“Apparently his parents are retiring and he’s decided to buy them out and move back to the area, too. If he owns both properties—the two orchards are located side by side—he’ll have the biggest peach crop in the area.”
And that was saying something, Dan knew, since Fredericksburg, Texas, was famous for its stellar peach crop.
Dan closed the distance between them. “So what does this mean about your move back to the area where you grew up?”
“I don’t know.” Emily exhaled in frustration. “My Realtor said I’m still approved for a mortgage and the bank has agreed to transfer that approval to another property.”
Dan hated to see anyone lose out on a dream—particularly a deeply held one. “Maybe you could purchase another orchard,” he suggested kindly.
Her lips parted as she looked up at him. “There aren’t any other orchards for sale in the area, and besides, I didn’t want any of those—I wanted the one my parents owned when I grew up.” She kicked at the concrete drive with the toe of her boot, and Dan tried not to notice how nice she looked in profile. “I had plans to bring it back to its former glory. To…Well, never mind. It’s not going to happen now.” Her voice rang with disappointment. She fell silent, a morose expression on her face.
Wishing he had a way to comfort her, Dan asked, “So what now?”
Emily sighed. “It puts my plans to leave Fort Worth on hold for now. Which really sucks. Because it’s the holidays, and thinking I’d be in the hill country, I turned down all these gigs I could have had.”
Dan knew that catering businesses thrived during the holiday season. “There’s still one you could have,” he said. He resisted the urge to take her hand in both of his. “And I promise you, it will pay better than you ever dreamed.”
“YOU OFFERED HER A JOB, just like that?” Walt said later that same evening when Dan filled him in on what had transpired. “Without doing a background check and getting references?”
Dan loved his ex-wife’s uncle. He’d been a lifesaver the past couple years—but sometimes his negativity rankled. “Stop thinking like a private investigator.”
Walt looked up from the game of Internet chess he was playing. “I’m the first to admit that the meal she made was wonderful. But we’re talking about your kids here. Your home.”
Dan frowned at the thought of any delay in getting things back on track at mealtime. “She was great with the kids.”
As by the book as ever, Walt countered, “At least have her fill out an application—and let me talk to some of the people she’s worked for in the past.”
“First of all, Grady’s wife has already vouched for her character. Apparently Emily has regularly catered events for the company where Alexis works. Her terrific performance is what led Grady to hire Emily for the lunch yesterday. Second, I don’t think Emily has done a job like this before.”
“The point is—” Walt’s brow furrowed as he took in his Internet opponent’s next move “—you don’t know.”
Dan recalled Emily’s enviable ability to bring serenity even to the chaos that had ensued upon her arrival. “I don’t want to blow it. Dinner tonight was the first conflict-free meal we’ve had in years around here.”
Walt made his move with a thoughtful scowl. “Still not enough reason to hire Ms. Stayton without due diligence.”
“Walt, I appreciate your sentiments. As a private investigator, you’ve seen things I could never even imagine. But I trust Emily Stayton.” On a gut level, Dan amended silently. “And the decision is made. I want her to be our cook. Not a housekeeper, just our personal chef, for however long we can manage to get her.” Hopefully in the interim he’d be able to figure out how to get Emily to come to work for them full-time. “And I don’t want you doing anything to interfere with that.”
Walt turned his attention back to the computer screen. “You ask me,” he grumbled, “you’re making a mistake.”
“I didn’t ask,” Dan stated flatly.
Still, he couldn’t help thinking about it as the night wore on.
He couldn’t explain it. He just knew, on some deep fundamental level, that Emily Stayton was The One to help solve his family’s problems. And Dan never discounted his instincts when they were that strong.
EMILY HAD PROMISED TO CONTINUE the consultation at nine Saturday morning. She arrived right on time. Dan went to answer the door and found her standing on the porch, much as she had the evening before—with one difference. Instead of looking pink-cheeked and healthy, she looked a little green around the gills.
“Are you okay?” Dan asked.
Emily swallowed hard, waved a vague hand, even as she moved past him. “It’ll pass.”
What will pass? “Are you sick?”
“Oh. No. I…I…Bathroom?” Her words were more a command for direction than a request.
Able to see what was about to happen, Dan hastened down the hall and opened the door. “In here.”
Simultaneously hitting the light and the fan, she barreled past him and slammed the door. The unmistakable sounds of retching followed.
The kids came tromping down the stairs at the commotion. “What’s going on?”
“Is someone…?”
“Ohhh.” Tommy, Ava and Kayla looked at one another in recognition.
“Go upstairs,” Dan ordered. “I’ll call you.”
They bolted, as was usually the case, when illness that might involve icky cleanup was involved.
“See?” Walt said, passing with his stiff-hipped gait. “You don’t know everything about her. For all you know, she’s got a problem that will leave her unable to do mornings—”
“Actually…” The door opened and Emily stepped out, still looking pale and shaky. She leaned weakly against the door frame. “Walt could be right.”
Walt looked at Dan. “I’ll leave you to handle this.” He went into the study and shut the door behind him.
Dan guided her into the kitchen and onto a stool at the counter. “Can I get you something?” he solicited kindly. “Water? Stomach med?”
Emily regarded him gratefully. “Maybe a glass of ginger ale or a soda cracker if you have it,” she said.
Dan paused.
Their eyes met.
As he worked to fulfill her request, he began to put two and two together.
“I’m pregnant,” Emily said, flashing a guilty-as-charged smile.
Hence the loose-fitting shirts she wore, the fullness of her breasts in comparison
