Love in the Morning (5 page)

Clark nodded toward the dishwasher, who was regarding him a little nervously. “Who's that?”

Desi shrugged. “My cousin Marco. Lizzy said you needed somebody and he's looking for something part-time. I told him to come in this morning and get started.”

Marco gave Clark a guardedly hopeful look.

Clark sighed. “You know how to load a dishwasher?”

Marco nodded. “Desi showed me.”

“And mop up?”

“Sure.” Marco's smile became more definite.

“Great. You're hired. Fill out the paperwork when you're done here, and I'll even pay you.”

“Yes, sir.” Marco nodded enthusiastically.

Clark wondered just how old the kid was, but he wasn't inclined to look a gift horse in the mouth. He turned back to Desi, who was picking up one of the pans to transport it to the steam table. “This is what you want to do, right?”

“Cooking?” Desi's grin was almost as bright as Marco's. “Absolutely. This is great. Lizzy knows her stuff.”

“Reassuring since she's supposed to,” Clark muttered, but then he shrugged. “Okay, I'll get out of your way.”

Back in the dining room, he watched Lizzy cook up a few more omelets. She seemed to do it with a little more pizzazz than Clarice had, but maybe that was just because Clarice had already been thinking about something else. And, of course, there was the whole quiet grace thing. The line for omelets seemed to have gotten significantly longer.

He grabbed a muffin off the tray and headed back for his office. He figured he'd put the whole question of hiring a new chef on the back burner for now. Assuming Lizzy didn't crash and burn over the weekend.

She didn't. By Monday, so far as Clark could tell, things were running just as smoothly as before. If not more smoothly. He spent a few more minutes that morning watching her cook omelets. There was something sort of soothing about the efficient way she went about it, ingredients in, omelets out. On the whole, the customers didn't seem any more or less pleased with the way things were going. The hikers, climbers and kayakers consumed the same mass quantities of food they always had.

Speaking of mass quantities, Clark wondered if they'd need to reorder supplies soon. He had no idea how frequently Clarice ordered food—he only knew her suppliers because he saw the bills. Maybe he could meet with Lizzy and figure out what they needed.

Meeting with Lizzy sounded surprisingly good. He frowned.
You are not going to develop the hots for your chef. That is an amazingly lousy idea.
It definitely was, although he wasn't entirely sure he could stop it.

He grabbed another muffin and headed back to his office. The muffins were one thing he'd definitely noticed. He was fairly certain Clarice had never baked anything like this—sort of like carrot cake without the frosting, moist, spicy and full of orange bits. Clarice's muffins weren't bad, exactly. But they weren't like this either.

He meant to dig out the invoices for kitchen supplies as soon as he got back to the office, but a plumbing emergency took precedence. And then the front desk had a problem with the reservation software. And Sid, who did their promotions, had a new idea for a winter carnival package. As well as all the other daily decisions and annoyances that seemed to get in the way.

When he finally got around to locating the invoices it was late afternoon. He headed back to the kitchen, although he was fairly sure she'd be gone by then.

But there she was, chopping a pile of green peppers into perfect squares, her hand rocking carefully on the knife as it thudded against the wooden cutting board. Desi was nowhere in sight, but someone had filled the lobby cooler with sandwiches and salads. Clark really hoped it wasn't Lizzy. He was staring at her again. He knew it. There was just something fascinating about watching her work.

Perhaps sensing his presence, she glanced up, her forehead furrowing. “Hi?”

He took a breath.
Get it together, idiot.
“Hi. I brought you those invoices—I figured it might be time to order supplies.”

She glanced around the kitchen a little distractedly. “I guess it is. I really haven't had time to think about it.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Are you running out of anything?”

She shrugged. “Eggs. Probably bread. Although both of those are standing orders—I think we're due for a delivery tomorrow. If you'll leave the invoices, I'll put together some more orders when I get done here.”

He nodded, placing the invoices on the counter. Time to go.
No shit, Denham.

Lizzy leaned over the prep table, gathering up the mound of diced peppers to place in a stainless steel bowl. Something about the set of her shoulders looked tired, like she'd already had a long day that was going to get longer.

“Have you had dinner?” he blurted.

She stared at him, her eyes suddenly wary. “I usually fix myself something after I finish the prep work for the next day.”

“How much more do you have to do?” Given that there was already a line of filled stainless steel bowls sitting on the table in front of her, he couldn't imagine they put much more than that in the omelets.

She glanced down at her work, then sighed. “Nothing I guess. I'll grill myself a sandwich.”

“Let me buy you dinner,” he said quickly, before he could talk himself out of it.

“Oh, I don't…” She looked vaguely alarmed. Which she probably should be.

“It's the least I can do,” he babbled. “After leaving you to deal with the kitchen for the past three days. I mean, you got me out of a tough spot.”

Lizzy stared at him for a long moment, her dark eyes watchful. Then she shrugged. “Okay. Thanks. I'll have to come back early, though, so that I can make sure everything's ready for tomorrow.”

“Not a problem.” He managed not to grimace. So far as he knew, he'd never said
not a problem
to any woman before.

Lizzy pushed herself away from the counter, pulling off the apron she had knotted around her waist. She glanced down at herself, brushing a hand across her jeans. “I'm not really dressed up.”

He almost said
not a problem
again, but he stopped himself in time. “Don't worry about it. Where we're going, they won't notice.”

Or if they did, they wouldn't care. He watched her walk toward the kitchen door ahead of him, noting the slight swing of her hips and the way her dark hair seemed to spill across her shoulders once she'd taken off the fastener she'd used to pull it back.

And then he told himself to cut it out. She was, after all, his chef. And God help him if he did anything to piss her off. He'd already lost one chef this week. He had no intention of losing another one.

Chapter Five

Lizzy told herself for perhaps the fifth time that this was a really bad idea. So far as she knew, Clark hadn't even checked her references yet—which wasn't surprising, given how desperate he was for a cook. She didn't want to provide any reason for him to think he should be concerned about her past. And that meant she should keep a careful distance. Although she'd started to think of him by his first name.

She'd seen him in the dining room a few times during the week since Clarice had left. He confined himself to watching her make omelets and checking on Desi, which was fine with her.

It was, after all, his hotel.

Now she walked beside him across a side street toward what looked to be a bar. The Blarney Stone. She could hear music whenever the door opened, which was frequently given how many people were coming and going. If this was where they were going for dinner, Denham was probably right about nobody noticing what she was wearing.

Inside, the noise level was considerably higher. The room was full of people, some sitting at the booths and tables scattered around the perimeter. Some were dancing hip to hip on the micro-sized dance floor. A vintage jukebox sat in one corner, pumping out something that sounded vaguely like Blondie.

Clark maneuvered her toward the bar at the other end of the room where a man and a woman were pouring drinks. As they worked their way through the crowd, a very blonde waitress stepped to the side of the bar in front of them. “I need three beers please,” she called.

The man turned toward her with a sort of long-suffering smile. “What kind of beers, Ronnie?”

“Oh. Sorry. Two Maharishis and a White Demon.” She gave the bartender a dazzling smile of her own, and his suffering promptly disappeared.

“Coming up.” He turned toward a cooler behind him and pulled out three bottles.

Clark gestured toward a pair of barstools at the side. “Have a seat. I'll check to see if I can find us a table.” He turned back toward the crowd again.

Lizzy blew out a long breath, letting her shoulders relax. She hadn't really been out that much since she'd arrived in Salt Box. In fact, she hadn't really been out at all. Maybe it was time to get away from the kitchen for a while.

The bartender stepped up in front of her. “What can I get you?”

“Oh.” She shook her head. “I'm not sure. I think we're moving to a table.”

“That's okay. You can take it with you.” He leaned on the bar in front of her. “Was that Clark I saw you with?”

She nodded. “He's my boss.” She wasn't sure why she felt the need to add that bit. Maybe just to make sure nobody thought there was anything going on between them.
And why would that be such a problem, Lizzy?
Because it just…would.

The bartender grinned. “You must be the new chef, right? The one who took over for Clarice?”

She nodded again. “That's me.”

He extended his hand. “Ted Saltzman. Nice to meet you.”

“Lizzy Apodaca.” She gave his hand a quick shake. Surely he wasn't the first person she'd met in Salt Box outside the Praeger House. Then again, maybe he was.

“So where were you before you came to Salt Box?” Saltzman leaned against the bar, and danger signals clanged in her head.

“California. San Diego and Los Angeles.”
Keep it general, Lizzy.

Saltzman's eyebrows went up. “Big change from the city to a small mountain town, I guess.”

She nodded. “It's different.”
Which is a plus.
Where the hell had Denham gotten to anyway?

“Still, we've got a good restaurant scene here. I don't do much foodie stuff myself, but there are a lot of upscale places in town and at the resort.”

Lizzy frowned. “You're the cook here?”

“There's someone else in the kitchen, but I've been known to lend a hand.” He gave her another grin. “It's my place.”

“Oh.” She looked around the crowded room again. “It looks really popular.”

“It is. Excuse me a minute.” He turned back toward the scrum of people pressed up against the bar, waiting for drinks.

Clark fought his way back through the same scrum, leaning on the bar next to her. “There's a table we can share over there.” He nodded toward a distant corner of the room.

Lizzy guessed there were tables there. She couldn't say for sure since she couldn't see that far in the dimness of the bar. Plus a large part of the population of Salt Box was in the way. “Okay.”

Clark turned toward the crowd, then reached back and took her hand. “Follow me.”

She allowed herself to be towed through the crush of people, aware of the warmth of his palm against hers.
Stop it. He's just trying to get you through the crowd. It means nothing.
It wasn't supposed to mean anything. Still, he had a nice warm hand.

The table he seemed to be headed for was already occupied by another couple. She peered through the dark, trying to see if it was anyone she knew from the Praeger House staff. The man was older—she could see gray hair below his baseball cap and a gray beard. The woman's black hair almost blended with the darkness of the bar, making her face seem unnaturally white. She looked up at Denham and smiled as they moved closer. “Hey, Clark. We saved your seats.”

“Thanks, Nona.” He maneuvered Lizzy to the chair next to the older man, then pulled out the other chair for himself.

“So you're the new Praeger House cook?” The dark-haired woman turned a bright smile in Lizzy's direction.

“Yes, ma'am. I'm Lizzy Apodaca.” Lizzy gave her a quick nod as she ducked away from a dancer who'd come a little too close.

The woman grimaced. “Cripes, it's packed in here tonight.” She extended her hand across the table. “I'm Nona Monteith. The reprobate beside you is Dick Sonnenfeld.”

Sonnenfeld directed a sardonic grimace in Nona's direction, but it didn't seem serious. “I'm capable of introducing myself, Nona.”

Nona was unfazed. “Of course you are. You just won't do it unless pushed. I thought I'd save us all some time.”

The blonde waitress they'd seen earlier at the bar stepped up to the table. “Hi, Nona. Hi, Dick. Hi, Clark. Who's this?” She raised a questioning eyebrow in Lizzy's direction.

“This is my new chef, Lizzy Apodaca.” Clark gave the waitress a dry smile. “Are you here to take our orders, Ronnie?”

“Oh yeah, I guess I am.” She gave them another of those dazzling smiles, turning toward Lizzy. “I'm Ronnie Ventura, by the way.”

Dick muttered something that sounded like “yeah, we know” but Ronnie didn't seem to hear him. Or maybe she didn't care, which struck Lizzy as a healthy attitude.

“So what's on the menu tonight, Ronnie?” Nona gave her an encouraging look. Apparently Ronnie needed some prompting.

She reached into the pocket of her fairly tight jeans, inching out her cheat sheet. “Well, there's the usual, plus we've got a special tonight on Acapulco chicken. Soup du jour of the day is tomato basil.”

Dick's jaw went tight. “You know,
du jour
means
of the day
.”

“Yeah?” Ronnie's eyebrows went up. “That's interesting. French, I guess. I took Spanish myself.”

“Could we maybe get a menu here?” Clark said.

Ronnie's perfect forehead furrowed slightly. “Oh, I didn't know you'd need one. I mean you're in here all the time.”

“I'm in here all the time, but Lizzy isn't.” Clark's jaw was beginning to look like Dick's.

Ronnie glanced in Lizzy's direction, her expression morphing into concern. “Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry. I didn't even think.”

“That's okay,” Lizzy said quickly. “I'll just have a burger and fries. No menu necessary.”

“Our burgers are really great. You'll love them.” Ronnie beamed at her again.

“I'm sure I will.” Actually, Lizzy was pretty sure she'd love anything she hadn't cooked herself.

Ronnie gave them another beaming smile, while Sonnenfeld cleared his throat.

“Drinks?” He raised an eyebrow in her direction.

“Make it a pitcher of the local stuff,” Clark said quickly. “On my tab.”

Ronnie nodded. “Coming right up.” She turned and threaded her way back through the crowded dance floor.

Nona looked after her, eyes narrowed. “You know, she's actually getting better. And she's really not dumb. She just comes across that way sometimes.”

“She's not dumb at all,” Sonnenfeld said dryly. “She's where she wants to be, doing what she wants to do. And Saltzman is right there to pick up after her.”

Lizzy glanced at the bar. Ted Saltzman was smiling patiently in Ronnie's direction as she gave him her order.

“Is he actually cooking tonight along with running the bar?” she asked Clark.

He shook his head. “He's got a cook back in the kitchen, but he still oversees what she does. Just like he's got another bartender, but he's still behind the bar himself every night.”

“Which is why his bar is a success,” Dick cut in. “Saltzman knows his stuff. And he cares about what happens to his bar.”

Clark nodded. “He's good at what he does. No question.”

“So are you,” Nona added quickly.

Clark gave her a dry smile. “Yes I am, Nona. No ego strokes required.”

Nona turned back in Lizzy's direction again. “So how do you like working at Praeger House?”

“Very much. We've got a great kitchen.” Even if it was criminally understaffed.

“I've been hearing some very good things about the food. Somebody told me your muffins were out of this world.” Nona glanced at Clark again. “No offense, Clark, but Clarice was tapering off a little. Her muffins were sort of
meh.
”

“Clarice had other things to be concerned about.” Clark's jaw was back to tight. “She was busy finding another job.”

Nona patted his hand. “She was a bitch about it, that's for sure. She should have given you warning, and at least stuck around to make sure the kitchen was okay before she left.”

“Looks like she got you a replacement before she took off.” Dick raised an eyebrow in Lizzy's direction.

“Clarice had nothing to do with bringing a replacement in,” Clark said shortly. “Lizzy walked in looking for a job, and I was the one who hired her. Clarice just got lucky there. Or I did.”

Nona's forehead furrowed slightly as she turned to Lizzy. “You just walked in off the street looking for a job?”

Lizzy's throat tightened, but she managed to keep her smile in place.
Keep it light.
“Right place, right time, I guess.”

Nona's forehead stayed furrowed. “But you're an experienced chef, right?”

Lizzy nodded. “I've worked in kitchens before.”

Dick watched her with hooded eyes, then his lips spread in a faintly unpleasant smile. “And you just took the first job you found? You didn't even check around to see who else was hiring? Denham must have offered you a prime employment package.”

Lizzy met his gaze head-on. “It was a good job. I didn't need to look for anything else.”
And the owner doesn't watch reality TV. Or read the tabloids.

Ronnie swept up to the table, pitcher of beer in hand. “Here we go. I brought four glasses. I hope everybody wants beer.”

Nona smiled up at her. “Just put everything down here, sweetie. Some people at this table need to concentrate on drinking instead of talking.” She gave Dick a pointed look, which he ignored.

Lizzy took a swallow of the beer Clark handed her, trying not to gulp it down. Although she'd have loved a nice beer buzz after the past week, she needed to keep a level head.

Dick Sonnenfeld's eyes were way too bright when he looked her way.

*****

Clark wasn't sure exactly why he felt uneasy as he escorted Lizzy back to the hotel. It had been a pleasant evening overall if you ignored Dick's baiting. He had a tendency to do that with new people—just his way of finding out how far he could push without getting pushed back. Lizzy had more than held her own with him.

But Dick and Nona between them had managed to raise a few questions in his own mind. Questions he might have asked himself before the crisis in the kitchen.

Why had Lizzy been so desperate for a job? She clearly had the chops in the chef department. Why had she grabbed the first thing that came her way? What was she doing in Salt Box, Colorado, anyway, with a car that had run dry, and no place to stay?

Not that it mattered in the long run since she was doing a terrific job of saving his ass.

He glanced at her, walking silently at his side. Maybe too silently. He suddenly realized he hadn't said anything since they'd left the Blarney Stone.
Oops.
“Nice night. Not too cold.”

Lizzy glanced up at him, pulling her sweater a little more snugly around her body. “How cold does it get around here?”

“In the winter? Twenties and thirties usually. Sometimes a little colder or warmer, depending on where we are in the season.”

She shivered. Well, she was from California. Apparently. “So how long will this weather hold?”

“We'll probably get our first snow in October, but it won't stick around long. Maybe a day or so. The real stuff starts in November or December. If we're lucky.”

“Lucky?” She raised an eyebrow. “Getting snow is lucky?”

“In a ski area, getting snow is more than lucky. It's a blessing. Particularly if we get a decent amount before Christmas. The week between Christmas and New Year's is one of our busiest times.”

“Oh.” She hunched a little, wrapping her arms around herself. “Maybe I should pick up a heavier jacket. I don't have anything that would work in snow.”

For a brief moment, he thought about putting an arm around her shoulders. For warmth, strictly for warmth. He rejected the idea quickly. Too easy to misinterpret. “The western wear shop down on Main should be able to fix you up. They've got a lot of cold weather gear.”