, Amelia’s Bistro, together. But even young Grace was insightful enough to know that the elder Andersons, Andy and Amelia, were working hard to protect their ward Libby from Kyle and all the other males who frequented the college hangout.

Their romance seemed so far off the radar screen that when Kyle had confided to Michael that he intended a surprise proposal, eavesdropper Grace had imagined herself the bride-to-be. She’d played the biggest kind of fool, anticipating a tap at her bedroom window that night, thanking her lucky stars they lived in a one-level home that made elopement ever so convenient.

Michael had been the one to find her at dawn, slumped over in the window seat clutching a handkerchief that would count as something old and something blue. Grace had confided all to him between choked tears, and he had behaved like the best kind of big brother, taking the crisis seriously, rather than making a scene over her incredible naïveté.

It was a mistake they never spoke of again. Kyle and Libby had abruptly moved to Chicago shortly thereafter. Kyle’s absence helped buffer the hurt, allowed Grace to move on.

She could barely believe he was back, in her space, tantalizing her in the same old way. But she couldn’t allow herself to be so easily lured back into his web. He might still be very married for starters. Maybe he didn’t wear his wedding ring when he cooked.

“So, Kyle,” she said on a deep breath, “surely you didn’t fly in just for my birthday. You and Libby must be here for another occasion…” It was an awkward play for information, but he didn’t look offended, just a bit sober.

“Libby’s gone,” he said simply. Trying to lift a smile again, he added. “As for me, I’m back in the Twin Cities for good. Yep. Back to stay. Living in the moment. And at this moment, I’m making my special chili just for you.”

If this wasn’t a dream, it oughta be, she decided. Trying not to allow her weak knees to wobble noticeably, Grace advanced on the narrow alleyway that held her appliances and limited counter space. Sure enough, there was a shiny steel kettle on a front burner, holding a bubbly reddish concoction. Like the onion, the kettle and its contents were new.

“Look good?”

She sniffed appreciatively. “You’ve managed to overpower any traces of last night’s pizza. Though it does seem a little early for lunch. Barely ten.”

“It’s all in the planning. You’ll see.”

“But when?”

His controlled expression softened. “Still the demanding princess I see. But Michael wouldn’t want me giving everything away.”

No, he wouldn’t. One thing she could be certain of, however, was that her brother was trying once more to alter her life somehow. As far as Michael was concerned, she lived in a state of chaos, from her in-house clothing design business cluttering every room, to her lack of domestic skills, to her varied tastes in men.

She mulled the minor facts she had. Kyle was a fantastic chef who had, on occasion, worked for pay preparing meals for her folks’ lavish parties. He earned cash for college in any number of cooking related jobs. He’d done a bit of everything at Amelia’s Bistro, from slapping together sandwiches to bartending.

Still, this catered affair was, today of all days, strange and unnecessary. Michael knew full well their parents had a formal dinner party planned at the family’s Lake Minnetonka home tonight.

“I don’t think I’d be stepping on Mike’s toes by telling you your kitchen here is a bit of a disgrace,” Kyle complained in mock sternness. “Barely enough food to keep a mouse alive. Cheap, mismatched utensils. Outdated stoneware dishes and jelly jar glasses. You have money flowing from your ears. I just don’t get it.”

Grace laughed in the face of reality. “I am after a more homey feel. When we were kids, we were scared to death of breaking something precious. Nothing in this kitchen is precious.”

“You do have wonderful appliances, though.” He lifted up the handle of the paddle shaped board and carried it to the stove, using the knife’s shiny blade to scrape the onion bits into the kettle. He then hovered over the brew with a wooden spoon, adjusting the burner’s flame. “These gas stoves are far superior to electric ones.”

“Really? Why?” Grace sidled up to him, placing red manicured fingertips on his arms.

“A true flame makes for quick and even heat.”

No lie. She closed her eyes, carrying herself off to an erotic place. The red hot pepper steam was seeping into her pores, making her burn everywhere. Suddenly his broad shoulders seemed the full breadth of the tight alley in which they stood. Time and space were squeezed short.

It took a lot of nerve to raise her gaze to his with cool smoothness. To keep her hand on his arm even as he glanced at it with some surprise. But Grace managed. What she lacked in culinary skills, she made up for in nerve.

A thread of sexual tension pulled tight between them. She could almost feel him wince from the imaginary tug.

“Care to join me for a taste?” he asked flirtatiously.

“All right.”

He rooted through the cutlery drawer with a low unexpected whistle, pulling out a tablespoon. He held the curved scoop end flush against her nose, as a magician might doing a spoon trick. “You realize you don’t even have eight full place settings?”

“I do so have them,” she spouted, swatting the arm she’d just caressed.

“Not a matched set,” he persisted.

“See if I care.”

“A challenge I just may accept.” Cupping one hand on her chin, he used the other to dip the spoon into the chili, guide it to her mouth.

“Blow.”

“Huh?”

“Gently,” he encouraged. “On the chili. Don’t want to burn your tongue.”

Trembling with awareness, she allowed him to guide the spoon between her lips. The chili proved thick and satisfying, though a bit spicier than she was accustomed to. A trace line of perspiration quickly formed on her brow.

So much for playing it cool.

He’d set the spoon on the stove top, in no hurry to move his face or hand away from her. “This is a lot of fun,” he murmured, “tormenting you all over again.”

“You and Michael never did play fair with me,” she complained. “The endless teasing about my hair, my clothes…”

“You make us sound awful.”

“Precisely!”

He massaged her chin with his roughened palm. “Well, shouldn’t hurt to give you a hint. In a way, I’m Michael’s birthday present to you.”

His tone was unmistakably provocative. If he thought she was still harmless fun, though, he was in for a big surprise himself. She touched his collarbone, skimming a flame tipped fingernail along his throat. Kissing Kyle full on the mouth, without the old excuse of mistletoe was growing just too tempting. “Well, happy birthday to me,” she said huskily. Moving her hand to his neck and she began to pull him down. Their lips brushed in a featherlight fencing.

Then the back screen door slammed.

“Grace, what the hell are you doing to him?”

The pair broke free at the sound of Michael North’s boom.

Grace turned slowly to confront her brother saucily. “Once you give a birthday present, you have no control over how it’s handled.”

Michael broke into a wide attractive grin, which greatly resembled his sister’s. They also shared the same sparkling green eyes and reddish brown hair. He was huskier though, and about a foot taller than she. They also parted company in choice of day wear. While Grace dressed the part of the free spirited artist, Michael dressed formally, befitting his position at the family’s accounting firm. Today it was a navy gabardine suit.

“He wasn’t supposed to tell you anything, brat,” Michael complained. “I wanted the pleasure.”

“Mike,” Kyle broke in urgently, his eyes darting the room. “What about—”

Michael gave a glance out the screen. “Right out here on the stoop.”

Kyle sighed in relief.

“What’s out on the stoop?” Grace asked coyly.

“Never you mind.” Michael kept watch out the door, primed to keep his sister at bay. “We’re playing a game.”

Grace inhaled in anticipation. She had an idea of what could be out there. The gift she’d asked for!

“So, you give the whole show away?” Michael demanded of his pal.

“Not yet. But she was just about to pry the answers right out of me. With her wiles. When did Gracie get wiles, Mike?”

Grace tapped her foot on the hardwood floor. “Fellas, my patience is running thin.”

“You’re gonna love this, sis. Kyle’s the gift for the girl who has everything.”

Her heart tripped dangerously. “Meaning?”

“I’ve hired him to supply you with some sorely needed nutrition, to make sense of this topsy-turvy kitchen.”

“What?” she asked lethally.

“That’s right. Kyle’s your personal chef—for three whole months. He came today to give you a sample of his wares.”

“But I’m rarin’ to start for real immediately,” Kyle said. “It would be best if I came two or three days during the work week. That’ll give me time to shop, prep enough meals to see you through.”

Michael knew Grace well enough to read disappointment behind her placid expression. “You know you eat poorly. Your fridge rarely has more than a bag of apples and assorted yogurts. And who can even speculate as to what lurks in some of your cupboards. Outdated packages full of MSG, saccharine and assorted dyes.”

Kyle was here only because Michael hired him.

Deep inside Grace was mortified, sinking from tempting vamp to an incompetent squirt with much of her personal laundry out to dry.

Doubtless, they’d mulled over her shortcomings in detail. No court in the land would convict her of killing them both—with the thump of a frying pan!

But what had she expected? A burst of passion? Admission of a blunder in choosing Libby over her? She scorned her own romantic foolishness.

“I eat just fine, thanks,” she asserted frostily, thrusting a finger at the fridge. “Right now, there happens to be a large carton of Chinese take-away at the ready! Bet you anything!”

Michael raked a hand through his thick hair, regretful. “That’s way too impulsive a bet. You’re always too impulsive.”

“Why would I lie about fried rice?”

“Sure, the fried rice was there. But I ate it for breakfast, while Kyle got his bearings.”

“You did that to me, on my birthday?” she asked hollowly.

Michael cringed. “Sorry.”

“I think you’ll enjoy the meals once you get used to them—to me,” Kyle inserted hesitantly.

Was she to be his new source of income, his new career choice? Last Grace heard, Kyle was managing some fancy restaurant in downtown Chicago. What had happened to that job? To his dream of one day owning his own eatery?

“Is this what you really want to do for a living?” she couldn’t help asking.

“Don’t be silly,” Michael scoffed, embarrassed.

Kyle remained polite. “It’s only a sideline I started up in Chicago—”

“He’s got huge plans,” Michael cut in with cheery faith, again peeking out to the stoop. “He’s back in town at Amelia Anderson’s invite. She’s opened up her home and is offering him a whack at reopening Amelia’s Bistro.”

“How nice.” Grace sized Kyle up with a pasted smile of confusion. The Andersons had disapproved so strongly of Kyle proposing to their granddaughter that they’d driven the young couple out of state. Even when Andy died, there was no sign of the prodigal couple at the funeral. And now the marriage to Libby was over as well. What would compel the steely Amelia to give Kyle of all people a break?

“That’s pretty exciting news,” she said carefully. “The place has been closed for a couple of years now, hasn’t it?”

“Since Andy’s death,” Michael confirmed. “Anyway, Amelia is getting older and needs extra income to preserve her lifestyle, so she’s decided to sell out. In a flash of brilliance she realized that Kyle is just the man to resuscitate the place.”

“That’s pretty flexible of her,” Grace noted dubiously.

Kyle was faintly amused. “It does seem like a miracle. And Mike’s very kindly stepped in as a silent partner to help me make the down payment,” he added gratefully. “A second miracle.”

“Michael silent in any capacity is the miracle!”

Suddenly the ping-ping-ping of the back doorbell broke through their laughter.

Michael answered the summons, cracking open the door. “Hey, do I know you?”

“Yeah,” a small voice peeped.

“You want to come in?”

“Yeah.”

Michael ushered in a small girl with a cream-colored kitten in her arms.

Grace clasped her hands joyfully. “I thought this was your game.”

“Just what you ordered, sis. Pure-bred Himalayan long hair. Delivered by the cutest girl in town.”

Grace focused on the child. She was a cute one, dressed in a pink short set, with shiny black hair cut below her chin and fringed across her forehead, striking blue eyes, dimpled cheeks. Grace impulsively held her arms out wide. “May I hold the kitten?”

“Tomorrow, honey,” she crooned in a patronizing mimic. “Maybe tomorrow.”

Grace mouth twitched. The child’s imitation of some adult was quite good. “Did Michael buy the kitten from you, sweetie?”

“No.”

“Is this another trick, Michael?”

As Grace glared at her brother, the child scooted by, darting in between Kyle’s legs. “My kitty, Daddy. Tell that girl.”

Grace’s mouth dropped open. “This is your daughter, Kyle?”

“That’s right.” With open joy he scooped the girl up in the curve of his muscled arm, lines of concern and tenderness grooving his matured face. She cuddled against his chest, nuzzling the kitten’s flat face into his throat.

Feelings swelled in Grace, some of which she couldn’t immediately identify. But clearly she was upstaged in her own home, on her day, by impossible competition.

“This is Grace, Button,” Kyle was saying gently. “I told you all about her, remember?”

The child burrowed her face into Kyle’s red T-shirt. “No.”

“Mike is her brother. You two just went next door to get the kitty from his house.”

Button shook her head, keeping her face hidden.

Kyle addressed Grace over his daughter’s head. “Sorry, Button has been going through some adjustments. No is a favorite response.”

Button raised her face then, lower lip protruded. “Don’t talk ’bout me!”

“We won’t.” Kyle set Button on her pink canvas shoes. “But you must give the kitten to Grace.”

“No, Daddy, no.” Her black-soled shoes danced on Grace’s flooring, leaving some smudges.

“Betsy…” he said more firmly.

“Please?” Grace squatted to the child’s level. She finally handed Grace the kitten with an Arctic stare.

“Thank you very much, Betsy, er, Button.”

“Button’s just a nickname,” Kyle explained. “You know, cute as…”

“I see.” Grace met Button’s gaze again. “I never had a nickname like you.”

She placed a hand on her small hip. “I never had a kitty.”

“It’s my birthday today and all I wanted was a kitten.”

Button was unimpressed as she continued to stroke the kitten’s long pale hair.

“How old are you?”

Button worked with her small wiggly hands, eventually holding up three fingers straight, working to bend a fourth at the knuckle.

“Ah, three.”

“And half.”

“A nice big girl.”

Button thawed a little and began to wander around the kitchen, her eyes dropping covetously to a new litter box and white cushioned basket tucked away near the dishwasher. “Your mommy home?”

Grace straightened up. “My mommy doesn’t live here.”

“Why?”

“Because she has a nice big house of her own.”

“My mommy’s in heaven,” Button confided in a reverent whisper.

Grace was stopped cold. Kyle said Libby was gone, but she hadn’t considered…death. Just selfish things like desertion or abandonment. Things for which Grace could criticize her.

“It was a car accident,” Kyle explained in a low tone.

Grace gasped softly. “Oh, no, just like her parents years ago.”

“Not exactly. They mercifully died instantly. Libby lingered in a coma for several weeks. There was never much hope. Too much internal damage.”

Generally quick with words, Grace was at a loss. To think she woke up far too jaded to expect any birthday surprise.