One More Taste (8 page)

“You hit a boulder? Okay, that's random.”

“I wasn't in command of the truck at the time.” He glanced at his steering wheel, debating. He was under no obligation to explain himself to this woman. None at all. Except, what was the harm in confessing to her? He had nothing to be ashamed of.

Except that you believe in ghosts
.

There was that. “The official diagnosis was a brake fluid leak.”

“But what really happened?”

“You'll think I'm insane,” he said.

“Try me.”

She said it like a challenge—and he was never one to shy away from one. “All right. I know my dad's looking down on me from on High. And I'm pretty sure he doesn't want me to drive his truck onto the resort property. Even as a ghost or a guardian angel or whatever, he's still holding a grudge against this place. So, the truck breaks down whenever it gets near the resort.” He allowed himself a rueful smile. “Doesn't matter which road in to the resort I try to take. As soon as I get to the gate, it dies. Every time. Sometimes it doesn't even let me get that far.” It was the first time he'd ever voiced his belief to another person, and it sounded even more insane out loud. “Crazy talk, I know.”

“No. Not at all.” Her gaze shifted to the truck as though studying it with fresh eyes.

“You don't think I'm crazy, believing my dad's spirit is tampering with his truck?” He refused to use the word
haunting.

“I don't.” She rubbed her chin, a speculative frown curving her lips. “You're working at the resort where he wasn't welcome. Do you think he doesn't want you here?” She leaned in close to the side mirror as though it were the truck's ear and whispered, “Is that what you're trying to tell Knox? That he should give up this crazy idea and leave the resort managing to Ty's branch of the family?”

A surge of protectiveness had him reaching out his arm and tugging her away from the mirror. As crazy as believing in ghosts was, he harbored the even crazier feeling of not wanting anyone else talking to his dad, invading such sacred territory. “You're patronizing me.”

“I'm not. I'm really not, and I'm sorry if it came across that way.”

He paced to the crest of the hill and stared down at the blaze of light and activity on the resort. “I understand that you want me to leave so your life can go back to normal, but even if I did leave, you can't go back to the way it was. The resort was bleeding money. If I hadn't bought into it with my private equity firm, then the resort would've either been sold to someone else or closed down.”

Her hand touched his shoulder, turning him to look at her. Her face was pale, her eyes huge. “Are you serious?”

Damn, he'd miscalculated. She hadn't known that the resort had been on the verge of bankruptcy. Given how close she and the Briscoes were, that surprised him. “Did you mistake me for someone who likes to joke around?” He was gambling that tossing her own words from the previous night back at her might distract her from his inadvertent oversharing, but no dice.

“What happened? The resort's always booked solid. Every year we seem to get more and more crowded. I don't understand how we could be in financial ruin.”

The proof was clearly laid out in the accounting records, but he knew Emily wasn't looking for him to spout cold data as an answer. “The
what
and
why
hardly matter now because I did buy into it. And I know how to transform a failing business into a profitable one. I'll have Briscoe Ranch turned around in no time.”

On a sigh, she gave a slight full body tremor as though shaking away the unpleasant truth. Straightening to her full, proud height, she turned back toward the truck. “Right now. Let's do it. Let's drive your truck onto the resort.”

The hasty change of topic had his mind racing to catch up. “It's not going to work.”

“If we can push it over the top of the hill, it'll roll downhill on its own. Even your ghost daddy can't defy physics.”

Knox was pretty sure Dad could, but more importantly, “Could you not call him Ghost Daddy—ever?”

“Fine.” She extended her open palm. “Where are your keys?”

My God, she was serious. “Don't you recall a little story I told about the brakes malfunctioning? The truck rolled into Lake Bandit and was barely salvageable. We can't take the chance of the brakes failing again and the truck crashing. Or worse, hitting a resort guest.”

To his great frustration, she crouched again with her mouth near the side mirror. “Tell you what, Clint. I know you don't want Knox here. I don't either, but he is here. And he's right that it's probably the best for the resort. So instead of being an asshole, why don't you support your son? Hmm?”

“I'm sure he's not interested in your opinion.”

“Guess we'll find out. Unless you're chicken.”

Maybe seeing would be believing for her. Knox climbed into the driver's seat, started the truck, then reached across the bench seat and unlocked the passenger door. “Get in.”

“Ready?” he asked once she was settled with her seatbelt on.

“Let's do it.”

Imprudent hope took hold of him. Emily was so committed and passionate about everything she did that it was easy to get swept away by her confidence. He disengaged the parking brake, put the truck in gear, and eased the gas pedal down.

Lo and behold, the truck rolled forward toward the property line.

“Come on, Clint,” Emily whispered.

At only a few yards away from the edge of the resort, Knox's imprudent hope turned into full-fledged faith. This was going to work. Emily was the key, somehow. She—

As the front bumper crossed the cattle guard, the engine died. No warning, no gradual slow down. Just dead. So much for that wild flare of faith.

A hard bark of laughter escaped his chest. “See? Told you.”

Emily's mouth had fallen open. “That's … I don't know what to say. I mean, I believed you. I really did, but I still thought maybe this time he'd cut you a break.”

“Nope.”

She puffed her cheeks with a sigh. “He's really not happy you're working at the resort, is he?”

“I can see how you'd think that, but it doesn't make sense. I have to believe he's proud, and that he knows I'm restoring balance and righting a wrong. He has to know I'm doing all this for him.” There he went again, oversharing with Emily. How did she manage to disarm him so completely? Here she was, pulling from him some intimate truths he'd never shared with anyone, Shayla included, while he knew barely anything about her save for the sparse details from her personnel file, which he'd opened and skimmed today.

“Did you grow up in Texas?” he asked.

Her face went blank. She stared straight ahead, though he wasn't sure she registered anything but the darkness. He sat in silence, waiting her out, hoping she'd cave and start talking.

“Houston.” Her clipped tone held a warning not to question her further, but she'd done more than her fair share of probing him, so it was only reasonable.

“Are your parents still there? Any brothers and sisters?”

“I'm an only child.” She sat in silence for a moment more. Then, in a flash of movement, she unclipped her seatbelt and opened her door. “So I'm just gonna go…” She hitched her thumb toward the resort's main building. “I've got ingredients to pick up in the catering kitchen. Dinner's in two hours. I'll see you at your house.”

“Emily!” he called out his open window, but she didn't acknowledge his call.

She stalked over the cattle grate and onto the resort grounds, then down the hill and out of sight.

*   *   *

Knox's sister, Shayla, was a tightly wound ball of positive energy, with an ultra-fit body to match. She probably rolled out of bed in the morning and straight onto a workout mat to perform rear leg lifts and crunches. She didn't look like she carried an extra ounce of fat, which probably meant, like Knox, she thought of food as fuel and nothing more. Such a pity.

Knox pulled Emily out of the kitchen to meet his sister in the living room while the biscuits were cooking. Emily kept one eye on the oven, while also trying to make small talk with Shayla—not an easy feat for an introverted chef with a well-rooted disdain for wasting time with conversations that went nowhere with people she'd probably never meet again.

Maybe it was a mistake to have set the kitchen table for dinner, where they'd have a front row seat to watch Emily's every move. On occasion, she pulled that move at the resort, serving VIP clients at a chef's table in the kitchen, but the stakes had never been this high. It had been one thing to share a meal alone with Knox the night before. As nervous as he made her, they'd had no shortage of topics to banter about. But with Shayla there, as well as Emily's surprise guest—who was on the verge of being late—the feeling of being on stage had her surprisingly anxious.

“It's great to meet you,” Shayla said, shaking Emily's hand. “When Knox told me he was auditioning a chef for a restaurant he's opening at the resort by using her as a personal chef for a month, I thought that was a genius idea. I had to come check you out for myself.”

“Yeah, check me out.” Ugh. So awkward.

“I don't see any place settings at the dining room table,” Knox said. “Are we eating on the deck?”

“In the kitchen,” Emily said, gesturing for them to follow her.

Shayla seemed delighted by the news. “How kitschy!”

Shayla's joke landed with such a thud that Emily's step faltered. Knox groaned good-naturedly. “You did not just go there.”

“Damn right, I did. You know me, the most awkward girl in the room.”

Looked like Shayla and Emily would have to compete for that title. “And here I thought that was my cross to bear,” Emily said.

“We can share the crown.”

If this meal were designed to wow Shayla instead of Knox, there'd be no way Emily would seat them in the kitchen. No, instead she would have indeed seated them on the deck. She would have tapped into Shayla's amusement at the world with fresh air and quirky gastronomic marvels. Sparse plates and exotic flavor bursts.

But this challenge was about Knox, and he didn't need quirky. Their confrontation-turned-conversation at his truck convinced her all the more of his need for nostalgia with a modern twist. Hence, why she'd led them to a table in the kitchen next to the brick fireplace that looked to have been used by the previous owners for baking bread and pizza and any other matter of wood-fired food.

Earlier that day, Emily had dragged the kitchen table in front of it and loaded the fireplace with wood. She'd then gathered Knox's framed family photos from the study and arranged them on the thick wood mantle above the oven. A little touch of hominess and warmth, the perfect setting for Emily's take on comfort food.

She'd just gotten Knox and Shayla seated when the doorbell rang. Knox made to rise. “Sorry. I have no idea who that could be.”

“I'll get it,” Emily said, waving off his offer.

Granny June stood at the front door, her espresso-stained wood cane with purple carvings loaded with three thick, leather-bound photo albums tucked under her arm.

Emily took the albums and whispered, “You're right on time. Thanks for doing this.”

Granny June steadied her cane against the floor and stepped into the foyer. “Oh, thank heavens. I just knew I was gonna be late. Paco was my Cab'd driver again. You know how he gets because he has the sweets for me. It's why he drives so slowly. He likes to keep me all to himself, that rascal.”

Granny June had agreed to give up her driver's license the same year she'd bought her first smartphone—after the fifth time she'd mowed down a mailbox while texting. Ever since, she'd had to rely on the kindness of friends and families to drive her around, along with the occasional taxi ride, though they were scarce in the backcountry of Ravel County. Then, she'd discovered driver service apps like Uber and Cab'd, and she took to them like a kid to candy. Emily shuddered to think of the bill Granny June probably racked up every month.

“How old is this Paco the Cab'd driver? Are you flirting with younger men again?” Emily teased.

Granny June had been the first member of the Briscoe family to take Emily under her wing and treat her like family, filling the roles of the mother and grandmother previously missing in Emily's life, though just as often, the two were co-conspirators as much as kin. Whatever crazy plan either of them dreamt up, the other one was sure to jump on board. Like tonight.

“Oh, pish! You know my Tyson is the only man for me, God bless his soul.” Granny June got a kick out of imagining herself an irresistible siren to men, even if she'd never as much as gone on a single date after her husband's death more than twenty years ago.

“Poor Paco. Yet another broken heart you've left in your dust.”

Granny June fluffed her hair. “It's a burden I have to bear. But enough about that.” Her gaze shifted past Emily, skimming Knox's house. “I haven't been inside this house in ages. Not since the Madisons sold it. I barely recognize it now, it's so modern. The million-dollar view's still here, though.”

“That it is.”

Granny June nodded to the empty dining room, just visible off the foyer. “I thought you said I wasn't late.”

“No, you're fine. They're in the kitchen. I'd only just gotten them seated when you arrived.”

“Let's get on with it, then. I've lost enough time away from Clint's children. It's time for me to get to know my grandkids.”

Emily led Granny through the foyer toward the kitchen, but stopped short of the swinging door and faced her guest. “Just remember to act surprised that you're crashing their dinner, and don't let on that this was my idea.”