One More Taste (11 page)

And yet, here Emily was, duped into a boat ride with her hunky boss. In the moonlight.

Granny June really was a master of subterfuge.

“You don't see it coming when it happens to you,” she muttered.

“What?”

Emily shook her head. “Nothing. Never mind.” Boy, would Granny June be in for a disappointment with this misguided attempt. It was totally going to ruin her matchmaking success rate.

An awkward silence settled over the boat, with both Knox and Emily sitting, frozen as though stunned, as the boat drifted farther from shore.

“We don't have to…” Knox's voice trailed off.

“No, definitely not.”

With stiff, robot-like movement, Knox took up the oars. Fog swirled over the water and reflected the moonlight, shining bright silver over the fathomless onyx depths of the lake.

Nearby, a fish jumped, landing with a tremendous splash and rocking the boat. Knox seemed to come to life again. His eyes glittered as he scanned the water. “I think that was it.”

“A fish?”

He scooted to the edge and looked directly down into the water, frowning. “Not
a
fish.
The
fish.”

“A friend of yours?”

“More like a mortal enemy. The son of a bitch that knocked me over when my truck rolled into the lake. It's like some crazy, huge attack fish. And now it's taunting me, jumping out of the water every time I'm near it.”

She grinned. That might have been the most preposterous thing she'd ever heard, except that she had also seen a huge fish performing acrobatic feats out of the water that week. “An attack fish?”

“Laugh if you want, but it's no joke. That thing was insane. It definitely wanted a piece of me.”

Emily felt the muscles in her back relax. She enjoyed Knox's company, especially this side of him that believed in ghosts and sentient fish. Just because they were out on a boat together didn't mean it had to be romantic. Nothing wrong with having a bit of platonic fun. “I think your fish enemy needs a name. Hot tip, though. Moby Dick's already taken.”

“How ‘bout just Dick?”

“Since you're already being haunted by the ghost of your dad, and now you're being shadowed by a fish, how ‘bout we call this guy Phantom?”

Knox gave a slow nod. “I like it. Phantom.”

“Tell you what. If you catch Phantom someday, I'll cook him for you. Even if it's after the challenge is done and I'm busy with my new restaurant.”

He offered her a keen smile, as though they were co-conspirators in a diabolical plot. “Deal.” Then his expression turned contemplative. His eyes seemed to take in their surroundings again. They'd drifted far out toward the center of the lake. What a beautiful, peaceful night. There was a nip in the air every time the breeze picked up, but Emily's chef jacket was thick enough to stave off a chill.

As though in preparation to row the boat back to shore, Knox rolled up his sleeves to his elbows, revealing the perfect musculature of his forearms beneath a dusting of dark hair and the same designer watch he'd worn every day so far. Her pulse quickening, Emily thought back to their run-in in his bedroom, to the way he unwound from the day by stripping off the artifice of his business attire. He was halfway there tonight. No tie, shirt open at the collar, sleeves unbuttoned and rolled.

Physical labor suited him.

He'd told her that he went for a run every morning. What did he look like in a cotton T-shirt that clung to his sweaty skin beneath? How would a pair of nylon workout shorts fit his body? What of his legs?

With an audible snort, she gave herself a mental smack.
No, really, Emily. What about your boss's legs? Do tell. The professional ethics police would love to know.

Unaware of Emily's indecent thoughts, Knox grabbed on to the oar handles and dipped the paddles into the water. Good. He was rowing her back to shore so they could end this awkward, oddly intimate boating excursion. Perched on the bench across from him, she let out a deep exhalation, infinitely relieved.

On his third stroke, Knox's attention shifted from the lake to Emily. “Can I ask you something?”

Small talk was definitely beyond her capabilities at the moment. Then again, if it helped pass the tense minutes until they arrived at the dock, she could handle a question or two.

“You can try, but I'm not sure I have any answers for you. We already agreed I'm not going to give you the dirt on Carina's family, and other than that, there's not much else I know. I'm just a chef.”

She hadn't known such a sentiment was inside her heart until she'd said the words.
Just a chef.
It was true, though. She'd carefully constructed her life to be just this one label. She poured everything she was into her work, her chosen art. It was a singular identity that was both comforting and liberating.

Just a chef.

Damn right. Because if she was just Emily Ford, the chef, then she wasn't Rebecca Youngston, teen runaway. She wasn't that victim of abuse. She wasn't a
nothing
, adrift in the world with a fake name and a fake identity, with no family. So instead of all those things she didn't want to be, or couldn't be, she was Emily the chef. And a damn fine chef at that.

“I need you to tell me something honestly. And I don't know who else to ask,” Knox said.

“I'm always honest.”

He opened his mouth as though to speak, but ended up grinning at her instead as he stroked the oars through the water. “That you are.”

He shifted his focus back to the dark silhouettes of the hills. “I know we agreed that you wouldn't spill the dirt on Carina's family, but there's something I can't—” He stopped speaking, sighed, and then started over. “The fight between my dad and Ty and my grandfather, you had a word for it that first day we met in Ty's office, but I can't remember what it was. What did you call it?”

“The rift. Everybody at the resort who's been here long enough calls it that, Ty and Granny June included.”

“The rift,” he said slowly, as if weighing each word for import. “Do you know what the fight was about? I mean, really about?”

She didn't owe him answers. Her loyalty was to the Briscoes. But he'd disarmed her with his earnest, almost vulnerable tone. Implicit in the question was the admission that he didn't know the details of the decades-old family tragedy. Which was shocking, really. Hadn't Clint ever told his children why they never saw their grandparents or cousins? Hadn't the truth ever been revealed? Secrets that significant only went to the grave in soap operas and horror stories, or so she'd thought.

“I don't know any details. If I did, I would tell you because you deserve to know. Ty refuses to talk about it and so do Eloise and Granny June. I'm pretty sure Tyson was the same way, though he'd passed before I came to work here. I'm definitely sure no one ever told Carina or Haylie the truth because we've all sat around speculating about it together.” She studied the frustrated set of his mouth. “You honestly don't know what happened either? Your dad never told you?”

His expression turned haunted. He broke eye contact with her and put his back into a stroke that sent the boat toward the far shore, the opposite direction of the dock. They were not headed back to shore as Emily had assumed. Knox pulled through another strong stroke and then another, turning them toward the bend in the lake, navigating the curve of the kidney bean-shaped lake.

She might have asked about where they were going, but she dared not interrupt his thoughts before he answered her question. Could it be that his father hadn't told him the reason behind the rift, the same way that Ty hadn't told his children? Would it be a secret that Ty and Granny June would take to their graves the way Clint and Tyson had? That was, if Granny June knew. In all the mentions of the rift that Emily had heard, never once was Granny June mentioned. Knowing her as well as Emily did, Emily seriously doubted Granny June supported Clint's exile.

But then why, all these years after Tyson's death, hadn't Granny June invited Clint and his family back into the fold?

“I do know the reasons,” Knox said. “I mean, I thought I did. I thought it was about control of the resort's vision and who my grandfather's successor would be. But Granny June and Ty have said some things that don't jive with what my dad told me.”

Knox's paddling took on a distracted quality, a rote movement to keep his body busy while his mind worked out the problem. Every stroke brought with it the sound of tinkling water and a fresh swirl of perfumed air, herbal and earthy. Emily watched her breath make a little cloud with each exhalation.

Emily made a point of relaxing back onto the bench and tipping her head to the side, inviting him to open up. “Like what kinds of things have Ty and Granny June said?”

At the question, Knox's even paddle strokes faltered. He shook his head. “Just … I don't know. They made it sound like it was about more than the business, but I can't imagine what else there could be that would be worth severing family ties like that.”

Emily knew firsthand about the kinds of things that could make a person sever ties with their family, but none of them applied to the Briscoes. Other than the rift and Haylie's poor choice in husband, the family was stable and normal … boring, even.

She fixed her eyes on Knox, studying, learning. “What's your mom like?” she asked.

“My mom?”

“Yes. Does she still live in Hutchins, where you grew up?”

He seemed surprised that she knew that.

“I do my research,” she added quietly.

“Yeah, she still lives in the Hutchins house, even though it's way too big for her needs now.”

“Alone, or does she have someone new in her life?” Research had provided the answer to that question, but she wasn't asking because she wanted to know more about Knox's mother. She fixed her eyes on Knox, studying, learning.

His eyes lightened at the question. “Sometimes I wonder if she's seeing anyone, a nice man from church or the neighborhood. I hope she's out having fun, for her sake. She would never admit it to me and my siblings, though. I think, out of a misguided notion of respect for us kids' memory of my dad.”

“Your father's been gone three years. That's a lifetime to some. But your dad's still very much on your mind, especially now that you're working at Briscoe Ranch.”

“That's true. He is on my mind a lot. In a good way. Sometimes that three years feels like a lifetime, and others, it feels like yesterday. It's a hell of a thing, losing the person you loved and idolized most in this world.”

“It doesn't sound like he's lost. It sounds to me like he's still watching over you.”

Knox rolled his eyes heavenward, a wistful smile playing on his lips. “That's a very good point.”

Emily couldn't tear her eyes from Knox and the fascinating play of emotions on his features. It was as though being on the water had completely disarmed him.

Seemingly unaware of Emily's focused gaze, Knox once again fixed his attention on the business of rowing. Not long after that, he skimmed an oar in the water, turning the boat. He nodded toward the shore. “Oh, wow. Look.”

Emily had been so focused on their conversation that she was surprised to see that their little boat had rounded the bend in the lake. Briscoe Ranch in all its glory sat before them, rising up from the lakefront golf course like a castle on a hill. Lights blazed from the balconies and rooftops. The unlit golf course sloped down to the lake's edge. She followed the snaking trail of lights demarcating the pathways through the golf course and meandering to the main building. And there was the stable, its main arena lit with floodlights. She stared for a long time at the chapel on the hill behind the resort, the beating heart of the Briscoes' empire.

She often fought against complacency about her good fortune to wind up in such a beautiful, safe place as Briscoe Ranch. She fought not to take the fresh air and the sense of community for granted. It was stunning, all the many ways being homeless had scarred her, even now, after years of comfortable living and regular meals and career success.

Over the years, she'd gradually learned to trust that such luxuries would last, and that she didn't need to be so hyper-vigilant about her safety. She caught herself opting not to bask in every single sunset or smell every rose she encountered, secure in the knowledge that there would be another beautiful sunset the next day, more roses, more beauty.

Knox's plans for the resort jarred her from her security like nothing else had since the day she'd left home as a sixteen-year-old. She simply could not fathom a life away from Briscoe Ranch. He'd been correct that she'd missed chances by not apprenticing for accomplished chefs. But the peace of mind that life at Briscoe Ranch had brought her had superseded her need for prestige.

“It's so beautiful.” The hitch in her voice surprised her. What a surreal, emotionally charged night this had become for both of them.

“It will be even better when I'm done with it.” His words were loaded with ambition and confidence. In that moment, she believed him absolutely.

She pointed to the east side of the main resort building. “The restaurant I'm proposing would look out over the golf course and the lake.”

It felt weirdly inappropriate to discuss business while immersed in the hushed majesty of the lake and the night, with the grand view of the resort before them. Granny June definitely wouldn't approve.

“I know. You want to put it on the southeast end of the main building, in the basement where housekeeping is right now. We would need to excavate around the basement to create the sunken patio you envision to create a subterranean feel. That's right under my office, so it'd have that same world-class view.”

“You really did read my restaurant proposal thoroughly.”