learned, and now I’m too busy.” Clair nodded at the pan with butter in it. “What are you making?”
“Chicken marsala.” Kiera handed the tea to Clair, then threw caution to the wind. “You’re welcome to stay and eat if you’re hungry.”
“Just the tea, but thanks for the offer. Maybe a rain check?”
“Sure.”
“Don’t let me keep you, though,” Clair said, sipping her tea. “I would enjoy watching you for a few minutes. It fascinates me how people can take a bunch of different ingredients and turn them into something exotic and delicious. Unless you’d rather not have someone hanging over you—”
“I don’t mind.” Kiera moved back to the stove and flipped on the burner. If there was one place she felt most comfortable, it was in the kitchen. And besides, if she was cooking it would keep her mind off being nervous around Clair—off all those questions she so desperately wanted to ask.
“So where did you learn?” Clair settled on a counter bar stool. “Your mother?”
Kiera shook her head. “Cookie Roggenfelder.”
Clair raised a questioning eyebrow.
“I was raised on a ranch in East Texas.” Kiera opened a package of chicken breasts she’d had the butcher pound thin for her. “When I was eight, I spent most of my time following after the cook.”
“Named Cookie,” Clair added, grinning.
Kiera nodded. “I’d beg him every day to let me help and every day he’d say no. I guess I finally wore him down, because on my ninth birthday he gave me an apron and told me if I still wanted to help, I had to start at the bottom. The bottom being peeling potatoes, shucking corn, chopping onions. It was nearly six months before he let me actually cook anything. I made corn fritters.”
“How did you do?” Clair asked.
“They were hard as granite and burned, to boot.” While she opened a bag of flour, Kiera smiled at the memory. The kitchen had smelled like smoke for three days. “Cookie insisted I bake them every day until I got it right. Took me three weeks straight, but now I can honestly say I make the best corn fritter you’ve ever tasted.”
“I’ve never had one.” Clair swirled the ice in her tea. “But you’re definitely making me want one.”
“I’ll make them for you sometime,” Kiera said, then dusted the chicken with flour. “You’ll be spoiled for life.”
Clair studied Kiera’s face for a moment, then took another drink. “Does that mean you’ll be staying in Wolf River?”
Kiera’s heart jumped a beat. “What do you mean?”
“Like I said before, small towns are brutal on a person’s private life.” Clair gave an apologetic shrug. “There’s been some talk.”
“Oh?” Somehow, Kiera managed to keep her hand steady. Butter sizzled when she dropped the chicken into the heated frying pan. “What kind of talk?”
“What you’d expect,” Clair said. “Where you come from, why you’re here. Why you’re living in a motel, by yourself. If you’re married.”
“I’m not married.” But she’d answered a little too quickly, Kiera realized, especially for someone who was trying her damnedest to be calm and collected.
“I’m sorry if I’m prying.” Clair’s voice was truly contrite. “But I do have an interest in you beyond idle curiosity. I’d like to know if the best waitress my hotel has ever hired plans on sticking around for a while. And besides, I like you. This may sound weird, and it’s probably just my hormones going crazy, but I feel as if we have a connection, somehow. I realize we just met, but I’d hate to lose you, as a Four Winds employee, and as a friend.”
“I—” Kiera had to choke back the lump of emotion in her throat “—thank you. I don’t know what to say.”
“Tell me that chicken you’re cooking will be done soon,” Clair said with a grin. “I wasn’t hungry a minute ago and now I’m suddenly starving.”
Kiera and Clair looked at each other. Together they said, “Another sign of pregnancy.”
They laughed, then Clair folded her arms and leaned forward on the counter. “I promise I won’t pry anymore, but I’d love to hear more about Cookie and the ranch you grew up on. It sounds wonderful.”
It had been wonderful, Kiera thought. Until two weeks ago, when she’d found out everything had been a lie. For the moment, though, she would pretend she didn’t know the truth. Meeting Clair had helped ease the pain somewhat, but there was still so much to learn. So many questions to be answered.
And besides, after her incredible lapse of good judgment with Sam, she needed a distraction. Cooking and talking with Clair would certainly be a welcome one.
“My favorite Cookie story—” Kiera said while she turned the chicken “—has to be the day one of the new ranch hands inadvertently commented that his mama made the best ribs in the entire state of Texas….”
Six
It seemed as if everywhere he turned, Sam saw an expectant mother. In the lobby. On the elevator. At the pool. An hour ago he’d seen two of them, walking together into the hotel spa. Then there was Christine, Adagio’s manager, three of the women in Housekeeping and two of the desk clerks. Was it some kind of cosmic joke being played on him, or had he just suddenly become excruciatingly aware of their presence?
Scrubbing a hand over his face, he leaned back in his desk chair and stared at the report on his monitor. He’d been staring at the same page, at the same figures, for the past half hour. The way his day was going, he might finish this simple accounting statement around one or two in the morning.
But why should today go any better than last night?
It frustrated—and irritated—the hell out of him he couldn’t get Kiera out of his mind. Or the burning question: was she pregnant?
It had taken a will of iron today not to seek her out and force the issue. If she’d thought she was pregnant, it might explain why she’d been so secretive since she got here, especially if she was running away from the father of her child. She’d told him she wasn’t married, so the father would most likely be a boyfriend. He remembered the black eye she’d had when she’d first arrived, and his hands tightened on the arms of his chair.
Five minutes, Sam thought, narrowing his eyes. That’s all the time he’d need with the guy. Hell, that would be taking it slowly. He could mess the jerk up big-time in under two without breaking a sweat.
He shook his head and sighed. Something just didn’t jive here. Not that he knew anything at all about pregnant women. He didn’t know a damn thing.
He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he had a feeling that what he was seeing, what she’d let him see, was all wrong.
Or was that just what he wanted to think?
He swore,
