pointed at him. He hoped so. And figured out, too late, that Ms. Stevens had purposely called on him without warning. Getting reaction.
For ratings.
“Burke is a single father of thirteen-year-old Kelsey. He’s an orthopedic surgeon and is from right here in the Palm Desert/Palm Springs area! He learned to cook while in medical school. Cooking class was date night with his schoolteacher wife, who went on to become a master chef. Unfortunately, Dr. Carter’s wife passed away. He is going to be competing with her recipes.”
He kept smiling in spite of the fact that he sure as hades hadn’t put “date night” or “deceased” in his very brief, hastily written, responses to the show’s questionnaire.
He nodded at Natasha, thinking about the talk he was going to have with his daughter. It was one thing to do his best to win this competition, but he would not exploit his wife’s death to do so.
The woman next to him was from Las Vegas. When he was sure the cameras were off him and he could move, Burke noticed that television monitors had come on and he could see a close-up of Showgirl. Somehow she’d gone from showgirl to restaurant owner. Natasha didn’t explain that one. What was very clear was that she ran a very successful romantic diner in one of the upscale resorts on the strip. Reservations required. A sure win.
And...a showgirl. Taking his gaze from the monitor, Burke studied the beautiful though modestly dressed brunette seated next to him. Figuring he should feel some kind of attraction.
Nothing.
Next to Showgirl was a grandmotherly type, with two kids and six grandkids, whose husband was a retired farmer. Burke figured her for some fabulous family recipes. Another good possibility for the win.
The guy with slicked-back hair was single. He had an Italian restaurant in Manhattan, above which he lived. Listening to his cooking credits, Burke figured him for the win.
The short, pleasantly grinning woman was the mother of seven children. She was also a home-economics teacher. And an artist. Burke figured if she could manage to be accomplished in all three areas she was definitely their winner.
The woman with bountiful black hair had four children, and a slew of younger siblings, too. She was the head chef in a prominent Phoenix restaurant and was commuting the three and a half hours back and forth for every taping.
Then there was Biker Dude. A stay-at-home dad of three elementary-aged boys. His wife was mayor in their southern Kentucky town. He did all of the cooking for a church kitchen and a homeless shelter, in his home, while his boys were in school. Cooking under pressure was obviously not going to be a challenge for him. Burke knew karma was going to make sure he won.
“Janie Young.”
He stared at the monitor. Felt...too much.
“Janie is a single mother of a little guy most of you will remember from our Thanksgiving—”
Burke didn’t hear the rest due to the ringing in his ears. The wave of embarrassment that sloshed over him. He felt exposed, like everyone could read his mind...
Her recipe for turkey dressing had won the Thanksgiving Day competition. But as he sat there, the rest of it came back to him. She’d been in the audience for that special live show, one of several contestants whose recipes had been chosen for Natasha to prepare that day. The judges had voted on their favorite recipe. In the audience, her son had been bouncing around on her leg, gesturing and hollering out, having seen himself and his mother on the television monitor. What Burke remembered was the look on her face as she’d sat there, containing an overly excited little boy and still managing to have nothing but love in her eyes as she’d watched him.
Not the screen.
She hadn’t even known she’d won.
She’d clearly cared more that her son was having a good time.
His literal dream woman was going to win.
And he was the show’s biggest loser.
THERE WAS A benefit to being a local contestant. Janie would have known, if she’d read all of the fine print in her contract.
She’d read the requirements. Memorized all time commitments. Filled out every line of every necessary form. And signed her name a lot.
She’d ignored the parts about traveling from out of state. If “it” didn’t pertain to her, she usually did ignore “it” these days. Her non-Dawson time was spread that thin.
“Janie Young, right?” Turning as she collected her Coach bag—an extravagant gift with Janie’s name on it under Corrine and Joe’s Christmas tree the previous month—from the locker she’d been assigned at the far end of the green room, Janie saw Dr. Burke Carter standing there.
The only other local contestant. With a cooking certificate from a highly respected culinary institute. And a deceased wife who’d been a master chef, whose recipes Janie had to compete with.
“Yes?” Her tone was kind. Because it was the only way she knew how to be. In spite of Dillon’s constant attempts to “toughen her up.”
Out of the kitchen, there was no battle here. No reason to be “tough.”
“I noticed that you didn’t go to collect your per diem,” he said.
“Actually, I noticed.” A slender, dark-haired waif in boots, leggings and a matching sweater stepped gracefully up to them. “I’m Kelsey, and I told Dad that you hadn’t gone to get your per diem. I’m just sitting out in the audience, and all, so I noticed when you didn’t join the line.”
“She noticed because she wanted to meet you,” Dr. Carter said, at which Kelsey’s face turned abruptly toward him, her ponytail swinging so hard it brushed Janie’s shoulder.
“Daaadd,” the girl said under her breath.
Janie tried to remember what she’d heard about the doctor’s daughter in his introduction. And couldn’t. Except that it was just the two of them.
“She’s in love with your son.”
“I am not!” The girl’s wide-eyed, stricken look focused on Janie for a long second before she turned on her handsome father. “Dad.” The one word was uttered in a clearly disciplinary drawl.
“From what I’ve gathered, you’d be in the minority if you’d seen the show and hadn’t noticed Dawson,” Janie said with a smile, hoping to put the obviously embarrassed girl at ease. “If I’d had any idea we’d make such a spectacle, I wouldn’t have been there. Not in a million years.”
“Spectacle? He was great!” the teenager said. “He’s just so cute!”
People often said that Dawson’s joy was contagious.
“Thank you,” she said, moved in a way that didn’t happen often. Not anymore. Not since life had become as much about pain as about joy. Since she’d been left to cope, largely on her own, with burdens she wasn’t positive she could handle.
Not
