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MILLS & BOON
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Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter One
Chicago
January 2
Six years with temperamental chefs in kitchens around the world had not prepared Cassidy Preston for this.
Like fingernails on a chalkboard, the scraping of steel against steel scratched through a blue-gray fog. Smoke swirled within her throat, filling her nostrils with the acrid stench of—porridge? Cassidy wrinkled her nose to block it from her lungs.
Wincing at the painful din, Cassidy stepped across the littered room and grabbed the battered pot from the man’s hand. She then scanned the kitchen, found and flicked a wall switch. The exhaust fan wheezed to life and the smoke cleared, allowing her to peer into eyes so richly blue she might have been back in Greece, staring into the Aegean.
“Excuse me.”
“Certainly.” Long, elegant fingers dropped the slotted spoon he’d been using as a pot scraper. He pressed a hip against the center island, tilted his head to one side. “You’re excused. Now may I have that back?”
“It’s a saucepan.”
“Yes, I know.” Amusement bubbled through his words.
“Which is for making sauces. Cooking. Things like that.” Cassidy slid her nail tip over the charred bottom. “In my experience, saucepans are more effective if you don’t fossilize your meal in them. That way you can use them again.”
He didn’t respond. Instead he studied her with the lazy, relaxed manner of a man who had all the time in the world to lounge around. And he might well have.
She didn’t.
But his silence offered Cassidy time to note his mussed jumble of almost-curls that framed a face made for the stubbled look. The Romanesque nose didn’t diminish his appearance, nor did the dimples at the sides of his mouth. A faint scar on the edge of his chin only enhanced the chiseled jawline.
He was gorgeous.
But Cassidy wasn’t here to admire handsome men. In fact, she would only be here long enough to work off her debt to Elizabeth Wisdom.
He crossed one long, lean leg over the other, stubbed a booted toe against a mark on the tile floor as if scraping one blob of scorched food from its filthy surface would make any difference.
Cassidy cleared her throat.
He lifted his head, blinked incredibly long lashes. Said nothing.
She raised her eyebrows expectantly.
His eyes danced, amused by her impatience.
“Tell you what. Since I belong here and you don’t, perhaps you’d better tell me who you are.”
Cassidy didn’t think he belonged here. Not in a kitchen. Not in that white shirt—silk if she wasn’t mistaken. The jacket—a designer brand for sure. Probably Italian.
No. He didn’t look like he belonged in this mess.
But he did look like trouble.
The tall, rich and handsome kind of trouble.
“You do have a name, don’t you?” he asked.
Add sense of humor to his assets.
“Of course I have a name. It’s Cassidy.” She tucked a lock of hair behind her left ear. “Cassidy Preston. Elizabeth Wisdom sent me. Apparently I’m to be the chef here for the next six months.”
“You’re the cook?” Sapphire deepened to impenetrable cobalt. The dimples vanished. He unfolded from his lazy stance and straightened. “Oh.”
Not exactly the welcome she’d expected. He loomed over her, a few inches above six feet with perfect wide shoulders.
Just right for a girl to tuck her head against.
Not going to happen. A lying boss and a cheating fiancé had only reinforced what Cassidy had already learned from her father that men were not to be trusted.
No need for a refresher course.
“Ms. Preston?”
Even his voice was good-looking.
Cassidy blinked back to awareness, shook her head to silence her brain’s warm hum. The straight-cut ends of her hair swung free, tickled her nose then fell right back into place against her jaw, which was exactly what she expected from her hairstyle. If only her life would work out that way.
Again, the man peered at her with that questioning stare, as if he’d said something and now awaited her response.
“Uh, yes, I’m the cook. Chef,” she corrected. “Which is how I know saucepans need a little more care than this one’s had. I’ll need to use it. Preferably without charcoal.”
He shook his head in mock reproof, eyes twinkling.
“We’re not going to harp on a little burn, are we? At this rate, we’ll never get anything done.”
She cast a dubious glance at the mess surrounding them.
“You’ve actually done something here?”
“Breakfast. Before that I was assessing.” His left eye wrinkled into a rogue’s wink while his lips curved upward in a lazy grin. He ambled toward her with the supreme confidence of a man fully in control of his universe. “It might not look difficult but it’s really draining, trust me.”
Trust him? Not with those daredevil eyes.
In spite of that resolution, Cassidy’s breath logjammed as a whiff of his cologne tickled her nostrils. She’d always been a sucker for citrus. Ignoring this man was not going to be easy.
“Um—”
“I’m Tyson St. John. Ty to my friends. I am, or will be, the director of this place when it’s up and running.” He thrust out one hand, grasped hers. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Cassidy Preston. Will it cause you grief if I suggest the saucepan is beyond repair?”
The touch of his skin against hers ratcheted up Cassidy’s respiration. Her knees turned to chicken noodle soup. Score ten for that killer smile.
Was this what they called charisma?
He cannot be trusted.
The warning that had carried her safely through the past popped up and jerked her back like a safety harness. She could not trust him.
Cassidy fought free of his magnetism. Why couldn’t her new boss have been a sweet, chubby old man with bow legs and a face like a prune?
Her fingers tingled. She glanced down. Their hands were still melded together.
“Are you all right?”
Define all right. She had to survive six months of him. Judging by her overreaction, it wasn’t going to be a cakewalk. Dragging her fingers from his grip, Cassidy backed up two steps, inhaled a cleansing breath.
Cassidy completed a quick visual inspection of the room. “I don’t know what to call this.”
“Try chaos.” An amused smile twisted his lips.
“Have you considered a cleaning service?”
“All part of my assessment.” He waved a hand in front of his face, then coughed. “Besides a new kitchen, I guess we also need a new exhaust fan. That one sounds bad.”
At last, something about which she could speak intelligently.
“They work better if they’re clean. Most things do.” Her brain took in what was there and its condition, ignoring the hot plate he’d used. “This place will need some refurbishment. Has the budget been set yet?”
“The Wisdom Foundation has been very generous.” An infusion of starch altered his lazy manner. “This building wasn’t cheap, but it’s in the perfect location, and I think it’s exactly what Gail would’ve wanted.”
“Gail?”
The moment the word left her lips, his eyes froze. Tyson St. John didn’t have to say a word. Any fool could guess from his reaction that Gail was someone special. His wife?
“I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”
“Don’t be. It’s only—” After a moment’s pause he grudgingly offered details. “Gail was the one with the view for this project—the Haven, that’s what she wanted to call it.” He tilted his head just the slightest degree, as if to hide his expression. “She saw it as a place where the hungry could come for a decent meal, where the homeless could find a bed and some warmth. A kind of community center.”
“Well, there’s certainly enough room to do all that in this old school. It’s huge.”
Tyson St. John remained silent while she navigated the kitchen, opened sticky cupboard doors and peered into the dingy storeroom. He said nothing when she checked the interior of the ancient cooler and hastily backed away from the odor. He didn’t even comment when she rattled the doors of the cast-iron monstrosity that had served as a stove in some previous lifetime.
Cassidy didn’t say anything, either. But her heart sank faster than a stone thrown into Lake Michigan. It looked like nothing had changed since the building had been built. When she saw the narrow darkness of the receiving staircase she couldn’t suppress a groan.
“What’s wrong?’
“Transporting supplies up and down that will be a killer.” She pushed open the door to an adjoining room and walked inside. Remnants of cafeteria tables and chairs lay all over the place.
“The dining room,” he said from behind her, as if she hadn’t already figured that out.
“Any idea how many people you expect to serve?”
Tyson St. John’s shoulders went back. His brows drew together. He swallowed then shook his head.
“I’m, um, that is—er, I don’t think we’re that far yet. We only received possession of the property two months ago.”
Two months? Surely his assessing should have been finished.
Frustration nipped at Cassidy’s nerves, winching them a notch tighter. She’d expected to walk in here and get right to work, but with the kitchen not even ready to boil water, she foresaw her time extending exponentially.
“Mr. St. John—”
“Ty,” he insisted.
“Ty. Since I’ll only be here just six months,” she emphasized softly, “I’d like to get to work as quickly as possible. Do you have a schedule for start-up?”
The welcome in those clear blue eyes frosted up. Goodbye sense of humor.
“We have a rough plan. My thought was that we would get your input before we made a decision on any big changes in the kitchen.”
“My input.” She seized the opportunity. “All right then. Do you have a pen?”
When he blinked Cassidy knew he wasn’t prepared for her list. She’d give it to him anyway. They couldn’t afford to waste time deciding who did what. January in Chicago was frigid and the homeless people would need a place to come to.
She removed her coat, pulled a black marker out of her purse, picked up a hunk of cardboard from the floor and laid it on the counter. As she wrote, she spoke.
“Most of the money will have to go toward the big-ticket items. Cooler, freezer. We’ll need a new stove. I can manage with the pots and pans that are here. Now for small wares.” She checked the cupboards, shrugged. “Not bad. I bring my own knives, so we can manage for now. I am going to need a mixer though.”
She kept going, printing the things she needed—clearly and legibly so there would be no mistake about her requests.
“Wait!”
Cassidy froze at the barked order, peeked over one shoulder at her boss. His eyes gaped; he looked stunned.
Sympathy rose. She did tend to get carried away sometimes.
“Don’t worry, I can adapt to minimal conditions. Now in regard to helpers—I’ll need two. Full-time. Strong, willing to learn, not afraid of correction. It’s important—”
“Ms. Preston, would you please stop?”
“Stop?”
“Yes. Stop.” The relaxed demeanor had vanished, replaced by the deportment of a man used to giving orders.
The change in him made Cassidy catch her breath. Angry or teasing, he was still very good-looking, even when his eyes hardened to glacial chips and the steel in his voice warned her he wouldn’t easily relinquish control.
“I realize you are a fully qualified chef, Ms. Preston, and that this must be a bit of a comedown for you. But the Haven is not—”
“Hey, Ty!” The yell was punctuated by the echo of an elephant herd tromping downstairs. A boy burst into the room. Well, not quite a boy. A preteen? “You’ll never believe what I found.”
Tyson St. John sighed as he raked a hand through his hair.
“No, I probably won’t. Jack, this is Ms. Preston. She’s a chef. Elizabeth Wisdom sent her to cook for us.” His mouth tightened as he drew the boy forward. “This is my nephew, Ms. Preston. Meet Jackson Dorfman.”
Cassidy found the introduction stilted, but had no time to dwell on it as Jack jerked away from the contact and frowned at her.
“A cook, huh? What kind?”
He was testing her. That belligerence, the bottom lip jutting out, the glare from those bittersweet brown eyes—all characteristic signs of onset teenager-hood. Two younger sisters had educated Cassidy in the challenges of that particular age very well. It was not an experience she yearned to repeat.
“It’s nice to meet you, Jack.” Cassidy met the glare head-on. “What kind of cook do you want?”
“I-I don’t know.” He seemed surprised by the question, not quite ready to back down, a bit curious. “You’re not going to make things like liver pâté, are you? Or those things like clams that slide off slimy shells? Ty ordered them when we went for a fancy dinner one time.”
She swallowed her laughter, kept her face straight. “Do you mean oysters?”
“Yeah, I guess. They were gross!”
Ty, good humor restored, winked at her before turning Jack to face him.
“I think I can safely assure you that Ms. Preston will not be offering oysters on her menu. Am I right?” he asked, glancing her way.
“I’m afraid so.” She kept her face straight through a gargantuan effort. “At the Haven we will have to settle for things like beef stew, hot dogs, maybe some hamburgers. Once in a while, we might have to have roast beef, or maybe fried chicken. Unfortunately, I might even be forced to include pizza occasionally.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Cassidy could see Ty’s shoulders shake at her sad tone. She ignored him.
“That won’t be too awful, will it, Jack?”
“Mom always said God answers prayer.” Like lightning, the subject changed as Jack grabbed Ty’s arm and yanked on it. “You’ve got to come see what I’ve found. It’s the weirdest mirror. Come on!”
“Okay, okay, I’ll be there in a minute.” Ty shook his head at the burst of pounding footsteps overhead. “Remember, Jack,” he called. “Be careful.”
“Hurry!”
Cassidy was surprised by the soft look of yearning that washed over Tyson St. John’s face as he gazed after his nephew, when just moments ago there had been stiffness in his attitude with the boy that she didn’t understand.
“I’m really sorry Elizabeth didn’t tell you that we aren’t quite ready to open, Cassidy.” Ty gnawed on his bottom lip. “I don’t suppose you could get your boss to hire you back for a month or so, just until we get things shipshape?”
“I’d have to go back to Greece to do that and I don’t think it would be worth it for one month.” Cassidy kept her expression neutral as she surveyed the area. “I’ll get settled in my place over the weekend. Monday morning I’ll start cleaning in here. If you can find some helpers—”
A tremendous crash above them cut off the rest of her words. Ty instantly froze. One word whispered from his lips.
“Jack.”
It took a second before he turned and raced out of the room, his footsteps hammering the stairs as he charged upward. Cassidy followed, besieged by memories. Ty paused on the first floor, but a weak cry from above them sent him racing up a second flight.
Ty charged through a doorway. Cassidy followed then jerked to a stop. Jack lay on his back by the far wall, shards of mirror surrounding his prone body, a pool of blood forming around his head. A six-inch jagged spear of glass protruded from his brow, barely missing his right eye.
“Oh, no.” Ty remained frozen to the spot, hands clenching against his sides.
“Help me.” Jack’s words slipped from between lips drained so white they looked almost lifeless.
“Yes.” But Ty’s eyes brimmed with fear as they locked on Cassidy’s, begging her to do something.
She slapped her phone into his palm before kneeling beside the injured boy.
“Call 911,” she ordered. When he didn’t obey, she snapped, “Now.”
While he pushed the buttons, she did a quick survey of Jack then tried to make him more comfortable. A mirror hanging from the wall must have come off and landed on Jack.
“Lie still,” she murmured. “You’ll be fine. The ambulance will be here soon. It’s going to be okay. Try not to move.”
She felt Ty brush her arm as he crouched down beside her.
“They’re coming. The glass—” he whispered. “Shouldn’t we—” He reached out.
Cassidy grabbed his hand, pulled it back and held it with both of her own.
“Don’t touch it!”
Jack’s eyes flared open. She could see panic growing in their depths.
“Uncle Ty? Am I going to die like Mom?”
So he’d lost his mother. For a fraction of a moment, Cassidy could see into his boyish heart, to the uncertainty that lurked there like a monster in the night.
In that moment, a bond formed between them. She knew exactly how Jack felt because once, a long time ago, she’d felt the same. Scared, lonely, afraid that no one would ever love her as her dead mother had.
She released Ty’s hand with a warning glance, then bent forward and placed her palms against Jack’s cheeks. She waited till he was wholly focused on her.
“You’re not going to die, Jack.” She smiled to soften the harshness of her words, made her voice steady, reassuring. “You’re going to lie very still until the paramedics come. They’ll take you to the hospital and the doctors will help you. Then all the pretty nurses are going to come and fawn over you and offer you ice cream and try to get your telephone number for their daughters. Okay?”
Jack started to nod his head, but Cassidy tightened her fingers and held him still.
“You must have missed the first part,” she teased. “Lie very still. Blink if you understand.”
He blinked a whole bunch of times. Cassidy smiled.
“Good. I saw that in the movies and always wanted to try it.” She grinned. “Guess it works, huh? Does your voice?”
“Yes.”
“Thought so. Hey, that sounds like the ambulance.” She turned to Ty. “Can you go and show them where to come?”
She knew from his expression that he did not want to leave. Yet something else told her that given the choice, Ty St. John would run as far and as fast from this situation as he could, which was exactly why she would not leave Jack. Ty was too upset to handle this.
When Ty opened his mouth to protest, Cassidy gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head and leaned so her lips were next to his ear.
“Go quickly.”
He rose to his feet like a man in a daze, offered his nephew a shaky smile.
“I thought I was in charge here, but she’s pretty bossy, don’t you think?”
A smile fluttered across Jack’s white lips. “Yeah.”
“I think you and I are going to have to watch it. You keep your eye on her while I go get the paramedics.” Tyson took one last look before hurrying out of the room.
Cassidy checked Jack’s vitals, noted the widening circle of blood. She picked up his hand and held it between her own.
“You are doing fine, Jack.”
“Can you pray for me?”
The words caught Cassidy off guard.
“When my mom was sick, she would ask me to pray for her. She always said it made her feel better. So can you pray for me?”
Years had passed since Cassidy had trusted anyone, let alone God. But Jack’s pleading face could not be denied. She squeezed his hand and bowed her head, searching for the right words.
“God, you know that Jack has been hurt. And you know that he’s afraid right now. Please help him.”
It was a pathetic prayer, but at least it came to a quick end, thanks to the paramedics bursting into the room. She glanced down at Jack, felt the squeeze of his fingers around hers. One of the medics hunkered beside her, tried to nudge her out of the way. But Jack wouldn’t let go of her hand.
“Thanks,” he whispered, brown eyes shining.
“You’re very welcome.” Cassidy swallowed around the lump in her throat.
“Step back, please. We need to move him.”
Jack squeezed her fingers once more, then let go. Cassidy stood by and watched them prepare him for the ride to the hospital.
Such gratefulness, and for what? A few paltry words? She had done nothing, and yet Jack seemed to relax, to gain confidence from her silly prayer. She watched as they loaded him onto a gurney, then followed as they carried him out of the building.
A child’s blind trust. She’d had that once.
“I’m going with him. Would you be able to drive my car to the hospital?” Clearly back in control, Ty fished a set of keys out of the coat he was carrying. “It’s parked behind the building. Ms. Preston?”
“Y-yes, of course.” Cassidy gulped and accepted the keys from him. “I’ll lock up and follow you. I want to see how he does, too.”
Jack was inside the ambulance now. The paramedics waited impatiently, but Ty paused a moment longer, his face solemn.
“Thank you. I froze back there. I couldn’t—” He shook his head as if to clear the image as he searched for words.
“Go.” Cassidy urged him forward. “Your nephew needs you now.”
He nodded, turned and strode toward the ambulance. Once he’d climbed inside, it took off. Shivering, she waited until the flashing lights disappeared from sight before turning back toward the building. Leaving Greece in January—was she crazy?
She retrieved her coat and purse, then stepped out the front door.
A grizzled old man, dressed in a shabby overcoat, stood on the bottom stoop.
“What happened?” He didn’t sound like a curious onlooker. He sounded concerned, worried.
She debated whether or not to tell him, then decided it could do no harm. But first she had some questions of her own.
“Who are you?”
“Mac. I’ve been coming here awhile, helping Ty get the place cleaned out.” The skin on his forehead drew into a crease. “The boy got hurt, didn’t he?”
“Yes, Jack broke a mirror and some of it cut him. He’s going to need some stitches. I’m going to the hospital as soon as I lock up.”
“Ty’ll blame himself.”
“It wasn’t his fault. It was an accident.”
“Ty doesn’t always see things that way.”
That sounded strange but Cassidy had no time to probe deeper. She stepped around him, pulled the door closed and used the keys Elizabeth had sent her to lock it.
“Things will probably be back to normal on Monday. Why don’t you come back then.”
He nodded, turned away. “Ty will have nightmares tonight.”
Cassidy frowned as she watched him leave. Ty? Nightmares? What an odd thing to say. Maybe he’d meant Jack.
As Cassidy drove to the hospital, her thoughts flew to the young boy who’d lost so much blood and to the man who’d seemed more traumatized than the child.
Not that it was any of her business.