Finding Hope (Nugget Romance 2) Page 10

  “All right,” he told the boys. “Bag up the frosting and the rest of the ingredients. We’re going over to the barn.”

  “I’m staying here,” Justin said.

  Clay considered letting him but decided that Justin needed supervision. No telling what kind of trouble he could get himself into in a few hours. “Nah, we need a dishwasher. Come on.”

  Surprisingly, he didn’t put up much of a fuss. They hiked the short trail to the barn, Clay lugging both the laptop and the sack of cupcake fixings. When they got there, she didn’t look altogether thrilled to see them, but she didn’t act put out either.

  It was clear that she’d hastily thrown a chef jacket over her pajamas. The royal blue coat matched her eyes and “Emily” had been embroidered across the right breast in frilly letters. It didn’t show much of her, but he got a kick out of the little apron.

  Justin immediately acted like he owned the place, turning on the flat screen and making himself comfortable on the couch. It embarrassed Clay, but he didn’t want to make a scene.

  “You guys want something to drink?” she asked.

  “We just finished dinner, but thanks.”

  She eyed his laptop curiously.

  “The recipe is in here.” He grabbed a seat at the center island, opened the computer, and showed her the directions for vanilla cupcakes.

  Emily quickly read them, smiled, and shut the laptop. “So I was thinking something a little more festive. Maybe red velvet with cream cheese frosting. What do you say, Cody?”

  “Hell yeah!”

  Clay glared at him.

  “I mean heck yeah.”

  “We brought this.” Clay pulled the can of frosting out of the bag.

  “Yeah. We’re not using that,” she said dismissively. “Hey, Cody, go in that pantry over there and pick out cupcake liners.”

  Cody disappeared inside the closet. “Whoa,” he called. “You have like hundreds of them.”

  “For styling,” she said. “I use them in photo shoots and need to have a wide variety.”

  He came out with red-and-white striped liners. “How about these?”

  “Those are great,” she said, moving around the kitchen in fluid motions that reminded Clay of a dancer. Graceful and confident.

  “How’s your cookbook coming?” he asked, trying to make conversation.

  “Making lots of progress.” She flipped on a kitchen mixer, the whir drowning out the rest of her words. After a good stir, she turned off the machine, nimbly removed the beater, and handed it to Cody to lick off the batter.

  Clay watched her with fascination, noticing for the first time the length of her eyelashes, the creamy complexion of her skin, and the way she lit up like a moonbeam as she poured and measured, scooped and sifted, never once referring to a recipe.

  When she couldn’t reach the muffin sheets on a top shelf, Clay came up behind her, pressing against her butt to grab the pans. For an instant they just stood there. And if Emily hadn’t been aware of him as a man before, she certainly was now.

  She scooted away, her face beet red, while he surreptitiously readjusted himself. He tried to catch her eye to say, “These things happen. No harm, no foul,” but she busily pretended to be caught up in separating the cupcake liners.

  Finally, when she lifted her face to him, her expression had returned to its typical remote demeanor. All was well again in the House of Unhappy. Tomorrow, he promised himself, he would call Lauren.

  Cody had moved into the living room to watch a reality show that had captured Justin’s attention. Ordinarily, he would have made both boys help, but Emily had full command of her kitchen. Four might’ve been a crowd.

  She washed the batter bowl in the sink, staring out the window. “A lot of babies.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Calves,” Emily said. “I’ve been noticing a lot of them out in the pasture and up in the hills.”

  “We’ve had a good year. Since my dad died, I’ve bought more land and increased the herd. Beef prices are good.”

  “Do you miss the navy?”

  “Aspects of it.” Like rolling up on a MiG-21, flying thirteen hundred miles an hour. “But I didn’t get to see much of my boys while they were growing up. Those are years you never get back. I missed this place too. And war . . . it’s much better to be here.”

  “I can see why you love it. It’s a pretty spectacular place. Joe said McCreedy Ranch has been in your family for generations.” She diced a bar of cream cheese into cubes and tossed them into the mixing bowl.

  “Since the gold rush. My family came to sell beef to the prospectors. They wound up getting richer than the miners.” He chuckled. “You from Northern California originally?”

  “Orange County,” she said, and added butter and powdered sugar to her mixture. “I went to San Francisco to attend the California Culinary Academy and after graduation got a job at California Taste, developing recipes for the magazine.”

  “Is San Francisco where you met your husband?” he asked, curious about what happened to her marriage. Did the asshole bail on her after their daughter went missing?

  “In Atherton, actually. I was working for a catering company at the time. He attended the party I was working.”

  “Joe said something about him being an attorney,” Clay said.

  “Mm-hmm. Drew specializes in Internet law and works for a search engine company.”

  “You guys end amicably?” he asked, knowing that he was pushing it.

  “Very.” She snapped the bowl back onto the mixer and turned it on. “He’s getting married this month.”

  She appeared unaffected by the statement, but it had become clear to Clay that Emily kept her feelings carefully under wraps. Hence the glazed face.

  But not tonight. Not while she cooked. In the kitchen with her pots and pans, and the purr of the mixer, she could almost pass for beautiful.

  “Why don’t you do your own cookbook?” he asked, and she laughed. It was so musical and infectious that it made Clay feel a little weak in the knees.

  “You think I should?” She pulled the tins out of the oven, tested the cupcakes with a toothpick, and placed them on racks. “I have to let them cool a bit.”

  Into the frosting she dipped two spoons. “Justin, Cody, come try this.”

  Shockingly, Justin grudgingly came into the kitchen with Cody. She handed Clay a third spoon. “Good?”

  “Yeah,” Clay said. Not cloyingly sweet like most frosting, and it melted on his tongue. “Really good.”

  “Awesome!” Cody pumped his fist. “Put it in the book, Miss Mathews.”

  Justin gave an apathetic shrug, but Clay noticed he’d licked his spoon clean.

  Emily filled a pastry bag with the frosting. Unlike him, she had no problem popping the cupcakes out of their tins. In a perfect swirl, she piped the tops with icing and handed them each one. He peeled back the paper to find moist red cake. Sweets weren’t typically his thing, but these were mouthwatering good. The kids devoured theirs in under ten seconds—about the same time it took for Emily to finish frosting the others.

  “I’ll be right back,” Emily said, and climbed the stairs to the loft, returning with a rectangular cupcake holder. “You need to keep them refrigerated overnight.”

  “These will be the best ones there. Thank you, Miss Mathews,” Cody said.

  Clay didn’t understand why this whole cupcake deal had become so important to his twelve-year-old, who had never before paid much mind to school parties or after-game snacks. He suspected it might be a belated reaction to losing Jen and was eternally grateful to Emily for pinch-hitting.

  “Yeah.” Clay gazed into her eyes. “Thank you, Miss Mathews.”

  Her blush warmed him all the way south of his belt. Lauren. Tomorrow.

  “Let’s giddyup,” he told the boys. “Ms. Mathews has put herself out enough.”

  As they headed for the door, Clay happened to catch a photo on the mantel of a smiling little girl with a missing tooth,
blond hair, and the royal-blue eyes of her mother. The beguiling image punched him in the gut like a Mack truck.

  Chapter 9

  “Oh my,” Donna cooed over the man with the chain tattoo, even drawing a girlish giggle out of Ethel. “Where did he come from?”

  Emily had walked into the Lumber Baron to find the Baker’s Dozen and Maddy Breyer-Shepard ogling a younger version of Matthew Mc-Conaughey.

  “Los Angeles,” Maddy said, watching from the window as he got on his motorcycle and peeled off. “Word on the street is he’s in negotiations to buy the Gas and Go.”

  “No,” Donna said. “That scruffy piece of beefcake? Last I heard Denny wanted seven figures for that junky old gas station.”

  “Rhys says that Ducati he drives costs sixty-five thousand dollars,” Maddy said. “He has my best room booked for the next two weeks—paid in advance.”

  The women looked duly impressed. “Hmm,” Amanda mused, “maybe he works in Hollywood.”

  Grace fluffed her gray curls. “All those muscles. I bet he’s a stuntman.”

  Maddy laughed. “I don’t know, but if he stays in town, he could supplant Clay as studliest bachelor.”

  She winked conspiratorially at Emily, who for a minute feared that Maddy knew about the incident in the kitchen. The sensation of Clay pressed against her still gave Emily shivers.

  “Compared to Griff in—that’s his name, by the way—Clay’s looking kind of old and haggard,” Maddy teased.

  “Oh, you stop,” Donna warned. “That man is as gorgeous as ever. And he’s a war hero.”

  “Our war hero,” Ethel chimed in.

  Emily filed the war hero piece of information for later. If so inclined, she might do a little checking around the Internet.

  Amanda tapped her on the arm. “I heard you made cupcakes for Cody’s last day of camp. That was really sweet. A lot of the moms came to help set up for the party and he showed off those cupcakes, so proud. I hate to admit it, because I’m pretty damn proud of my brownies, but you kicked my ass.”

  “I doubt that,” Emily said. “I’m guessing the cupcakes were a sorry substitution for his mother’s.”

  Donna blew a raspberry. “The only thing that woman knew how to make was reservations. And half the men in Plumas County.”

  “Okay,” Maddy interjected, giving Donna an admonishing frown. “We’re not talking ill of the dead. Especially not of Clay’s late wife, and Justin and Cody’s mother.”

  Emily filed that revelation away too. Clay had alluded that there had been trouble in his marriage, but nothing about his wife having affairs. Who in God’s name would cheat on a man like that? Unless, of course, he was cheating on her.

  “It’s time for cooking, ladies.” Maddy made her point by ushering the group into the kitchen, which made Emily’s heart stand still.

  The stainless steel countertops, industrial appliances, and gleaming white subway-tile backsplashes sparked ideas for future photo shoots. The barn’s kitchen was great for rustic, but if she wanted something more polished this would be a terrific setting. “Oh, Maddy, your hotel, and this kitchen, are gorgeous.”

  “Aren’t you glad you came to our meeting?” Ethel said, waving her hands around the room. “How many people get to cook in a place like this?”

  “Thank you,” Maddy said to Emily, giving the kitchen a loving perusal. “I owe most of the work to Colin. He may be Nugget’s mystery man, but he’s a magical carpenter.”

  “Sophie came into the Farm Supply the other day and said they’d hired him to build their new house,” Grace said.

  “Yep.” Maddy nodded.

  Emily listened to the women chat and gossip, watching the nice camaraderie between them. After much deliberation, she was glad she’d finally decided to join them. She’d been in Nugget less than a month and felt good here. Having people who weren’t police detectives, private investigators, or federal agents in her life gave her a glimmer of what the future could hold in this small town. Especially with these warm women, who had generously welcomed her into their fold.

  The question was, would they feel the same way about her if they knew about Hope?

  “You want to see the rest of the inn?” Maddy asked Emily, pulling her from her thoughts. She’d actually been dying to get a peek at the rooms.

  Maddy took her on a tour of the main floor first. “The place was a wreck when we first got it. Drug dealers had set up shop in here, using the basement to store their meth- lab equipment. One of the men held me at knifepoint.”

  “Oh my God.” Emily couldn’t believe it. One of the reasons she loved this town so much was that it made her feel secure. But then Palo Alto had been voted one of the safest cities in America. “What happened?”

  “Rhys shot him.” Maddy got one look at Emily’s face and said, “Don’t worry, it’s a very safe town. With my husband as chief, nothing like that will ever happen again.”

  Emily didn’t know if Chief Shepard had told his wife about Hope. But from the way Maddy had stopped the ladies from gossiping about Jennifer McCreedy, Emily firmly believed that the woman could keep a secret.

  They climbed the stairs to the guest rooms and Maddy showed her a few of the rooms being turned for new guests. She’d seen to every detail—lush linens, beautiful rugs, incredible views of the Sierra.

  “Wow, Maddy. Just wow.”

  Maddy beamed. “I’m really proud of it. Listen, Clay and the boys, Rhys, Sam, Lina, and I are planning a picnic at the Hot Spot on Saturday. I know you’re just up the hill, but would you join us? Lina and I would love not being the only women for a change.”

  “Uh . . . sure. Should I bring something?”

  “Nope. Just your swimsuit. I’m raiding the Nugget Market’s deli section. Super casual. I just want to cheer Rhys up. His dad’s death has been rough. And Clay’s boys . . . We all need a little summer fun.”

  “Do you mind my asking when Clay’s wife died?”

  “Little more than a year ago,” Maddy said. “It’s been particularly hard on the boys. Since she died, there have been a lot of ugly rumors. Clay has tried as best he can to shelter Justin and Cody from them. But kids can be cruel, especially Justin’s friends.”

  “Clay said something about losing his father too.”

  Maddy nodded. “I didn’t know Tip—he died six months before Jennifer. I didn’t live here then. But the townsfolk, including my husband, adored him. When he had the heart attack, Clay came back with Jennifer and the kids from San Diego to take over the ranch.”

  Maddy led her back to the kitchen and asked, “How do you like living there?”

  Emily let out a laugh. “At first I didn’t quite know what to expect. I’m not exactly a country girl. But I can see myself staying. These mountains have a calming effect on me.”

  “Is that why you came? To escape the stress of city life?” Maddy asked. “I sort of wondered, because it’s not the type of place that ordinarily attracts single women. Mostly families here, and the winters are hard. I came to get away from a bad marriage—and for the inn.”

  Maddy waited expectantly, just looking at Emily with her pretty brown eyes. No guile whatsoever. And that’s when Emily knew that Chief Shepard hadn’t told his wife. So she went with half-truths.

  “My husband and I divorced about two years ago. I lived in a big house that I couldn’t afford, needed to get my editing business going again, and low overhead topped my list of prerequisites. Clay and I have a friend in common who thought this would be a good place for me to reorganize.”

  “Well, I hope it’s as lucky a place for you as it has been for me.” Maddy’s hand went absently to her flat belly. Emily knew she was pregnant only because Clay had mentioned it.

  When they returned to the kitchen they found the Baker’s Dozen preparing a peach and blue cheese salad, pecan-crusted chicken, and red potatoes. Amanda had brought a berry cobbler for dessert and Donna busily worked the cork out of a bottle of prosecco.

  Emily pulled an apron out
of her oversized handbag and rolled up her sleeves. “What do you want me to do?”

  Grace handed her a meat mallet to pound the chicken breasts to a quarter-inch thickness, while she got the dredging station ready. The five of them worked, joking and laughing until Emily thought she would split her sides.

  Who knew that middle-aged ladies could be so raunchy? All they talked about was sex.

  Maddy sat at the counter drinking sparkling lemonade, pronouncing that it was safer to let her watch rather than cook. That at this point in her pregnancy, she still had an aversion to most foods.

  “Do any of you know who Della James is?” Emily asked.

  “As in Della James the country singer?” Amanda responded.

  “That would be the one. Is she like a big deal?”

  “Uh . . . yeah.” Amanda looked at Emily like she lived under a rock. “CMA female vocalist three years running, not to mention a couple of Grammys tucked in there for good measure. Why?”

  Because Marge had called that morning, her voice vibrating over the phone like a jaw harp, with the news that Della James needed a cookbook ghostwriter. Emily had apparently made the short list. “She may need an editor for a cookbook she’s thinking of writing.”

  “You mean the cookbook you’ll be writing for her.” That Donna was so smart.

  Since Emily hadn’t signed anything yet, she could share a few of the details. “It sounds like Della likes to cook and has a lot of family recipes. All I would be doing is helping her collate them.”

  “All that food she’s cooking must be going straight to those double D’s,” Donna said. “And to that J. Lo ass of hers.”

  Amanda laughed. “People magazine voted her one of this year’s most beautiful women. I think she’s gorgeous.”

  “When do you find out if you get the gig?” Maddy wanted to know.

  “It’s in my agent’s hands.” She shrugged. “A couple of weeks, a month, don’t know.” But she could sure use the money. And having a big celebrity on her résumé wouldn’t hurt either.

  Ghostwriting for restaurant chefs would keep a roof over her head, but someone of Della James’s stature could up the stakes entirely.