by Robyn Neeley
She wished Kalin had stayed, but he had borrowed her car to run an errand.
“Look, Joe,” she said. “I’m not accustomed to making decisions this quickly. I’ll need to consult a lawyer.”
“It’s a good thing you have one on tap, then, isn’t it?” Joe said slyly. “It’s just that I’d like to get this done as soon as possible. The sooner I can be shed of the restaurant, the sooner I can hit the rodeo circuit. I’d like to be able to tell Dad I sold it to you.”
During her five years away, Casey had cherished a dream of returning home and opening a restaurant. She’d be able to live in the country, with her favorite work to do and a built-in, appreciative audience to sample her new recipes.
It hadn’t taken Joe long to discern Casey’s thoughts when she glanced around at the state Cap’n Bob’s had fallen into.
“Right now, with Granny in the hospital, I don’t know from one day to the next what my schedule will be,” she said. “Restaurants take up a lot of time, you know.”
“Tell me about it,” Joe said bitterly.
Casey tried not to let her feelings show. Everywhere she looked problems called for her attention. She couldn’t concentrate on Joe’s business proposal when her training called for her to tackle the out-of-date foods in the freezer.
When Joe left, she methodically addressed one problem after another in the kitchen, then took refuge in Joe’s office to recruit her forces before facing the next round of items Joe had let slide. While she rested, she drafted an advertisement she hoped would persuade people to give Cap’n Bob’s another try.
“Is the world’s greatest cook speaking to customers today, or is she in hiding?”
Casey, brooding over a photograph of Captain Bob Kerns that sat on the desk, glanced up. Kalin leaned against the doorframe with his arms folded across his chest, smiling at her.
She stared at him with new eyes. She had so armored herself against him, she forgot the way she had once looked at him, cataloging by item the various things she found attractive.
“If you don’t stop looking at me like that, I’ll have to come over there and kiss you.” He pushed off the door.
Casey lowered her gaze at once, startled into confusion. How had she forgotten the strength of his arms and chest, hidden beneath the flannel shirt tucked neatly into the waistband of a pair of well-worn jeans?
She eyed the jeans appreciatively, remembering the feel of the old denim beneath her cheek, and the resilience of his thigh muscles beneath it. She hadn’t thought deliberately on those things in five years and now she found it exhilarating.
The jeans moved, and seconds later Kalin knelt on the floor before her, looking up into her face. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, thank you.” She looked back at him gravely, covering her confusion with politeness.
“You look better,” he noted and took her hand. “Have you booted Joe out and taken over his office?”
“I don’t know where Joe went. He dumped it all in my lap and ran, so I’m getting to do as I please.” She smiled and indicated the ad she had drafted.
While he read it, she took in every detail of his profile, from the hawk’s beak nose to the long, straight lashes.
He glanced up at her and she blushed scarlet, like a teenager caught reading erotica. His hands captured her face and held it tilted toward him. Now she found herself savoring his touch on her face and wishing he’d touch her all over.
Kalin stared at her. His long fingers trembled against her jawline. “I won’t ask what you’re thinking. Whatever it is, I’m sure I’d love to oblige you, but I brought my relatives here to eat and they’re clamoring to see you.” He kept his hands on her face while he stood and leaned down to kiss her nose lightly. “So come on out and socialize.”
“Your relatives?” Casey squeaked in dismay. “Why didn’t you wait until I’ve had time to straighten out the kitchen? I don’t like the way these cooks are handling the shrimp Creole or the crawfish étouffée, and Joe has instituted some cost-cutting measures that are absolutely criminal.” She leaped to her feet and shoved her hair back from her face. “I’d better get back there and see about it. Why did you have to do this to me?”
Kalin stepped back. “You aren’t raising havoc in the kitchen right now. You’re sitting down with us and testing out the cooking yourself.”
“You’re now on my enemy list, Kalin McBryde. Only someone bent upon malice would do this to an old friend. I was actually hoping no one important would show up until after Christmas.”
Casey searched her purse wildly and finally succeeded in locating the hairnet she’d tucked in that morning. She shucked off her wool jacket and headed in a purposeful way for the door.
Kalin blocked her. “I resent being called an old friend.”
“Old enemy?” She blinked at him, thinking of the kitchen.
“I’ll let you know. In the meantime, forget the cost-cutting in the kitchen and come sit down with us. It’s lunchtime, and I’d lay a bet you haven’t eaten a thing this morning.” He guided her out the door and into the dining room.
Casey, too shattered by his touch to react with her usual decision, meekly walked beside him toward a large table with three persons already seated at it, studying menus.
She recognized Dr. Johnson’s wife, Annie, but the other two women were strangers to her.
“Mother, Lydia, I’d like you to meet Casey Gray, the new manager of Cap’n Bob’s.” Kalin kept one arm around Casey’s shoulders as he pulled a chair out for her. “She claims she hasn’t had time to straighten things out in the kitchen, so we can help her assess the food.”
Stunned, Casey automatically extended her hand when Kalin introduced his mother, Elizabeth McBryde, whose beautifully cut mouth, azure blue eyes, and long, straight eyelashes she should have recognized at once.
Lydia McBryde, Kalin’s sister, had the same long-lashed blue eyes and thick, dark brows that Kalin had, but judicious plucking had tamed her brows into arches that gave her face a lively expression. During the time Casey had dated Kalin, she had never met any of his relatives. According to Kalin, Walter McBryde was feuding with Dr. Jack Johnson, because Dr. Johnson had dared to tell him exactly what fate his bad habits would result in.
Casey shook her hand also and said something welcoming, even as she sought a way to get to the kitchen without seeming rude.
Kalin forestalled her by pushing a chair against her legs until she sat down on the edge of the chair. Then he sat beside her and extended an arm across the back of her chair.
Although she had been on duty less than a day, Casey had already made her presence felt. The waitress on duty set out glasses of water right away.
Casey glanced over her shoulder at the window into the kitchen. The cook chopped away at vegetables for salads, and a stockpot of Cap’n Bob’s famous Seafood Gumbo simmered on the stove. Perhaps the food wouldn’t be too far below the quality she preferred.
“Stop intimidating the cook,” Kalin ordered. “It won’t hurt you to be a consumer for once.”
“You have to watch everything at all times.” Casey looked meaningfully at their waitress.
The girl straightened and swallowed her chewing gum.
When the waitress had taken their orders and fled, Kalin laughed outright and his female relatives joined in.
“I can tell you’ve been throwing your weight around already,” he said. “They’re all afraid of you, including Joe.”
“I wish,” Casey muttered, her attention on the silverware, which she noticed had entirely too many spots on it.
She registered an intent to have the dishwasher checked and raised her eyes to see Elizabeth and Lydia McBryde watching her with fascination.
Lydia’s gaze zipped between Casey’s face and the silverware. “Is something wrong with the forks
? You keep looking at them.”
“The dishwasher must be acting up,” Casey said. “I’d better call the repairman out this afternoon.”
“Forget the dishwasher,” Kalin ordered.
“I can’t help it. Every time I turn around, something else needs correcting. I don’t know what Joe has been doing the past few years, but it hasn’t included taking care of business.”
Lydia inspected her silverware. “How can you tell by looking at the forks that something is wrong with the dishwasher?”
“See those white spots on the handles? That means it isn’t rinsing properly.”
“Lydia, if you mean to encourage her, I’ll send you out to eat in the car,” Kalin said.
Lydia wrinkled her nose at him. “You and what army?”
“We all want to know, Kalin,” Annie Johnson said. “Let an expert instruct us, for heaven’s sake.”
“She works all the time as it is,” Kalin complained. “Even your husband thinks she’s on her last leg. He’s taking her fishing on his afternoon off. Christmas Eve, mind you.”
“That bad, huh?” Lydia McBryde viewed Casey with even greater fascination. “Kitchens must be really interesting.”
“She’s just a workaholic,” Kalin said.
Annie Johnson said placidly, “I hope your New York wardrobe included a down-filled parka, Casey. I’ve never been able to convince Jack that not everyone thinks sitting on a beach or a lake with a fishing pole in the middle of winter is relaxing.”
Casey smiled. “I have a good coat. But I was actually hoping Dr. Johnson would remember it was Christmas Eve and forego the fishing trip.”
Kalin and Lydia began to laugh.
“If you mean you hope we remind him, we wouldn’t waste our collective breath,” Annie said. “It’s his afternoon off, and that means he will be fishing. He has several very sick patients just now, so he’ll stay close enough that he can get back fast if he’s needed.”
“I warned Annie about marrying Jack,” Elizabeth McBryde said. “She wouldn’t admit I had a point until they left on their wedding trip in a four-wheel-drive vehicle loaded with fishing rods. Annie had never fished a day in her life.”
Casey glanced at Annie Johnson — slim, dark, and as lovely as her sister, Elizabeth. They had been the cherished daughters of a famous Texas legislator. Annie had married a country doctor and faded from public view, while Elizabeth had married Walter McBryde and held a position at the forefront of Houston society.
“Kalin’s just like him.” Lydia shot a glance at Casey. “Uncle Jack started training him early.”
“Mind your own business,” Kalin returned. “Everyone knows people who fish stay sane and even-tempered, no matter what.”
“Do you like to fish, Casey?” Lydia asked.
Casey smiled politely. “I used to, when I lived here. I was good at handling crab traps off the pier.”
“She worked all the time then, too,” Kalin interjected. “The only day I could take her fishing was Sunday, and her grandparents thought that was almost sacrilegious.”
“You used to work here, didn’t you?” Lydia continued. “Was it fun, being a cook?”
“Most of the time I enjoyed it, because I like to cook things for people. They discovered I had a talent for management while I was at the Culinary Institute, so I don’t often work as a cook anymore unless I’m needed.”
“Merrick was telling us you made some wonderful things for her party the other night,” Elizabeth McBryde said. “She said you used ordinary ingredients Annie had on hand.”
Casey nodded. “If you have milk, sugar, eggs, and flour, you can do plenty. Mrs. Johnson’s kitchen is always well-stocked.”
“Some years back, Kalin brought home a loaf of the most wonderful bread I’ve ever tasted,” Elizabeth said. “You must have been a good cook even when you were quite young.”
“Kalin says you like to cook the way he and Uncle Jack like to fish.” Lydia seemed to find the idea enchanting. “Can you teach people to cook?”
“Lydia, please don’t bug Casey about teaching you to cook,” Kalin said. “Her grandmother is sick, and she’s had this restaurant dumped on her, and she’s probably going to try to work her grandparents’ farm by herself. She needs a couple of hours to herself to sleep at night.”
“She won’t get those if you have anything to say about it,” Lydia shot back. “Besides, I just thought she might need someone to help in the kitchen here. After all, I’m out of school now and I don’t have a job yet.”
Casey swallowed a sip of water the wrong way and coughed until Kalin patted her on the back.
Lydia was barely twenty-one and slated to be one of the Houston debutante circle, according to Merrick. Walter McBryde might have lost most of his money, but he hadn’t left his family destitute enough to force his daughter to work in a kitchen.
“Oh, lord,” Kalin said. “Look out, Cap’n Bob’s.”
“I can work at the front desk or something. You don’t have to go to school to do that, do you?” She turned large, pleading blue eyes on Casey.
Casey wondered just how much money Walter McBryde had left. “Actually,” she said cautiously, “I may be needing some extra help. The business at Cap’n Bob’s is about to explode.”
“When can I start?” Lydia looked thrilled and clasped her hands. “What will I be doing?”
“Probably after Christmas.” Casey waited for Kalin or Elizabeth to raise objections.
Neither spoke. Elizabeth looked pleased. Kalin looked resigned.
Casey continued, “As to what you’ll be doing, I’m not sure just yet. I’ll probably start training you as an assistant chef.”
“Assistant chef!” Lydia clearly thought this was the next best thing to head chef. “Can I come by tomorrow and see what goes on in the kitchen?”
Kalin groaned. “I didn’t realize she was getting so bored.”
“What do you know about it?” Lydia demanded. “The only thing you can find in a kitchen is the fish scaler.”
“What else does one need to know?” Kalin grinned across the table at her. “I made the mistake once of offering to help Casey in the kitchen. Never again.”
The waitress arrived with salads and coffee, and Casey ignored the interest this statement generated by inspecting the salad and tasting the coffee. Lydia watched her every move with the look of one beholding a master at work.
“What are you doing?” Kalin asked. “I told you to quit working and eat.”
“Leave her alone, Kalin McBryde. I want to see what she does next.” Lydia appeared to be waiting for Casey to fling the salad at the hapless waitress.
Casey took pity on her when the other three broke into delighted laughter. “I’m making sure the coffee is less than fifteen minutes old, and checking to see that the salad has been made with fresh lettuce and not that wilted stuff I told them to get rid of.”
“Joe has let the quality suffer,” Annie said tactfully.
“That’s putting it mildly,” Casey cast a malevolent glance toward the kitchen. “They haven’t seen anything yet.”
“You’re intimidating the cook again,” Kalin pointed out. “If you keep doing that, we may wind up with ptomaine.”
“Not in any restaurant of mine.” Casey shoved back her chair. “I’d better see what they’re up to.”
Kalin blocked her exit with an arm across her path. “I told you, you aren’t going anywhere. Eat that salad, or you’ll wear it.”
There was a pregnant pause.
Elizabeth and Annie made a production of readying their napkins and picking up their forks.
Lydia sat on the edge of her chair.
Casey exchanged a long stare with Kalin. “I am not accustomed to being spoken to in that tone. I ought to call the cook and have him
throw you out.”
“The cook is probably afraid enough of you to try it,” Kalin replied. “Why don’t you save time and throw me out yourself?”
“I have too much dignity to get involved in altercations with paying customers,” Casey said. “I’ll have to think of something else that will compensate me for the mental anguish of remaining at this table with you.”
“Maybe he should become a dishwasher,” Lydia suggested.
“I had in mind something more like having him scrub out the garbage dumpster with a toothbrush.”
Under the cover of the laughter this remark evoked, Kalin covered her hand with his own. “If I thought it would make you feel any better, I’d do it.”
Casey pinned a resolute smile on her mouth. “I’ll bake your family something special for Christmas.” She attacked her salad.
Kalin regarded her steadily. “No, you won’t. You’re going to be resting.”
“That is resting to me,” Casey said.
“May I come watch while you bake it?” Lydia asked.
Lydia’s pleading blue eyes, so like Kalin’s, and her youthful enthusiasm were hard for Casey to resist. She nodded while Kalin objected and the two older women laughed indulgently and teased Lydia.
Lydia said cheekily, “If I want to catch a man, I’d better learn something about cooking. Look how Casey has poor old Kalin tied up in knots.”
Casey flushed. “It’s probably his new manuscript that has him tied up in knots. He never said much about my cooking.” The salad suddenly tasted like paper, and she put down her fork.
Kalin watched her closely. “That was because the moment I said anything at all, you started trying to get me to comment on every little detail of the taste or texture.” He shrugged and smiled. “Like me when you made a remark about one of my stories.”
Casey recalled the way Kalin had worried over every detail of his plots or characters, and a small smile shaped her mouth. She’d soon learned not to comment unless she considered the matter serious.