by Francis Ray
Since he was so sure of it, she was probably a woman from his past. There had been times when he’d run into an old girlfriend and they’d ended up in bed. They’d go out a couple of times before realizing it wasn’t going to work that time, either.
Strange he didn’t have any sensory memory of the woman. After making love to a woman over a period of time you learned her body . . . the taste of her heated skin, the softness of her body, the unique scent of her, the sounds she made when she was aroused or reached orgasm.
Last night he’d drawn a blank . . . just like in real life.
Aware that sleep was impossible, he glanced at the small clock on the bedside. 9:37. Muttering an expletive, he sprang out of bed and headed for the shower. Time had gotten away from him.
Instead of daydreaming about some woman, he should have had his mind on his restaurant. The cleaning crew was due to arrive at 10:00 along with the first shift. The restaurant opened at 11:00. Since today was Sunday, they’d be busy from the time the door opened.
The black marble-tiled shower with its glass enclosure was large enough for three people or two people intent on pleasuring each other. Brandon gritted his teeth and switched the water temperature to cold. Enough was enough. He wouldn’t make the week if he didn’t get his mind off women . . . or one woman in particular.
Less than ten minutes later he was dressed in his usual blue jeans, white shirt, boots, and out the door. His strides long and purposeful on the flagstone walkway, he headed for the hotel. The bungalows were situated on a meandering maze. Thankfully his was only a short distance away from the lobby.
“Mr. Grayson.”
Brandon pulled up short in the lobby to see a man in his midfifties wearing a light gray suit hurrying toward him. “Yes?”
“Compliments of Ms. McBride. She left this for you.” The man, whose gold name tag read JENSON, offered Brandon a handled bag with MESA, the name of the hotel’s restaurant for casual dining, printed in blue letters. “Enjoy.”
Brandon hooked three fingers through the handle and briefly lifted the bag upward. The distinct aroma of fresh-baked breakfast pastries wafted up to him from the white bakery box inside. His mouth watered. “Henrí?” Brandon named the executive chef, an artistic genius who liked to “relax” by baking irresistible breads and pastries, and who Brandon had been trying to sway to leave Casa de Serenidad for months.
The other man nodded with a pleased smile and patted his slightly extended stomach, which tested the fit of his buttoned jacket. “He’s the best, and a thermos of Blue Mountain.”
Blue Mountain coffee was often called liquid gold because of the expense, but the taste was worth it. “Where is she?”
Jenson shrugged and pulled his cell phone from the pocket of his jacket. “She could be anywhere on the premises. She works harder than any two people. No task is too menial, and she always does it with a smile.” He pressed his hand to his earpiece. “Shall I call her?”
Brandon shook his head. “Please tell Ms. McBride I said thanks and I’ll call her later.”
“Yes, sir. Have a great day.”
“Thanks.” On the sidewalk, Brandon glanced at his stainless-steel watch, then set off at a brisk pace. 9:53. Maneuvering through the sidewalks, already crowded with summer tourists, with his hands full was more difficult than it had been early that morning.
Since the hotel was so close, instead of driving he had left his car in the garage behind the restaurant. Now he wished he had driven. He increased his pace.
Just shy of five minutes later Brandon rounded the corner and saw the Red Cactus across the street. He immediately recognized his brothers’ and sister’s vehicles, but what made his blood run cold was the police car.
3
Unsure of what he’d find, his skin clammy, Brandon burst through the open doors of the restaurant. Seeing his sister, worry on her face, her arms folded around herself, his brothers with their arms protectively around their wives, Pierce’s head bowed, almost sent Brandon to his knees. “Mama?”
They all rushed forward. Sierra, always the volatile one, spoke first. “Where have you been?”
Brandon’s worried gaze went to his oldest brother, Luke, always the leader and always calm. “Is . . . is Mama all right?”
“She’s fine,” Luke said, clasping a large hand on Brandon’s shoulder. “It’s you that had us worried.”
“And pulled me from some very nice company,” Pierce complained.
“Looks like I’m not needed here,” the policeman said. “Sierra, looks like I can close the case on this.”
“Sorry, Dakota,” she said, then glared at Brandon. “If someone would have had his cell phone this wouldn’t have happened.”
Dakota chuckled. “You’re in for it now, Brandon. Hate I can’t stay for the fireworks. Bye.”
“Bye. And thanks, Dakota,” Luke said. “Dinner is on me tonight.”
“Anytime.” Tipping his hat, the policeman left.
“Explain.”
The one short command came from Brandon’s sister, the Little General, fiercely loyal to her family, and who loved her brothers unconditionally.
“Mr. Montgomery had to cut off the water, so I stayed at Casa de Serenidad. Cameron and Duncan had checked out, so I took their room.”
Pierce turned to Sierra. “I will never let you forget this.”
Sierra waved his words aside. “It will show Carmella that she has to work harder to get you to be solely in her power.”
A slow smile spread over Pierce’s face. “You’re forgiven.”
“I’m glad you’re all right, Brandon,” Catherine, Luke’s wife, said from beside him. “We were all worried.”
“It’s a wonder Dakota didn’t give Morgan a ticket,” Phoenix, Morgan’s wife, added. “He bumped stop signs and went through three signal lights on yellow.”
Brandon wasn’t surprised by their concern. They had always been close. “I hope you didn’t call Mama.”
“Luke said not to,” Sierra told him. “He said if you were breathing you’d be here at ten to let in the first shift.”
Brandon glanced around and saw two of his staff behind the bar, another replacing the condiment containers. The cleaning crew was stacking chairs. “I tried to get here as fast as I could.”
“Seeing your car here and knowing how you’d rather drive than walk across a street made us worry,” Morgan said. “Next time, call.”
“Yes, Mother,” Brandon said, then laughed. The others joined in.
“What’s in the bag?” Sierra said, pulling open one side.
Brandon pulled it out of reach. Sierra might be small, but she ate like a lumberjack and was always hungry. “These are mine. You’ve already had breakfast.”
The brief flash across her face spoke more clearly than words. “What time did you start calling?”
Sierra shrugged and shoved her hands into the pockets of her short stylish black jacket. “Not until nine, since you’re such a sleepyhead.”
“I got the call at nine nineteen.” Luke put his arm around Catherine’s shoulder.
“Nine thirty,” Morgan answered before he was asked.
“Nine thirty-seven. At a very inopportune moment,” Pierce added, then folded his arms. “What were you doing at that time?”
Brandon thought of the dream and tucked his head. It came up when Pierce gave his shoulder a good-natured shove. “You were with a woman after all that talk of not dating?” his baby brother accused.
“You had me worried sick and you were with some woman.” Sierra put her hand on her hips, then with the other yanked the sack from his loose grip. “This is definitely mine.”
“I wasn’t with a woman,” Brandon admitted slowly, then continued at the skeptical looks from Pierce and Sierra, the sympathetic ones from his sisters-in-law, the understanding ones from his older brothers, “Come on sit down, and I’ll tell you.”
“This had better be good.” Sierra led the way to the family table near the back of the
restaurant.
While they slid onto the wooden benches, Brandon grabbed flatware, saucers, and cups and put them on the table. By the time he returned, Sierra had the container open and was munching on a flaky croissant. A quick look into the box confirmed his fear. There was only one.
“You could have waited.”
She smiled and licked a golden flake from the corner of her winsome mouth. “You would have given it to me anyway. I just saved you the trouble.”
True. All of them were putty in her hands. “But I want at least a sip of Blue Mountain.”
“Blue Mountain,” Pierce and Morgan cried in unison, and straightened.
Brandon might have known. If it cost money, Pierce and Morgan knew about it. He said good-bye to his coffee and signaled Ruben at the bar to bring glasses and a carafe of orange juice. Catherine and Phoenix helped him serve, graciously declining pastries of their own in favor of sharing with their husbands.
“Talk, Brandon,” Sierra said, taking another healthy bite.
“I wasn’t with a woman. I was thinking about one I’d dreamed about,” he said.
Forks clattered on the plates. Sierra and Pierce stared with wide accusing eyes at him.
“Last night you said you weren’t interested in a woman.” Pierce swiped a shaky hand across his face. “My days are numbered.”
“There isn’t a woman.” Brandon wrapped his hands around his glass of juice. “She was in my dreams. I couldn’t see her, but there was something familiar about her.” He shrugged. “I lost track of time trying to figure out why I thought she was familiar.”
Sierra relaxed in her seat. “You scared me . . . again.”
“Same here.” Pierce looked thoughtful. “I don’t think I’ve ever dreamed about a woman.”
“Capital assets and gains would be more your style,” Morgan said drolly.
Unoffended, Pierce nodded. “Much more challenging and mysterious.”
“On behalf of women everywhere, I have to disagree.” Catherine placed her arms on the wooden table.
Morgan lifted Phoenix’s hand and kissed it. “Phoenix was both, and a lot more.”
“I didn’t mean to be,” Phoenix said. “It still scares me sometimes to think of what my life would have been like if we hadn’t fallen in love.”
“I don’t want to think of a time without you,” Morgan said.
Catherine put her head on Luke’s shoulder and stared across the table at Pierce. “She’s out there waiting for you.”
“She’ll have to catch me first.” Sliding out of the booth, Pierce stood. “In the meantime, good-bye.”
Brandon watched Pierce stroll from the restaurant. “The woman hasn’t been born that can make Pierce a one-woman man.”
“Then I’m safe.” Sierra polished off her croissant and stood. “I’m picking up Mama for church.” A pained expression crossed her face. “Afterwards we’re going to Mrs. Poole’s for lunch.”
Amanda Poole was their mother’s best friend and they dearly loved her, but she couldn’t cook. Her food was always over-or undercooked. Brandon had tactfully tried to help her, but she just didn’t have the knack. Her husband said he and their children had grown accustomed to it. No one had the heart to tell her. “I’ll see you later for dinner.”
“Did I say you were forgiven?” Sierra smiled. “See you this afternoon.”
“Brandon,” Catherine said. “I know you asked me to never try to analyze you, but dreams or the lack thereof have meaning.”
His sister-in-law was a noted child psychologist, children’s author, and lecturer at St. John’s College. He’d been joking at the time, but now looking at her serious expression he became a bit uneasy. “No offense, but I’ll still pass.”
Her hand gently covered his. “I understand. Life is much more interesting if there are a few surprises around the corner.”
He wondered, just as he wondered about the mysterious woman of his dreams.
As soon as his last family member left the restaurant, Brandon went through his daily routine of speaking to each employee and checking to see that everything was in place for the day’s operation. If there was a problem, either personally or with supplies, he wanted to know up front. He prided himself on customer satisfaction, which was tied to happy employees. Assured that all was in order, he headed for his apartment.
Inside, he tossed his duffel bag on the bed and went into the bathroom. Kneeling, his fingers brushed across the damp wall, the baseboard. Hoping the problem was minor, he pushed to his feet and returned to his room to charge his cell phone. He found it on top of the dress slacks he’d tossed on the bed. Perhaps if he wasn’t such a lousy housekeeper he would have noticed it last night.
Plugging the charger in, he glanced around the room. The functional area was comfortable rather than stylish, with a mismatched overstuffed gray plaid sofa and blue easy chair. They were a far cry from the luxurious yet somehow homey feel of the room last night. When he’d moved in five years ago, where he slept hadn’t mattered as much as finding the right location for his restaurant.
Being able to convert the upstairs into an apartment was an added plus. He’d put his money into purchasing the best equipment for his restaurant and the kitchen in his living quarters. He enjoyed developing new recipes and trying new ways of preparing old ones. For as long as he could remember, he’d been cooking.
As she had with all her children, his mother had encouraged him to follow his passion. While his friends were buying records or Atari games, he was spending his money on cookbooks and supplies. It never occurred to him to worry about how people perceived his plans to be a chef. Their mother taught her children to be self-sufficient, independent thinkers. If people were too narrow-minded to accept who or what you were, that was their problem, not yours.
He had a great mother and family. Luke and Morgan insisted on loaning him the money to get started. He’d paid them back with interest the first year. They were good men and had chosen good women. Phoenix was more introspective than Catherine, who had a way of seeing through the crap to the heart of the matter. But this time Brandon was ahead of her.
It was a good chance that he had at least met the woman from his dreams. Maybe she had turned him down and he was fantasizing about her. Maybe he had fixated on her because she was safe. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to waste any more time thinking about it.
Going to the table, Brandon slowly opened the lid of the bakery box. A Danish oozing with fresh strawberries and swirls of freshly made cream cheese icing lay inside. Phoenix had closed the box just before she left with Morgan and shoved it across the table to him.
Brandon inhaled. Anticipation was a big part of savoring food or a woman. Chastising himself for that lapse, he grabbed a fork from the drawer and took a bite of the pastry, chewed, savored, then swallowed. Delicious.
He was the pastry chef since the previous one had married and relocated. Neither he nor the one he’d lost was the culinary genius Henrí Fountain was. The wiry little Frenchman with the drooping mustache and snapping black eyes could make an angel weep with his cooking. Picking up the box, Brandon went to the phone and dialed.
“Good morning, Casa de Serenidad, House of Serenity Hotel, may I help you?”
Hastily he swallowed. “Ms. McBride, please.”
“Certainly, sir. Have a good day.”
Brandon leaned against the counter and took another bite. The day was certainly looking up, thanks to Faith.
“Good morning. Faith McBride. How may I help you?”
Her voice had always reminded him of sunshine on a beautiful spring day, bright and beckoning. “Good morning, Faith, and you already have,” Brandon said. “Thanks for the pastries and coffee. Delicious. Although I had to share them with the family.”
“Thanks. That’s high praise coming from you. You dropped by your mother’s house?”
Brandon ate another small bite, then told her what had happened. “Sierra grabbed the only croissant.”
; Soft laughter made him smile. “I’ll ask Henrí to make enough for both of you tomorrow morning. They’ll be waiting at the concierge desk after eight.”
Her generosity didn’t surprise him. “You make me almost think about stop trying to sway Henrí to work for me.”
Faith harrumphed. “Try all you want, but Henrí will never leave me.”
Brandon’s lips curved. Faith never lacked assurance. She also inspired loyalty. Just as she had last night, she always went beyond what was expected of her. It was easy to return the favor and give back. “How about lunch or dinner? Whichever works for you.”
A soft sigh drifted to him over the phone line. “I wish I could, but Sundays can be hectic with so many people checking out and checking in.”
He was surprised at the disappointment he felt. “Maybe some other time?”
“I’d love to.”
Taking a pen from the coffee mug on the counter, a Red Cactus logo emblazoned on the white background, he wrote a note to remind himself on a recipe pad. “I suppose a guest has already checked into my room?”
“He’s scheduled to arrive late this afternoon.”
“He’s a lucky man.” Brandon glanced around his place with its out-of-style furniture and dark curtains. He’d adamantly refused to let his mother or Serena decorate his place. “I can see why you’ve gotten all the accolades. Casa de Serenidad is aptly named.”
“Thanks. I’m glad you think so.” He could tell from the inflection of her voice that she was moving. “I hope the plumbing problem is easily fixed.”
“You and me both. I’ll let you go. Bye.”
“Bye, Brandon.”
“Bye, Faith.” He hung up the phone, looked around, and wondered why he felt a bit off. His gaze drifted to the bathroom and his question was answered. He was just annoyed with the inconvenience of no running water.
Faith took a seat in her executive chair and tapped her pen on her day planner. Brandon had been raised right. He’d called to thank her, then politely tried to repay her by inviting her to his restaurant. She’d declined because she didn’t want him speculating anymore about the reason for her being unhappy last night.