Книга - For Love Or Money

For Love Or Money
Tara Taylor Quinn


She can’t afford to lose this…or himThere's no way that struggling single mom Janie Young is going to lose Family Secrets. Not even to Dr. Burke Carter. The prize money and media exposure from the cooking-competition show will secure the future for her and her son, who has special needs. Sure, Burke is a talented chef with his own reasons to win, but he already has so much: wealth, a beautiful daughter, great looks…and definitely her attention. As their families become closer, Janie is beginning to care too much about him. But she can't afford to get involved. Not when everything is riding on beating him.







She can’t afford to lose this...or him

There’s no way that struggling single mom Janie Young is going to lose Family Secrets. Not even to Dr. Burke Carter. The prize money and media exposure from the cooking-competition show will secure the future for her and her son, who has special needs. Sure, Burke is a talented chef with his own reasons to win, but he already has so much: wealth, a beautiful daughter, great looks...and definitely her attention. As their families become closer, Janie is beginning to care too much about him. But she can’t afford to get involved. Not when everything is riding on beating him.


“Sometimes you don’t get to choose what happens to you,” Burke said.

He was close enough she could feel his warmth.

“Sometimes,” he continued, “you have to stand up and face what you’re given and do your best.”

She wanted him to kiss her again. For real... No, she really didn’t. She honestly and truly did not want that complication.

She had been going to ask him if he wanted to sit down. To join her in the living room. But suddenly that seemed too comfortable. Too much like he was a closer friend than she could have him be.

They were opponents—both determined to win—and her son’s future rested on the outcome.

And they were parents whose kids had wanted to see each other. He’d be leaving momentarily. It was almost time for Dawson’s bath.

Dinner was what they’d arranged.

And dinner was over.


Dear Reader (#ulink_62e9aad3-3b77-5a2a-aa18-a1264fff02d7),

As I write to you to tell you about For Love or Money, I’m deeply into book two in this new miniseries! Family Secrets is turning out to be all I knew it could be.

Family Secrets is a reality-competition cooking show. Contestants compete with their secret family recipes. The show runs in segments with four regular competitions in different categories. And then the final round. Each book is one of those segments. Other than the host, you see all different people, with completely different stories, in each book.

This miniseries isn’t only about secret recipes. In every novel, you’ll find lives changed by a family secret. A secret that, though maybe kept with the best of intentions, is powerful enough, damaging enough, to affect the lives and hearts of all those who didn’t know.

During this opening segment, you’re going to meet a very special little boy. Dawson was inspired by a young man who captured my whole heart the first time I held him more than a decade ago, a close family member who brings a precious and unique joy into any space he occupies. He is wanted, adored and protected by all members of his family. Dawson and his experiences are completely fictional. The joy he brings is not.

I love to hear from my readers. Please find me at Facebook.com/tarataylorquinn (https://www.facebook.com/tarataylorquinn) and on Twitter, @tarataylorquinn (https://twitter.com/tarataylorquinn). Or join my open Friendship board on Pinterest, Pinterest.com/tarataylorquinn/friendship (https://www.pinterest.com/tarataylorquinn/friendship)!

All the best,

Tara

www.TaraTaylorQuinn.com (http://www.tarataylorquinn.com)


For Love or Money

Tara Taylor Quinn






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


An author of seventy-five novels, TARA TAYLOR QUINN is a USA TODAY bestselling author with more than seven million copies sold. She is known for delivering emotional and psychologically astute novels of suspense and romance. Tara is a past president of Romance Writers of America. She has won a Readers’ Choice Award and is a five-time finalist for an RWA RITA® Award, a finalist for a Reviewers’ Choice Award and a Booksellers’ Best Award. She has also appeared on TV across the country, including CBS Sunday Morning. She supports the National Domestic Violence Hotline. If you or someone you know might be a victim of domestic violence in the United States, please contact 1-800-799-7233.


For William Wright Gumser. You are our miracle. Our gift.

And I hope you know the joy you bring just by being alive. Aunt Tara loves you!


Contents

Cover (#u21e6e821-3020-5579-9e9d-9525df85dd89)

Back Cover Text (#u550ab74b-a704-584d-b311-50a108b3463e)

Introduction (#u0150f3fa-b9de-525a-a630-05530f0843ea)

Dear Reader (#ulink_b7e62913-0e7b-5edb-b28d-ad443555138f)

Title Page (#u6a9ceb33-d8cf-53f1-ae14-3c96752507bd)

About the Author (#ub7a05392-37af-5f4e-96aa-d7cb4f98f989)

Dedication (#uf177aa23-9866-5758-b13d-0ac11fe5f74b)

CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_151255a3-0618-538e-82a4-3935c2e69429)

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_ea73e79f-2c03-5d0c-909e-f737eac2a421)

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_cb3bc946-0901-5acc-804e-0de2d2e9882a)

CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_116798f4-4d4c-502e-b46c-a6da5616606b)

CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_ad8e40e9-c6e0-5e14-80f4-72b4f635dbc0)

CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_78da83f2-2a8d-5abf-9580-25eba22341e1)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_97b9f8ad-e1f7-5ae8-9f16-2a84259725cb)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_4b639222-10d2-5f08-97bb-912b30374114)

“FORGET IT.”

“Kels, I really want to make this right.”

“Whatever.”

Sometimes a guy had to know when he wasn’t going to win. Sometimes even knowing, he couldn’t quit trying. Most particularly when his adversary was his thirteen-year-old daughter.

And in this case, he couldn’t quit even if he did win. Because he had something else he had to discuss with the woman-child sitting on the passenger side of his SUV. She’d flipped the button to activate the heated leather seats when she’d climbed in.

At which time he’d glanced at the outdoor temperature reading. A balmy 85 degrees. In the desert. California desert. And wisely kept his mouth shut.

“I’m sorry I was late. Dan Rhodes stopped in just as I was leaving. He’s starting tonight and needed a cortisone shot.”

Dan Rhodes, a Palm Desert high school basketball star and one of her late mother’s former students.

“Yeah, well, I told Melissa you’d look at her knee.”

And he’d let Kelsey down by not being at the dance studio on time to pick her up. Never mind that half the time when he showed up as scheduled, she harrumphed because she liked to hang out and watch the older girls—the ones in “company”—take class and run through routines.

“I’ll look at it tomorrow, before class,” he said now, though technically, unless her parents consented to him treating Melissa, there was nothing he could do but advise her to get it looked at. Which he’d already done. Three times in the past month.

As an orthopedist specializing in sports medicine, he’d given the girl’s dad his card. But he’d never heard from them.

“Whatever.” She was staring out the side window, her expression...bland. He’d been told—by someone among all the well-meaning counselor types who’d flooded forth to advise him after Kelsey’s mother had died—to watch out for belligerence. He’d be happy for it. For anything beyond...bland.

“Was Carlie at dance tonight?” Kelsey’s best friend had been having issues since Kelsey was chosen for junior company and she wasn’t.

Her head swung around then, eyes almost piercing as she studied him in the falling dusk. “What’s with your sudden interest in Carlie?”

Sudden? He gave his head a mental shake—ordering it to get in gear. “She’s your best friend.”

Kelsey’s snort didn’t bode well. “Not for like a year, Dad. Shows you how much you pay attention.” That last was uttered under her breath, so he pretended not to hear.

“You just want to know about Barbara.”

Carlie’s mother. They’d gone out. Once. Shortly after her divorce. When the girls had both been on a Girl Scout trip.

“If I wanted to know about Barbara, I’d call her and ask how she’s doing,” he said now, firmness entering his voice. It didn’t come often. But it was there when it needed to be. “Be angry with me for being late—that’s valid. But don’t disrespect me, Kels. I—”

“I know.” Her tone completely docile now, she cut him off. “You don’t deserve it, and I’m sorry, Daddy.” He could hear the tremor in her voice and hated that even more than the cattiness. “You’re the best and I love you.”

“I love you, too, squirt.” He cringed as the endearment slipped out before he remembered that he wasn’t supposed to use it anymore. The mandate had come down that summer. She hated it when he called her that. Made her feel like a kid, she’d said.

“You haven’t called me that in a while.”

“You told me not to.”

“Well, you weren’t supposed to really stop.”

He wasn’t going to win. No matter how hard he tried. Because she was thirteen. And he just didn’t get it.

* * *

“LOOK, JANE, I GET IT. You need to pretend that the kid’s gonna be normal someday. As soon as his muscles develop. But he isn’t gonna be. Ever. And I don’t have the cash to fund your need to make him something he ain’t. Do yourself a favor, and me and maybe him, too, and just accept what is.”

If she hadn’t been standing in the middle of a bay in Dillon’s car repair business—his father’s business before him—Janie might have clenched her fists. Or done something even worse, like start to cry.

In the olden days, back when she and Dillon had been so in love they’d been crazy with it, her tears had brought him to his knees. These days, they gave him strength.

“I’m not asking for a favor, Dillon,” she told him, remaining calm by thinking of her son, sitting at a table in his preschool class, his tongue sticking out of his mouth, his face just inches from the table, while he put pencil to paper. If they were lucky, he’d make a mark that was distinguishable. “Per our decree, you are responsible for half of Dawson’s medical bills.”

“Speech therapy isn’t medical.”

“The state disagrees with you.” She handed him the paperwork she’d brought, showing that medical insurance would pay for the therapy. They just had to come up with the co-pay. A measly 20 percent. And she had to have the time off work to see that he got there.

The extra hours, those in which she helped her son exercise muscles and do his therapy “homework,” she was already handling. Like every single time Dawson ate and they played the blowing-bubbles-in-your-cup-through-your-straw game. Or every time she asked him for a kiss and he licked her cheek before turning to kiss her. They were games his speech pathologist had helped her design to strengthen his low muscle tone.

“If so, then why are you only just now bringing it to me? Who’s been paying all along?” His tone, challenging as always, hurt. Still.

How could a man turn his back on his own son? Be embarrassed by him? How could Janie still hope that someday Dillon would realize how phenomenal, how perfect, their son really was?

“The state paid, Dillon. Through age three. Dawson just turned four. Now insurance pays, but not the co-pay part.”

Because Dillon provided the cheapest insurance he could get for his son.

“You’re just doing this to get back at me, aren’t you?” Wiping his greasy hands on a red towel he grabbed from his rolling toolbox, he walked toward his office. When they were both inside he shut his door.

The smell of grease and gas emanating from his overalls was one thing she did not miss. Dillon had been in college when they’d met—studying business. He’d had big plans. And then they’d gotten married and his father’d had a heart attack and he’d taken over the garage. She’d supported him on all of it. Had loved him even more for it. She just had never gotten used to the smell of grease that permeated him at the dinner table. Even after he’d showered...

You’re just doing this to get back at me. His words were no less grinding even after taking a second to step away from them.

“What on earth are you talking about?” she asked, not ready for another one of their asinine confrontations. The kind where he hurled ludicrous accusations like they were truth and she walled herself against them.

But she’d known when she’d gotten up that morning that the moment was coming. She’d been happy the night before when she’d received confirmation in writing that Dillon had to help with the co-pay. She’d given herself the night to enjoy the small victory. The small feeling of relief.

And she’d arisen that day with the knowledge that if she did not hand deliver the paperwork to her ex-husband, in front of others, he’d spend months requesting it. Over and over again. Denying, each time, that he’d received it. And if she sent it certified post, he’d refuse to sign.

She could take him back to court.

If she had the money.

“You can’t possibly think that I purposely had a child with Down syndrome so that I could somehow get back at you?”

“I’m not an idiot, Jane. Of course you wouldn’t do that.” He sat, pulling at his mustache as he looked up at her standing by the closed door.

Did he know she kept the handle within reach on purpose? Because it was the only way she could make herself confront him? Knowing that she could choose to escape at any point.

“I need money, Dillon. I’ve covered the past two months of co-pays. I need you to give me this month’s.”

Until last night’s letter had come, she’d been afraid she would have to borrow the money again.

At some point, her friends were going to run in the opposite direction when they saw her coming.

“And I think you’re still doing this therapy thing because it’s your way of making me pay. You’re just trying to get more money out of me. You don’t want me to move on, get ahead, because you can’t. But I’m not the one who insisted on going through with a pregnancy with a known birth defect...”

Of course, having once been the love of her life, he knew best how to push her buttons.

“I am not trying to keep you from getting ahead.” With extreme focus, and having had a lot of practice, she ignored the worst of his barbs.

“I didn’t want to think so, but I’m not the only one saying it anymore.”

“Who else is saying it?” She hated herself for asking. Heard the question come out of her mouth before she’d thought about it, enabling his ability to get her going...

“Wendy.”

“Who’s Wendy?”

“The woman who’s been living with me for the past three months.”

She hadn’t known. He’d known she hadn’t known.

“You’re obligated to pay this money, Dillon. Please just give me a check and I’ll leave you alone.”

And Wendy. Leave him and Wendy alone.

She didn’t want Dillon for herself. Hadn’t wanted to be married to him since the second he’d denounced their son as not worthy of being born. The doctor had offered a medical abortion because they’d caught the Down syndrome diagnosis during her first trimester. Dillon had done everything he could to get Janie to agree to the procedure. He’d even made an appointment with the doctor’s office, behind her back, to have it done.

And yet...for many years they’d been a couple she’d thought would be together forever. Hearing that he was with someone else, even though they’d been divorced since before Dawson was born...

A part of her died.

Another part needed a good cry.

“You think this therapy is so important, pay for it yourself.” He looked smug. Arms crossed. His lips not smiling but his eyes looking like he was.

How could she ever have been in love with this man?

“I can’t.”

“Well, I can’t, either.”

“Yes, you can, Dillon.” She waved around her at the four bays behind them, all full, the wall-size calendar at the side of his desk and the Dry Erase board, both also completely full. “You’re doing well. Paying your obligation for your son won’t even put a dent in your petty cash.”

“And you resent that, don’t you? That I’m doing so well? That Wendy and I can afford to take a Caribbean cruise over Christmas? That we went to Vegas for Thanksgiving...”

She hadn’t known. Had never done either. But she and Dillon had always talked about doing both.

Focus.

She thought of her baby boy’s face when he’d high-fived her that morning because he’d put his tennis shoes on all by himself, crossed the laces and considered them tied. He’d been happier than when she gave him ice cream. And she was happier, too. So much more than she’d ever have been without him. More than a cruise or any vacation would ever make her.

She was doing this for Dawson. Getting the money for Dawson.

“You’re legally obligated to pay this.” And he knew she had a friend who would see that he did. But not until he made her beg. “I need the money, Dillon.”

“You’re desperate.” Eyes narrowing, he leaned forward. “You lost another job, didn’t you?”

She could lie. But knew he’d find out soon enough. He always did.

So she didn’t lie. She just stood there. As mute as Dawson would be without the therapies Dillon wanted to deny him. He had no way of knowing what Dawson sounded like. He’d never met the boy he’d fathered. Had no idea how Dawson sounded when he tried to communicate with her. No way of knowing that the therapy was helping Dawson learn to talk clearly enough to be understood.

“When are you going to admit that I was right all along? Look at you, Janie. What’s this, three jobs in as many years? Admit that you made a mistake. That you should have taken the choice we were given back when you had that first ultrasound. You should have ended the pregnancy.”

The words still hurt. Every single time. Because they deleted the happiest person she’d ever met from the face of the earth.

Gripping the door handle, she swung around.

“Janie.”

His tone had changed. For a second there, he could have been the man she’d married.

She looked over her shoulder. Maybe to remind herself that that man had never existed.

He was standing, pulled a few bills out of his wallet and walked over to hand them to her.

“Here,” he said. “Never let it be said that I don’t stand up to my obligations.”

If it had been just her, she’d have spit on those bills. But they were hundreds. Would pay for far more than a few months’ co-pays. She took them. Looked him in the eye as she said, “Thank you.”

“You deserve better than this, Janie.” He sounded sad.

And she figured he should be. She had the absolute best life had to offer waiting for her in a preschool across town.

While he’d lost the only thing of importance he’d ever had.

And didn’t even know it.


CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_d21b7883-2648-5cb7-a836-db284397d0ec)

“KELS?” BURKE TAPPED on his daughter’s slightly ajar door just before ten that night. He’d let her have the evening her way. They’d stopped for the rice and salad bowl she’d wanted for dinner. He’d done some work on his laptop while sitting with her through the shows she’d chosen to watch on TV—if you could call her dead stare “watching.”

He’d helped with the laundry—even though it was her night to do a load and she’d said she was fine doing it alone...

“I’m decent,” she called through the door after a full thirty seconds had passed.

They’d had that talk last summer, too—with the help of her pediatric psychiatrist, Dr. Zimmers. He wasn’t to walk in unannounced now that she was wearing a bra and having her period. Didn’t matter that Burke was a doctor. He was a bone doctor. Kelsey’s emphasis on “bone.” And she was his daughter. And she had things to be modest about now.

“Can I come in?” he called.

“I guess.”

Better than whatever. He missed the little girl who used to beg to sit on his lap. Or ride on his shoulders. Ride high, Daddy! He could hear that tiny little voice like it was yesterday.

But it wasn’t. Not even the day before that. More like a lifetime ago.

She was on her bed, propped up with pillows, her tablet on her lap. Wearing the flannel, black-with-pink-heart pajama pants he’d bought her just before school started. With an old T-shirt left over from when her mother was a seventh-grade English teacher and insisted the three of them show team spirit, wear team colors and go to all of the athletic activities they could make.

Palm Desert’s vibrant red clashed with the pink heart. The vibrant gold, not so much.

Her long brown hair, usually in a ponytail, hung around her face. At least she was leaving it long. She’d tried to insist on coloring it purple that summer. He’d held firm against that one.

Leaning over to glance at what she was doing on her tablet, Burke took a seat on the side of the double bed. Keeping a respectable distance.

She turned her tablet around. “It’s just Friday’s Fashion Boutique, Dad.” She named an interactive fashion app that he’d seen her use many times before. Kind of like a modern-day Barbie doll, his mother had said when his folks had come from Florida the previous Christmas.

“A good parent checks, Kels,” he reminded her. Another thing he was not going to budge on. All parental controls were in place when it came to her use of electronics and social media.

She had a phone. She could call and had limited text capability—enough to reach him when necessary. Period. And he could see the numbers she called and texted every day if he chose to check.

He didn’t. But she knew he could.

“I don’t care if you look.” She shrugged, turning her tablet back around. She didn’t fight him. Never had when it came to her limited use of social media. And from the horror stories he’d heard from his peers, nurses, even his patients, he had real reason to be thankful for that.

“Dr. Zimmers called me today,” he said, getting right to the point.

She continued to move her finger along the ten-inch glass screen. Tapping and dragging.

“She wants to put you on medication.” He named a brand. Didn’t figure it would mean anything to her.

“I’m not taking it. You can force it down my throat and then I’ll stick my finger right behind it and throw it back up.”

Thirteen-year-old drama queen had joined them.

“We need to talk about that.”

Kelsey’s gaze was resolute when she put her tablet facedown on the mattress and looked at him. In that instant, he could have been looking at himself in the mirror when he was getting ready to put his foot down with her.

“We’ve talked about it, Dad. I’m not going to start taking some upper pill because I’m sad that my mom died. Or because I get sad sometimes when I think about it.”

“You’re sleeping way too much.”

“So get me up earlier. You’re the parent. Help me out.”

He could do that. “You’re a grump in the morning.”

“You can take it.”

She had a point.

“You spend too much time alone.”

“I’m dancing again. Be happy with that for now.”

“It’s not my happiness I’m worried about,” he said. “You know how long it’s been since I’ve heard you laugh out loud, Kels? Or since I’ve heard a note of excitement in your voice?”

He could talk to her about an imbalance of neurotransmitters that could lead to serious depression if not counterbalanced.

“Then give me something to get excited about.” Her quiet words, spoken to her tablet, stopped his thought process cold.

Rather than arguing with him, or giving him the rote “whatever,” she’d actually given him a positive opening. In two years’ time, it was a first.

Expecting a request for a smartphone, a trip to Disneyland or a week off school, he said, “I’m not talking about a momentary fix, Kelsey. You know that.” Though he was tempted to give her any of those things, all of them, to reward the open, non-defensive approach. “Maybe you need to try the medication...”

If Lil, Kelsey’s mom, had been able to take something for her paranoia, would she still be alive? Not that the paranoia had been the actual cause of death. No, the onset of labor at the beginning of the third trimester had done that.

“Dad, you promised me...”

A promise he might have made a mistake in making. Lil had, by example, made her daughter petrified of “drugging herself up.” She’d been almost fanatical about medication—to the point of toughing it out through headaches so she didn’t have to take an over-the-counter painkiller. She’d had Kelsey on the same pain management regime.

It had taken Burke getting really angry, raising-his-voice angry, before Kelsey had taken the antibiotics she’d needed for strep throat the previous year.

The girl seemed to think putting drugs in her body was disloyal to her mother. But there was so much she didn’t know. Some things Burke hoped to God she never knew.

Still, antidepressant medication was not going to be as easy a win.

Maybe because he didn’t want to medicate her, long term, either. Not unless she truly needed the help.

“It’s been two years since Mom died.”

“So give me something to get excited about.”

There it was again. That opening.

In all of the advice he’d received over the past two years, most of it well-meaning, and some of it professionally sought, no one had told him that raising a thirteen-year-old was going to make him dizzy. He’d never have believed, even a year before, that his sweet, rational, logical-beyond-her-years little girl was going to morph into a confusing mass of humanity that he could no more predict than the weather.

“What, Kels? What can I give you that you’d be excited about?” Knowing as he asked the question that he’d walk through fire to get it for her. As long as he didn’t think it would do more long-term harm than good.

She grabbed her tablet. Swiped and tapped so fast he didn’t know how she could possibly even read what she was choosing. She stopped. Seemed to be skimming the page. And turned the tablet around to him.

“This,” she said. “I wanted to enter but I can’t because I’m just a kid, and besides, you’re the master chef left among us.”

Lil had been a certified chef. Official ranking. In addition to teaching, she’d put in the hours necessary in professional food service. Because her dream was to open her own catering business. She’d talked him into taking classes, too, while he’d still been in med school. As something they could do to spend a little stress-free time together. And to his surprise, cooking had been right up his alley. Engaging him scientifically and yet offering him a relaxation he’d been unable to find elsewhere.

“I’m not a master chef,” he told her. He’d obtained a culinary art certification. That was all.

He looked at her tablet.

Made a cursory visual pass. Then read every word in the headline.

She was handing him the tablet, so he took it. Heart sinking.

She wanted him to be on a reality cooking show. As in, television. Like he could just pick up a phone and volunteer.

Like he had a chance in...any chance at all of making it on the show.

“It’s that one filmed here.” Kelsey was up on her knees, beside him now. He swore he could still smell that sweet baby-powder scent that had entered their home with her thirteen years before. “In Palm Desert. Family Secrets. Remember, they had that Thanksgiving special where they chose the first one of this year’s contestants...”

He remembered.

He’d wanted to go to Disneyland over the holiday. Thanksgiving—a food day by all counts—was one of the hardest without Lil. Kelsey wasn’t bouncing back from her mother’s death at all. If anything, with the onset of puberty, her moroseness was getting worse. He’d thought to distract her by heading to the coast for the holiday.

Instead she’d been adamant, to the point of tears, which always suckered him, that they cook dinner together, with all the trappings, and spend the day watching cooking shows. To honor Lil.

“So now it’s open auditions for the other seven contestants. It’s right here in town, Dad. You want me to be excited about something? Audition for this show.” She’d scooted closer, was resting her chin on his shoulder as she looked at the tablet with him.

“You have to use your own family recipes,” she said as he sat there, feeling more lost, more alone, than ever before. “It’s the recipes that are the real competition,” she went on, her voice gaining an energy that seemed to encompass their entire world.

“There’s an audition, and then four weeks of competition between eight candidates. Then whoever wins at least one of the four competitions goes to the final round. Each week you’re given a category and you have to make your family recipe with a secret ingredient. It says here that the candidates have to appear for one day of extraneous taping, too, before the competition starts.”

She was setting him up to let her down. He could see it so clearly even if she couldn’t. There was no way he was good enough to compete against real chefs.

“You can use Mom’s recipes, Dad! It’s a way for her to get what she wanted—to have her cooking recognized and appreciated. It’s a way to keep her alive. Like make her immortal or something. You have to do this...”

It was best to be honest with her. To face the tough stuff head-on. He’d been told. And he also just knew...

“I can’t.”

She slouched back. “I knew you’d say that.” There was no accusation in her tone. Just resignation. “That’s why I didn’t say anything before. It’s probably too late anyway. The auditions are this weekend and they were only taking walk-ons, without preregistering, if they had space.”

She hadn’t been going to ask him. Until he’d told her they had to find something to be excited about.

Lil, if you can hear me, now’s the time to jump in. What happens if I try and fail? Do I send our baby girl further into the dark hole she can’t seem to climb out of?

Will your recipes sustain me? Us?

“I was going to say I can’t force them to take me on.” He improvised while he waited for some kind of sign from above.

He’d take one from below or beside if it was clear enough.

Kelsey stared at him. And he could have sworn there was a glimmer of light in her blue eyes. His eyes.

“I took some classes, Kels. I do well enough here at home. I’m nowhere near the cook your mom was. TV? That’s for people like your mom. Real chefs. With real experience. And the auditions will be judged by people who are used to eating from the best of the best. All of which is completely out of my control.” He couldn’t make this happen for her.

“Like Mom always said, cooking is a lot about artistic talent, about knowing what foods go good together and stuff. She always said you had that talent, too.” Her tone wasn’t pushy. Or even persuasive. She sounded like a lost little girl. “Besides, this show is about the recipes. And Mom’s are the best.”

“And I might not be able to do them justice.” It wouldn’t be the first time he’d let Lil down. Or Kelsey, either, though he hoped she never knew just how badly he’d let them both down.

“You tell me that the important thing is to try.”

“I have no problem with trying, Kels. I’ll go to the audition.” He would?

Her mouth dropped open.

“But you have to understand that I might not win. And if I don’t, you have to be willing to find something else to get excited about.”

What was he doing, here?

“You’re going to do it?” She didn’t move. Just sat there. Staring at him. But the glisten in her eyes told him that he had to grant her request.

“And you’re going to help me,” he said, speaking the words that came to him as they presented themselves. “We have three days...” He’d have to cancel his appearance at a fund-raiser for the clinic Wednesday night. And dinner with the Montgomerys, friends of his and Lil’s who still continued to invite him and Kelsey over on a regular Friday-night basis. “You are in charge of choosing the recipe for the audition. I’ll make it each night this week, under your supervision, and you taste the finished results and give me feedback.”

“I’ll do all the dishes,” Kelsey said, still just watching him.

“Okay.”

“Okay? As in you’re really going to audition?”

“I’ll call tomorrow and get myself on the schedule.” There was a special slot for locals, he’d just read. And according to the website, which had been updated that day, there was still an opportunity to sign up. Which Kelsey must have known, too. Since she’d also read the website’s advertisement.

She was staring at him. “For real.”

“I said I would.” And he always did what he’d told her he’d do. Even if he was a few minutes late on rare occasions.

“Woooooo-hoooo!” Her scream hurt his ears. And warmed him up so much he laughed out loud as he caught her flying toward him. Her hug was heaven.

And Burke warned fate that it better not let him let her down.

Not this time.

Not again.


CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_390765df-0301-5585-ba2d-1f51d674c4e1)

THE FAMILY SECRETS cooking show had been on for five years yet still received the highest ratings of any cooking show on television. But it wasn’t the program’s ratings that had prompted Janie to choose the best of the best in her attempt to give her son every shot at living a full and productive life. No, it had been desperation. And proximity. The show was local. And had run a contest before the Thanksgiving holiday that allowed people to just send in a recipe to compete.

She hadn’t had to audition to get a chance at being a contestant. She’d just had to print out her grandmother’s recipe for turkey dressing.

Even after she’d been notified she was a finalist, invited to be in the audience on Thanksgiving Day for the taping of the show, she hadn’t believed, that day in the studio, that she’d actually heard her name called.

It had been Dawson, sitting in her lap in the small, darkened studio, who’d recognized her name. His hoarse “Ma!” might have sounded like a very excitable grunt to everyone else there that day, but she’d heard her name. And his, too. “Me! Ma! Me!” Over and over again. As his butt bones dug into her thighs and his heels kicked new bruises into her shins.

Then she’d looked at the monitor, panning the audience for the day’s winner, and seen what Dawson had seen. His gargantuan grin, and her grimace of pain, splashed on national television.

Even now, six weeks later, she couldn’t believe she’d won. That in less than two hours she’d be in the studio, being filmed with the other candidates as they received a tour of their kitchens and instructions for the next four or five weeks of the competition. Four if none of her recipes won. Five if at least one did. Snippets of today’s pre-competition taping would be dubbed into shows in the weeks that followed.

So much had happened since she’d won the Thanksgiving competition.

She’d lost her job, but found another one making deliveries for a flower shop. She could work while Dawson was in preschool, and if there was an emergency, she could run by and pick him up. And she’d taken a second job with a political campaign, making cold calls to constituents from home. Neither paid very well. But both paid. And allowed her to attend every one of her son’s therapies.

A must if she was going to be able to repeat exercises at home.

Which was essential if any of it was going to be of benefit to her four-year-old son.

Pulling up in front of the house she’d felt more at home in than any other her entire life, Janie glanced at the car seat behind her. She hated to wake Dawson. He’d been fighting an ear infection and hadn’t been sleeping well.

But he loved Corrine and Joe Armstrong. And, by some miracle, they adored him back just as much. How she’d ever been blessed with such good friends, she had no idea, but...

The door to the ranch-style stucco home opened and Corrine came flying down the walk. “Hello, big boy,” she said, a huge grin on her face as she opened the back door. And then stopped when she saw Dawson asleep.

“You’re going to be late!” she said softly, but lacking none of the urgency, as she glanced at Janie.

“We had a rough night,” Janie told her friend quietly. “I hate to do this to you, Cor. You know if I had any other...”

“Shut your mouth right now,” Corrine said in a fierce whisper. “Before you say something I’ll regret. I’d have this boy, happily, every hour of every day, if it worked out that way. You know that. Is it just the ear infection?”

Because of Dawson’s narrow ear canals, he not only had tubes in his ears, but was prone to infection. Had had his share of them.

And then some.

“Yes,” Janie said, feeling her stomach relax for the first time that morning.

Joe appeared behind his wife. “I had to come out and wish you luck.”

Corrine picked up Dawson’s bag. “His medicine’s in there, right?” she said to Jane, who nodded.

Of course it was. This wasn’t the first time her friend, an attorney, had covered for her. It wasn’t even the tenth or twentieth.

And not just with Dawson. Though Corrine was a prosecutor, not a divorce attorney, she’d still done a lot of advising and behind-the-scenes work in Janie’s dealings with Dillon.

Joe glanced into the backseat, a grin on his face. And then, seeing the sleeping boy, exchanged places with Corrine. With expertise born from a lot of practice, he had Dawson’s restraints unfastened and had the boy on his shoulder without Dawson even so much as emitting a heavy breath.

These days, Corrine’s stockbroker husband was the only one who could get the boy out of his car seat without waking him. Of the three of them, he was the only one strong enough to lift Dawson’s bulky weight easily enough not to disturb him.

He wished her luck again and headed up to the house, where, Janie knew, he’d put the boy to bed in the room they kept for him.

His room, they all called it.

For a split second Janie longed to grab him back and hold on. Because life always felt better with Dawson by her side. Because she was nervous as heck and didn’t want to fail him.

Corrine ran around to Janie’s side of the car, pulling the door open. Janie tried not to hold on too tight when Corrine gave her the hug she’d been needing so badly.

“You’re going to do fine,” she assured her.

“I’m up against master chefs, Cor. With certifications and professional experience.”

“Your recipes are the best.”

“Dawson’s going to need a tutor over the summer if he has any hope at all of being integrated into a mainstream kindergarten class next year.”

She didn’t have any illusions where her son’s abilities were concerned—contrary to what his father thought. Dawson had challenges. But he’d been tested. Many times. He was high-functioning. Which meant that, with the right help, he could possibly grow up to be anything he wanted. Except maybe a professional athlete. Or a father.

“And Joe and I will help with that if it comes down to it...”

Janie shook her head. “I can’t keep taking from you guys. I’m—”

“Shh.” Cor’s finger was soft as it touched Janie’s lips. Reminding her, oddly, of her mother. A woman who’d turned to methamphetamine when her husband left her for another woman and her own job pressure and single motherhood had grown to be too much.

Janie hadn’t heard from her in years. Wasn’t even sure she was still alive.

“We’ll cross the summer’s bridge when we come to it,” Corrine said. “For now, let’s just think about today’s bridge. Today you go from a woman breaking her back to make ends meet to a TV star!”

“I’m not going to be a TV star.”

“That camera’s going to love you!” Corrine said.

“I’m too bony.” She had to go. And needed these few minutes. More than Corrine, her best friend since forever, probably knew.

“Good—you curled your hair,” Corrine was saying as she gave the long blond curls a fluff. “And that color looks good on your eyes. We chose well.”

They’d had a mani-pedi makeover session the day before.

“My clothes have no shape anymore.”

“You’re leggy and thin and there’s no hiding your shape up top. You’re star material.”

Janie laughed. Right. A girl who’d married, at nineteen, a guy she’d known for only six months, because she’d been so certain she’d found what would sustain her happiness for the rest of her life.

She had no formal training. No post–high school education.

And she couldn’t quite swallow the lump in her throat as she looked up at Corrine, who’d never forgotten her, or made her feel less, as she’d gone on to grad school and then passed the bar exam. “I need this so badly,” she said, blinking back tears. “If I win this, the money and prestige combined...added to a commercial packaging of my winning recipe... I could open my own catering business. It’s the answer to all of my prayers.”

“I know.” Corrine’s smile was...calm. Comforting. “Just be yourself, Janie. Life has a plan for you—you know that. Trust it to take care of you.”

Corrine was right. And speaking from experience. Even when it looked like Corrine and Joe—truly a couple meant to be together forever—had been on the verge of divorce, Corrine had trusted that all would be as it was meant to be. And now that they had found their way to a deeper, healthier marriage, with communication and utter honesty between them instead of walls, Corrine was even more of a pro in the trust department.

Janie, not so much.

“Be you,” Corrine said, giving her hand a squeeze as she stepped back from the car.

Be you. That was what Cor had said to her just before she’d walked down the aisle to marry Dillon. Be you. She’d said it to Corrine just a few short weeks later when her friend had moved from the apartment they’d shared into a dorm room because she’d no longer been able to afford the apartment on scholarship money.

“Be you,” Corrine had said when Janie had decided to have Dawson at the expense of her marriage. “Be you,” she’d whispered to her friend on Thanksgiving night when Corrine had called to tell her that she and Joe were getting back together.

Be you, she told herself as she pulled into the back lot of the small Palm Desert studio and parked her old station wagon next to all of the newer, fancier cars.

Be you. It was the only thing she knew how to do.

But wasn’t at all sure it would be even close to good enough.

* * *

“OKAY, YOU’VE GOT THIS. Just don’t forget to smile at the camera. Women get all gaga when you smile and Family Secrets has a lot of women judges.”

Backstage, in a private alcove she’d found for them, Kelsey was straightening the tie she’d insisted Burke wear for this pre-competition taping session.

As a sports medicine specialist, he favored collared polo shirts. But this was Kelsey’s deal and, so far, it had been a miracle worker.

In the two weeks since he’d won a spot as one of eight contestants on the show, Kelsey had been a different child.

He was lucky if she slept more than six hours a night. She’d brought home two major tests—both As. Was full of ideas every night when they got home, pulling out more and more of her mother’s recipes and making plans for packaging as he prepared one dish after another.

The grand prize included one of the winner’s recipes being commercially packaged and nationally distributed.

She’d held parties, inviting various friends over to taste his results. Making spreadsheets filled with opinions. Assessing. Analyzing.

Best of all, he’d seen her dancing in the kitchen again. Running through a routine.

And this morning he’d heard her singing in the shower.

“You’re going to win this, Daddy,” she reached up on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. “I just know you are. We’re a family again, you and me and Mom. Just one more time. This is how we live without her. Keeping a piece of her alive.”

Claws squeezed his throat until drawing breath was painful. “Kels...” She was wise beyond her years. And...so fragile, too.

“Trust, Daddy,” she said, tears in her eyes as she lowered her heels to the floor and looked up at him. “Mom’s going to help you.”

“It doesn’t always work that way.”

“That’s what you said before the audition and look what happened.” Her expression dead serious, she waited with an expectant look on her sweet, tortured features.

He had to tell her that he might not win.

To make certain she understood that some things were out of their control. That maybe someone else had angels watching down on them, too.

And that sometimes, no matter how many angels you had, things didn’t happen as it seemed they should.

That he could let her down. Again.

Lil, the “entity” she wanted him to trust, was a case in point.

If everything had gone as it should, Lil would be standing there in the wings, getting ready to go on the show. Lil would be alive. In her daughter’s life.

Helping him raise her.

And neither of them would be worrying about a thirteen-year-old on the verge of clinical depression.

But...

“Okay.” He nodded. Gave her a big grin. “I’ll trust.”

She grinned then, too. Relief flooding into her expression. “Then everything will be fine. Just like at the audition. We’ll win.”

“Yes, ma’am, I believe we will,” he said as he heard all contestants being called to the green room.

“You promise,” Kelsey said as she turned to head out to her seat in the small, nearly empty studio auditorium.

“I promise.”

“You’ll trust.”

“Yes.”

As he turned to join the others whose dreams were going on the line that cool January Saturday, all Burke could see was those big blue eyes that compelled him to make promises he wasn’t sure he could keep.


CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_e7d45265-005b-5279-9a86-71bc24992edc)

JANIE ALREADY FELT like she didn’t belong. The eight contestants had gathered in a green room—nothing elegant: four walls, used couches, a tray with water and tea, a side bar with snacks, a refrigerator, lockers and television monitors so they could see the stage—for a few moments before being called on stage.

The introductions and instructions were going to be done in front of the camera. On-air instructions and official rules, that was. They’d all been sent an entire packet full of information, instruction, on-air makeup and dress tips, dress code and what had seemed like a million forms to sign.

Throughout the five weeks, any of the footage filmed during this initial non-cooking session could be tapped for airing. A facial expression, a line someone said during separate interview sessions, could be dubbed into a particular show at any time. Not really sure how that worked, realistically speaking, Janie didn’t really care, either. Other than it meant she had to be “on” every single second she was there.

Had to stay focused.

Couldn’t be worrying about Dawson. Not that she had to worry today. He was with Cor and Joe. But what about next Saturday when the first show was being taped? And the competition was on?

She’d focus then, too. And pray there were no Dawson emergencies his therapist couldn’t handle on her own. Everyone at therapy and at preschool knew about Family Secrets—a video of the Thanksgiving show with Dawson had been sent around—and everyone was rooting for her.

Cor and Joe would have him the following week, as well. If there was a problem during his session, they’d handle it.

Her job was to focus.

To let go of Dawson a little bit. Trust him to the world in which he had to live...

Trust that his “gang” would have his back.

She didn’t feel like one of her current gang. Each of the other seven contestants had already cooked for the host of Family Secrets, Natasha Stevens—albeit not on air. They’d all had to audition live for their place on the show.

She’d never cooked for anyone other than family and friends.

Her mailed-in Thanksgiving recipe had won her a spot on the famous cooking show.

She had no idea if she could even pull this off.

At the end of the line, waiting to walk on stage and take a seat—eight bar stools were lined up for this first segment—she pulled her phone out of the waistband of her black skinny jeans. Checked to make sure there were no calls. Sent a quick text off to Cor, asking if Dawson’s ear was okay. Deleted same. Pushed and held the power button. Tucked the phone away and straightened the black silk jacket over her hip bones. All cells had to be turned off.

The line was moving.

It was time for her to go on.

* * *

FROM HIS STOOL at the beginning of the line on the stage, Burke took in the cameras—on rolling stands—that moved around them. He counted three but figured there might be more behind or above them. The guys and one woman working them were straight-faced. Moving, as if on cue, they stared at attached screens. The woman, in jeans and a T-shirt, seemed to be the one in charge. Both men, in black pants and shirts, looked to her more than at each other.

His stomach tightened a bit. So much was at stake. He was a bit...curious, too. He’d never been in a television studio before. And while, in some ways—the intense lighting, for one—it reminded him a bit of an operating room, it was also very...different. As the other contestants came in one by one, each taking a solo walk across the stage for the camera just as he had, he got a little caught up in their excitement, too.

Competition aside, winners or losers, they were all going to be on national television.

Directions rang out. Something clanged in the distance. A door closed someplace. This few minutes of filming was without sound. They were just after clips.

Glancing out toward the theater-style seating holding the hundred or so people that would be their “live” audience during the final round, he tried to find Kelsey. Stage lighting blinded him to anything beyond the edge of the platform.

Number seven was on his way across the twenty-five-foot expanse between the curtain and his stool. In jeans, a black leather jacket and biker boots, he strutted, turned toward the cameras, smiled and strutted some more. The guy was probably going to win. Viewers would eat him up. They’d tune in just to see him, which would boost ratings, and in television everything was always about the money in the end. Everyone knew that.

I’m going to lose. He was on a road that would end with him letting Kelsey down and he had no idea how to change his course. Without letting her down.

Adrenaline pumped through him anyway. Probably feeding off the other contestants. If any of them doubted their ability to win, they sure weren’t showing any signs of it.

He watched for contestant number eight to appear, impatient for their instructions to be given and the tour of the kitchens to take place so he could get home. He had a patient file to peruse a second time. A delicate surgery on Monday that could determine if an athlete ever played again. A surgery that could change the entire course of a young man’s life.

But it wasn’t going to. When it came to orthopedics, Burke had all of the confidence in the world. Confidence his patients depended on.

Eight was on stage. He’d have to lean forward to see her, though, as the other contestants were blocking his view. Conscious of the camera, he didn’t move. Didn’t want to appear as stupid as he felt when the show aired...

Burke leaned forward.

And froze. He knew her. Ripples ran through him.

She took another step. Moving more quickly than any of the rest of them had. He’d never met her before.

But he knew her in the most private way.

He’d been dreaming about her. Had thought she was just a figment of his imagination. And other than the fact he found it a bit odd that his partner-less brain was cooking up the same image night after night, he’d barely given her a conscious thought.

Men dreamed.

It was normal. He was normal.

Except for the part where he’d been dreaming about a real woman without knowing it. And now he knew why. He’d seen her on TV. She’d been the angel who’d infiltrated his thoughts on Thanksgiving—giving him a touch of good feeling in an otherwise dreadful day.

That was...unsettling.

She caught his eye as she neared her stool. Didn’t seem to know him from Adam. He smiled at her—to hide his supreme discomfort. Hoped he pulled it off. Looked away. And wished to God he was anywhere but on stage with a camera on him.

Was this it, then? The part where he lost his mind? How could he have been dreaming about a woman he’d seen on TV and not realized it? Was it because of Lil? Was she messing with him? Making him pay for the fact he’d ignored her last plea for help?

His hands resting lightly on his thighs, the look Kelsey had decided was good for him, Burke had to resist the urge to get up and leave. He had a couple of patients in the hospital, rounds he could do.

“Okay, great.” Natasha Stevens, the show’s host, and the only person Burke had expected to recognize, walked out on stage. “Welcome to Family Secrets, everyone!”

Secrets. He had a secret. Was she in on it, then? This host? Did she know how he’d failed his wife?

Get a grip, man.

He was acting like an idiot.

Because he was nervous. There. He’d admitted it. Being on television, even if only for panned camera shots with no sound, had him on edge.

He’d get used to it.

Television was the least of his worries. He had an at-risk thirteen-year-old counting on him. And a fellow contestant sitting at the other end of the line with whom he’d shared very passionate kisses, in his dreams...

The Stevens woman was giving them a rundown of things he already knew. Procedures and timelines that Kelsey had read to him from the packet sent to his address by show administrators.

Was his sweat visible through the T-shirt and shirt he’d put on this morning? Stage lights were hot. Maybe he should have forgone the more formal attire as he’d first thought.

Stevens was talking about ingredients. The contestants had submitted their recipes and would find all necessary ingredients in their kitchens each week.

“In a few minutes we’ll be taking a walk back to the kitchens so that you can familiarize yourselves with the area...” She caught his eye as she mentioned the kitchens and nodded. She knew he’d already seen the setup during his audition.

But he smiled at her. Trying to live up to expectation. She was a beautiful woman. With long auburn curls, a figure that could easily grace a fashion magazine, a confidence that reeked hard-earned, and success written all over her.

Why in the heck didn’t he dream about her? She’d been on television that day, too.

And why not develop some hots for her now, with her parading back and forth in front of them? She was the one he needed to please. The one who could ultimately determine whether or not he disappointed his daughter.

She had his fate in her hands. At least, one very important part of it.

“So, now, let’s get to the introductions. You’ll have some time to get to know each other over the next weeks. You’ll find that your kitchen quarters are compact, necessary so that we can get shots of all of you at once, and you’ll all do much better if you go into this with an attitude of healthy competition. In other words, get along with your neighbors, ladies and gentlemen.”

She’d already gone over the part where any contestant who purposely interfered with or in any way sabotaged a fellow competitor would be immediately disqualified from the show and fined an amount commensurate with all costs Family Secrets incurred on his or her behalf.

“This is a show about families, for families,” she said—not for the first time, either. “As such, my introduction of each one of you will include pieces of the family history you submitted in the packets you returned. For this next portion of today’s business, we are going to have sound as well as video. Quiet on the set, please!”

Burke’s stomach knotted at the sudden silence. It was like they’d been transported into a world all their own.

There was no big call of “roll ’em” or a board being clapped loudly in front of a camera. All eyes were on Natasha Stevens. She glanced at the female camera operator. Nodded. Paused while cameras moved, whirring like a spring breeze and...

“Burke Carter!” With the overabundance of instruction and buildup, there’d been absolutely no warning that he was going to be called upon. He was pretty sure he was smiling, though, when several cameras pointed at him. He hoped so. And figured out, too late, that Ms. Stevens had purposely called on him without warning. Getting reaction.

For ratings.

“Burke is a single father of thirteen-year-old Kelsey. He’s an orthopedic surgeon and is from right here in the Palm Desert/Palm Springs area! He learned to cook while in medical school. Cooking class was date night with his schoolteacher wife, who went on to become a master chef. Unfortunately, Dr. Carter’s wife passed away. He is going to be competing with her recipes.”

He kept smiling in spite of the fact that he sure as hades hadn’t put “date night” or “deceased” in his very brief, hastily written, responses to the show’s questionnaire.

He nodded at Natasha, thinking about the talk he was going to have with his daughter. It was one thing to do his best to win this competition, but he would not exploit his wife’s death to do so.

The woman next to him was from Las Vegas. When he was sure the cameras were off him and he could move, Burke noticed that television monitors had come on and he could see a close-up of Showgirl. Somehow she’d gone from showgirl to restaurant owner. Natasha didn’t explain that one. What was very clear was that she ran a very successful romantic diner in one of the upscale resorts on the strip. Reservations required. A sure win.

And...a showgirl. Taking his gaze from the monitor, Burke studied the beautiful though modestly dressed brunette seated next to him. Figuring he should feel some kind of attraction.

Nothing.

Next to Showgirl was a grandmotherly type, with two kids and six grandkids, whose husband was a retired farmer. Burke figured her for some fabulous family recipes. Another good possibility for the win.

The guy with slicked-back hair was single. He had an Italian restaurant in Manhattan, above which he lived. Listening to his cooking credits, Burke figured him for the win.

The short, pleasantly grinning woman was the mother of seven children. She was also a home-economics teacher. And an artist. Burke figured if she could manage to be accomplished in all three areas she was definitely their winner.

The woman with bountiful black hair had four children, and a slew of younger siblings, too. She was the head chef in a prominent Phoenix restaurant and was commuting the three and a half hours back and forth for every taping.

Then there was Biker Dude. A stay-at-home dad of three elementary-aged boys. His wife was mayor in their southern Kentucky town. He did all of the cooking for a church kitchen and a homeless shelter, in his home, while his boys were in school. Cooking under pressure was obviously not going to be a challenge for him. Burke knew karma was going to make sure he won.

“Janie Young.”

He stared at the monitor. Felt...too much.

“Janie is a single mother of a little guy most of you will remember from our Thanksgiving—”

Burke didn’t hear the rest due to the ringing in his ears. The wave of embarrassment that sloshed over him. He felt exposed, like everyone could read his mind...

Her recipe for turkey dressing had won the Thanksgiving Day competition. But as he sat there, the rest of it came back to him. She’d been in the audience for that special live show, one of several contestants whose recipes had been chosen for Natasha to prepare that day. The judges had voted on their favorite recipe. In the audience, her son had been bouncing around on her leg, gesturing and hollering out, having seen himself and his mother on the television monitor. What Burke remembered was the look on her face as she’d sat there, containing an overly excited little boy and still managing to have nothing but love in her eyes as she’d watched him.

Not the screen.

She hadn’t even known she’d won.

She’d clearly cared more that her son was having a good time.

His literal dream woman was going to win.

And he was the show’s biggest loser.


CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_a02735be-6244-5cc4-a30b-d8babd056fd4)

THERE WAS A benefit to being a local contestant. Janie would have known, if she’d read all of the fine print in her contract.

She’d read the requirements. Memorized all time commitments. Filled out every line of every necessary form. And signed her name a lot.

She’d ignored the parts about traveling from out of state. If “it” didn’t pertain to her, she usually did ignore “it” these days. Her non-Dawson time was spread that thin.

“Janie Young, right?” Turning as she collected her Coach bag—an extravagant gift with Janie’s name on it under Corrine and Joe’s Christmas tree the previous month—from the locker she’d been assigned at the far end of the green room, Janie saw Dr. Burke Carter standing there.

The only other local contestant. With a cooking certificate from a highly respected culinary institute. And a deceased wife who’d been a master chef, whose recipes Janie had to compete with.

“Yes?” Her tone was kind. Because it was the only way she knew how to be. In spite of Dillon’s constant attempts to “toughen her up.”

Out of the kitchen, there was no battle here. No reason to be “tough.”

“I noticed that you didn’t go to collect your per diem,” he said.

“Actually, I noticed.” A slender, dark-haired waif in boots, leggings and a matching sweater stepped gracefully up to them. “I’m Kelsey, and I told Dad that you hadn’t gone to get your per diem. I’m just sitting out in the audience, and all, so I noticed when you didn’t join the line.”

“She noticed because she wanted to meet you,” Dr. Carter said, at which Kelsey’s face turned abruptly toward him, her ponytail swinging so hard it brushed Janie’s shoulder.

“Daaadd,” the girl said under her breath.

Janie tried to remember what she’d heard about the doctor’s daughter in his introduction. And couldn’t. Except that it was just the two of them.

“She’s in love with your son.”

“I am not!” The girl’s wide-eyed, stricken look focused on Janie for a long second before she turned on her handsome father. “Dad.” The one word was uttered in a clearly disciplinary drawl.

“From what I’ve gathered, you’d be in the minority if you’d seen the show and hadn’t noticed Dawson,” Janie said with a smile, hoping to put the obviously embarrassed girl at ease. “If I’d had any idea we’d make such a spectacle, I wouldn’t have been there. Not in a million years.”

“Spectacle? He was great!” the teenager said. “He’s just so cute!”

People often said that Dawson’s joy was contagious.

“Thank you,” she said, moved in a way that didn’t happen often. Not anymore. Not since life had become as much about pain as about joy. Since she’d been left to cope, largely on her own, with burdens she wasn’t positive she could handle.

Not Dawson. He wasn’t a burden. At all. But money? The ability to give her son every chance to live an independent, productive life?

“So... I just wanted to... Well, I’d like to—” Kelsey broke off, looked at her father, her brows raised. With a curiously vulnerable expression this time.

“My daughter is going to be present for all of the tapings and would really like a chance to spend some time with your son. So, if ever there’s a time when he’s free, when you can bring him, she’ll be here and would be happy to take charge of him for you.”

She couldn’t, of course. Janie knew that right off. Dawson wasn’t easily understood. But could be quite easily upset.

A sudden loud noise could...

The girl’s expectant look caught at her. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, adding, “Thank you.”

Then when a shadow of something...stronger than disappointment—sorrow, maybe?—crossed Kelsey’s face, she added, “If your dad is willing, I’ll make sure you get to spend some time with him. Even if it’s not during taping.”

And had another expression to deal with. The dad’s. Which was when she realized she’d kind of proposed a personal get-together between her and Dawson and Kelsey and her father. Off set. As though she was hitting on him.

Or something...

“He’s... Dawson wouldn’t... He doesn’t take to new people unless I’m right there with him,” she tried to explain and felt like she was blubbering. Making the distressing situation worse. “If I brought him here, he wouldn’t spend time with you. Not unless he already knew you. Or I was right there with you.”

There were so many other reasons she couldn’t bring her son to the tapings. She’d never get any cooking done. Not with all the unfamiliar sights and sounds that would distract her son. Not with tiny kitchen space being shared by other contestants. Dawson wouldn’t be able to amuse himself at her feet as he did at home.

“And it wouldn’t be fair to you to leave you alone with him until you understood a little bit about being around him...”

“But if I spent time with him first, then I could? I mean, like, I could help you out maybe during the tapings or something?”

For some reason it was important to the girl. Whose father was an opponent.

“I don’t plan to have him on the set, except for the promo family times...”

“But for those...”

“Let’s do this...” Dr. Burke Carter took a step forward and placed a protective arm around his daughter’s shoulders. “Why don’t we make a plan to introduce Dawson to Kelsey this next week and then go from there?”

He was agreeable? What was with these two? They seemed so nice. But Dillon had told her she was too gullible. Too trusting. That it was her fault she was all alone and struggling financially. Because she was too nice. She let people use her.

Kelsey’s gaze was turned on her again. Expectant. Alight.

“I’m so busy...” she said. Dillon was not right. Her situation was not her fault. At least, not because of any wrongdoing. Other than...she’d married too young. Chosen the wrong man.

She noticed several things at once. The drop of Kelsey’s gaze. The droop of her shoulders. The concerned glance from her father. And the resolution in Dr. Carter’s gaze as he looked at Janie.

“We don’t want to intrude,” he said, and she breathed easier, knowing that he was going to let her off the hook. “But if there’s any time we could meet up, maybe if you ever take him to the park or something, or we could somehow join in an activity that wouldn’t require you to give up any time...”

He was a doctor. He must know at least some of the challenges she faced on a daily basis.

She needed to ask him why he was doing this. Why he was pushing.

He glanced at Kelsey, who was watching her again.

It had to do with the girl. Obviously. If she was going to get any information, it would have to be parent to parent.

“I...” Technically what they were asking wasn’t necessarily onerous.

“He’s, like, famous now and I just want to meet him...”

The girl seemed curiously vulnerable. She was at that age...

And Janie had to beat Kelsey’s father in the competition of her life. An opponent far better qualified for the task before them.

“We’re at home all day tomorrow.” Even as she said the words, she regretted them. And didn’t, at the same time. Kelsey’s reaching out to her seemed like...something. Surely not just to find a way to sabotage her so her father could have one less opponent in the competition.

A thirteen-year-old girl with a doctor father could hardly need the money and prestige that came from winning. Besides, the money would go to her father, not to her.

Janie had campaign calls to make. Hundreds of them. Because she hadn’t squeezed them in during the week that had just passed.

“If you’d like to stop by around three...?”

Dawson would be just up from his nap. At his best.

“We don’t need to intrude on your home,” Burke Carter said, frowning. “We could meet for burgers or something.”

A vision of her son with pieces of hamburger smeared all over his face, of the drool that would be on his chin from a tongue with low muscle tone that didn’t always stay in his mouth, brought about another vision. The disgust on the face of a fellow diner at a local restaurant.

“Dawson would do much better if you visited him at home,” she said. Adamant on this detail.

“Can we, Dad?” Kelsey turned to look up at him.

And before Dr. Burke Carter said a word, Janie knew, just by the expression on his face as he looked at his daughter, that she and Dawson were going to be entertaining them. When she didn’t have enough minutes in the day to get her calls done.

Dillon’s voice, telling her that she’d been a sap again, blared through her brain.

* * *

BURKE COULDN’T BELIEVE his good luck. Kelsey was showing interest in something besides his cooking. The show she’d set her sights—and emotional health—on him winning wasn’t her sole focus.

At least for the moment.

She’d always had a thing for kids. And he had to admit the Thanksgiving episode of Family Secrets had stayed in his memory bank because of the Young woman’s kid. As, purportedly, it had with much of America.

But who’d have thought Kelsey would take initiative to actually meet the boy? These days, anyway.

Maybe when Lil had still been alive, he could have seen it happening. Kelsey had always been one to champion the underdog. To try to fix the broken. Like her friend at dance whose parents wouldn’t take her to the doctor for her sore knee.

“Oh, and don’t forget your per diem.” His daughter turned back to the woman who’d just given them directions to her home.

Right. The reason they’d approached her to begin with.

“We’re given an average of the travel allotment offered to out-of-town contestants as well as meal per diem,” Burke added.

“We are?” The consternation on Janie Young’s face gave him a sudden desire to kiss her. Just...he had no idea why. And was uncomfortable with having even had the thought.

“We are,” he said, naming the weekly figure. “Payable at the beginning of each week that we’re on the show.”

“Which is today,” Kelsey added.

“Thank you.” The smile that spread across her face struck him. Not in any particular way. For any particular reason.

It just struck him.

And he knew he’d been hit.

A complication he most definitely did not need.


CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_8366c625-47c7-5d62-9d35-25cd570c670c)

JANIE WASN’T EVEN out of bed on Sunday before Dawson put a DVD cover on her face.

“Eee, eee, eee,” he grunted in his husky voice.

“You know you have to brush your teeth and get dressed and have breakfast before you’re allowed to see,” she said, pulling him up beside her on the bed as she struggled to get her eyes fully opened.

“Eee, eee,” he said, resisting her hug to hold the plastic cover an inch from her face.

It wasn’t unusual for the boy to ask to watch his favorite movie the second he got out of bed. The highly unusual part came when, that morning, Janie let him.

* * *

DAWSON’S POTTY-TRAINING UNDERWEAR had leaked during the night. Not only were his sheets soaked but his blanket was, too. Stripping the bed down to the plastic cover that protected the mattress, Janie thought about the shower she’d intended to take while Dawson’s movie kept him occupied.

She’d hoped to wash her hair. Maybe put on a little makeup. Not as much as she’d had on the day before. She wasn’t going on television.

But neither did she want to treat her afternoon guests to the shock of her bare, dull, worried-looking face.

She’d hoped to find something halfway cute to wear.

Instead she’d climbed into the first handy thing—a pair of old jeans and a sweatshirt she’d had on the night before to ward off the chill—and used the limited hot water to wash her son’s bedding. Made some of her campaign calls. And felt guilty for bothering people on Sunday morning.

* * *

AT NOON, HAVING watched his movie twice, Dawson left his seat on the carpeted floor, came over to the linoleum, opened the pantry door and pulled peanut butter off the shelf. Bending down, he flipped the latch on the shelf below and took bread out of the box. On tiptoe, he slid both up onto the kitchen counter. Right next to where Janie was sitting at the Formica-topped table.

“Eee,” he said, looking at the ingredients of his sandwich, not at her.

She grinned. Wanting to call Cor and Joe. She’d been certain he was making choices when, the week before, he’d opened the pantry door and brought her a can of tuna. Every day since, whenever they were home, she’d waited as mealtime approached to see if he’d know he was hungry and tell her what he wanted to eat. Dinner the previous night had been SpaghettiOs. Breakfast that morning, frozen waffles he’d pulled from the side-by-side refrigerator that had come with their small rental home.

Just as she was about to get up from the lists of numbers and pre-scripted phone messages she’d been hired to deliver, the four-year-old turned and headed back for the pantry door on his short legs. Inside, he pulled out a can of peaches. Tiptoed up to shove them on the counter. And then crossed his arms and looked at her.

Janie laughed.

He laughed, too. A full-bodied, husky sound that filled her heart to its brim.

“Eee!” he screamed, jumping from foot to foot as quickly as he could and then dropping down to his butt to stare up at her.

“Let’s get you to the potty first,” she told him. And had to hurry to keep up as he ran to the bathroom, yanked a new pair of potty-training underwear from the cupboard and proceeded to take off his sweatpants. He knew what it was all about. Knew the point. Was even, according to his doctor, feeling the sensations.

His muscles just weren’t developed enough yet to give him the control necessary to be able to “hold it” for any length of time.

They’d get there eventually. And until then, potty-training underwear were an easy fix. Easy...and expensive. Insurance didn’t cover them. And neither did Dillon.

* * *

KELSEY WANTED HIM to make her mother’s bourbon pork twice on Sunday. It had turned out great the first time. She’d just wanted him to work a little faster. And to make certain he could prepare it perfectly twice in a row. The first official competition was being taped the following Saturday and his schedule was completely full this coming week.

His first entry was the pork dish. The ingredients would be in his kitchen on set. He couldn’t take in any notes, let alone a written recipe.

Kelsey had her counter filled with notes. Gave him a critique after each session. And never mentioned the little boy they were going to see that afternoon.

The unease that had settled upon him sometime during the night came back to haunt him. He knew his daughter. Knew her heart and soul. Even if he didn’t always understand her thoughts. Even if her emotions weren’t always clear to him these days. He knew her.

Yet...

“Kels?” They were on their way to Janie Young’s house. Her neighborhood was across town from theirs. The houses were smaller. No gated communities with private pools and other amenities.

“Yeah?”

She’d changed from the flannel pants and tank top she’d had on at the house into jeans and a T-shirt with her favorite pony character on it. Her hair was in a ponytail. And her sweetness nearly choked him up.

“Why did you push so hard to spend time with Dawson Young?”

He didn’t want to doubt her. Hated that he was doing so. Felt like total crap. And yet...there was so much he wasn’t getting about her these days. Like, what he could and could not call her. Was this a “squirt” day or a no-“squirt” day?

“I didn’t.”

When he glanced over, hoping her expression would tell him something, all he had was a glimpse of her ponytail. Her face was turned toward her window.

“Yes, you did.” He pulled out the firm tone. If there was any chance she was... Well, he would not be a party to it. Or enable her to be a party to it, either.

He’d drop out of the competition immediately.

There were worse things than watching your child suffer from clinical depression. Like watching her sell her soul, for instance.

She shrugged. “I just wanted to meet him. That’s all.”

“Kelsey...”

“What?”

“Are you...?” He couldn’t even get the words out. His heart told him he was wrong. Emphatically.

But it made sense.

“Am I what?”

She was staring at him now. All wide-eyed. Stopped at a light, he studied her.

“Are you hoping that by becoming friendly with Dawson you can somehow find out the secrets to his mother’s—”

“What!” Her shriek filled the car. And then some. “I can’t believe you’d even think such a thing! Oh, my gosh!”

She sounded like he’d just accused her of murder. He felt as though he had.

They rode in silence for a few blocks. The rift between them deepening, becoming a chasm, a sinkhole he could lose her in...

Reparation was up to him and he panicked as he scrambled for answers.

“For the record, I never felt like you’d do such a thing.”

“Then why ask?” Her accusatory tone reminded him of her mother. Not that he’d tell her that. Ever.

Lil had had her issues, sure, but she’d been a great mother. And a good wife, too. He’d loved her. Truly loved her. He’d never missed her more than he did in that minute.

“Because I don’t understand why, after months of not caring about anything, you suddenly care so much about this kid.” That didn’t come out right. “I get that he’s cute,” he added. Even he’d felt something when the mother and son duo had lit up the television screen on a rather dreary Thanksgiving day. “But he’s not the only cute child we’ve run across in the past year.”

“She’s a single mom trying really hard.”

“She’s not the only single mother we’ve come across, either.”

“He’s special, Daddy. You can tell that just by looking at him...”

He understood that. Somewhat. And liked it a whole lot better than his sabotage theory.

“And the way she looks at him. The way he seems to matter more than even winning a spot on the show...”

He remembered that Thanksgiving Day show—the way the boy had been the one to notice that Janie Young had won...

“He’s lucky that he has her,” Kelsey was saying, her voice soft. “That she loves him so much. And I just...”

He was really starting to get it now. The boy had his mother’s love. Totally. Completely. Something that Kelsey was drawn to be a part of. If she could.

“I feel guilty,” she continued. Blowing his newest theory.

“Guilty?”

“Yeah, because, like, when we win, that means she’s going to lose.” She shrugged again. “We can’t do anything about that, because, you know, there can’t be two winners. So, I was just thinking that where we can help out, we should. You know, with her being the only other local contestant, we’re going to be living in the same town even after the show and might run into her and I just...feel like we should make this as easy on her as we can.”

And maybe, without knowing it, she was drawn to the mother/child closeness? The bonding she was missing?

Burke had no way of knowing. Of predicting what might happen next. Or, apparently, of preventing the disappointment he was convinced he was bringing upon his daughter. One step at a time. He just knew, as he pulled into the small, garage-less drive, that he loved his daughter more than life. And that he was ill-equipped to guarantee her happiness.

* * *

WHAT ON EARTH had she been thinking? Inviting a doctor and his daughter to her tiny house situated in a neighborhood without the community landscape standards that governed most of the neighborhoods in Palm Desert. Her place was clean—well, picked up, at least. But other than the two bedrooms and one bathroom, it had only the L-shaped living and kitchen area. Plenty big enough for just her and Dawson.

She was starting to feel slightly claustrophobic as the time neared for their guests to arrive. Funny—she never felt that way when Cor and Joe were over.

Standing in the opened closet doors at the far end of her kitchen, pulling Dawson’s twin sheets out of the dryer, she watched as her son sat, knees apart and legs crossed at the ankles, on the floor in front of the television, playing the video game Joe had bought him for Christmas. A nonviolent game with a cute little character who had to run and jump and face a lot of challenges on his way to wherever the next level would lead him.

And she wondered how he’d appear to the strangers coming to their home that afternoon. Would they see Dawson for who he was?

“Gah!” Dawson’s rounded shoulders jerked downward, his little neck having to tilt back even farther than normal for him to see the television.

“Gah!” The passion in his voice as he urged his man on made her smile. Just that quickly she was awash with the warmth of love she felt for her little guy. And then assailed with guilt for the thoughts she’d been having. Thoughts of him appearing less than perfect to others. And her caring at all what they thought.

He’d played all of his exercise “games” with her in great humor. Had worked hard to hold on to the large pencil and draw straight lines and then circles on plain paper. And she wanted him relaxed and in a good mood when their guests arrived.

Guests he didn’t yet know about.

Dawson tended to take life as it came. A lesson she tried hard to learn from him.

“Hey, bud, you want to help Mommy make your bed?” It was a long shot with the video-game controller in his hand, but she always asked for his help when doing anything she knew he could attempt.

Washing floors. Dusting.

A lot of the time he joined in happily. Most particularly when she was cleaning bathrooms. He loved swirling the brush around the toilet water.

While his game ran on without him, he looked at her, his mouth hanging open as it so often did.

He grinned at her. She stared at his drool. And wished she’d never invited the Carters over. Had been wondering, since the moment she’d issued the invitation, what on earth she’d been thinking.

Or, more accurately, why she hadn’t been thinking.

Yeah, Dr. Burke Carter was a handsome guy. Maybe the most compelling man she’d ever met.

But she was a mother now. Full time. First and last.

As Dillon had been quick to point out every time he wanted her complete attention and didn’t get it. Which had been at least once a day...

Jumping as the doorbell rang, Janie shook her head.

“Gah!” Dawson, apparently unconcerned by her lack of response to his smile, was back at his game.

Arms still filled with sheets, she stood there. And the bell rang a second time.

“Dooo,” Dawson said, throwing down the control and rolling onto his knees to stand.

Dropping her sheets onto the only armchair in the room, Janie went after him. He’d just learned how to unlock the front door and she didn’t want him running outside in his bare feet.

Nor did she want him facing their inquisitors alone.

She hadn’t even had a chance to wipe his face.

He was her angel.

Perfect in his imperfection.

She would die before she’d have anyone look down on him in his own home.


CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_1d5b25f0-936b-5477-a1cd-f829d17fa8c9)

AS A PHYSICIAN Burke came into contact with people from all walks of life. While he didn’t make house calls, or visit any of his patients at home, he was fully aware that not everyone lived in a neighborhood like his own.

Heck, even as plebeian as it was, Janie Young’s street was nicer than the one he’d grown up on. At least during the two weeks out of a month he’d been with his dad.

He just hadn’t expected the beautiful cook to reside in such a plain place. Weed-spattered hard dirt for a front yard. A porch that could have looked cute with a chair or plant on it.

And...

The door pulled open and she was there...or at least, someone was. It took him a second to realize that the frowning woman opening the door to them was the same perfectly turned-out beauty they’d seen on set the day before.

“Doo!”

Burke glanced down at the husky utterance in time to see Dawson’s backside as he raced away.

Typical toddlers could create havoc without warning. He could just imagine the kinds of things that could crop up with a special-needs child.

“We can come back another time if you’d rather.”

In sweats, a ponytail that was half falling out, and completely bare-faced, the woman didn’t look like she’d been expecting company.

Which was when it hit him that she’d forgotten their appointment.

“Come on, Kels. We can do this another time.” He turned to head back to the car.

“No!” Janie’s voice called out to him, “Really, you’ve come all this way and it’s fine.”

“It wasn’t that far. And we were going to have dinner on this side of town anyway.” He named a family-owned Italian place known around the entire valley for its authentically delicious cuisine.

“Dad!” Kelsey frowned at him. “We were not! We’ve got p—” She stopped. Glanced at Janie. “Well, dinner’s already made,” she finished. And then added, “Besides, this is my only chance to meet Dawson before next Saturday, and if he’s at the studio, I won’t be able to help out if I don’t meet him...”

“She’s right,” Janie said. “I was expecting you. I’m just running behind today. Come on in.” Her smile came out.

And hit Burke in the gut. Those lips softened in an upward curve, the light in her vivid blue eyes held his gaze—even more than the figure her sweats didn’t disguise.

“Please come in.”

Embarrassed that she’d had to ask another time, Burke followed his daughter inside.

* * *

JANIE DIDN’T KNOW for sure what she’d been expecting. Probably nothing good, which was why she’d been in a tizzy all day long. But it certainly hadn’t been the way Kelsey’s blue-eyed gaze sought out Dawson and stayed with him. Almost to the point of rudeness. Except that the girl’s expression seemed to be filled with a compassion beyond her years.

“Dawson?”

The boy grunted when he heard Janie’s voice—his attention seemingly on the little figure racing around the screen. The music coming from the set gave a downward spiral, signaling a lost life, but Dawson pushed buttons and had the critter up and running within seconds.

“Dawson,” she said again, more firmly.

What, if anything, the boy paid attention to when he was enrapt with whatever was in front of him, no one knew at this point. But she knew he’d heard her.

And understood her, too.

He continued to play. Janie felt the heat creeping up into her cheeks and hated herself for it. Dawson was being Dawson.

And she’d be darned if she was going to start wanting him to be someone different. She, of all people. What was the matter with her?

What was it about this family that she felt the need to impress them?

Because she had to be good enough to best them on television?

Taking a deep breath, she felt calm come over her. And walked over to stand between Dawson and the television set. “Time to turn it off,” she told him, aware of the two people standing just a few feet away, still behind the couch that separated the foyer from the living room, and yet focused now on what mattered.

She could turn off the television herself. Dawson might just smile up at her and move. He might not. No matter, they had their ways of doing things and she was not going to do him the disservice of changing them.

Not for anyone.

“Gah!” Dawson blurted loudly, continuing to press the buttons on his controller.

She couldn’t see behind her, but recognized the sound when another life was lost.

“Time to turn it off,” she said again, her voice as patient as usual. The air in the room was cool and comfortable, light, as she stood there, remembering who she was. Who they were. Until it was just her and Dawson, alone in their own world.

“Dawson, time to turn it off,” she said again. As she would until he minded her. What part of his stubbornness came from lack of putting two and two together, and what part was typical rebellion, she didn’t know.

What she knew was that her son had to learn his boundaries and the only way he was going to learn was if she taught him.

She couldn’t do it for him. He had to do it for himself. Whether he wanted to or not.

“Dawson...”

“Kaaaayyy.” Dawson dropped the game console. Picked up the TV remote. Pushed the off button. And then sat, facing her knees, his arms folded across his chest.

She wanted to hug him. And looked at her guests instead.

“Come on in,” she said. “Have a seat.” She motioned toward the couch. And sat on the edge of the sheet-filled chair.

“Dawson, you want to show Kelsey and Burke your cars?” Realizing how familiar she sounded, she looked at the orthopedist. “He’s seen so many d-o-c-t-o-r-s in his lifetime that the word upsets him,” she said.

“You have cars?” Kelsey asked, sliding down to the floor and then, on her butt, scooting over to Dawson. “I used to have some cars,” she told him. “Until my mom took them away because she didn’t think they were good for little girls to play with. Can I see your cars?”

Dawson didn’t even look her way. But he got up, went to the hall closet and pulled open the door to reveal the shelves of neatly stacked toys and games. Taking out his case of cars, he brought it over and dropped it on the floor in front of Kelsey. He then went back and grabbed the plastic track that Joe had bought him—a one-piece circle that stood on end beneath the bottom shelf—and carried that back, too.

He half dropped, half tossed it at Kelsey. It hit her knee and, with a startled look at Janie, the girl backed up.

Dawson picked up the track again, brought it close to Kelsey and dropped it a second time, this time falling down in front of her.

“Gah!”

Janie waited. Holding her breath, mostly.

Dawson sat, cross-legged, hands in his lap.

Kelsey reached for the case of cars, looking between Dawson and Janie. “Can I see them?” she asked when no one reacted.

Dawson’s nod was short. Succinct. And Janie had to restrain herself from laughing out loud.

Her boy was a sucker for a pretty girl. Who’d have thought?

* * *

WHERE BURKE MIGHT have found himself eager to be finished with Sunday afternoon’s appointment and have dinner—preferably at the Italian place and not at home eating a pork recipe he’d prepared twice that day—instead, he sat in Janie Young’s living room, chatting up the beautiful woman like he was on a date.

The turning point had come when Dawson had suddenly stood from his cars, grabbed Kelsey’s hand and dragged her down the hall—off of which he counted three doors. Assuming one was a bathroom, that left two for bedrooms.

“Most of his toys are in his room,” Janie had said as she’d watched the pair depart.

Her smile was full-on now. And he wondered if he’d ever seen a woman who looked so attractive while doing absolutely nothing to help herself appear that way.

He scooted down to the end of her dark brown leather couch. “You don’t have to sit on the edge of your seat,” he told her. “I don’t bite.”

Her legs looked longer than he’d remembered as she got up and walked toward him—folding them under her as she settled on the other end of the couch.

“I won’t let him monopolize her for long,” she assured him. “But this couldn’t have gone better if she wanted to get to know him.”

“She’s a sensitive kid,” Burke said, lowering his voice, though he didn’t think Kelsey could hear him while talking at the same time. She’d been conversing with Dawson nonstop since they’d left the room, though he didn’t see how she could understand any of the boy’s grunts.

“She seems very sweet.” Janie’s gaze was direct. Not shy at all. Unusual for someone so soft-spoken.

He was curious about her. In so many ways.

He nodded. “In some ways she’s old beyond her years.”

“I just don’t understand why she’s so taken with my son. I mean, my world revolves around him, but other people usually have to get to know him before they appreciate him—”

When her voice broke off, Burke wanted to know where the words had led her—someplace she’d chosen to travel to alone. He wanted to know badly. Not just with the curious interest of a stranger.

The idea—him wanting access to the inner workings of her mind—bothered him. As did whatever compelled him to be honest with her.

“She’s convinced I’m going to win the show,” he told her. They were competitors. Contestants going after the same prize. He wasn’t going to pretend otherwise. Or lure her into thinking he was forgetting that. “And so she wants to help you out in any way she can to soften the blow.”

“So she’s got plans to aid the other six contestants, as well?” She sounded mildly curious. Nothing more. And didn’t seem the least offended—or surprised—by his comment.

That kind of bothered him, too.

Which bothered him.

“No. Just you.”

“Just me? Why just me?”

“Because you’re local.”

She nodded. As though he’d answered all her questions. As though, if he didn’t keep talking, he’d lose what interest of hers he had.

“My wife was a chef.” He blurted what had already been revealed during his introduction the day before. And added, “Kelsey’s mom,” as if that wasn’t self-explanatory.

She nodded again. Seeming interested. But adding nothing.

“She died suddenly, unexpectedly, and Kelsey’s taken it really hard.”

Those gorgeous brows drew together and he could have sworn he saw an actual shadow cross Janie Young’s face. “I’m so sorry,” she said, the softness in her voice seeming to convey more emotion than yelling would have done. “I knew...the introductions yesterday and all...that you were a widower, but I had no idea it was recent. Or sudden.”

Sudden seemed to make it worse for some. His jury was still out on that one. During his residency he’d seen too many families whose lives were forever changed by debilitating long-term and ultimately fatal illness.

“It’s been almost two years,” he said. Needing her to know that he wasn’t so recently widowed made no sense to him.

Guilt surged. Just because he was familiar with its company didn’t mean he was at peace with it. Welcomed it. Or even handled it well.

A song started to play in the other room. Something about learning to brush your teeth. It was vaguely familiar.

Burke could hear Kelsey singing along.

“Because she’s been struggling, I wanted to take Kelsey on vacation over Thanksgiving. She insisted we stay home. That we cook a full dinner, using all of her mother’s recipes. And that we watch cooking shows all day.”

Janie nodded, a sad smile spreading across her face. “That’s when she saw Family Secrets.”

“She talked about Dawson all during dinner that day. Normally she focuses on the cooking, trying to take after her mother, I suppose. Anyway, she smiled when she talked about him. She doesn’t smile all that much these days.”





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