by Leslie North
“Wonderful! That’s exactly what Andy needs. And I expect you’ll be able to do something with a kitchen like this, don’t you think?” Carol asked, hurrying through an impressive front foyer and a den the size of two of Katie’s last apartments put together. She opened a set of double doors, the kind that belonged in restaurants, and Katie let out a gasp. It was clearly just the response Carol was looking for, and she nodded her head in hearty approval. Katie was happy to please, but there was nothing feigned about her reaction. The Grant kitchen was, without a doubt, the largest she had seen. Neither her father’s fancy loft’s kitchen nor the test kitchen she briefly had the privilege of using came close to the one she was standing in now. She actually had to stop and do a full circle to take it all in before she could even think about answering Carol.
“This is unreal!” she finally said. Carol chuckled, and Katie blushed furiously, but she meant what she’d said. The floor was dark wood with an occasional rug placed under an eat-in table and chairs, the cabinets snow white, and in the center of the room was a kitchen island roughly the size of a boat with its own sink and large prep area. The setup was a little old-fashioned and the appliances weren’t exactly new, but everything was excellently maintained—and the whole room looked well-made and well-loved. The kitchen, like the rest of the house, dated back to a time when things were built to last, with space enough to provide shelter and comfort for a large family. Katie had always loved kitchens like that, even if she’d never had access to one herself. The only limitation to her cooking in here would be her imagination. That, and the stain of the shameful thing she had done.
“I’m glad you like it,” Carol laughed, taking her gently by the arm and steering her towards the island, “and I can see that you really do. That kind of sparkle in the eye can’t be faked.”
“I more than like it. I think I’m in awe,” Katie gushed, “the place is so big! Not just the kitchen, either. The whole house!”
“Many generations have lived in this house and Mr. Grant’s parents, God rest their souls, had three boys. The middle one’s a horse trainer and the youngest is on the rodeo circuit if you can believe it. And when the boys were young, the grandparents lived in the house, too. There was a need for all of this space in here once upon a time.”
“And now just the two of them,” Katie mused, suddenly feeling sad again. Not for herself this time but for the little boy growing up without a mother. That was a heartache she knew all about. She ran her hand along the high-end marble of the island and resolved to do better. Feeling sorry for herself wasn’t going to get her out of her current predicament, and thanks to Carol, she was reminded that this new position wasn’t only about her. There was a boy who needed someone to care for him—and, better yet, needed someone to cook for him so that he could be healthy and safe. Whatever her failures might have been that was something she could do, and do well.
Ian’s heart just about stopped when he walked through his front door. He stood, hat in hand, in the open doorway and tried to force his breathing into something resembling normal. The smell of hot food simmering in the kitchen should have been a welcome surprise at the end of a hot, exhausting day. As far as his stomach was concerned, it was welcome. His head, though, was full of ghosts, and the sound of battering pots and pans coming from the other room was a mighty fine way to trigger them.
“Jesus,” he hissed when reality reasserted itself, “she’s here.”
He’d agreed to having Mayor Clark’s kid niece stay in his house, but he was so far from looking forward to it that he’d mostly blocked it out of his mind. Housing what was sure to be a screwed-up teenager was the last thing he needed on his plate right now, and he doubted it would be any good for Andy, either. The boy needed stability after watching his mama die, and teenagers only brought upheaval. It didn’t help matters any that he’d forgotten she was coming today. He hadn’t thought to warn Andy, and now here she was, already at work. Except that it was hard to believe it was Clark’s niece doing that cooking. With the smells coming out of his kitchen he would have thought it was a pro. He swiped his arm across his forehead, hitched up his jeans, and took the plunge. He was going to have to meet the girl whether he liked it or not. Best to get it over with.
“Who’re you?”
His head knew who he was looking at, but it was still hard to believe. There was no scrawny little teenager. What he was looking at was a full-fledged woman. She was probably only a little over five feet, but it was hard to tell with the heels she had on. They had to be at least four inches tall. She wore a little black dress tight enough that it could have been painted right onto her body, and her red hair fell halfway down her back in loose curls. Ian loved redheads. Always had. All of a sudden, he felt flustered, unsure—and that was a feeling he hated more than almost anything. Which is why the question came out a lot gruffer than he’d intended. The girl, woman, he corrected himself, spun around at the sound of his voice. She gasped, and her hands flew up to her face. The bowl full of batter she’d been mixing slipped from her fingertips and Ian could picture it hitting the floor. He could imagine seeing it shatter and all the dark goop inside leaking everywhere. He lunged forward without thinking and slid like a hitter going in for second base. He managed to catch the bowl right before it hit the ground, landing on his side and looking up directly into Katie’s hazel eyes. From this vantage point, her curves looked even better, and he cleared his throat, suddenly ragingly annoyed.
“Oh my gosh!” she exclaimed, “I’m so sorry! You just startled me, that’s all.”
“It’s my kitchen,” he said stubbornly, handing her the bowl and getting to his feet. It was a hell of a greeting, and his mama would have balked at his lack of hospitality, but he wasn’t in a charitable mood. He expected her to get upset, or at least look taken aback, but his tone didn’t seem to faze her at all. She only smiled widely, setting the bowl down and extending her hand for him to shake. Her nails were long and perfectly manicured. Looking at her more closely, Ian was sure he had never seen anything quite like her outside of the movies. He didn’t know they even made women like this one in real life. When she slid her hand into his, shaking firmly, her hands were soft as butter.
“You must be Mr. Grant, then!” she exclaimed, her smile widening.
“I am, but I’d rather you call me Ian. When people in Canyon say ‘Mr. Grant,’ they’re usually talking about my daddy, even though he’s not around anymore.”
“Sure, I can do that. Ian, then. Please, call me Katie. I wasn’t sure what time you usually have supper, but I thought it was best if I went ahead and got it started. It should be ready in thirty minutes or so? Just enough time to take a shower, I should think.”
“We don’t have much of a set schedule for meals in this house. Not since everything changed,” he answered slowly, still taking the measure of her. He couldn’t get a handle on whether or not she was nervous but if she was, she was doing a hell of a job hiding it. He pegged her for twenty-three, maybe twenty-four years old, but she was self-possessed enough to be much older.
“That’s all right; routines are tricky,” she said, making an allowance for what was surely a parental failure on his part. He bristled at the comment. Good cooking smells or no, he didn’t need or want anyone’s pity.
“I need to tell you about Andy. I can see that you’ve gone to some trouble getting the food ready, but he’s got a lot of food allergies. Sometimes I think there’s more things he can’t eat than things he can. My guess is—”
“Oh, no need to worry!” Katie cut him off neatly while he clenched his jaw and tried not to lose his cool. He hated being interrupted, especially in his own home.
“Is that so?” he asked coolly. At least she had the good sense to look a little embarrassed then.
“I’m sorry, I’m not trying to make light of his health issues. Only Mrs. George went over his diet with me in some depth after she let me in and showed me around. Everything I’ve made is peanut, egg and dairy free and it’s a simple eno
ugh thing to make sure there’s no shellfish in the house. Healthy cooking is somewhat of a passion of mine, so it was really no trouble. Honestly, I enjoyed it.”
“Right,” Ian said, searching through the list she’d just rattled off for some kind of mistake. There was none. She’d hit on all of the danger points, and on her first day in the house.
“Oh, and Mrs. George gave me a copy of Andy’s Emergency Allergy Plan, which I stuck to the side of the fridge with magnets, here.” Katie rushed over to the fridge to point it out before continuing, “and she showed me where the EpiPens are and made me watch a YouTube video so I would know how to use them. Can’t say I’ve ever had to give someone a shot before and I’m hoping I don’t ever have to, but I’m prepared just the same.”
Realizing that he had nothing more to say, he decided to throw in the towel, turned and left without saying goodbye, heading towards the shower and leaving her to form her own opinion of what he might be up to. Absurd or not, he felt betrayed. Betrayed by Carol for leaving him and for letting this woman into his house, even though he’d been the one to ask her nearly a week ago to take on the task. Betrayed by his stomach, too, which was growling insistently now and at roughly thirty-second intervals. He didn’t want Katie in his home and disrupting their lives, Lord knew he didn’t, but it seemed that his stomach hadn’t gotten the memo. Whether he liked it or not, his stomach wanted to get some of her damn food.
3
The shower in the master bedroom wasn’t part of the original Grant Ranch. It had been one of Lonnie’s ideas, back when Ian still had a wife and life had been good almost all of the time. Ian still felt guilty for never actually telling Lonnie how much he loved that damned shower. He always felt at least a little better after getting out of it, and this evening was no exception. With a towel wrapped around his waist and the grime of the day making its way down the drain, he felt like he might even be able to make it through a sit-down dinner without getting pissed off. The aromas coming up the stairs caused his stomach to make another loud, insistent sound. He rolled his eyes and moved towards the closet that still had one side completely empty, like it was waiting for someone to return from vacation and fill it back up.
“Back to the summer’s hottest topic: Beth Willis’ publicist has, shockingly, failed to keep the pictures of her impromptu wedding from the public! Can you believe that, Shawn?” a feisty entertainment news anchor asked her Ken doll-looking co-star. Ian shook his head, disgusted by the kind of crap people were willing to watch. He worked hard to avoid hearing this kind of gossipy junk, but Carol had a penchant for it, and sometimes accidentally left the TV in his bedroom on after she left for the day. She must have had a sit down after showing Katie the ropes and forgotten to turn the damned set off. He was halfway to switching the television off when he stopped dead in his tracks. The image of the recently-wed actress disappeared and was replaced by somebody he knew.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he said to the empty room, his eyes wide and heart instantly jackhammering.
“In other news,” the bottle-blonde gossip said in a saccharine sweet tone of sympathy, “and this story is really sad for all of those let-down fans, we have Katie Rylie.”
“This one is a shame for those people who believed in her, isn’t it, Dawn?” Her co-anchor chimed in, with nothing more useful to say. Ian stared at the handful of pictures flashing across the screen. The woman he was looking at had smoking good looks and a fiery smile to match. She looked like somebody who belonged on TV. She also happened to be the woman down in his kitchen, making dinner devoid of every ingredient his son couldn’t eat. Katie, the nanny/cook he hadn’t wanted in the first place, smiling at him from his TV.
“For those of you who have been living under a rock,” Dawn continued, really getting into it now, “Katie Rylie was, until recently, one of America’s most promising up and coming star chefs. Daughter to Richard Rylie, famous for the outlandish prizes he gave away on his now-defunct show, Katie made a name for herself when she won the latest season of Let’s Make a Chef. She was on the verge of releasing her first cookbook when the allegations first struck.”
“And remind us, Dawn, what allegations has she been hit with?”
“It’s very serious, I’m afraid. Katie is currently being skewered with plagiarism charges and, judging by her response, they aren’t false.”
While Ian watched the two stick people in the tube volley the conversation back and forth, the blood rushed in his head louder and louder until he could hardly hear. So there it was, the big secret Mayor Clark must have thought he was too stupid to figure out. Ian was harboring a thief in his house.
“Son of a bitch.”
He would give her a chance to explain herself, to defend herself, but he couldn’t imagine any explanation that would make this right. Not with the way his luck had been lately. What he wanted was to evict her and have done with it before she could meet his son and do any real damage. This was the problem with letting people into your life. Where there were people, there were problems, and Ian had had enough mess in his life to last a century.
“Mr. Grant!” Katie called up the stairs happily, oblivious to her current defamation, “Oops, I mean, Ian! Supper is almost ready!”
“Son of a bitch,” he whispered to himself again, hurrying into a fresh pair of jeans and a white crew cut shirt. He took the stairs two at a time, head and heart pounding with anger and ready for a confrontation. His mouth was already open when he swung through the kitchen doors, and it was a wonder he kept himself from speaking when he saw what was there waiting for him.
“Look, Daddy. I’m helping!” Andy crowed from where he stood on the edge of his step stool. Ian’s heart lurched at the image, and he had to take a step backwards. The step stool had been another of Lonnie’s ideas, and it hadn’t seen the light of day since her passing. Two years shoved in the back of the pantry and now here it was. Here Andy was, jumping up and down on the top step and making the whole structure wobble dangerously. Ian opened his mouth to tell his son to be careful, and before he could say anything, the boy started to tip dangerously to one side. Ian lunged forward, but he already knew he wouldn’t get there in time. That was the way things happened on the Grant Ranch now. That was the way things went in the Grant family, now that it was so badly broken.
“Whoopsie daisy,” Katie laughed, hooking one arm deftly around Andy’s waist just before he plunged off the side. Andy’s eyes opened wide, and then he was laughing, too. Ian watched, stunned, while his boy smacked Katie’s arm with a big, wet kiss before hopping down to the floor. He ran up to Ian and threw his arms around his knees, full of more energy than Ian had seen from him since Lonnie’s passing.
“Look, Daddy!” he said excitedly, pointing one small finger at the kitchen island, “Look at all of the food we made! You have to eat the dressing stuff. I made it, and it looks funny, but it tastes good!”
“It really does,” Katie said with a smile, ruffling his hair as she passed by him to set a dish of something delicious-smelling on the island. Once that was done, she put her hands on her hip, surveyed the spread, and nodded once approvingly.
“Well, boys, looks like it’s time to eat!”
Ian’s knuckles were white wrapped around his utensils, and his jaw remained tight. It was killing him not to come right out with it and demand answers about her recent scandal. He would have, too, if it wasn’t for Andy. Andy, who sat right next to Katie with a sweet, goofy grin on his face while he shoveled food into his mouth. The only thing the boy seemed to want to do more than eat was talk, and there was a constant and very visible struggle to decide which to do at any given moment. Andy ate and talked to Katie, who appeared to be content with the conversation of a six-year-old, and Ian stewed, torn between indignation…and awe at what he was watching.
He couldn’t remember the last time Andy had put this much food in his body in one sitting. He was on the tail end of not one, not two, but three plates of food, and he looked happy as could
be. Against his better judgment, Ian felt himself softening towards the woman. The food was wonderful; there was no question about that. As long as he didn’t think about the fact that her recipes were plagiarized, he could almost be happy to have her around. And she was around, whether he liked it or not, and Andy looked pleased as punch. So what was Ian going to do about it?
4
“Katie?”
“What’s up, buddy?” Katie asked, leaning forward and kissing Andy on the forehead. She was an only child and hadn’t spent much time around kids, but it had only taken a handful of hours for her to fall in love with Andy Grant. He was such a slight boy, small for his age, and it instigated her need to nurture in a huge way. Most of all, though, he was just so loving—starved for attention, really—and all he needed was something she had plenty to give. It worked out beautifully that the food he needed to eat was exactly the kind of food she enjoyed making, almost as if the two of them had been placed together through some kind of divine intervention.
She loved food. She loved what it could change into and the way it could change a body if a person used it the right way. Ever since she was a little girl watching her dad change people’s lives with his over-the-top, exorbitant prizes on his show, Katie had wanted to do something to help people. She’d thought she could do that through food. But then she had made such a terrible mess of everything.
“Hey, Katie?” Andy’s voice filtered through her swirling thoughts, sleepy and impossibly sweet. She looked down at his small face and saw that his eyes were holding steady at half-mast. From the look of him, he wasn’t going to be able to stay awake much longer, but before he drifted off to sleep, he had something he wanted to say.
“Hm? What can I do for you, little man?” she asked, smiling despite the surge of unhappy memories flooding her head.
