Once Tempted (13 page)

T
HE HIGH TEA
was hopping, the chatter animated, the guests’ appetites voracious. And Tess’s arms were aching. This time out of the kitchen, her tray was laden with a pot of jasmine tea, two cups, a small pot of lavender honey, and a saucer of sliced lemons. That was just the beverage portion of the order. The tray also held a plate piled with coconut macaroons and chocolate-dipped strawberries—by far the most popular item on the menu. Another plate had a pyramid of tea sandwiches to make Tut proud. In all, it was a lot to balance as she threaded her way through the lounge to her destination, a couple in their thirties.

“Here you go.” Carefully she lowered the tray and began transferring the dishes onto the round table in front of them. The couple were trim so they mustn’t always eat like professional linebackers. They “oohed” appreciatively as she presented them with their order.

“Thank you. This looks divine.”

“Yeah, it does,” her partner agreed, already reaching for a salmon and pumpernickel sandwich.

“Well, enjoy. And let me know if you’d like anything else,” Tess replied with a smile.

“We will, don’t you worry.”

In the public rooms, the tea might be all that was decorous enthusiasm, but behind the kitchen’s swinging double doors, Roo was bitching a blue streak. Since the pastry chef was an Aussie, her curses were colorful, but apparently Roo didn’t feel they were adequate to the task of reacting to the unexpected popularity of the day’s tea, which she was in charge of so that Jeff and his staff could prep for dinner. During Tess’s last trip into the kitchen Roo had demanded she provide her with some good Italian swear words. Teaching someone from Australia’s Northern Territory to pronounce Italian was like eating spaghetti with a toothpick.

Roo didn’t seem to notice any problem. She rattled off Tess’s harried offerings of
che coglione, figlio di una mignotta
, and
vaffanculo
with cheerful violence as she whipped together extra sandwiches. Strangely enough, the mangled obscenities went perfectly with her five-foot stature, pixie features, teased hair, Cleopatra eyeliner, tattoo sleeves, and piercings.

Across the gleaming stainless steel kitchen, Jeff and his sous-chef, Chris; his prep cook, Carter; and his line cook, Mack; were already dicing vegetables for dinner. When he worked, Jeff liked to rock out to whatever was on someone’s iPod. From what Tess could surmise whenever she hurried into the kitchen to drop off dirty dishes with Tim, the dishwasher on duty, and pick up a new order, the playlist du jour was composed of the Red Hot Chili Peppers, Alice in Chains, and the Deftones.

None of these were especially Tess’s favorites, but she wasn’t stupid enough to criticize any of the kitchen staff’s musical tastes, not when three of the men behind the counter were wielding wickedly sharp knives. Jeff Sullivan’s temper was equally sharp. Mainly he used it to eviscerate any fool less than anal with the plating.

To Tess he’d been quite sweet since he’d wrung a promise from her that she’d make him a home-cooked
Italian meal. She was going to prepare her mother’s signature comfort dish: baked penne with tomatoes, cream, and five cheeses. A second helping of her mother’s dish risked a week of wearing crisis pants and loose sweaters, but every bite was worth the gazillion calories. To complete the meal Tess planned to make two of Mrs. Vecchio’s dishes: a tart green salad of arugula, endive, shaved parmesan, and lemon vinaigrette, and a dessert of a crostata with fig jam. Anna had promised to email the recipe for the crostata.

Jeff loved the idea of sampling recipes from Anna and Tess’s mothers, claiming that home cooking was the real thing and that these dishes should form the backbone of any restaurant. The Silver Creek chef knew his
cucina italiana
. He’d interned at one of Tuscany’s top restaurants. And he’d obviously picked up some key vocabulary during his internship. As Tess passed through the swinging doors, the Nine Inch Nails were wailing and, from their respective stations across the wide aisle, Jeff and Roo were engaging in a seriously competitive swearing smackdown.

It was all a little much. She passed the dirty china and cutlery to Tim and nearly groaned in relief as their weight was removed from her tray. With each roundtrip, the loads had gotten heavier. By now it seemed as if they weighed a ton. She dreaded the idea of tipping a tray over by mistake and sending teapots and baked goodies flying in the middle of Adele and Daniel’s desert-hued lounge. She’d gotten out of waitressing shape, but then, whenever she’d served at the events catered by La Dolce Vita, she hadn’t been hefting six-cup teapots and stacked plates—merely light-as-air appetizers and pastries. With a wince she shook out her arm and then jammed her fist into the small of her back. It, too, ached.

“Here’s your order, Tess,” Roo broke off swearing long enough to tell her.

“Great.” She eyed the tray. Chocolate-dipped strawberries, apple tartlets, sandwiches, and tea for two. The order was for a couple seated at the small table by the window. Ignoring her aching arms, she lifted the tray. From behind, she felt a whoosh of air as the kitchen door swung open, but assumed it was Liz, another of the servers. She turned and nearly slammed into Ward.

“Careful there.” He reached out a hand to steady her, which, of course, did nothing of the kind.

“Thanks,” she muttered and then pressed her lips together so they wouldn’t betray the trembling feeling his touch engendered. Readjusting the tray, she made to step around him. She was careful not to look at him again. He’d changed into a black button-down shirt and black jeans and looked far too good.

“Almost done?” he asked.

She realized with a start that it must be almost time to call his friends. “High tea hasn’t slowed down yet. As much as I’d love to hang around and chat, we have some ridiculously hungry guests.” She left the kitchen, quite pleased that Ward Knowles was going to have to cool his cowboy heels.

In the lounge, she crossed Gordon, one of the regular servers, and exchanged a comical look of dismay with him as she wended her way to the opposite end of the bustling lounge. The spacious room was filled with the buzz of voices and the clinking of china.

As she approached the couple by the window they straightened in their armchairs. Anticipation lit their faces. With a professional smile she began placing their order on the circular glass-topped table, lowering the teapot first and then the cups and saucers around the outer rim of the tray. The trick was to keep it balanced even as her arm muscles quivered in relief from the lightened load. Last came the chocolate-dipped strawberries, tartlets, and sandwiches.

“Mmm. This looks amazing, doesn’t it, Kirk?”

“Just the ticket. We rode out this morning on a long trail ride.”

“The most lovely trail ride,” the woman volunteered. “Then after lunch I spent an hour and a half sketching the lambs. Kirk brought his camera and took pictures. You can see why we’ve worked up an appetite. The lambs are so precious. You’ve seen them, of course.”

Tess took the fifth on that one. “Hmm, well, you’ve certainly had a busy day.”

“And we’re looking forward to a busy night.” Kirk wiggled his eyebrows. “Dancing and such. The such will be particularly fun, won’t it, Madlon?”

His wife replied with an easy, comfortable laugh.

Tess’s smile warmed. She liked their open affection for each other. It reminded her of how Daniel and Adele interacted. Under other circumstances she might have lingered at their table. But she’d noticed a group of four that had just settled onto the sofa and wingback chairs across the room and Gordon was still in the kitchen, so she tucked the tray beneath her arm. “Enjoy the rest of your Valentine’s Day.”

“Hard not to, at a place like this.”

“You, too, my dear,” the woman named Madlon offered kindly.

“How about a sandwich, Kirk?” She picked up the plate and smiled at her husband.

“Thanks, love.”

Tess told herself not to be envious of the couple, who not only were enjoying this Valentine’s Day together but from the looks of it would also share many more.

She and David hadn’t lasted long enough to celebrate a single one.

She could barely suppress her irritation when she returned to the kitchen and found that Ward was still there. He was standing behind the counter next to Roo, loading up a tray of strawberries, savory biscuits, and nut brittle. It was the iced tea with sprigs of mint that was the giveaway. A couple had ordered iced rather than hot tea because they’d just finished a yoga session and wanted something cool to quench their thirst.

“That’s my order.” At this point she didn’t care that she sounded like one of the grumps in her old neighborhood who shooed kids away from playing on the sidewalk outside his house. Then it occurred to her that the grumpy geezers wouldn’t dare shoo someone like Ward away, which didn’t improve her mood one iota.

“That it is,” he replied, unfazed by her tone. “And the sooner we get it out, the sooner you and I can conference call with Brian and Carrie.”

“Good luck with that. A party of four just came in.” To Roo she said, “They want two plates of sandwiches, four red velvet cupcakes, the nut brittle, and four granola scones.”

Roo rattled off a string of new vocabulary words. “Did I get that last one right?”

“No, it’s
‘pezzo’ di merda
, not
pozzo
.”

Tess saw Ward’s dark brows shoot up in astonishment. Her mood lightened a shade.

“Right.
Pezzo
. What’s the matter with these people? Seating for dinner starts at six!” Roo tried out another couple of curses for good measure.

“Yeah, well, this party went horseback riding this morning. Now they want to eat like horses.”

“Generally when people come to stay at a working ranch, they partake in ranch activities.”

“Huh. Go figure.” Tess thought about what activity she’d like to indulge in: a long hot soak for her abused muscles. But then she met Ward’s eyes and an entirely
different activity suggested itself. The gunslinger outfit—black on black—emphasized his muscled build. He looked strong and dangerous and all too virile, and it had been far too long since she’d felt a man’s touch.

But it wasn’t going to be this man touching her. Not now, not ever, no matter how much her body might plead otherwise.

Damn, why was her life so complicated? Why did she keep being attracted to men who were totally wrong for her?

She was now convinced that the reason David had fallen for her was that she’d been absolutely wrong for him since she symbolized everything his parents weren’t. Rebellious, David hadn’t been content merely to date her. The perfect way to thumb his nose at his parents had been to marry her, the proof their outrage at having their name connected with a Casari rather than a Cooke or a Campbell. But once the novelty of marrying her and the appeal of royally pissing off the elder Bradfords had grown old, David began to view their marriage as a prison. He’d broken free and never looked back.

It was impossible for her to know exactly how great a role his illness had played in the destruction of their marriage. Things had gone bad so quickly it was hard to believe he also hadn’t experienced a change of heart—that when marriage no longer appealed, he simply decided to ignore the vows he’d uttered.

Ward wasn’t like that. He obviously took his responsibilities seriously. But just because Ward might differ from David in terms of temperament, that didn’t make him any more suitable.

She could console herself that at least with Ward she wasn’t stupid enough to confuse basic physical attraction with any chance of a happily ever after. And while she might get twitchy and bothered any time she looked at him for longer than ten seconds, at least she saw his
flaws—his bossy high-handedness—with crystal clarity. Surely that was progress.

All she had to do was carefully monitor the number of seconds she allowed herself to look at him and she’d be okay. She figured five was her max. Six and she might start trembling and quivering as everything went all warm and fluttery inside her. And she’d have to be careful not to let him stand too close, because then she’d be feeling a lot more than warm and fluttery. More like sizzling and aching.

She suddenly realized that that’s exactly what had happened—that she’d been staring at him, drowning in his blue-green gaze, mooning over his lean cheeks that were now shadowed with the hint of stubble and thinking how they’d feel beneath her fingers.

Her own cheeks flamed red. Horrified that she’d been lost in a man trance for Ward, she made to grab the tray, a move Ward immediately blocked by holding it. She tugged and nearly growled in frustration when it wouldn’t even slide a measly inch toward her. “Do you mind? The guests are waiting for their food.”

“You’ve been relieved of duty.”

“What? Are you nuts? I can’t leave Gordon and Liz to handle the bar and the lounge by themselves.”

“You won’t. I’ve arranged for a replacement. Ah, here she is now. Took you long enough.”

Tess spun around. Quinn was dressed in a clean white tuxedo shirt and slim-fitting jeans. Her hair was pulled back in a thick ponytail. This time she’d bothered with a brush. “Sorry. Had to wash up. All set and ready to serve, Roo.”