“Emily, you come with us, too,” Granny June said. “I think I’m going to need both of you to help this old lady find her footing on the path.”
After Knox had located a flashlight, the three of them picked their way down the stone and dirt path to the lake.
“As soon as Clint and Jacob were old enough to run a boat on their own, they took up fishing. And, oh boy, did they ever fish. They were obsessed. Every so often, we’d catch Clint sneaking off in a skiff from the resort across the lake in the middle of the night to meet up with Jacob, who’d snuck out, too, to do some night fishing or camping out in sleeping bags on the lakeshore. They were wild boys like that. Never minded the dark or the wilderness. After a while, we stopped minding Clint sneaking away because we always knew where to find him. Right here.”
Knox’s dad had always professed to hate fishing. Swore he didn’t have the patience for it. Yet another facet of his father that he’d never known.
The boathouse was little more than a glorified shack situated at the water’s edge. It was large enough to fit a couple of kayaks, along with boating and fishing supplies, but little else. Truth be told, Knox had been considering tearing it down and rebuilding a new one with modern amenities and more weatherproof building materials.
By the light of her cell phone’s flashlight app, Granny June led the way around to the back of the boathouse, though their progress was halted by the thick brush surrounding the building. “Move those branches, there,” she said, pointing with her cane.
Knox handed his flashlight to Emily and moved to do Granny June’s bidding. When he saw what the secret was, his ribs squeezed tight and his breath caught, the discovery was so exhilarating.
On an old, weathered board, beneath the crudely fashioned, burned letters reading Clubhouse were the names Jacob and Clint.
There was no doubt in Knox’s mind that his dad’s ghost had led him to this property, to this lake, so Knox would find these clues about his dad’s childhood. This wasn’t about secrets, but about discovery. It was about growing even closer to the father he’d lost too soon.
This time, the emotion fuzzing up his head was love and peace, a renewed closeness to his dad, and an appreciation for his childhood at Briscoe Ranch. His dad hadn’t always been so bitter. He’d been a young man, full of energy and a bounding joy for life. Knox would give anything—anything—to have an hour with his dad again, to ask him about growing up in Dulcet, about fishing on this very lake, but having his spirit guide him here, to this place in this moment with Granny June and her treasure trove of stories, was the next best thing.
With his finger, he traced the burnt letters of his father’s name. As soon as he could, he’d hire landscapers to clear away the brush from around the boathouse, and he’d hire a contractor to renovate the structure, rather than tearing it down. Knox had never put much value in old buildings and sentimental treasures—his job of renovating businesses practically demanded that he didn’t—but this discovery changed everything. If Knox had had any doubt about his mission in returning to Briscoe Ranch and restoring his father’s legacy, he sure didn’t now.
What other treasures about his dad’s past did the resort hold? Where else had his dad left his mark for Knox to find?
By the time Knox roused from his thoughts, he realized that Granny June and Emily had relocated to the dock. They stood arm-in-arm in the moonlight, chatting.
“How’s the fishing been for you?” Granny June asked when he’d joined them.
Knox cleared his throat. “I never fished much. Or at all. It’s on my ‘to do’ list, though. As soon as I have the chance to give it a whirl.”
If either Granny June or Emily thought it odd that his dad hadn’t taught him to fish, then they kept it to themselves. “I’m sure Ty would be happy to teach you,” Granny June said.
Knox bristled. Ty was the reason Clint had given up fishing, his friends, his life. Knox would no more seek out Ty for advice than he’d ask the Devil. “I think I’ll be fine teaching myself.”
“Well, when you catch one, I’ll cook it up,” Emily said.
“Deal.”
Granny June tucked her cane on her elbow and rubbed her hands together, her eyes twinkling again. “Have you ever seen the view of Briscoe Ranch from the water at night?”
“No,” Knox said. “It’s good?”
She gestured to the rowboat moored to the dock, the one the previous owners had left behind. “Tonight seems as good a night as any.”
As drained as he was, he found it impossible to turn Granny June down. “If that’s what you’d like. I haven’t been out on the water yet, but I rowed crew in college, so I’m sure we’ll manage. As long as the boat doesn’t spring a leak,” he added with a wink.
Emily took a step back. She gave a little wave. “See you two tomorrow. I’ve got to get on with the dishes and then get out of here. It’s a long drive home.”
She’d been quiet and unobtrusive during this walk, as she had throughout the day. He’d thought he’d overshared with her about himself and his dad while in his truck that afternoon, but now that he was considering it, she probably knew more about his family history than he did. She’d been that same quiet observer to the Briscoe family’s goings-on for more than a decade.
Her calm presence, and the fact that she wasn’t a Briscoe, with that same loaded history, was comforting. He was glad Granny June had insisted she join them on their stroll, but there was no logical reason that his personal chef should take a boat ride with him and his grandmother. The trouble was, he found himself very much wishing she would, and yet he had no earthly idea how to ask her to stay without making it weird.
“Wait just a second, there,” Granny June said, looping her arm with Emily’s. “I insist you come along. Besides, you’re my ride home. Make an old woman happy and take a rowboat ride with us.”
“I thought Knox was going to drive you home.” Emily blinked, then a thought dawned on her and she looked at Knox. “Oh. Your truck. I forgot, you can’t. Yeah, I’ll have to be the one to drive her.”
Knox could have corrected her—he should have corrected her—and told her about him borrowing Shayla’s car to get Granny June home. But he didn’t.
Emily looked at him pointedly and nodded at the rowboat, as though checking in with him for permission to join them. He faked a nonchalant nod and shrug, as though to say, Why not. There’s no harm in it.
“All right, then. A boat ride it is,” Emily said.
But if there was truly no harm in Emily joining them, then why did it feel dangerous for her to take his hand and step onto the boat with him. Why did it feel as though they were crossing over into uncharted territory?
After helping Emily get seated, he reached a hand back to aid Granny June, but headlights distracted him. A red, compact car bounded up Knox’s driveway.
“Whoops,” Granny June said. “That’s Paco. I’ve got to go.”
What? “I thought Emily was taking you home.”
Granny June tapped her temple. “This daffy old mind. I can’t keep anything straight these days.”
“But…” Emily spluttered.
Knox couldn’t decide if he should call bullshit or agree with Granny June because her mind did seem to tip onto the daffy side. Before he could speak, Granny June had crouched down with a litheness that belied her age and untied the boat from the dock.
“You two go on ahead and have fun. Don’t forget to take pictures of the resort from the lake. They’d look great on my Facebook page. Speaking of which—” She brought forth a smart phone and before either Emily or Knox could do more than open their mouths in protest, she snapped a shot, blinding them with the flash.
Knox was blinking away the bright spots from his vision when the boat rocked. Granny June had shoved them off.
“I’d better not keep Paco waiting. You kids have fun, now.”
“But…” Emily said again.
But Granny June was already walking at a brisk clip toward the se
dan. It might have been Knox’s imagination, but she seemed to have a bit of a skip in her step.
Chapter Six
No. No. No. Granny June was not trying to play matchmaker for Emily. And especially not with Knox, of all the men in the world. Granny June knew Emily didn’t date. She knew how critical this month was for Emily’s career. What the heck was she thinking?
Over the years, Emily had been a gleeful spectator of Granny June’s matchmaking antics around the resort and the town of Dulcet. The woman had practically strong-armed Carina and Decker into falling in love, as well as a lot of other Briscoe Ranch employees. Emily had even played assistant matchmaker on occasion, delivering covert gifts and acting as wingman for Granny June’s plots, but Granny June had never tried to set Emily up with a man before, so Emily had figured she was in the clear.
And yet, here Emily was, duped into a boat ride with her hunky boss. In the moonlight.
Granny June really was a master of subterfuge.
“You don’t see it coming when it happens to you,” she muttered.
“What?”
Emily shook her head. “Nothing. Never mind.” Boy, would Granny June be in for a disappointment with this misguided attempt. It was totally going to ruin her matchmaking success rate.
An awkward silence settled over the boat, with both Knox and Emily sitting, frozen as though stunned, as the boat drifted farther from shore.
“We don’t have to…” Knox’s voice trailed off.
“No, definitely not.”
With stiff, robot-like movement, Knox took up the oars. Fog swirled over the water and reflected the moonlight, shining bright silver over the fathomless onyx depths of the lake.
Nearby, a fish jumped, landing with a tremendous splash and rocking the boat. Knox seemed to come to life again. His eyes glittered as he scanned the water. “I think that was it.”
“A fish?”
He scooted to the edge and looked directly down into the water, frowning. “Not a fish. The fish.”
“A friend of yours?”
“More like a mortal enemy. The son of a bitch that knocked me over when my truck rolled into the lake. It’s like some crazy, huge attack fish. And now it’s taunting me, jumping out of the water every time I’m near it.”
She grinned. That might have been the most preposterous thing she’d ever heard, except that she had also seen a huge fish performing acrobatic feats out of the water that week. “An attack fish?”
“Laugh if you want, but it’s no joke. That thing was insane. It definitely wanted a piece of me.”
Emily felt the muscles in her back relax. She enjoyed Knox’s company, especially this side of him that believed in ghosts and sentient fish. Just because they were out on a boat together didn’t mean it had to be romantic. Nothing wrong with having a bit of platonic fun. “I think your fish enemy needs a name. Hot tip, though. Moby Dick’s already taken.”
“How ‘bout just Dick?”
“Since you’re already being haunted by the ghost of your dad, and now you’re being shadowed by a fish, how ‘bout we call this guy Phantom?”
Knox gave a slow nod. “I like it. Phantom.”
“Tell you what. If you catch Phantom someday, I’ll cook him for you. Even if it’s after the challenge is done and I’m busy with my new restaurant.”
He offered her a keen smile, as though they were co-conspirators in a diabolical plot. “Deal.” Then his expression turned contemplative. His eyes seemed to take in their surroundings again. They’d drifted far out toward the center of the lake. What a beautiful, peaceful night. There was a nip in the air every time the breeze picked up, but Emily’s chef jacket was thick enough to stave off a chill.
As though in preparation to row the boat back to shore, Knox rolled up his sleeves to his elbows, revealing the perfect musculature of his forearms beneath a dusting of dark hair and the same designer watch he’d worn every day so far. Her pulse quickening, Emily thought back to their run-in in his bedroom, to the way he unwound from the day by stripping off the artifice of his business attire. He was halfway there tonight. No tie, shirt open at the collar, sleeves unbuttoned and rolled.
Physical labor suited him.
He’d told her that he went for a run every morning. What did he look like in a cotton T-shirt that clung to his sweaty skin beneath? How would a pair of nylon workout shorts fit his body? What of his legs?
With an audible snort, she gave herself a mental smack. No, really, Emily. What about your boss’s legs? Do tell. The professional ethics police would love to know.
Unaware of Emily’s indecent thoughts, Knox grabbed on to the oar handles and dipped the paddles into the water. Good. He was rowing her back to shore so they could end this awkward, oddly intimate boating excursion. Perched on the bench across from him, she let out a deep exhalation, infinitely relieved.
On his third stroke, Knox’s attention shifted from the lake to Emily. “Can I ask you something?”
Small talk was definitely beyond her capabilities at the moment. Then again, if it helped pass the tense minutes until they arrived at the dock, she could handle a question or two.
“You can try, but I’m not sure I have any answers for you. We already agreed I’m not going to give you the dirt on Carina’s family, and other than that, there’s not much else I know. I’m just a chef.”
She hadn’t known such a sentiment was inside her heart until she’d said the words. Just a chef. It was true, though. She’d carefully constructed her life to be just this one label. She poured everything she was into her work, her chosen art. It was a singular identity that was both comforting and liberating.
Just a chef.
Damn right. Because if she was just Emily Ford, the chef, then she wasn’t Rebecca Youngston, teen runaway. She wasn’t that victim of abuse. She wasn’t a nothing, adrift in the world with a fake name and a fake identity, with no family. So instead of all those things she didn’t want to be, or couldn’t be, she was Emily the chef. And a damn fine chef at that.
“I need you to tell me something honestly. And I don’t know who else to ask,” Knox said.
“I’m always honest.”
He opened his mouth as though to speak, but ended up grinning at her instead as he stroked the oars through the water. “That you are.”
He shifted his focus back to the dark silhouettes of the hills. “I know we agreed that you wouldn’t spill the dirt on Carina’s family, but there’s something I can’t—” He stopped speaking, sighed, and then started over. “The fight between my dad and Ty and my grandfather, you had a word for it that first day we met in Ty’s office, but I can’t remember what it was. What did you call it?”
“The rift. Everybody at the resort who’s been here long enough calls it that, Ty and Granny June included.”
“The rift,” he said slowly, as if weighing each word for import. “Do you know what the fight was about? I mean, really about?”
She didn’t owe him answers. Her loyalty was to the Briscoes. But he’d disarmed her with his earnest, almost vulnerable tone. Implicit in the question was the admission that he didn’t know the details of the decades-old family tragedy. Which was shocking, really. Hadn’t Clint ever told his children why they never saw their grandparents or cousins? Hadn’t the truth ever been revealed? Secrets that significant only went to the grave in soap operas and horror stories, or so she’d thought.
“I don’t know any details. If I did, I would tell you because you deserve to know. Ty refuses to talk about it and so do Eloise and Granny June. I’m pretty sure Tyson was the same way, though he’d passed before I came to work here. I’m definitely sure no one ever told Carina or Haylie the truth because we’ve all sat around speculating about it together.” She studied the frustrated set of his mouth. “You honestly don’t know what happened either? Your dad never told you?”
His expression turned haunted. He broke eye contact with her and put his back into a stroke that sent the boat toward the far shore, th
e opposite direction of the dock. They were not headed back to shore as Emily had assumed. Knox pulled through another strong stroke and then another, turning them toward the bend in the lake, navigating the curve of the kidney bean-shaped lake.
She might have asked about where they were going, but she dared not interrupt his thoughts before he answered her question. Could it be that his father hadn’t told him the reason behind the rift, the same way that Ty hadn’t told his children? Would it be a secret that Ty and Granny June would take to their graves the way Clint and Tyson had? That was, if Granny June knew. In all the mentions of the rift that Emily had heard, never once was Granny June mentioned. Knowing her as well as Emily did, Emily seriously doubted Granny June supported Clint’s exile.
But then why, all these years after Tyson’s death, hadn’t Granny June invited Clint and his family back into the fold?
“I do know the reasons,” Knox said. “I mean, I thought I did. I thought it was about control of the resort’s vision and who my grandfather’s successor would be. But Granny June and Ty have said some things that don’t jive with what my dad told me.”
Knox’s paddling took on a distracted quality, a rote movement to keep his body busy while his mind worked out the problem. Every stroke brought with it the sound of tinkling water and a fresh swirl of perfumed air, herbal and earthy. Emily watched her breath make a little cloud with each exhalation.
Emily made a point of relaxing back onto the bench and tipping her head to the side, inviting him to open up. “Like what kinds of things have Ty and Granny June said?”
At the question, Knox’s even paddle strokes faltered. He shook his head. “Just … I don’t know. They made it sound like it was about more than the business, but I can’t imagine what else there could be that would be worth severing family ties like that.”
Emily knew firsthand about the kinds of things that could make a person sever ties with their family, but none of them applied to the Briscoes. Other than the rift and Haylie’s poor choice in husband, the family was stable and normal … boring, even.
One More Taste Page 8