Книга - A Baby for Mummy

A Baby for Mummy
Cathy Gillen Thacker


His Thanksgiving WishWith a busy career and three kids to feed, single father Dan Kingsland needs help! Hiring a professional chef is such a perfect solution, Dan doesn’t notice the baby bump under Emily Stayton’s coat. Emily is finally getting what she wants – a baby – and going where she wants: home to the peach orchard her family used to own.But when Dan shares the joy of her baby’s first kick, he realises he’s falling for his very temporary employee. Can his love be the home that Emily’s been looking for?







Emily stood motionless, hardly able to believe.

She felt it again. The tiniest movement, a fluttering deep inside…She caught her breath in shock, moisture flooding her eyes. Dan’s hand lightly touched her arm. “Emily?” he said. “What’s wrong?”



The tears she’d held back spilled from her lashes and rolled down her cheeks. And still she couldn’t move, couldn’t bring herself to speak. There it was again…the slightest movement. The fluttering of life. Wanting to hang on to the sensation, this tiny baby Emily already loved so very much, she closed her eyes, savouring the sheer exhilaration of the experience.



“Emily?” The tenderness in Dan’s voice forced her to meet his gaze. “What is it?” he said softly. Emily placed Dan’s hand on her lower abdomen, holding it firmly against her. And there it was again, the push against her skin from deep inside. A smile as radiant as any Emily had ever seen spread across Dan’s face. “The baby,” he murmured, shared joy sparkling in his eyes.





A Baby for Mummy


By




Cathy Gillen Thacker











www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


CATHY GILLEN THACKER is married and a mother of three. She and her husband spent eighteen years in Texas, and now reside in North Carolina. Her mysteries, romantic comedies and heartwarming family stories have made numerous appearances on bestseller lists, but her best reward, she says, is knowing one of her books made someone’s day a little brighter. A popular author for many years, she loves telling passionate stories with happy endings, and thinks nothing beats a good romance and a hot cup of tea! You can visit Cathy’s website at www.cathygillenthacker.com for more information on her upcoming and previously published books, recipes and a list of her favourite things.


Dear Reader,



Guys like to help each other out—whether it’s by fixing a car, working together on a business deal, or providing moral support. When they are friends, they are there for each other. No questions asked. THE LONE STAR DADS CLUB is one of these unofficial yet highly effective groups. The five Fort Worth, Texas, men have known each other for years. They’ve seen each other through accelerating careers, good and bad marriages, and divorce. They share a love and concern for each other’s kids. And figure there is no problem they can’t handle together. Dan Kingsley is the architect of the group and the kind of guy who likes to find solutions to life’s thorniest problems by thinking outside the box. Emily Stayton is a personal chef, with a baby on the way. The single mum-to-be has learned the hard way to leave work at work, and never get too involved with a “client.” It’s a promise she has no problem sticking to, until she meets the sexy dad and understands the complex nature of his problem. Emily accepts Dan’s challenge to bring peace and tranquillity to mealtimes at his house—with the caveat she will be moving on as soon as the job is done. She doesn’t count on getting close to his three kids, or having him take such an interest in her baby. And she really doesn’t count on what happens between the two of them.



Cathy Gillen Thacker




Chapter One


Dan Kingsland’s mind should have been on business. The catered outdoor buffet at the construction site of One Trinity River Place was to celebrate a huge accomplishment, not just for his own architectural firm, but four of his closest friends. Grady McCabe was the enterprising developer who’d put it all together. Travis Carson was the contractor building the three-block office-shopping-and-residential complex in downtown Fort Worth. Jack Gaines owned the electronic and wiring company that would install all the networks, phones and satellite systems. Nate Hutchinson helmed the financial-services company leasing seventy-five percent of the office space.

Instead…all Dan could think about was the incredible lunch being served, picnic-style, to the 150 high-profile guests milling around outside the sleek stone-and-glass skyscrapers culled from Dan’s imagination. The food commemorating the end of Phase 1 was literally the best he had ever tasted. And it was all being prepared by one woman, using three portable outdoor stoves and what looked to be an equally portable Sub-Zero fridge.

Dan savored another bite of perfectly seasoned potato salad. Maybe if they could eat like this at home…

Grady McCabe gave Dan a wry look. “We all know what you’re thinking. Emily Stayton is not the answer to your problems.”

Dan turned his gaze back to the dark-haired beauty in jeans, boots and traditional white chef’s coat. The young culinary artist certainly looked like the solution to his dilemma. He’d lived in Texas all his life and had never had barbecue this good. The fact that Emily Stayton was literally glowing with happiness while she worked made it all the more amazing.

Dan shrugged. “The woman can cook.” More important, she handled the multiple demands on her time and attention with aplomb, bringing good cheer and relative calm to the hungry crowd at the portable buffet tables.

“Of course she can cook—she’s a chef,” Travis said, lifting a brisket sandwich to his lips. The father of two preschoolers, he was always stating the obvious.

“She worked in the best restaurants in the area before deciding she wanted more flexibility in her schedule, and then she struck out on her own as a personal chef,” Jack Gaines added with the factual precision of a guy who had founded an electronic-systems company and was singlehandedly bringing up his seven-year-old daughter with seemingly none of the problems Dan was having with his own irascible brood.

“Great,” Dan said, already imagining what it would be like to have this woman in his kitchen, whipping up one incredible meal after another. “That ought to make it all the easier to convince her to come and work for me.” At this point, money was no object. He just wanted a solution to the problem that seemed to be growing larger every day. And if he had to think outside the box to get it, well…wasn’t that what he always did? Solve problems in whatever creative way necessary?

“Not so great.” Nate Hutchinson held up a cautioning hand. The only one of them with no pressing familial obligations, he made it his business to know all the beautiful, unattached women on the local social scene. And their caterer fit the bill, if the lack of wedding ring on her left hand was any indication. “Emily’s leaving Fort Worth.”

Frowning, Dan glanced back at the white catering van with the bright blue Chef for Hire logo on the side. “When?”

“By the end of the month. She’s closing her business here this week,” Grady McCabe replied. “She wants to move back to the Texas hill country, where she grew up. This is her last gig in the Metroplex.”

Dan wasn’t deterred by the stumbling block. He merely resolved to move around it. “Fortunately,” he said, scraping up the last of the ranch-style beans, “she hasn’t relocated yet.”

Having learned early in life that timing was everything, Dan finished his meal and waited patiently until the crowd dispersed and cleanup was under way. He walked over to the banquet tables where Ms. Stayton was busy packing up. She was not only beautiful, but her eyes were a gorgeous blue. Not that this had anything to do with his interest in her. He wanted a chef, not a wife. He was definitely not looking to get married—or even involved—again.

“I hear you’re leaving Fort Worth,” Dan said casually.

The knowing glance she gave him said she’d noticed him studying her—and completely misinterpreted why. She stacked empty serving dishes into a large plastic container, then went to the next banquet table to collect some more. “Yep, I’m headed to Fredericksburg.”

Admiring the delicate shape of her very capable hands, Dan edged closer. “What’s there?”

A mixture of anticipation and delight sparkled in her smile. “An orchard I’m in the process of buying.”

As she bent over the table to reach an item at the other end, the hem of her white chef’s tunic edged up, revealing the taut underside of her buttock and shapely upper thigh.

Dan tore his gaze from the delectable sight and forced himself to concentrate on the important matter at hand—her skill as a chef. “So you haven’t closed on the property yet.”

With a determined expression, Emily secured the top of the plastic box with a snap. She straightened and hefted the heavy container. “I will, as soon as I get paid for this gig and secure financing on the property next week. Then I’ll be out of here.”

Dan took the box from her and carried it to the back of the catering van. He set it where she indicated and turned back to her, noting she was about six inches shorter than his own six-two. “What about Chef for Hire?”

Emily shrugged one slender shoulder and pivoted back toward the banquet tables. To the left of them, two guys from the company that had supplied the outdoor cooking appliances loaded the equipment onto their truck. “It was fun while it lasted,” she said.

Dan followed lazily, not for the first time noticing how nicely she filled out the starched white tunic. As he neared her, he inhaled the orange-blossom scent clinging to her hair and skin. The November sunshine glimmered in her mahogany hair, highlighting the hint of amber in the silky strands.

“You’re going to quit, just like that, to do something else?”

“Run an orchard,” she said as she gathered and folded the linens covering the tables. “And yes, I am, Mr.…?”

Embarrassed he’d forgotten to introduce himself, he extended his hand. “Dan Kingsland.”

She accepted his grip with the same ease she did everything else. “Nice to meet you, Dan. I’m Emily Stayton.”

Surprised by how soft her hand felt, given the kind of work she did, Dan released his hold on her reluctantly. He stepped back before he could think of her as anything but a potential employee. “Lunch was great, by the way.”

Her soft lips curved in an appreciative smile. “That was the plan, but…thanks.”

Dan carried a stack of linens back to the van for her. “Since you haven’t left yet, how does one go about hiring you?”

Her elegant brow furrowed. “For a party?”

More like…every evening. But figuring they would get to that, Dan looked her in the eye and cut straight to the chase. “I can’t remember the last time my family sat down to a good dinner. Not that it was ever that great, given the lack of culinary skill in the family, even before their mom and I divorced a couple of years ago. But now, with the older two in high school and my youngest in elementary, it seems like the dinner hour has become downright impossible.” He sighed heavily. “The kids are always fighting about what we’re going to eat. Whereas their great-uncle Walt, who lives with us, just wants hot, home-cooked food and plenty of it.”

She gave him a compassionate look. “Sounds stressful. But I’m not sure how—”

He held up a hand, urging her to let him continue. “You see, I watched you today, juggling everything that had to be juggled to feed such a large group under less than ideal circumstances. And I thought, if she could do that for us—help us figure out how to get back on the right track at meal times—maybe we’d have a chance to be a happy family again.” Dan paused. He hadn’t meant to reveal so much, hadn’t expected anywhere near the sympathy and concern he saw in her pretty eyes.

Not sure what it was about this woman that had him putting it all on the line like this, he forced himself to go on. “So what do you say? Will you help us out?”



EMILY’D THOUGHT DAN KINGSLAND was attractive when she met him earlier, but that kick of awareness was nothing compared to the sizzle she felt when she arrived on his doorstep at six that very evening for the agreed-upon “consultation.”

The single dad of three answered before she could even ring the bell.

He was dressed in boots, faded jeans and a pine-colored pullover sweater that brought out the green of his eyes. His sandy-blond hair was cut in a rumpled, laid-back style that required little maintenance. His five-o’clock shadow only added to his ruggedly handsome appeal.

He looked a bit harried, but as their eyes met and he said, “I’m really glad you came,” he gave her an easy, welcoming grin.

Emily wished she felt the same ease. She sensed that if you gave this man an inch, he’d take a mile, anything to get what he wanted. Which was, apparently, a path to family peace.

Attempting a laid-back cool she didn’t feel, Emily thrust her hands in the pockets of her tailored wool slacks. These days, she avoided situations that felt too…intimate from the get-go. Plus, she was a chef—not a consultant—and it was clear from the sounds of rambunctious activity in the foreground that his family was in the midst of end-of-workweek chaos. But in this case, money talked. She needed the extra cash the gig offered to facilitate her move back to Fredericksburg. So she’d taken it, even though she wasn’t sure what Dan expected her to be able to do here tonight.

Oblivious to the conflicted nature of her thoughts, Dan led her through the foyer to the rear of the two-story brick home. A messy, hopelessly outdated kitchen was on one side, an equally cluttered breakfast room took up the middle and on the other side of the thousand-square-foot space was a gathering room, complete with an L-shaped sofa and large stone fireplace, with bookshelves on either side. There was stuff everywhere. Briefcase. Schoolbags. Jackets and shoes and caps.

In the midst of it were his three offspring. All had his long, rangy build, sandy-blond hair and green eyes. There the similarity ended, she realized after Dan’s brief introduction. Ava, seventeen, had her nose in a book and was busy highlighting passages with a yellow marker. Fifteen-year-old Tommy was standing in front of the fridge with the door open wide, studying the contents. Eight-year-old Kayla was dividing her time between an easel and paintbrush, and a mess of rainbow-colored modeling clay. She seemed to be working on both art projects simultaneously. Everyone seemed to be in everyone else’s way and not particularly inclined to do anything about it.

The little girl got up and rushed over to Emily, skidding to a stop just short of her. Washable paint dotting her arms and face, she demanded, “Are you here to cook for us?”

“Emily is here to consult with us and help us solve our problem,” Dan explained. “She’s going to give us some ideas on what we can eat for dinner that will make everyone happy.”

“Good luck with that,” Tommy grumbled. He grabbed a bottle of some sports drink from the fridge, guzzled half and started toward the door. “I’m going for a run.”

Dan held up a hand. “You just got home from wrestling practice.”

Tommy shrugged and plucked his sweat-dampened T-shirt away from his body. “I didn’t get enough of a workout.”

Emily gauged the flushed state of his skin and thought maybe he had.

“Not now,” Dan repeated with paternal firmness.

Ava stood. “I don’t have time for this, either. I’ve got to study.” She picked up her heavy AP Biology textbook and highlighter.

On a Friday night? Emily wondered. Shouldn’t the girl be going out with friends or just relaxing after a long week? As Emily had planned to do herself before getting waylaid by Ava’s father?

Not to be outdone by her older siblings, Kayla tugged on Emily’s blouse. “I’ve got to paint. Want to watch me?” She grabbed a brush so quickly she knocked over a jar of paint, splattering the table and floor.

Irritated, Tommy said, “Dad, make her get that stuff out of here!”

Kayla clamped her hands on her hips and tossed her long, disheveled blond hair. “I’m supposed to do my artwork in the kitchen, so I don’t make a mess on the carpet!”

Ava looked up from her book long enough to put in her two cents. “Yeah, well, your stuff is in our way, as always!”

“Kids, that’s enough,” Dan reprimanded them just as a stiff-legged older man with a white buzz cut walked in. Dan introduced him to Emily as Uncle Walt.

Walt looked at Dan, perplexed. “I thought you were cooking tonight, Dan.”

Dan shrugged. “Change of plans.”

Emily looked at Dan. Had she been lured here under false pretenses?

He flattened a hand over his heart. “I wasn’t going to try and rope you into it.” Dan grabbed a roll of paper towels and knelt to mop up the spilled paint.

“Why not?” Uncle Walt argued, lending a hand, too. “If she can cook and she’s here and it’s dinnertime…Anything she makes would have to beat your cooking.”

Dan took the ribbing with the affection it was given. “Thanks,” he said wryly. Standing, he tossed the towel into the trash and went to wash his hands.

“It doesn’t matter who cooks—meals around here suck,” Tommy grumbled.

Which made Emily wonder if the kids liked the food anywhere. “What about with your mom?” she asked, curious as to whether Dan’s ex had it any better when she had the kids. “What do you do for meals when you’re with her?”

The room suddenly grew very silent. No one volunteered anything. Feeling like she’d plunged headlong into quicksand, Emily forged on, searching for information. “I gather meals are a problem there, too, then.”

Another heartbeat passed. Then another.

Walt cleared his throat. “Didn’t Dan tell you? My great-niece hasn’t lived in the United States since she and Dan split up.”




Chapter Two


Emily only wished Dan had thoroughly filled her in before she’d accepted this gig. If he had, she would have known this was the kind of situation that tugged on her heartstrings. And hence, one she should avoid. Now, more than ever…

“Mom’s in Africa,” Tommy blurted out.

“Keep up, will you?” Ava scolded, shoving her glasses up on the bridge of her nose. “That was last week. She’s in China this week.”

“Whatever.” Tommy shrugged, edging toward the back door again. “The point is, she’s not here. She’s never here.”

Kayla picked at the rainbow-colored volcano she had built with her modeling clay. “Yeah, we wish she would come back to see us ’cause we miss having a mommy.”

Walt grimaced. “My niece is a physician for the International Children’s Medical Service, or ICMS.”

Which meant, Emily concluded, that Dan had full custody of their brood, with all the attendant joys and problems. As well as his ex-wife’s great-uncle. This was an interesting situation.

Dan paused, his expression filled with remorse. “I’m sorry if I wasn’t clear about that.”

Emily slowly exhaled, belatedly wishing she hadn’t asked a question that had upset the whole clan. On the other hand…what did the former Mrs. Kingsland’s ongoing neglect of her kids have to do with her? Nothing, she reassured herself firmly, since she didn’t expect to be here very long at all. This was Dan’s dilemma—not hers!

Kayla tugged on Dan’s sweater. “Dad, I need dinner now!”

Appearing frustrated he hadn’t made any strides toward solving his problem, Dan silenced the complaining with a motion of his palm. “Fine. We’ll order pizza.”

“Not again!” the two older kids said in unison.

Dan sent Emily a look as if to say, See what I’m dealing with here?

Kayla stomped her foot. “But I’m really, really hungry!” she wailed as tears pooled in her eyes.

“It’ll take at least an hour to get here at this time on a Friday night,” Ava predicted with a beleaguered sigh.

Once a problem solver, always a problem solver, Emily thought. “How about I just whip something up?” She figured she and Dan could talk and consult while she cooked. Then she’d be able to take her paycheck and exit, before she got hopelessly enmeshed in the ongoing family drama.

“Uh…that could be a problem,” Dan said.

Walt nodded. “We haven’t had a chance to go to the grocery store yet.”

“We only go on the weekends,” Kayla said.

Emily knew people generally had more in the pantry than they thought. “Just let me have a look.” She opened the fridge and realized she had her work cut out for her. They were right—pickings were meager. “I can handle it,” she said confidently.

“How long is it going to take?” Kayla asked, pouting.

Emily was already assembling ingredients on the counter. “Twenty minutes.”

“That’s faster than we could get a pizza,” Dan enthused with a grateful glance her way.

Happy a meltdown had been avoided, at least for the moment, Emily took charge. “In the meantime I need everyone to sit down with a pen and paper, and make a list of your favorite foods, along with everything you dislike, as well.”

Kayla began stuffing her modeling clay back into the airtight storage containers. “Daddy, can you write mine down?”

“Will do,” Dan promised.

Walt scrounged in the drawer next to the phone for pens. The older two kids sat down at the kitchen table. Emily filled a big pot with water and set it on to boil. Meanwhile, she chopped up half a pound of bacon into bite-size pieces and put all in a skillet to brown.

“What are we having?” Tommy looked suspicious.

Emily knew that to tell would only invite criticism and argument. “It’s a surprise,” she said with a firm smile. “Work on your lists.”

Ava frowned and looked at her dad. “Can she do that?”

Dan shrugged. “Looks like she already is. Come on, everybody. This is your one chance to have a say in what we’re going to have for future dinners around here.”

His logic worked. Everyone got down to business, thinking, writing, thinking some more. By the time Emily put a heaping platter of spaghetti carbonara, green beans with almonds and fruit salad on the center of the table, the pages were filled.

“Hey, that looks kind of good.” Tommy surveyed the fragrant pasta, sprinkled liberally with Parmesan cheese.

Kayla smiled. “Fruit salad is my favorite.”

“It smells incredible,” Walt said.

Dan held out a chair. “Sit down with us, please, Emily.”

She hesitated. Wasn’t this how she’d gotten into trouble before? By blurring the line between hired chef and family friend? “It’s not—”

“Typical, I know.” Dan’s smile was as kind as it was chivalrous. “But these aren’t usual circumstances.”

Emily still would have refused had it not been for the growling in her tummy and the fact that she knew she must no longer skip meals or eat at odd hours. For the next year and a half, she had to be as conscientious about her diet as she’d been the past six months. The future of her own family was riding on that. “All right,” she said gratefully. “But as soon as we’re done eating, it’s right back to business.”

The serving platters were passed around, and then all was silent as the kids dug in. Ten minutes later there wasn’t a speck of food left on the table, and Emily had made plenty.

“Wow!” Dan sat contentedly back in his chair.

Walt agreed. “Incredible.”

“I didn’t think I’d like that, but it was really good,” Tommy said.

Ava smiled. “I liked it, too.” She bolted from her chair. “Anyone want coffee?”

Dan and Walt nodded.

They didn’t know how good that sounded, Emily thought wistfully. But seeing the label of the can, Emily had to decline. Caffeine was among the things she had to avoid these days, too. “Thanks. No.”

“So are you going to come and cook for us all the time?” Kayla propped her chin on her upraised hand and searched Emily’s face. “‘Cause I would be really, really, really happy if you did.”



FOR A SECOND, DAN NOTED, Emily looked almost tempted. Then she seemed to catch herself. A hint of sadness and regret flashed in her eyes. “Oh, honey…” she began.

Dan knew she was about to decline.

Across the room, a burst of salsa music radiated from inside her shoulder bag.

Emily rose in relief, all business once again. “I apologize, but I’m really going to have to get that. I’ve been waiting for a call from my Realtor all day.” Phone to her ear, Emily ducked out of the kitchen gracefully and walked toward the front foyer.

“You kids are on for dishes,” Dan said. “Kayla, you clear, Ava, load the dishwasher, Tommy, wipe down the table and counters and take out the trash.”

For once, there was no grumbling as the kids rose from the table. Maybe, Dan surmised, it was because they were all full, and hence, content—at least as far as their tummies went. Emotionally, well, it was hard to fix the absence of a mom in their lives without getting involved again, and that was something he did not want to do. His life was too complicated and busy as it was.

From the hall, Emily’s voice rose in agitation.

“They can’t do that, can they? I just got the okay on my mortgage application!” She sounded distraught. “Of course I can’t match that! At least tell me who did this. Tex Ostrander!”

Who was Tex? Dan wondered.

Obviously the guy had some emotional connection to Emily.

Abruptly her voice cut off. Became calm and professional. “Yes. I understand. I’ll talk to you in a few days.”

“Wonder what’s happening there?” Tommy asked beneath his breath.

Dan wondered, too, as did everyone else in his family.

Emily strode back into the kitchen. Tears of frustration glimmered in her eyes. “Sorry about that,” she said in a choked voice. “I just got some really bad news.” She rubbed her hand across her forehead. “Would you mind if I took your lists home tonight, studied them…and then came back again to talk to you about my suggestions?”

“Of course it’s fine.” Dan moved toward her. “I’ll walk you out.”

He waited until they reached her car, then said, “Is there anything I can do?”

Her lower lip trembling, Emily leaned against her van and turned her glance away. “Not unless you can magically buy back the Fredericksburg orchard my family owned when I was growing up.” Sighing, she pushed her hand through her mahogany hair and turned her gaze to his, clearly needing to vent. “It went up for sale a few months ago. As soon as I heard, I talked to the owners. Told them I wanted it, put some earnest money down and started saving for the full down payment.”

Emily swallowed and gestured ineffectually. “I mean, I knew technically that, until I secured a mortgage and made the full down payment, the owners could still receive a higher bid, though I had the right to match it—it’s written into their contract with me. But I didn’t really think someone would come along and offer to pay in cash—never mind my ex-fiancé!” she finished, enraged.

Dan blinked. “Your ex-fiancé just bought the orchard out from under you?”

Emily clamped her arms in front of her, the action delineating the fullness of her breasts. “He outbid me by ten percent.”

Dan studied her defensive posture. “You can’t match his bid?”

“Unfortunately, no.” Emily moved away from the van and began to pace, her hips moving provocatively beneath the loose-fitting black trousers. “I was stretching it as it was.”

Silence fell between them.

Clearly still struggling to get her emotions under control, Emily rubbed at the bridge of her nose. “The good news is since my contract with the owner is now null and void, I’ll get my earnest money back, but I’m out an orchard and a mortgage application fee.”

Dan held her gaze. “Why would he do that?”

Emily threw up her hands. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen Tex Ostrander since we broke up, and that was ten years ago.”

“He knew you were buying the place?” Dan prodded, remembering how soft and silky her hands felt, despite the fact she worked with them all day.

Emily scowled and gave Dan a measuring glance. “Apparently his parents are retiring and he’s decided to buy them out and move back to the area, too. If he owns both properties—the two orchards are located side by side—he’ll have the biggest peach crop in the area.”

And that was saying something, Dan knew, since Fredericksburg, Texas, was famous for its stellar peach crop.

Dan closed the distance between them. “So what does this mean about your move back to the area where you grew up?”

“I don’t know.” Emily exhaled in frustration. “My Realtor said I’m still approved for a mortgage and the bank has agreed to transfer that approval to another property.”

Dan hated to see anyone lose out on a dream—particularly a deeply held one. “Maybe you could purchase another orchard,” he suggested kindly.

Her lips parted as she looked up at him. “There aren’t any other orchards for sale in the area, and besides, I didn’t want any of those—I wanted the one my parents owned when I grew up.” She kicked at the concrete drive with the toe of her boot, and Dan tried not to notice how nice she looked in profile. “I had plans to bring it back to its former glory. To…Well, never mind. It’s not going to happen now.” Her voice rang with disappointment. She fell silent, a morose expression on her face.

Wishing he had a way to comfort her, Dan asked, “So what now?”

Emily sighed. “It puts my plans to leave Fort Worth on hold for now. Which really sucks. Because it’s the holidays, and thinking I’d be in the hill country, I turned down all these gigs I could have had.”

Dan knew that catering businesses thrived during the holiday season. “There’s still one you could have,” he said. He resisted the urge to take her hand in both of his. “And I promise you, it will pay better than you ever dreamed.”



“YOU OFFERED HER A JOB, just like that?” Walt said later that same evening when Dan filled him in on what had transpired. “Without doing a background check and getting references?”

Dan loved his ex-wife’s uncle. He’d been a lifesaver the past couple years—but sometimes his negativity rankled. “Stop thinking like a private investigator.”

Walt looked up from the game of Internet chess he was playing. “I’m the first to admit that the meal she made was wonderful. But we’re talking about your kids here. Your home.”

Dan frowned at the thought of any delay in getting things back on track at mealtime. “She was great with the kids.”

As by the book as ever, Walt countered, “At least have her fill out an application—and let me talk to some of the people she’s worked for in the past.”

“First of all, Grady’s wife has already vouched for her character. Apparently Emily has regularly catered events for the company where Alexis works. Her terrific performance is what led Grady to hire Emily for the lunch yesterday. Second, I don’t think Emily has done a job like this before.”

“The point is—” Walt’s brow furrowed as he took in his Internet opponent’s next move “—you don’t know.”

Dan recalled Emily’s enviable ability to bring serenity even to the chaos that had ensued upon her arrival. “I don’t want to blow it. Dinner tonight was the first conflict-free meal we’ve had in years around here.”

Walt made his move with a thoughtful scowl. “Still not enough reason to hire Ms. Stayton without due diligence.”

“Walt, I appreciate your sentiments. As a private investigator, you’ve seen things I could never even imagine. But I trust Emily Stayton.” On a gut level, Dan amended silently. “And the decision is made. I want her to be our cook. Not a housekeeper, just our personal chef, for however long we can manage to get her.” Hopefully in the interim he’d be able to figure out how to get Emily to come to work for them full-time. “And I don’t want you doing anything to interfere with that.”

Walt turned his attention back to the computer screen. “You ask me,” he grumbled, “you’re making a mistake.”

“I didn’t ask,” Dan stated flatly.

Still, he couldn’t help thinking about it as the night wore on.

He couldn’t explain it. He just knew, on some deep fundamental level, that Emily Stayton was The One to help solve his family’s problems. And Dan never discounted his instincts when they were that strong.



EMILY HAD PROMISED TO CONTINUE the consultation at nine Saturday morning. She arrived right on time. Dan went to answer the door and found her standing on the porch, much as she had the evening before—with one difference. Instead of looking pink-cheeked and healthy, she looked a little green around the gills.

“Are you okay?” Dan asked.

Emily swallowed hard, waved a vague hand, even as she moved past him. “It’ll pass.”

What will pass? “Are you sick?”

“Oh. No. I…I…Bathroom?” Her words were more a command for direction than a request.

Able to see what was about to happen, Dan hastened down the hall and opened the door. “In here.”

Simultaneously hitting the light and the fan, she barreled past him and slammed the door. The unmistakable sounds of retching followed.

The kids came tromping down the stairs at the commotion. “What’s going on?”

“Is someone…?”

“Ohhh.” Tommy, Ava and Kayla looked at one another in recognition.

“Go upstairs,” Dan ordered. “I’ll call you.”

They bolted, as was usually the case, when illness that might involve icky cleanup was involved.

“See?” Walt said, passing with his stiff-hipped gait. “You don’t know everything about her. For all you know, she’s got a problem that will leave her unable to do mornings—”

“Actually…” The door opened and Emily stepped out, still looking pale and shaky. She leaned weakly against the door frame. “Walt could be right.”

Walt looked at Dan. “I’ll leave you to handle this.” He went into the study and shut the door behind him.

Dan guided her into the kitchen and onto a stool at the counter. “Can I get you something?” he solicited kindly. “Water? Stomach med?”

Emily regarded him gratefully. “Maybe a glass of ginger ale or a soda cracker if you have it,” she said.

Dan paused.

Their eyes met.

As he worked to fulfill her request, he began to put two and two together.

“I’m pregnant,” Emily said, flashing a guilty-as-charged smile.

Hence the loose-fitting shirts she wore, the fullness of her breasts in comparison to her slender figure.

“Congratulations!” Dan handed her a ginger ale and pack of crackers.

“Thanks.” She ripped open the wax paper and extracted a cracker.

“How far along are you?”

She munched and sipped. “Almost four months.”

“Who’s the lucky guy?”

Her blue eyes glinted with unexpected humor. “76549823-CBGT.”

Dan blinked. “You hooked up with a robot?”

Emily’s melodious laugh filled the kitchen. Her soft lips parted as she prepared to take another sip of her ginger ale.

“A sperm bank. All I know about my baby’s daddy is that he has an IQ over 140 and is Caucasian, blond, greeneyed and tall. And of course has no major inherited health problems I’d have to worry about.”

Dan had lots of questions. None of which would have been polite to ask.

“I’m thirty-five, my eggs aren’t getting any younger, and I wanted a family. The luck of the draw wasn’t working—I just never met anyone I wanted to settle down with.”

“Except Tex Ostrander.” Dan recalled the name of the guy who had caused her so much grief the night before.

Emily’s lips thinned. “Don’t remind me. I’m still mad at him.”

She didn’t appear to still have romantic feelings for her ex. Although why that should matter to him, Dan didn’t know. “Did you talk to him?” he asked casually, forcing himself to move on.

“No.” Looking to be bouncing back from her bout of morning sickness, Emily leaned her spine against the back of the stool. “Although, not surprisingly, he called me several times. But back to the job you offered me last night—I’ve been thinking about it and I can’t commit to a permanent family gig. It just wouldn’t work out for a lot of reasons,” she stated firmly. “But I could help you out on a temporary basis—until I have a chance to get some other chef gigs lined up.”

This, Dan hadn’t expected. He studied the new color in her cheeks and the professional competence in her eyes. “How temporary?”

“I was thinking through Thanksgiving. That would give me time to figure out what the problems are with mealtime around here—from a cooking perspective.”

Maybe there weren’t any, Dan thought. Maybe all they needed was a woman in the house again. “There wasn’t a problem last night,” he said.

Emily disregarded her success. “That was an anomaly. They were caught off guard. They were hungry. Someone set a table of hot food in front of them.”

“Hot delicious food,” Dan corrected.

Finding his mouth dry, he poured himself a glass of ginger ale, too.

“Whatever.” Emily waved off the distinction. She rested both her forearms on the breakfast bar and leaned in deliberately. “The point is, these complex family issues are not going to be resolved just because I’ve showed up.”

Trying not to be distracted by the fragrance of orange blossoms and the silk of her hair that fell seductively over her shoulder, he lounged against the opposite counter. “I think you’re selling yourself short.”

She mocked him with a waggle of her brows. “And I think you’re minimizing the problem,” she teased. “But we digress—”

Dan frowned in confusion. “Do we?”

Her gaze was completely serious now. “You haven’t said if you would be okay with the fact that I’m pregnant,” she pointed out softly.

Dan’s glance moved involuntarily to the slight swell of her tummy beneath the blue-and-lavender paisley tunic before returning to her face. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I’m unmarried.”

And incredibly sexy, and likely to be even sexier in a deeply maternal way as your pregnancy progresses…

“You have impressionable children,” she added.

And I’ve had thoughts about kissing you…

He shrugged. “You’re a responsible adult.”

Emily raked her teeth across her soft lower lip. “Not everyone approves of what I’m doing.”

Dan enjoyed the experience of being there with her, the pair of them talking with the familiar intimacy of two people who’ve known each other for years, instead of mere hours. He reassured her with a look. “Not everyone approves of divorce, either. Stuff happens.” Old dreams fade. New ones take their place. “As far as I’m concerned, congratulations are still in order.”

“Thank you.” Emily smiled. “Do you think my pregnancy will bother Walt?”

Dan sidestepped the question as best he could. “He’s crotchety.”

Her eyes glimmered. She knew there was more. “Meaning?” she prompted.

Candor was something he could not provide. Not yet, anyway. “You don’t work for him. You work for me,” Dan said, and left it at that.

Emily surveyed Dan warily. “Is there something else I should know?”

Besides the fact that Walt doesn’t trust anyone until a thorough background check proves that person is trust-worthy? Dan mused. “Not a thing.”

ONCE EMILY HAD fully recovered from her bout of morning sickness, they decided to get right down to business. “There’s a couple ways we could approach this problem,” she told the family gathered around the kitchen table.

“We’re not going to be able to solve it,” Tommy interrupted, evidencing the same lack of teamwork he had the night before.

Dan gave his son a stern look.

“No offense,” Tommy continued, hands raised, “but none of us like the same stuff.”

Emily knew sugarcoating the problems would not solve anything. They needed to examine their differences together before a remedy could be found.

“That’s true, although you all seemed to like last night’s dinner,” Emily said. “Anyway, according to your lists, Kayla prefers mainly breakfast foods like pancakes, French toast, eggs, cereal and so on. Ava’s into coffee, chocolate and salads. Tommy wants high protein and electrolytes. Dan wants anything everyone will eat. And Walt, given his choice, is a meat-and-potatoes man.”

“It doesn’t sound like we have anything in common.” Ava sighed.

“Sure we do,” Dan interrupted sternly. “We’re all Kingslands.”

“Uncle Walt isn’t—his last name is Smith,” Ava pointed out studiously.

Eager to join in, Kayla put her crayon down and piped up with, “Emily isn’t one, either!”

“That’s right.” Emily struggled to contain control of the family meeting. “I’m not. My last name is Stayton. It was good of you to notice that, Kayla.”

Kayla beamed.

“Back to the problem,” Emily said. “I can come up with menus that will please each of you. And I could make enough to feed you for several days if you wanted to eat the same thing every night, reheated.”

“Leftovers?”

“I don’t really like leftovers.”

“Me, neither.”

“Or we could draw straws to go first and take turns by night,” she suggested. “That way everyone would have at least one night a week where their favorite meal was served.”

The kids appeared to be thinking about this option.

“Or I could try to put one thing that everyone likes in each menu. This might make for some odd combinations. Spaghetti and scones, for instance.”

All the kids made faces.

“Or we could do something a little less mundane,” Emily said, more or less making it up as she went. “We could try eating a lot of new dishes from around the world. Maybe make some of the foods that your mom might be eating in her travels. We could even ask her what her favorite dishes are from some of her favorite places and try that.”

The kids looked receptive to that idea. Dan did not.

“I think we should stick to the tried-and-true at first,” Dan said.

The kids’ enthusiasm faded and they went silent.

“If that means meat and potatoes, sounds good to me,” Walt said with a shrug.



“SORRY ABOUT THAT,” Emily said a short time later as Dan walked her to her van. “I didn’t know you had a problem with international cuisine.”

Normally Dan did not discuss his relationship with his ex-wife. Whatever went on between him and Brenda was between him and Brenda. But since Emily was going to be working so closely with his family, he figured she had a right to know. “I don’t encourage the kids to try and keep up with their globe-trotting mother.”

Emily looked shocked. “Why not? Surely she has e-mail and phone service.”

“She does. She’s just not good about using it for personal reasons. Sometimes weeks or months go by without a word from her.”

“Ava knew where she was.”

“Because Brenda put the two older kids on the listserve that alerts her colleagues to her whereabouts. Getting a mass e-mail every time your mother boards a plane is not the same as having personal contact with her.”

Emily appeared to mull that over. “And the lack of personal contact upsets the kids.”

“It’s always hard when a parent lets you down.”

She nodded, for the moment really seeming to understand. Which in turn made Dan wonder what disappointments she had weathered in her life.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” she said finally.

“Anyway,” he said, “Brenda is scheduled to come home between Christmas and New Year’s. Hopefully nothing will get in the way of that. Meanwhile, if we could just work on getting us on track to civilized family meals, I would appreciate it.”

For the first time Emily looked uncertain. “I’m no miracle worker.”

“You wouldn’t have known that last night.”

“Well, just so you know, I’m not here to step in and cater to their every gastronomic whim.”

Dan knew that what he’d asked of her was unusual. In his estimation, that unusualness was what had made that dinner so great. “The thing is, we’re not the kind of family who has servants waiting on us. I don’t want that kind of atmosphere for my kids.”

Emily tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Then what do you want?”

“Have you ever taught a cooking class?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you know how, at the end of a cooking class, the chef usually sits down with the class to enjoy the food with the people she’s teaching? I’m interested in creating that same convivial mood for my family during the dinner hour. Unfortunately it’s something they’ve never really had. Even before the divorce, the meals at our house were always catch as catch can. So it’s going to be like working with a group of beginners.”

Sensing she was a woman who liked thinking outside the box as much as he did, Dan continued, “The point is, I’m not asking you to make a meal and serve it to us in the formal dining room. I’m asking you to create a warm, relaxed atmosphere during the meal preparation, so the kids are free to come in and out and ask questions or just hang out if they want. And if they so choose, they can learn how to cook from you. During the meal, I want you to sit down and eat with us—the way you would if you were a family friend who’d come over to help out in a pinch.”

Emily made a face. “But I’d still be an employee.”

“Only technically. As far as the kids are concerned, you are a friend of my friends Grady and Alexis McCabe, and you’ve agreed to help us with dinner, using your skills as a personal chef and cooking instructor.” Just to be sure she knew he was serious, he named a salary that caused her eyes to widen. And still, he noted in disappointment, no sale…

“While I appreciate your offer,” she said, “cooking at the same home day in and day out is not something I choose to do anymore.”

“So you’ve worked for a single client before.”

“For a few years, right after I left restaurant work. But I switched to catering small events in different venues because it was more my style.”

Dan suddenly had the feeling she was holding back. Was Walt right? Was there more he should know about Emily before bringing her into his home? He decided it didn’t matter. He wanted peace in his family—now—and she was the only person who could deliver it.

“Look, just give us a couple of weeks and get us through the Thanksgiving holiday,” he persuaded. They both knew she had no other work lined up. And this would give her an income while she regrouped.

“Fine,” Emily said reluctantly. “But the first order of business is groceries. You need a lot of staples, Dan.”

So he gathered. “You want to give me a list?”

“Actually I’d like to do the shopping myself—unless you’re an ace at picking out produce and know the difference between baking soda and baking powder.”

“They’re not the same?”

Emily winced. “No. They are not.”

Dan grinned at her comical expression. “When can you start?”

“I can purchase groceries and fix dinner for you this evening.”

Dan couldn’t think of a better way to spend his Saturday.

“I don’t work Sundays,” Emily cautioned.

“What about Monday? Do you hire out for breakfast, as well?”

“How about we just do dinners to begin with?” Emily returned.

Dan knew he’d been pushing it, even getting this far. “Okay,” he agreed. “What can I do to help?”

Emily rummaged through her purse for her keys. “Just be here this afternoon around four to let me in, so I can get dinner started.”

That, Dan thought, sounded better than she knew.




Chapter Three


Dan was in the study, updating the plans for one of the luxury office condos of One Trinity River Place, when he heard a vehicle turn into the drive. Glancing out the window, he saw Emily emerging from her van. He walked outside, surprised by the drop in temperature. That morning it had been in the low sixties. Now he figured it had to be in the forties. And given the dark clouds on the horizon, looked to get colder still.

“See we’ve got a blue norther rolling in,” Dan said when he met Emily at the back of the van.

She looked as if the change in weather had caught her unawares, too. Her red chef’s coat and jeans were little defense against the chill wind.

Shivering, she nodded. “Guess I should have listened to the weather report.”

Dan gaped at the sheer volume of food in the back of the van.

“Doesn’t look like that when you shop, I gather?” Emily joked.

But maybe it should, Dan thought, noting the abundance of fresh fruits and vegetables. “When I go, it’s mostly milk, cereal, bread, frozen pizzas and microwave dinners.” Dan took the heavy bags from her arms. “I’ll take those if you’ll hold the door.”

“Sure.” She grabbed a bag that looked a lot lighter and moved toward the door.

Being careful not to crash into her, he led the way to the kitchen.

Once there, he was dismayed. The kids had left it in a mess, which wasn’t unusual. It wasn’t good, either. “Sorry,” he said.

Emily sighed, looking less than pleased. She pivoted to go back to the van for more groceries. Dan stopped her with a hand to her shoulder. “Why don’t you let me carry everything in? You really shouldn’t be lifting anything, anyway, in your condition.”

She stepped closer and stood with her hands on her hips. “That’s an old wives’ tale.”

“Humor me?” Dan said. He let his glance rove her windswept hair, her face, before returning to her mesmerizing blue eyes.

Looking at him from beneath a fringe of dark lashes, she released a beleaguered sigh. “If you insist.”

“I do. And don’t touch any of those dirty dishes, either! I’ll do them when I’m done carrying everything in.”

That seemed harder for her to agree to, but finally she nodded her assent. He resumed his task. By the time Dan had finished, every available space in the kitchen was taken up with an overflowing bag or carton. “I’ve got extra freezer and refrigerator space in the garage,” Dan said.

Emily was organizing the condiments, moving most to a cupboard by the sink. “We may need it.” She looked around, grabbed a roll of paper towels and a bottle of spray cleaner, and mopped up some spilled milk on the counter.

Dan gathered up plates and glasses and began putting them in the dishwasher. The silence of the house was broken only by the sounds of their activity. “Where are the kids?” Emily asked finally.

Watching the play of worn denim over her slender thighs and delectably sweet butt, it was all he could do not to reach out and caress her. “Ava’s with her study group, Tommy went running with a couple teammates and Walt took Kayla to a birthday party at the skating rink. But not to worry—they’ll all be back in time for dinner at six.”

Emily sent him a quelling glance. “What were you doing when I got here?”

Dan wiped down the tables. “Working.”

Oddly, color flared in her cheeks. “Why don’t you go back to it? I’m fine here on my own.”

Abruptly Dan sensed Emily was as attracted to him as he was to her—and fighting it just as hard. Obviously this situation—and the intimacy it brought—was going to be a lot more difficult to navigate than he’d thought.

“Ordering me out of the kitchen?” he teased.

Emily studied him for a moment, then turned back to her work with maddening nonchalance. “I need to focus.”

So did he. Because if he stayed…

“Sure,” Dan said. He left, trying not to feel disappointed.



IT TOOK EVERY OUNCE OF WILLPOWER Dan had to stay out of the kitchen and out of Emily’s way for the next two hours. For one thing, he was curious about where she was going to stow all the groceries she’d purchased. For another, the smells emanating from the kitchen were damned enticing. And it was his kitchen. He ought to be able to go in there whenever he wanted.

But the main thing he had to fight was his attraction to her. Being around her only increased the subtle sexual tension between them. And giving in to that attraction would not be a good thing. Especially while she was working for him.

Once things were settled in his home life, then perhaps he could see about pursuing this attraction. But for now? Emily was right to put up a wall between them and keep it there, Dan decided. It was the only logical, ethical way to proceed.

So he worked at his drafting table, and as every member of his family straggled home, he warned them not to go into the kitchen where Emily was toiling away. At six o’clock, he gathered everyone up and they headed en masse for the kitchen.

And stared, stunned, at what they saw.



EMILY WONDERED if it was all too much. The linen tablecloth and cloth napkins were nothing special—she’d borrowed them from her store of them at home. The mix of daisies and mums in the vase had come from the farmers’ market.

As for the meal itself, she’d decided to go with butter-milk-brined fried chicken, mashed potatoes, corn on the cob and peach cobbler. Comfort foods in the extreme.

She figured, since the kids had welcomed the spaghetti carbonara she’d been able to throw together the night before, they were bound to like this.

She was wrong.

Maybe not wrong, exactly, she decided as the meal wore on with none of the enthusiastic eating of the trial run. But definitely misguided.

Dan, of course, consumed his meal with gusto. So did Walt. Emily was hungry, so she ate, too.

Kayla merely picked at her food, and Emily was pretty sure that Ava didn’t actually taste anything. Tommy stripped the breading from the chicken, ate the meat, drank his water, and that was it.

Dan began to get irritated.

He regarded his children with the stern exasperation Emily was beginning to know so well. “What’s the problem?” he asked, his tone as impatient as his manner.

Kayla shrugged. “I think I ate too much hot dogs and birthday cake at the skating rink,” she said.

That excuse Dan appeared to buy.

He looked at Ava. “I had two mocha lattes while I was studying. So I’m just not hungry!”

Caffeine did cut the appetite, Emily knew.

Tommy shrugged. “I haven’t completely cooled down from running. If I eat too much now, I’m likely to do what, um, Emily did this morning.”

All eyes turned back to Emily. “Are you sick?” Kayla asked.

Walt, too, lifted a brow, waiting.

Dan hadn’t told them, Emily realized. He seemed to not want to reveal it, either. Too bad. If the proverbial mud were to hit the fan, Emily wanted to know it now, before she invested any more in this temporary job.

“I’m pregnant—that was morning sickness,” she blurted out.



HIS UNCLE GAVE DAN A LOOK that spoke volumes. Walt could clearly tell from Dan’s bland reaction that he was the only one in the room who wasn’t surprised by Emily’s announcement.

Kayla spoke first. “Pregnant means having a baby, right?”

Dan nodded. “Right. Emily is going to have a baby approximately five months from now. And sometimes, when women are pregnant, they have tummy trouble. She had tummy trouble this morning, but that’s okay—it’s all part of expecting a baby.” And, Dan’s glance to his children conveyed firmly, I have no problem with it.

Nor did they.

In fact, the news didn’t seem to faze them, either way.

“Can I be excused?” Ava said. “I really want to study some more.”

“I don’t feel so good.” Kayla held her tummy. “Maybe I should go lie down on my bed.”

“The team’s going to a movie tonight,” Tommy said. “I need to get ready.”

Looking relieved her announcement had caused so little upset, Emily stood. “I’ll clean up.”

“Actually,” Dan said, “I’ll do it.”

Emily’s expression turned obstinate again. “It’s my job.”

He leaned forward and persisted, just as stubbornly. “Not tonight it’s not. You look tired. Why don’t you go on home? We’ll see you Monday evening.”

Emily squared her shoulders. “Are you sure?”

Dan nodded. “But you’re going to need a jacket. It’s really cold out there now.” The wind was whipping through the trees, rustling the branches.

“I’ll be fine.” She moved past him in a drift of orange-blossom fragrance. “The van has a good heater.”

It didn’t matter, Dan thought. “You’re pregnant,” he reminded her protectively. He paused at the hall closet and pulled out his wind-resistant, fleece-lined hoodie. It would keep her and her baby cozy-warm. “Take this.”

For once, she didn’t argue. “Thank you. I’ll bring it back on Monday.”

He held the sleeves while she slipped it on and zipped up.

Trying not to think how feminine she looked in his jacket, despite it being way too big for her, Dan walked her to the front door.

Emily seemed flustered by the attention. “You don’t have to keep doing this,” she said. “I’m an employee. Not a friend. Or a—”

“Date?” Dan finished her sentence before he could stop himself.

Emily flushed as they stepped outside. In the soft glow of the porch light, she looked even prettier. “That wasn’t what I meant.”

On the contrary, Dan disagreed silently. It was exactly what she meant, because that was exactly how it felt—like a date. In his attempt to put her at ease, he was handling this all wrong. He swallowed, felt his throat close. “You’d rather I just stay here?”

Emily dipped her head self-consciously. “Yes.”

So, with effort, Dan shoved his hands in his pockets, turned and moved to the door.

Emily got halfway down the sidewalk before she realized, “My keys! I forgot my purse.” She hurried back to the door.

“I’ll get it,” Dan offered.

He stepped inside, Emily right behind him. Walt came out of the kitchen, a cup of coffee in one hand, Emily’s leather carryall in the other. Dan recognized the look on the semiretired private investigator’s face and swore inwardly.

“This what you’re missing?” Walt asked Emily politely.

“Yes. Thank you. Good night, everyone! See you Monday!” Emily rushed out the door like the hounds of hell were on her heels.

In the driveway, an engine started.

Dan waited until the van drove away, then turned furiously back to Walt. “Tell me you didn’t go through that,” he muttered.

The older man shrugged. “Well, I had to figure out who it belonged to before I could return it to its rightful owner!”

Bull. “And?”

“She’s licensed to drive in Texas. Carries two credit cards and a bottle of prenatal vitamins. Nothing incriminating in there.”

The tension between Dan’s shoulder blades eased. “Satisfied now?”

Walt ran a hand over his snowy-white buzz cut. “Not without references we can run down.”

Dan scowled and immediately took the opposite tact. “Not going to happen,” he said.

Walt looked annoyed. “Did you even ask?” he demanded in a low, disgruntled voice.

“No. And I told you, I’m not going to,” Dan said, his temper rising. “I trust my gut on this.”

Walt paused and shot Dan a telling look. “Make sure it’s your gut and not another part of your anatomy you’re following.”

Dan thought about that as the evening wore on. Why hadn’t he asked for references? He never hired anyone for his architectural firm without a thorough vetting. Walt’s P.I. business was the one that did the work. But in this case, he hadn’t even thought about it and then when prompted, had resisted the idea. Why? Why did he want to just go on emotion where this woman was concerned? He hadn’t done that since Brenda. And they all knew how his refusal to deal with reality had turned out.

Back then, he’d fallen in love with a fantasy of who Brenda was, rather than who she truly was. And three kids and a divorce later, he was still paying the price. Did he really want to go back down that road?

Walt was right.

He had to delve a little deeper, even if it felt uncomfortable. Even though Emily had only agreed to be there through Thanksgiving, he still needed to be sure she was who and what she seemed.



“YOU REALLY DIDN’T NEED to do this,” Emily said when she met Dan at the Starbucks just down the street from her loft on Sunday evening. He looked incredibly handsome in a charcoal-gray suede jacket and slacks, his face ruddy with cold. “We could have settled up tomorrow night after I cook dinner. Besides, it’s my fault for leaving the house last night before giving you the receipt for the groceries.”

Dan gestured amiably as the door to the coffee shop opened and another burst of wintry air swept in. His expression unexpectedly serious, he sat down opposite her, opened a leather portfolio and removed a checkbook. “It’s not the kind of thing I want left undone.”

Emily sensed there was more than that. She had gotten the impression he wanted to talk to her without his family present. She handed over the receipts from the three stores where she had made her purchases, along with the invoice from Chef for Hire, then watched as he wrote out a check. He sat back, his tall form dwarfing the café-style chair, while she slid the check into her purse.

He continued in a brisk, all-business tone. “I don’t know how you normally work, since we got together on the spur of the moment. At my firm, I have employees sign an employment contract. I assume you do the same for your catering gigs.”

“Usually, yes, I do,” Emily said. But this time she hadn’t felt the need to put anything in writing that would have specified her pay and hours. Belatedly, she realized she should ask herself why.

Dan put the checkbook back in the portfolio and pulled out several forms. “I also generally require an updated résumé, completed application, background check and personal references.”

That, Emily knew, could be tricky. “Is it really necessary?” she cut in as smoothly as she could. “Sounds expensive and laborious. And really, considering that I’ll only be working for you a few weeks, quite unnecessary. Unless, of course, you’ve had second thoughts about having me in your home.”

Dan was silent.

Emily knew that what he was asking was routine business procedure. Yet for some reason she felt insulted on a personal level. After all, he had spent enough time with her to be able to tell she was an honorable person.

He seemed to realize he had offended her. He flashed her a crooked smile meant to conciliate. “You’d almost think you had something to hide,” he teased.

Actually, she did. “Ask me whatever you want,” Emily said, hoping to give him enough information that a detailed check into her work history would not be necessary.

His eyes still holding hers, Dan leaned back in his chair. “What’s your background?”

“I grew up in Fredericksburg, Texas. Only child. My parents ran a peach orchard. It was sold a few years after my dad died.” For many reasons, Emily added silently to herself, that still upset me. “College was out of the question at that point, so I started working in restaurants, liked it and went to culinary school, graduated and worked at three different top-tier restaurants in the Dallas-Fort Worth area until I was thirty. I got tired of the grind and long hours and branched out on my own, freelancing as a personal chef. I’ve done that for the last four years. And while being a solo operator has been very lucrative, it’s also very demanding.”

She took a deep breath before continuing. “Now that I’m starting a family, I want a less hectic life, which is why I was trying to buy the orchard. I want to be able to stay home and take care of my child as much as possible, at least for the first four or five years. I thought I had found a way to do that.” She sighed. “Obviously, I haven’t—since my purchase of the orchard fell through—but I’ll come up with a new plan before December first.”

“What happens then?” Their glances locked and they shared another moment of tingling awareness.

Emily told herself her unprecedented reaction to Dan was really just another surge of pregnancy hormones. She forced herself to get a grip. “I have to vacate my loft. It’s already been rented to someone else.”

“So one way or another…”

“I’ll be going somewhere,” Emily finished, aware her voice sounded a little rusty, and her emotions felt all out of whack, too.

Fortunately Dan had no more questions. Standing up, Emily handed him the jacket she had borrowed from him the evening before, slipped on her coat and gathered her things to leave.

Dan stood, too. “You’re going to walk back to your building?”

Emily told herself not to read anything into the concern in his eyes. “It’s just down the block.” She slipped out the door, Starbucks cup in one hand, keys in the other.

Dan fell into step beside her. “I’d still feel better if I walked you as far as your lobby.”

Ignoring the reassurance his strong male presence provided, she shrugged and turned her eyes to the awning that marked her destination. This could not lead anywhere, not if she was working for him. “Suit yourself.”

They arrived at the front door of her building. Emily waved at the security man behind the desk in the lobby, visible through the double glass doors. He waved back.

“So how do you want to manage the paperwork?” Dan drawled.

Emily rocked back on her heels. “By fax. I can send you my standard agreement tonight.”

Dan rocked back on his heels, too. He braced his hands on his hips, pushing the edges of his jacket back. “So you’re still on for tomorrow evening?” he presumed.

Emily tore her gaze from his rock-solid chest and abs. “Absolutely. Unless we hit a snag in the paperwork, which I’m not anticipating.” It was only the thorough vetting of her résumé that would reveal something Emily would rather forget. But she had an idea how to keep that from becoming a problem she would really rather not deal with. Because what happened with the Washburns was not going to happen with Dan’s family. She was wiser now. Better able to keep that protective force field around her heart…

“I’ll read and sign the contract right away,” he promised.

Glad they had come to an agreement that was mutually beneficial, and as thoroughly professional as it should have been from the beginning, Emily nodded. “Thank you.”

Another peaceful moment passed between them. Emily smiled and began to relax. Maybe this would work out, after all, she thought. And, of course, that was the moment the next unwelcome complication arose.




Chapter Four


Emily went pale as a dark-haired man, roughly their age, climbed out of a pickup truck parked in front of her building and strode toward them. In a white western shirt, jeans and black leather jacket, he appeared to be both sophisticated and affable.

He touched the brim of his black Resistol hat and stopped just short of them. “Emily,” he said, smiling and looking her up and down. “It’s been a while.”

Emily stood her ground and made no move to greet the interloper with anything even faintly akin to the same familiarity and warmth. Instinctively Dan slid a protective arm behind her.

“Ten years,” Emily acknowledged, her voice taut. Turning slightly, her elbow brushing Dan’s ribs, she looked up at Dan and said, “Dan, I’d like you to meet Tex Ostrander.”

Her ex-fiancé. The man who’d bought the orchard out from under her and thrown her life into chaos.

“Tex, this is my, um, friend—” she stumbled slightly over the misnomer “—Dan Kingsland.”

Aware Emily was using him to keep her ex at bay, Dan played along and extended a palm. “Nice to meet you.”

“Same here,” Tex said.

As the two men shook hands, Dan noted Tex had a firm, no-nonsense grip.

“What are you doing here?” Emily demanded.

“We need to talk about my purchase of the orchard,” Tex said. “And since you wouldn’t return my calls…”

Emily frowned in warning. “I can’t imagine we have anything to say to each other.”

Tex clearly differed. “Do you really want to discuss business out on the sidewalk?” Tex asked.

A group of teens walked by, talking and laughing.

Emily’s frown deepened. She looked at Dan, a question in her eyes. Getting the hint—she wanted and needed a neutral third party to possibly run interference for her—Dan wordlessly agreed to help her out. He stipulated mildly, “As long as it doesn’t take too long. Emily and I have plans for this evening.” Just not together.

Incorrectly assuming Dan was Emily’s date and he was interrupting something, Tex shrugged. “I’m fine with that. I just want a chance to explain and make my pitch.”

The three of them walked inside and took the elevator to Emily’s loft. The high-ceilinged, brick-walled abode had a bank of windows overlooking the Trinity River. The thousand-square-foot apartment was divided into four areas—work space, living room, kitchen and bedroom. The only space walled off was the bathroom at one end.

She led them to the stylish sofa and a pair of chairs at one end of the room. She sat down on the sofa. Dan sat next to her.

Tex took one of the sling-back chairs opposite them. “I’m here to offer you a job,” Tex said.

Emily looked as if she could hardly believe Tex’s temerity. Nor could Dan, under the circumstances.

Emily stared at Tex. “You really think I’d accept a job from you after what you just pulled?”

Tex nodded. His expression earnest, he continued in a flat, practical tone, “We both know the only reason you wanted the orchard was to bring it back to its former glory. You don’t have the money or the agricultural background to make the sort of improvements required. But I do. And since my parents are retiring to Arizona and have recently sold their orchard to me, and the properties are side-by-side, it makes good business sense to merge the two and have one operation with twice the capacity, rather than two competing businesses.”

As much as Dan was loath to admit it, Tex’s pitch made sense, from a business perspective, anyway. Personally, it was another matter indeed.

Emily frowned, looking tempted despite her earlier refusal. “What are you offering me exactly?”

“A full partnership if you’ll agree to defer most of your salary in exchange for equity, just as I am, until we get the new business up and running. Bottom line—I’m only going to be around part of the time. I need someone I trust to live on the property and run the orchards when I’m not there, and start an on-property restaurant-slash-retail-business that will feature fresh fruit, preserves, pastries, salsas and whatever else you can dream up to produce with our crops.”

“Why me, Tex? Why not someone else?”

“Because you’re the only one who knows how much blood, sweat and tears went into starting these orchards. Together, you and I can make them better than either of our folks ever dreamed. So what do you say, Emily?” Tex leaned forward urgently, hat in hand. “Can I count on you? Are you in?”



“THANKS FOR STAYING,” Emily told Dan several minutes later, after Tex had left.

Dan looked around her loft. The sleek, minimalist space didn’t seem to jibe with her any more than Tex Ostrander did. She seemed much more at home in his traditionally cozy kitchen.

“No problem,” Dan said. He had wanted to make certain she was all right. He watched as she walked to the stain-less-steel island that served as both work surface and dinner table. She plucked an orange from the fruit bowl and began to peel it with single-minded concentration.

“Are you going to accept Tex’s offer?” Dan asked.

“I don’t know.” She offered Dan half the orange. “On the one hand, I’m really ticked off about the way he subverted my dream.”

“But not surprised,” Dan guessed as he popped a section of orange in his mouth.

Emily made a face. “He’s always been ambitious to a fault. It was never going to be enough for him to help run his parents’ orchard until they decided to retire.”

Curious, Dan asked, “Is that why you two never married?”

Emily downed one orange section, then another. “We got together when my mom died and I needed someone to be there for me. He stepped in and provided the stability and direction I needed at a time when just trying to decide whether or not to continue subscribing to the daily newspaper was a quandary.” She met his gaze. “When my grief ebbed and I no longer needed someone to solve all of life’s problems for me, I realized something else that had eluded me. He was always going to put his own needs first and think that his dreams were more important than mine. And that hurt.” Her eyes narrowed. “And he’s obviously still behaving in that manner—for example, thinking he’s doing me a favor by buying the orchard out from under me, because he can run it better than I can.”

“I sense a ‘but’ in there somewhere.”

She looked in the fridge. It was crammed with all manner of fresh fruit and vegetables. She moved the milk and cheese and withdrew a jar of dill pickles. Dan shook his head at her offer.

She withdrew a pickle for herself and recapped the jar. “Bottom line—I still want a hand in restoring the property where I grew up.” She took a bite of the pickle, catching the dripping juice with one hand cupped beneath the other. Appearing as if the sour taste were heaven—and who knew, maybe it was to a pregnant woman—she continued, “And the thought of having the money to start a restaurant and a line of peach, strawberry, blackberry and plum products with my family’s name on it is tempting.”

Dan studied the glitter of excitement in her eyes. “Even if it means working closely with your ex?”

Emily turned on the spigot and washed her hands with lavender soap. Some of her pleasure faded. “I think I can handle Tex.”

Dan ignored the stab of unaccustomed jealousy and pointed out, “You didn’t seem that sure earlier.” He watched as she dried her hands with a towel, determined to let her have her say. “When you were pretending I was someone of significance in your life.”

Emily flushed, as if guilty as charged. She helped herself to a wrapped candy on the counter, then pivoted toward him. The tantalizing drift of orange-blossom perfume teased his senses. “First of all,” she corrected archly, “I never actually said that.”





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