Justify

by Kristin Harte

And I was starving, just not for food.

  I’d been in the kitchen with Katie when she’d been covered in flour, elbow deep in raw meat, and sweating as if she’d run a marathon. I still wanted to get my hands on her every second of every day. Even more, really—that passion she had for her work was too fucking attractive to resist. Katie could see me just as I was—end-of-shift dirty with my hair tied back and the ink on my neck on full display.

  I’d be in the shower enough tonight once I left her place. Me and Righty had a standing date because if I wasn’t getting any from Katie, I wasn’t getting any from anyone else. I was a one-woman man, and that woman had no clue I was already wrapped around her little finger.

  Chapter Two

  Katie

  In a normal restaurant, the dinner rush would be served over the course of a couple of hours as diners came in small groups. You could plan for that, could find the time to do things well if you prepped and stuck to your process.

  In a logging town, the dinner rush was one single sixty-minute period when every customer you’d have for a night would hit the door at once. That fact meant each night I threw everything I’d ever learned about running a kitchen out the window and prayed I’d make it through dessert.

  “Alder texted. The crew’s been released. They’ll be coming down the mountain within twenty minutes.” Shye—one of my waitresses and a woman becoming a pretty good friend to me—raced through the kitchen, grabbing supplies to finish prepping the tables. Her blond hair sat piled high on her head—the only thing high about the shorter-than-average woman. Not that I was any better. With both of us barely five feet tall, we’d been forced to keep a couple of shelves empty or else we wouldn’t have been able to reach them when we were the only two working. Which happened a lot. Not tonight, though—we had an extra waitress to run the floor in case I needed Shye’s help cooking.

  Because once the loggers showed up, there would be no stopping for me.

  “Thank you, Shye. Make sure the updated menus are on the tables. No sense making the guys wait for them.”

  “On it.” She disappeared through the door with a smile on her face. Alder—her big, burly boyfriend—would hit the door first for sure. He owned the mill, so he could leave whenever he wanted. He also hated to be away from Shye, and he made sure to grab a few extra minutes to say hello when they were rejoined. His version of hello involved lots of kissing and wandering hands, whispered words of sweetness, and a definite promise of the naughty that would come later. In other words, their hellos were something to avoid watching.

  Not that I saw anything wrong with a little PDA. To be honest, I wanted the same sort of connection with a man—who wouldn’t?—just not with that man. Alder was too tame, too controlled, too safe. I wanted rough and strong, the kind of man that set your panties on fire and made you a little nervous.

  A tough man with a heart of gold. An impossible dream it had always seemed, until… Focus, woman.

  Food. That had to be my priority for the night. I took a breath to clear my head and thought through my menu for the evening. I could do this; I could stay on task and on target. I just had to ignore the distractions bombarding me. With nothing on my mind but making my diners happy, I grabbed a knife and started cutting more potatoes to boil and mash. Paring back on what I offered had become a necessity because of how the dinner rush worked in Justice. Four offerings tonight, things I knew the men loved, plus a special homemade gnocchi in marinara sauce that made the couple of kids in town happy. That was it—no special orders, no substitutions, and hopefully, no complaining.

  When I had the potatoes in the water, I gave my kitchen another quick, sweeping glance. My prep work seemed complete—meat either roasting or ready to go, vegetables par-cooked, water boiling in two pots for the gnocchi, sauces made, plates lined up and ready to be filled. I had this.

  I’d been in the weeds every night since my grand opening celebration. The dinner rush continued to grow and become more demanding, which wasn’t a bad thing. Business was good, which should have thrilled me, but the rush every night left me frustrated and exhausted more than satisfied. I’d broken down and hired another person for the kitchen—a lady from Rock Falls with restaurant experience as a line cook. She’d help me up my game and get food out faster, but she wouldn’t be in the kitchen tonight. It was just me. Me and the annoying little order printer that never quieted. Me and a hundred people filling my dining room all within a five-minute stretch. Me and my food that couldn’t get plated fast enough.

  One night. Give me one night where I don’t lose control of this kitchen. I need to prove I can do this.

  But prayers wouldn’t help me. Not with this. I loved cooking, loved feeding people good, wholesome meals I knew would fuel them well. I loved it even more now that I was feeding my hometown in a restaurant I ran with staff I had chosen under the watchful eye of the Kennard family. I’d liked being a chef when I’d lived in Denver, but nothing would ever replace the feeling of working in my own kitchen, in my own restaurant, in the town where I grew up. Where I felt safe and at home.

  Let the loggers come. I could handle the rush.

  I cracked my neck. “You’ve got this.”

  Shye burst through the doors. “The trucks are coming down Main Street.”

  She grabbed a full tray of water glasses from the walk-in and headed out to the dining room to finalize the tables. Leaving me with my food. Exactly where I was meant to be.

  The sound of the bell over the restaurant entrance door and the deep bass of the men chatting as they entered broke the relative silence of the kitchen. My heart jumped, stuttered, made itself known inside my chest. The hussy.

  As much as I hated thinking about him when I had so many other things to focus on, I couldn’t help but wonder if Gage Shepherd—heavy machinery mechanic for Kennard Mills and a bear of a man with the darkest eyes I’d ever seen—was out there already. If he’d be coming in tonight. The man drove my nerves to the brink like no one else—something in the way his very presence commanded a room making my heart want to leap out of my chest every time I was around him. I tended to talk when I got nervous. A lot. As in babble or word vomit. I’d done that to him too many times to count, which was why I tried to ignore him. To stay away from that big, dark, bearded brute of a man. But tonight felt different. I felt different. I wouldn’t let my fear of him overwhelm me this time. I would stand my ground instead of running when he showed up. This was my place, my business. My kitchen.

  I could control myself in front of Gage Shepherd.

  But deep down, I knew that was a pipe dream. Just like my kitchen during the dinner rush, I lost control around him. I did my best—tried to chat, tried to sound normal—but eventually, the flutters in my tummy and the way my heart pounded so hard would get the better of me, and I’d embarrass myself before running away to hide. I couldn’t help it. He was just so…big and domineering. One glance, and he threw every instinct I had for self-preservation into overdrive while making me want to curl up against his broad chest and wrap myself around him at the same time.

  Fear and desire didn’t go together, did they?

  The order printer came to life, spewing ticket after ticket of orders as my two waitresses did their jobs in the dining room. It was time to do mine. My brain had no room for thoughts of Gage Shepherd until that machine stopped spitting out orders.

  “I will not fall behind tonight.”

  Thirty minutes. From nothing to a full dining room completely served in thirty minutes. My hands hurt, my shoulders burned, and my throat felt raw from yelling directions at my two-person staff, but I’d done it. I’d made it through without falling behind.

  I stood in my kitchen, listening to the rumble of the diners in the other room, giving myself a moment to catch my breath before I checked on my guests. Those men out there knew me, had known my family. Most had watched me grow up in Justice. I had to make an appearance no matter how much I wanted to fall into the chair in my office and take a nap. S
o I took a deep breath, rolled my neck one last time, and I looked up.

  And promptly screamed.

  “Jesus, Gage.” My hand rested over my heart as if trying to hold it in place as it attempted to beat its way out of my chest. “You scared me.”

  He always did, but I refused to admit that to him. The man in question stood across the room in a corner with his dog Rex at his side. A common sight around town, those two. Gage’s long, thick hair looked to be pulled back from his face, and his beard hung just as bushy as ever. A dark cloud decorated his face, almost hiding him. The man was made of shadows, slipping into spaces without anyone noticing. But when they did, when I did, I couldn’t focus on anything other than his darkness—almost black eyes, hair the shade of burnt timber, even his skin held on to a golden sort of color year-round. At least, the parts not covered in colorful ink.

  Made of shadows indeed—deep ones. Ones a girl like me should avoid.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you.” Gage cocked his head and drew his eyebrows together. Frowning. Unhappy with the statement I’d made, it seemed. Something that fired up my nerves and pushed me past the point of being able to control myself. As usual.

  I clutched a kitchen towel, slowly wringing it with shaking hands. “I didn’t mean scared scared. At least not scared like OMG, there’s an axe murderer in my kitchen—have you ever seen that So I Married an Axe Murderer movie? Super funny. My mom really liked it, so I’ve probably watched it a thousand times over the years. It was a Thanksgiving tradition, actually. That and the weird canned cranberry sauce she refused to give up no matter how many times I brought homemade to dinner. Nothing natural wiggles like that canned stuff. Anyway, yeah—not axe murderer scared. More scared like startled. Or spooked. Spooked is a good word for how I just felt. Surprised works, too. I looked up, and there you were. Poof. Like magic. I wasn’t expecting you to be there, though I guess I should have expected it. You being there, I mean. You’re there enough that I should be used to it, but…I wasn’t. Tonight.”

  Shut up, Katie.

  His eyebrows said so much more than he ever did. Especially when he raised them the way he just had. When they lifted his face a bit and opened those dark eyes wider. The ones still pinning me in place. As if trying to see through me. Trying to compel me to do something with just a look.

  “So, I’m always there…but I scared you because I was there.”

  Oh god, I was going to have a full-on panic attack if he didn’t stop looking at me.

  I wrung my towel harder, tighter, unable to hold still. Needing to keep my hands busy. “Okay, always may have been an exaggeration. You’re not always here. Just a lot. You and Camden seem to get stuck with guarding Main Street more than the others. I’m sorry—that’s such a waste of your time. But I get it, you know? Someone has to look out because of the Soul Suckers trouble. Totally understandable. You sort of have to be here. It’s not like—”

  “Hey, Katie.” His voice rumbled through the kitchen, stealing my breath and making my knees quiver.

  “Yeah?”

  “Hi.” He smiled. Oh my god, he smiled. At me. And…I lost my damn mind.

  “Hi.”

  Did…did I just sigh that? I clamped my jaws together, refusing to speak more. Already dying on the inside. Why couldn’t I be normal around the guy? I got nervous and I babbled, yes. Absolutely. Always had, but nothing like what happened around Gage Shepherd. He took my natural nervous tendency and kicked it up to eleven. Meanwhile, he said nothing. Just watched me with those almost-black eyes. Well, I watched him too. And I liked what I saw way too much.

  Thick hair, full beard, ink, and muscles—a little scary and a lot sexy. That’s what you got with Gage. The man stood out in a crowd for both his size and his wild appearance. An appearance that made me wonder what sort of lips sat under all that hair, what sorts of dips and planes were hidden under those clothes. I’d have bet my restaurant that the man looked amazing with his shirt off.

  Too bad I’d likely never find out.

  Gage didn’t say anything. Not a word. He just stood across the room, Rex sitting calmly beside him like usual, both watching me. Something I’d noticed more and more. I got nervous, babbled, he interrupted me and then said nothing. Giving me time to get control of my nerves. Or maybe he was waiting me out to see if I would fill the silence more. It had to be a big joke—how Katie Baker couldn’t stop babbling around him. Professional kitchens were often filled with men, so I knew how they talked. How they joked and teased and mocked. I bet the guys got a good laugh about my silly crush on Gage.

  A thought that soured my mood enough to push away the nerves.

  “Can I get you something? Are you hungry?”

  His eyes turned molten, black liquid watching my every move. A physical caress in a look.

  “I could eat.” His voice caused tingles to shoot up my spine—always did—but the nerves had faded. This, I could control. Food was easy. There was no rambling when I cooked, no stilted conversations or awkward silences that I felt the need to fill. There was nothing but me and the ingredients and the skills that had been beaten into me over the years.

  Cooking, I could do.

  “What would you like?”

  He smirked. “What will you feed me?”

  That shiver returned, the tingles moving through my body to other places, too. Places like the tips of my breasts and the flesh between my legs. His voice might as well have been an aphrodisiac for all it did to me. And the question? What would I feed him? That sounded dirty. So, so naughty in the best way ever. He had to know that. Or maybe he didn’t—maybe he simply never saw me as someone to be naughty with.

  I would have to work hard to ignore that thought.

  But then…what would I feed him? Gage ate anything I put in front of him, but for some reason, I always wanted to do more. Steaks were too easy, and he’d had the meatloaf a few times already. The pulled pork special wouldn’t do for him—at least, not on its own. It wasn’t original enough. Wasn’t in any way wild or different. But I had other options.

  “Do you like finger foods?” I asked, ideas sprouting and twisting in my mind as a picture formed. “Nachos?”

  Gage nodded, still staring at me. Still making my heart race and parts of me tingle in ways they shouldn’t. Or maybe they should. Just not in a kitchen with a man I barely knew.

  “Okay,” I said, hanging my towel on the prep counter bar and refocusing on the task at hand. “Let’s have some fun.”

  A quick roux, cheese, sliced jalapeños, and a little fresh pico de gallo went into a pot, the sauce coming together in minutes. Longer than I would have liked, but Gage would wait. The man had the patience of a saint, it seemed. He never complained that my changing the menu options and making him something personal took too long. He rarely said a word other than yes and thanks and hi, Katie, in fact.

  Once the sauce had set up, I stacked warmed tortilla chips on a large plate, added the shredded pork, some barbecue sauce I’d made that morning, topped it with the cheese sauce, then garnished it all with more jalapeños and pico. A fun dish, a little different way to use the meat, and—I’d bet—delicious.

  Yet, for some reason, my hands shook as I set the plate on the counter in front of Gage. “Bon appetit.”

  He stepped closer, all slow movements and animal grace. No rush, no extra energy expended. Just one step at a time until he stood on the other side of the counter from me. As if testing the waters, he took just one chip and brought it to his mouth. So slow…building tension with every second that passed. A flash of pink lips and tongue was all I got before the chip disappeared and I waited for the verdict.

  And waited.

  And…

  He groaned, grabbing two more chips before the noise had even died down.

  Joy and something else filled me. Something warm and vibrant, smooth like homemade caramel and just as sweet. Something that screamed of desire. I blamed the moan—I about flooded my panties at the sound. A thought that made t
he butterflies in my tummy come back with a vengeance. The words followed.

  “Yeah, so the flavors of the slow roasted pork and the sharpness of the cheese balance well with the saltiness of the chips. The pico is more for texture than anything else because, really, it can’t stand up to all those other stronger flavor profiles. Some places use a sweeter barbecue sauce, but I prefer a more mellow type of smokiness on the tongue. So yeah, pulled pork nachos. I’d put this on the menu but the roux takes a long time and making the cheese sauce in batches would cause me to have too much waste, plus the pulled pork plates and sandwiches have a really nice margin and the nachos wouldn’t, so I just keep those on the menu instead. Though I guess I could do something like this for weekends. Maybe game days or…but no, I don’t have TVs for a sporting event. That won’t work. Maybe something else, though. Or should I add some TVs to the bar area? I could probably do that—only turn them on for specific events or something. But then the guys would want to hang out here, and I’m not up for loggerpalooza in my bar area every weekend.”

  Shut up, shut up, shut up.

  I clenched my jaw, my right hand gripping my left as if trying to hold each other in place. The talking, oh my god, the talking. I really needed to work on that. To learn to be quieter around him. The man barely said anything at all, and I babbled endlessly every time we were in the same room. How could he stand the babbling?

  Gage just stood there, though. Chewing slowly. Watching me until he found something to say. “These are the best goddamned nachos I’ve ever had in my life.”

  Warmth exploded through my chest, and I grinned. “Yeah?”

  He held out a chip to me, raising his eyebrows as if asking permission. I didn’t even have to think or question him. I simply opened my mouth and let him place the food on my tongue. The intimacy of the act, of him feeding me, didn’t hit me until it was too late. We were so close—even with the counter between us—that I could see the bits of dirt on his shirt, the shadows on his face from a hard day’s work. I took in every detail, every nuance. Greedily hoarded them for later when I was alone in my little apartment and wondering what he was doing.