by Lexi Blake
Sweet, goofy Ronnie, her brother. He’d been kind and smart and at times she’d had to protect him from bullies when they were in school. After high school, they’d both worked around town, trying to save money for college. Even then her mother’s health had been failing. She couldn’t leave their small town, worried something would happen to Carla Rowe. Finally, eighteen months before, Ronnie had made the decision to go into the Army. He’d been twenty-four with no real prospects in sight. It had been hard to imagine him in the Army, but then he’d come home and he’d been a soldier. He’d put on muscle and gained confidence. He’d gone in because he didn’t have the money for college and now he was dead.
Reverend Alton put a hand on Ronnie’s stone. “He was a good son. A good man. I can’t tell you why the lord chose to call him home so soon.”
She didn’t need platitudes. “I don’t think God did this.”
Unfortunately, she was fairly certain it hadn’t gone down the way the Army claimed it did either. They were evasive. The reports on her brother’s death were lacking in detail and the one person who had been there wouldn’t speak to her.
“Sarah, your mother wouldn’t want to hear the bitterness in your voice.”
Sarah stood up. “My mother was the one who asked me to find out what happened. It was her dying wish.”
“You want to give up everything you have? You’ve already spent your savings on private investigators and lawyers.”
She’d spent everything. She’d already had to sell the house to pay the bills attached to her mom’s long fight. The money the Army insurance had paid out went to the same place. She didn’t have anything left. “I have to honor her wish.”
The reverend sighed. “No, you don’t.”
“Seriously? A reverend is telling me to deny a woman her dying wish? That doesn’t sound very godly.”
“God is kinder than we make him out to be, Sarah. Your mother wasn’t thinking straight. She was in pain and on drugs to manage it. She wouldn’t want you to endanger your whole future.”
She had no future. Her chance to go to college was blown. She was almost twenty-six and she’d spent much of the last five years nursing her mother and working dead-end jobs to try to help pay the never-ending medical bills. It was the very lack of opportunity in their tiny town that had sent Ronnie into the Army. He’d sent back every bit of pay he could spare. Not that it had mattered. It was all over now and she’d thought she’d feel some semblance of relief. Instead, she was left with this aching hole that nothing could fill.
Maybe if she found the truth, her mother could rest easier.
“Sarah?” the reverend said. “Sarah, you’re too emotional to make a decision like this. Come back to the parish house. You can stay with us for a while. Come back and sit in the nursery and hold some of the babies. It will make you feel better. In a few months, you’ll be in a better place to make a decision about your life.”
She’d already made her decision. The money had run out so now it was up to her to do her own investigating.
She was going to find Macon Miles and when she did, she would find out how her brother had died. And if he had anything to do with it…well, she would take care of that, too.
CHAPTER ONE
Dallas, TX
Two months later
Macon watched the new girl. He couldn’t help himself. She was luscious. Like a chocolate soufflé. She would require very careful handling in order to bring her to fruition. One wrong move and a woman like that would fold, wilting or falling away, or simply telling him to fuck off.
He really didn’t want her to tell him to fuck off.
Ally. Allyson Jones. She had dark hair and a curvy figure that filled out her black slacks and white dress shirt in a way no one else on the waitstaff managed. She bent over, collecting the menus. That was the singular juiciest backside he’d ever seen. It was fucking spectacular, and he could feel his cock hardening.
It was not helpful to his current work situation, but he still couldn’t force his eyes to move. It was like they were laser focused on that lush ass.
He moved the pastry blender over and over, forcing the ingredients to mix into something new. Butter, flour, sugar, shortening, salt, and ice water. His perfect piecrust. Simple and yet so complex since he’d learned it required something beyond merely following the recipe. There was a harmony required most people never figured out, a certain Zen that came with giving over to the dish, allowing it to be what it would.
“Don’t let that sit too long.” Timothy Gage looked down his patrician nose at the bowl. “We have reservations for a hundred tonight. If that crust isn’t perfect, I’ll see you go back to washing dishes.”
Macon took a deep breath and forced himself not to correct his obnoxiously pretentious boss. He’d never washed dishes. When he’d been hired at Top, he’d been brought in as a garde-manger, prepping salads and helping with small plates. That had lasted two weeks. Then one day the chef’s brother had walked in. Ian Taggart was a massive slab of muscle with a taste for lemons. Timothy didn’t do requests. He was an artiste, or at least that’s what he called himself. He was mostly an asshole who took himself way too seriously. Sean Taggart, the man who owned Top, had tried to talk his brother into being reasonable. Macon had quickly made a lemon pudding.
He’d moved from salads to assistant pastry chef that day, and he was also Big Tag’s hookup. The big guy’s wife had been pregnant at the time and mad about coconut. He’d made coconut cookies, cream pies, and cakes for the lovely Charlotte.
It was good to be needed. It was good to make something that made someone else happy.
“That is one hot piece of ass.” Timothy leaned against the wall, his eyes on Ally.
There were times he really didn’t like the man. All the time, really. He was full of himself, but he was also trained by some super-fancy school in Paris. Sean had introduced him as a big deal and explained that Macon could learn a lot from him. So far he’d really learned that Timothy liked to duck work and take all the credit, and he drank on the job.
Ally looked up and her dark eyes caught on his. He hoped he wasn’t staring like a crazy stalker guy, but it was hard to look away. She smiled and joked and he could still feel the aura of loss that surrounded her. He wanted to know what made her seem so sad at times, like there was a wall between her and the world. He wanted to tell her she didn’t need that wall. It was a stupid idea. He couldn’t take care of himself much less anyone else, so he’d kept his distance.
Still, since the moment she’d walked through the doors, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her.
She gathered the menus close to her chest as she started for the door. She stopped in front of the pastry station. The barest hint of a smile crossed her full lips. “What’s on for tonight?”
Tim stepped up. “Citrus tarts and a mango sorbet. But if you like I could whip up something chocolate for you. I know the staff tends to have a limited palate. I’ll fix that right up for you, sweetheart.”
Ally frowned and looked back at Macon. “Well, it looks good anyway. See you later.”
Macon nodded her way and then turned to Timothy. “Is there a reason you insulted her?”
Timothy waved him off. “Like she knows what a palate is. Had I really known who I would be working with here, I would have stayed in Europe.” He took a sip of coffee that Macon knew was drowned in whiskey. “The whole place is full of washed-up idiots. Taggart has too soft a heart to really make it in this business. He’s a brilliant chef. He simply doesn’t have a proper staff around him. It’s one thing to use his Army buddies to wash dishes. It’s another to pretend they can actually cook.”
Yes, this was what he got to listen to. It was so much better when Timothy worked on what he considered proper desserts and he left Macon alone to prepare the secondary. Unfortunately for tonight, the mango sorbet was already done, so he got to listen to Timothy’s rants.
He sucked it down. He wasn’t about to fuck up this job
. He owed Adam too much. Adam had introduced him to Sean. Adam had gotten him this job. He couldn’t lose his temper.
He went back to his crust.
Timothy drained his mug and slapped Macon on the shoulder. “You finish that up. I’m going to go deal with a problem I’m having.”
He stepped out and Macon could breathe again. He let the sounds of the kitchen wash over him. He loved it here. With the singular exception of Timothy, he got along with everyone. Sean Taggart liked to hire vets. Chef Taggart was a former Green Beret and his kitchen staff came from all the arms of service. The sous-chef was a former SEAL, the saucier a former Air Force pilot. The line chefs were all Marines. Even the sommelier had spent time in the Coast Guard. Only Timothy and a few of the servers were civilians.
He fit in here. He wasn’t the only scarred fuck-up.
His life had taken on a pleasing rhythm. Wake up, exercise with his brother and Jake, lunch with his sister-in-law, who asked an insane amount of questions, work, and sleep. He had PT three days a week and saw the shrink twice. He was getting comfortable telling Kai Ferguson things he’d never told another person.
The only problem was Kai thought he was holding back and he was. There was one thing he couldn’t tell anyone. Not ever. He would take it to his grave.
He shoved the thoughts aside and concentrated on the individual crusts.
“You coming out with us tonight?” Eric Vail’s white apron was still pristine at this point in prep. The sous-chef was a lean man of roughly forty, with a jagged scar running from above his right eye to his jawline. He also was the best freaking chef short of the big boss. Eric’s sea bass rocked Macon’s world.
Macon had decided that men who’d been forced to live on MREs for most of their life took food seriously.
“I’m going to close tonight.” He liked closing on Sundays. Yes, it took longer because they weren’t open on Mondays, so he ended up helping Sean with the accounting. He liked it because he was learning how to run a business. Once he’d offered to help with the books, Sean had been thrilled to teach him. He helped with accounting and payroll. Sean’s wife, Grace, had spent hours teaching him how to use the accounting software. He loved baking, but he also loved the sense that he had a hand in the working of the business.
Eric shook his head. “You are crazy, my brother. I’ll drink some tequila for you. Or maybe not since I saw that you’re closing with the lovely Ally. It has not escaped my notice that you watch her.”
“I’m not stalking her or anything.” Not really. He just liked the way she moved when she didn’t think anyone was watching. After close, they would turn on some music and she’d move to it, her feet finding a rhythm as she mouthed the words to the songs she knew.
Eric’s emerald green eyes rolled. “I didn’t say that. I said you obviously have a thing for her. I think you should ask her out.”
He wasn’t so sure about that. “I’m not in a place to take care of a girlfriend.”
Eric frowned and leaned in. “If you give a crap about that girl, maybe you should rethink your position.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’ve been talking to Deena.” Eric was cozy with the hostess. She was a pretty blonde who didn’t seem to give a shit that Eric was scarred. She beamed when he walked in the room. “No one knows where Ally lives. A couple of the guys have asked and she puts them off with that smile of hers.”
He wasn’t stupid. The waitstaff was tight. They watched out for each other. Even after a few weeks, someone should have been to Ally’s place. Eric was right about that smile though. When she did smile, it kind of lit up the room. “Maybe she’s staying with a friend.”
“Or maybe she’s staying in that piece of shit Ford that’s always parked down the street on the nights she works. I walked by after Deena mentioned it. There are a couple of blankets and pillows in the back. I’m telling you if you like the girl, you better make your claim because someone’s going to take an interest sooner or later. The minute Sean Taggart figures out one of his employees is living in her car, he’ll take over. We don’t call it Top for nothing, brother.” Eric put a hand on his shoulder. “You have some time. Figure it out.”
Top was a play on words. It hadn’t taken long to figure that out. His brother had explained that most of his friends, including Chef Taggart, were into the BDSM lifestyle. They played around for the most part, but there wasn’t a single one of those men who wouldn’t take responsibility for a female in need. They would step in and help because it was the right thing to do.
He kind of liked his brother’s friends.
Eric walked away and Macon was left with a dilemma.
He wasn’t good for Ally. There was no question about that. He was only now starting to deal with his responsibilities, and taking on another one might not be the best idea. He was kind of toxic.
But wasn’t toxic better than homeless? She was sweet. She was sad. She worked her butt off every night and he’d noticed she helped her coworkers when they struggled. When the front was slow, she came back to the kitchen and tried to help them. Shouldn’t someone watch out for her? He’d heard she didn’t have any family left. She always turned down going out at night, preferring to work late. Maybe she was trying to save money for a place of her own.
He didn’t like the thought of her sleeping in her car. It was dangerous.
The guesthouse had two bedrooms. His brother’s guesthouse was bigger than most people’s actual houses. Adam had done well for himself. Adam wouldn’t stop him from bringing a stray home. Hell, they would likely welcome her with open arms. The Dean-Miles family liked to take in strays.
He finished with the crusts and went to wash his hands. Maybe it was time to ask Ally a few questions.
Maybe it was time to give a shit about someone other than himself.
* * * *
Ally dropped off the new menus. They changed nightly because Sean Taggart liked to use fresh ingredients. Top was farm to table. He negotiated with local farms for whatever he could, and as far as Ally could tell he was one hell of a chef. She’d been raised on whatever her mom had a coupon for, but she’d discovered she really liked sea bass and polenta, and god she could eat risotto all day.
And Macon’s pastries. Oh, Timothy the Ass took credit, but she watched Macon work. Macon made the fluffiest crust, the richest chocolate mousse.
He was also the damn dreamiest man she’d ever seen, and she wasn’t a woman who used the word dreamiest lightly.
In the few weeks she’d worked at Top, she would swear she’d gained ten pounds. After service was over, staff got to eat. She’d had some of the best food of her life here. She’d also had some really good times. She’d thought she only ever fit in with her mom and Ronnie, but this place was starting to feel like home.
“Hey, you. I heard we’re going to Deep Ellum after work tonight.” Deena took the menus and placed them in the basket by the hostess station. She was an infinitely competent woman in her early thirties, with a ready smile and a warm personality. She kept the front of house running like clockwork. “Tell me you’re coming with us. We need to dance.”
Oddly, the idea of going clubbing held no appeal. She was young and single and had no ties to anyone, and yet all she wanted to do was have a place to go to with a TV and a warm bed and a Macon Miles to cuddle up against.
Damn it. She couldn’t think that way. Macon was the target. Macon was the only one who could tell her what really happened to her brother. The report didn’t make sense. She knew the Army could cover up deaths, and she was sure that was what happened with Ronnie.
Had Macon killed her brother? Somehow she didn’t think so. She certainly didn’t want to believe it. She’d walked into Top with the full intention of confronting him. She’d meant to sit down with Macon and force him to talk to her. Then she’d actually seen him. When she’d knocked on the back door, he’d opened it. He’d wiped his hands on his apron and given her the sweetest smile she’d ever seen, and when he’d a
sked what she needed her brain and her mouth hadn’t worked at all in sync. She’d stumbled and told him she was looking for a job, and she’d started waiting tables that night.
How would he feel if he knew she had an ulterior motive? She promised herself every single night that she was going to tell him the truth, and every night she put it off. Now she was in too deep. She was caught in a trap of her own making.
“I can’t. I’m closing.” It was a perfect excuse and one she liked using. She took all the extra shifts she could. Besides needing the money, she liked the quiet after the restaurant was closed. She enjoyed the way Sean turned on music and everything seemed to slow down. They would sit and have a late dinner. Sometimes Sean’s wife Grace would join them and she could watch how much they loved each other. If Grace brought their daughter, she could play with the baby.
“You’re always closing.” Deena frowned her way. “Some day you’ll have to join us and have some fun.”
“Of course.” She handed Deena the eraser for the features board. “One day I won’t be the new girl.”
She put the working-late excuse on being the new girl. She couldn’t explain that she didn’t have enough cash for a deposit on an apartment and wouldn’t for a while. She still had to make payments on her mother’s hospital bills. Her mom had been so proud. She couldn’t let it go, couldn’t let her sink into bankruptcy even though she was gone.
Deena sighed. “Can you take the trash out? The bathrooms are clean, but the lobby trash is full. I swear Javier cleans out that truck of his with that can. I’ve told him twenty times to take it out back.”
She nodded and walked to the front of the house. The entry trash was only about half full, but it was best to start with a clean slate. She quickly pulled the bag. There were several more beneath, always ready for a quick change. She fixed the new bag and closed the old.
“Thank you, darlin’!” Deena winked her way. “You’re the best. I’m going to give you all the high rollers tonight.”