by Valerie Parv
The yeast cakes for the rum babas were already cooked. Emma warmed the syrup of sugar cane and rum, and poured it over the cakes, giving them time to soak up the mixture. Chantilly cream would come later, but first she needed to make the truffle dressing for the mashed potatoes. She nodded to Jia when he came in to collect another tray of canapés. At least they were going well.
The potatoes were already roughly mashed. All that was needed was to mix butter with the minced black truffles—black gold as the supplier called them—then incorporate them into the potatoes. An extra splash of truffle oil, heavy cream and seasoning completed the dish.
Several trays of potatoes later, Emma surveyed her handiwork with satisfaction. With the meat loaf and slices of the Toulouse sausage she and Sophie had spent the past two days making by hand, she’d defy anyone not to be impressed. She sniffed the rich aroma of nutmeg spicing the sausage. It wasn’t always added to the meat. Only the rich could have afforded nutmeg, a fabulously expensive spice in the sixteenth century when the recipe had been created. In southwestern France the sausages were simple farmhouse fare, the reason Emma had wanted to make them as part of the home-cooking concept.
From the van, she’d unloaded two banquet trolleys capable of keeping large amounts of food at serving temperature. They were already filled, and Sophie was almost done with the salmon cakes.
When Emma set to preparing the Chantilly cream, Nate’s state-of-the-art mixer caused her a moment’s jealousy. “I can’t complain about our client’s equipment,” she said.
Sophie gave a snort. “You can say that again.”
Emma felt her face heat. “Kitchen equipment.”
“How are you ladies getting on here?”
Nate would choose that moment to make an appearance. Making an effort to meet his gaze, Emma saw amusement and something else—desire? Not when she was in working uniform and flushed from the stove’s heat.
He looked great. A deep blue, almost gray designer shirt skimmed his torso, making her hands itch to do the same.
She dropped her gaze, another mistake, because it meant she was staring at a pair of snug military-cut jeans with pockets all over. The man looked more masculine than ever. The floor seemed a safer focus, but there were his feet in Wolverine style boots. She recalled hearing that when a man dated a woman, his feet pointed where his body wanted to go. His feet were pointed right at her.
Emma willed her voice to sound calm. “We’re fine. How are the canapés holding up?”
Again, that look of reading her thoughts. “The empty platters should tell you how many compliments you’re getting. And your mother wants you to know she and your dad are here.”
Not that she’d have a chance to socialize. “What time do you want everyone seated?”
“They’re happy mixing and mingling for now. Say forty minutes.”
“No problem.” Forty minutes was nothing. Fifty first courses, mains and trimmings and desserts. So much still to do.
“I’d be happy to lend a hand,” he offered.
Had he read her anxious thoughts? “This is your birthday. Your job is to play host to your admirers.” Having him in the kitchen with her was fraying her nerves even more.
“There’s only one I care about,” he said, too low for Sophie’s ears.
Emma wasn’t sure she’d heard right, either. “No admirers in here,” she said tautly, “only the hired help.”
“You know I don’t think of you in that way.”
“You should start.”
He looked puzzled, then annoyed. “If you need anything, I’ll be outside—with my admirers,” he said pointedly.
By the time Sophie left with obvious reluctance, Emma felt as if the night would never end. As fast as she sent the waiters out with loaded trays, they returned for more. But Nate was right. The plates came back almost scraped clean.
While she was plating up the meat loaves and Toulouse sausage, a teenager wandered into the kitchen. His slouching posture and sullen expression suggested he wasn’t having as much fun as the other guests. Possibly because most of them were older than he was. “Can I get you something?” she asked.
“I know my way around here.” He opened a refrigerator and started to forage.
Fearing for the food she’d prepared, Emma went up to him. “The kitchen is kind of off-limits for now. If you tell me what you’re looking for…”
“I’ll just take this,” he said, grabbing one of the rum bottles she’d used earlier to make the dessert sauce.
Before she could react, he’d shouldered his way through another door into the main part of the house. He certainly seemed to know where he was going. She jumped as Nate appeared at her shoulder. “Did Luke come in here?”
The teenager must be Luke, Nate’s troublesome half brother. “He went into the house.”
Without another word, Nate disappeared through the door. Emma began to plate up the main courses. Hadn’t she reminded Nate herself that she was only the hired help? It wasn’t up to her to get involved with his family’s problems.
By the time he returned with a face like thunder, she’d sent the waiters out to the terrace with the last of the main courses, and was drawing a breath before starting to plate up the desserts. “Everything all right?” she asked him.
“Couldn’t you see Luke’s under age? Why the hell did you give him booze?”
“I didn’t give it to him, he helped himself. I couldn’t stop him.”
Immediately, Nate relented. “He’s being a royal pain tonight.”
“Maybe because there aren’t many young people here.” When she’d checked outside to make sure everything was under control, she’d noticed Luke sitting by himself in the shadows.
“Did you confiscate the rum?” she asked.
“He’d already had a good drink. But it’s out of harm’s way now.”
“Then you should be outside enjoying yourself. This is your night.”
“It should be.” He sounded unconvinced. Was the fact he was thirty-five troubling him, or was something else wrong? Half of her wanted to go to him and find out what was spoiling his mood. The other half knew she’d never make it through the night if she let herself get sidetracked. Not that she wasn’t strongly tempted.
She forced herself to focus on her tasks. Nate hadn’t noticed she was working alone. He was too preoccupied with his own affairs, which was probably a good thing. She needed to concentrate on getting through this dinner.
She shouldn’t have worried about dessert. The rum babas served with the Chantilly cream and praline ice cream were a hit. If the guests thought they were good, wait until they saw Carla’s cake.
Emma waited until she judged the moment to be right, then lit the candles on the cake, the numbers three and five. Not wanting to trust the masterpiece to the waiters, she decided to carry it out herself.
The light was already low, the tables mostly lit by candles with strings of lanterns decorating the terrace. While the guests enjoyed dessert, Emma had sneaked out and located Nate’s parents, asking them to start the singing as soon as she came out with the cake. She’d met Nate’s mother a few times socially, but this was the first time she’d met his stepfather. It was a shame his birth father hadn’t made it to the party, but what did you expect from a doctor?
Mitch Kelso had waved to her from the next table. He and his partner were sitting alongside Emma’s mother, but the seat on Cherie’s left was empty. Where was Emma’s father? In the same instant, the answer became obvious; he had been called away.
Her annoyance on Nate’s behalf fired automatically but she damped it down. Maybe her father was the only one available. Half the hospital’s senior staff must be here tonight. The thought caught her unawares. Was she finally growing tolerant of the demands made on her family? On doctors in general? Fine time for that to happen.
Emma picked up the cake and carried it out to the terrace, catching a glimpse of Nate’s face reddening as she walked up to him. The singing was lusty, i
f a little off-key. She put the cake in front of him. “Happy birthday, Nate.”
The second he caught sight of the toppling figure and the speech bubble, his expression relaxed. “Very funny. When you reach this great age, I’m going to get you back. Promise.”
Not a promise he was likely to keep, since she wouldn’t be part of his life in future.
“Blow the candles out, your guests are waiting.” The waiters were already serving the coffee and tea.
“They can wait.” He spoke in an undertone designed to reach her ears alone. “I haven’t received your gift, Emma.”
“I didn’t bring you anything,” she said in a matching undertone. She had thought about buying him something, then decided it wasn’t appropriate given their relationship. Their business relationship. Strange how often she needed to remind herself of her role in his life.
His eyes reflected the flame of the candles. “You can’t deny the birthday person, can you?”
“Easily.” She handed him a ribbon-trimmed cake knife. “There’s nothing I can give you that you don’t already have.” There was plenty he could give her, but she chased the thought away. “You’d better cut the cake, while I get back to work.”
IRRITATED, NATE PLUNGED the knife into the cake as if aiming at someone’s heart. “You’d think a surgeon would have a more delicate touch,” someone said close by. He managed a grin, glad the subdued light hid the effort. He was surrounded by friends and family. The evening was a spectacular success, not least because of the amazing food. He should be a happy man.
One of his best friends, a well-known chef, had asked for Emma’s phone number. Nate had grudgingly parted with her business card. Some friend. He should be glad Emma’s business was getting some well-deserved recognition. But all he felt was good old-fashioned jealousy, and his only outlet was to stab the cake.
Once he’d made the first incision, and endured the jokes about his advancing age, the waiters took over, cutting and serving the cake. Nate wondered if Emma had baked the thing herself. If so, she was a miracle worker. She’d said she couldn’t take on big events, yet had managed to satisfy his guests, and impress the food pros among them.
But what cost to herself? came the guilty thought. He realized he hadn’t seen her assistant for a few hours and Sophie’s car wasn’t out back when he went looking for Luke. Only Emma’s white van was parked next to Grace and Mike’s Mercedes and his parents’ car.
Hell of a time to think about the caterer’s lack of help when the event was almost over. What would come next? Worrying about the grounds person who kept his garden in check? The pool guy? His housekeeper, Joanna? Maybe he should think more about them. Joanna had put up with him for nearly five years. If she hadn’t been married and living out, his unpredictable schedule would have meant a lot of hours in an empty house, waiting for him to show up. Since when did he give a damn?
Not until Emma. The woman was a walking conscience. She’d managed to drill into his skull with the precision of a brain surgeon. On autopilot, he kept up a steady banter with his guests, while wishing he could go to the kitchen and make sure she hadn’t worked herself into the ground.
The rest of the evening seemed to go on forever. By the time he’d spoken with some of the members of the gourmet club, conducting a postmortem on their last event, he was up to here with small talk. His colleagues and his family all wanted a piece of him. He felt relieved when the crowd began to thin until only his parents and Grace and Mike Lockwood remained.
Emma’s parents had gone, her mother obviously disgruntled at not seeing more of her daughter tonight, although she must have been aware how hard Emma was working. She’d apologized to Nate because Emma’s dad had left early but Nate dismissed the apology. They’d all been there, done that. He was surprised his own pager had left him alone the whole night, suspecting his colleagues might have conspired to cover for him.
Around him, the waiters were cleaning up. Nate linked his fingers behind his head and stretched. Why had he agreed to a big party when he’d have been happier relaxing in the gazebo with a glass of good red in his hand and Emma giving him a hard time about some aspect of his life she thought needed improving?
A woman’s voice jolted him out of his reverie. “You look like you got every present except the one you really wanted, Nate.”
How well Grace knew him. “I did okay. Thanks for the silver scalpel cufflinks. The next patient who gives me a hard time will get cuffed to death.”
She laughed. “Glad you like them. The cake was brilliant, too. I must tell Emma. Everybody was impressed. The whole night was sensational.”
“Who’s minding the boys? You could have brought them, you know.”
“Their grandmother. Not often Mike and I get to spend an evening on our own, but they’d have been bored out of their skulls, and bored kids are a recipe for trouble.”
His thoughts immediately jumped to Luke. The teenager wasn’t with his parents, who had moved to a table by the pool, taking their wineglasses with them.
“Have you seen Luke?” Nate asked Grace.
“He went inside, probably playing a computer game. Want me to look for him after I congratulate Emma?”
“No, I’ll do it.” A worrying sensation crawled along the back of his neck. He couldn’t put his finger on what was wrong, but knew better than to ignore his instincts. He followed Grace inside.
When she headed for the kitchen, he went to the den where a large-screen TV and gaming gear were set up. The equipment had been used, he noticed, but nothing put away. Typical Luke. Nate turned off the blaring TV and stepped over the consoles. Luke wasn’t in the bathroom or any of the rooms he checked. Grace’s warning rang in his ears. Where the devil was that teenager?
Voices rose at the back of the house where the cars were parked. Suddenly Nate heard the whump of an explosion, and the window on that side was bathed in an orange, flickering glow. One of the voices became a scream. Nate ran.
A teenager was laughing and tossing firecrackers at the cars parked near the back door of the house. A scorch mark scarred the side of Grace’s vehicle. The door of Emma’s van stood open and another explosion rocked the vehicle, which lit up with hectic color. Nate’s first sickening thought was that Luke was the vandal, until he saw his half brother grappling with a second young man in the driveway.
Nate recognized the gang member who’d turned tail the night he’d thwarted their plans to rob the convenience store. His relief that Luke wasn’t responsible was short-lived when he saw Emma trying to wrest a firecracker from the first man. The screams Nate had heard were her fury. She must have been loading the van when the gang members turned up.
Nate’s stepfather appeared around the corner of the house, closely followed by Mike Lockwood. “Call the police now,” Nate yelled.
Josh pulled out a phone while Mike ran to Luke and tried to separate the fighting pair. Nate grabbed a metal garden stake, skimming it boomerang-style at the legs of the man holding Emma. He turned at the last second, the metal striking a glancing blow. With a scream of pain and anger, he released Emma and turned on Nate. “You friggin’ bastard, this time you’re dead meat.”
Nate put himself between the man and Emma. “Go into the house,” he said without taking his eyes off his would-be assailant.
“I’m not leaving you with this thug,” she protested.
“I can’t deal with him and protect you.”
“Who asked you to? My van’s on fire.”
Next she’d be trying to put the fire out. In the part of his mind not focused on anticipating the thug’s next move, Nate had to admire her courage. She’d taken the gang member on without a thought for her own safety. “The van’s replaceable, you’re not,” he snapped.
The young punk sneered at the concern and Nate could almost hear the wheels in his mind turning. He thought he had a lever he could use against Nate. And damn it, he did. Nate tried to come between the thug and Emma but she stood her ground.
He g
lanced at her, trying to assess the danger she’d placed herself in. In the split second he was distracted, the gang member propelled one of the heavy banquet trolleys toward Nate. But the slope of the driveway sent the trolley careening toward Emma, who had backed into a corner of the house with nowhere to run. This time her scream held real fear.
CHAPTER EIGHT
NATE DIDN’T HESITATE. He threw himself sideways to intercept the trolley before Emma could be crushed against the wall. But the heavy metal object was an aimed missile. He caught an edge, throwing his weight into making the trolley swing around. He had the satisfaction of hearing sirens, then the deflected cart slammed his right arm against the brickwork.
“Nate!” Emma’s scream drowned out Nate’s howl of pain. With his uninjured hand, he tried to push the trolley away, but it took Emma and Mike’s combined efforts to shift the thing. Behind them, two uniformed police were moving in, with a fire truck close behind.
The wall at his back was the only thing keeping Nate on his feet. Emma reached to touch his arm and he held her at bay. “Is it broken?” she asked.
Too shocked to speak, he shook his head, biting his lip to stop from groaning. Emma already looked frightened enough. In fact she looked more frightened than she had on her own account, but he was in no shape to go there.
He saw the police round up the intruders. When they were about to include Luke, Mike went to them and explained who he was, and the part he’d played in fending off the gang. He also gestured toward Nate, who heard his name mentioned as the owner of the house.
A uniformed woman approached him. “Do you need an ambulance, sir?”
No way was he letting himself be carted away in an ambulance. “I’ll be okay. I’m pretty sure my wrist is only sprained.” Only was a poor word to describe the pain he was in, but he kept that to himself.
“All the same, you should have a doctor look at that,” the officer said.
“I am a doctor.”
She actually rolled her eyes. Obviously she’d heard the stories about doctors making the worst patients. He became aware of Grace at his side. “I’m Grace Lockwood, also a doctor. I’ll examine Dr. Hale,” she said. If he’ll let me. Nate he heard what she didn’t say.
