Ready To Burn (Due South Book 3)

by Tracey Alvarez

  A group of rockets screamed overhead, exploding into tiny stars and spangles. Red, white, and blue. So pretty, so fleeting.

  “Come work for me at Ward’s New York.”

  She blinked up at the night sky, flashes of color still blinding her. Couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Maybe he was joking.

  “I’m serious,” he said.

  Shaye turned to look at him. “What?”

  Ethan shrugged. “I can’t offer you a high-level entry position like sous, but I’m willing to give you a trial run as a line cook.”

  Ethan Ward, the Ethan Ward, offering her a job? Then she got it. “I’m not sleeping with you, Ethan.”

  His eyes bugged wide, and he barked out a laugh.

  Shaye’s belly dropped into the chunky soles of her combat boots. Yet another humiliating outcome to a string of disasters today.

  Ethan stopped laughing and patted her shoulder. “I’m sorry; you caught me off guard. Of course I’m not offering you a job in order to sleep with you—you’re very pretty, but sadly, not my type.”

  “Oh,” she said, her voice a mousy squeak.

  “The offer is legit, no shagging me or anyone else required. You’d work with my team in New York, starting at the bottom, but with a drive to succeed, you wouldn’t stay there long. New York’s just one of my restaurants, and I’m always head-hunting talent.”

  “You think I have talent?”

  “I think you’ve hidden your talent too long in this little town. Now’s your chance to spread your wings and see how far you’ll fly.”

  Another barrage of fireworks exploded, and Shaye tilted her head. Could she do it? Could she walk away from her family, from Due South, from…Del?

  No chef would be stupid enough to turn down the opportunity to work in one of Ward’s restaurants. You’ve let your wings be clipped by lack of ambition and your loyalty to this goddamned island. It’s not disloyal to put yourself first once in a while.

  Del’s exact words.

  Wasn’t it her ego thinking Due South would fall apart without her? No one was irreplaceable, and after the publicity Oban got from Ward On Fire, chefs would be lining up to work there.

  But her mother, her sister, her little nieces…She’d been the glue for so long. But again, would her family fall apart without her? Of course not—they’d be fine.

  Del? A little voice inside her head whispered. What about Del?

  A louder, more strident voice in her head piped up. What about him? Are you still expecting to ride off into the sunset on his white frickin’ steed? The only thing Dell’ll ride off on is an Air New Zealand flight to London.

  Shaye curled her fingers, the French manicure digging crescents into her palms, holding back the tears that so desperately wanted to come. “Why would you offer me this chance, Ethan?”

  “You want honesty?”

  “After tonight, I don’t want anything from men other than brutal honesty.”

  “Well, then. Reason number one is my show is to blame for getting you fired—temporarily fired, of course.” His attempt to look sheepish failed epically. The man didn’t do humble.

  “Show business, right?”

  He flashed a toothy smile. “Exactly, nothing personal. You don’t hate me?”

  Unlike another male she’d had to deal with tonight, she didn’t let grudges fester. “Would I have asked you to be my plus one if I did?”

  “I figured you hadn’t kissed and made up with Del.”

  Shaye chose to ignore the dull ache that throbbed in her chest.

  Stupid heart.

  “What’s the other reason?”

  He cocked his head. “I’m the youngest of three brothers, all of them in the food industry. I was the overlooked baby for years. None of my siblings took me seriously, so I worked twice as hard as everyone else to be the best, to make them respect me. Maybe I see a little of myself in you.” Ethan shoved his hands into his pants pockets. “Or maybe I’m hoping a good deed will get me off Santa’s naughty list this year.”

  She sighed, tugging the light Pashmina shawl around her shoulders. “Can I think about it and give you an answer tomorrow?”

  “Take your time,” he said. “Long as the answer is yes.”

  Another explosion of sparks lit the sky above Due South. How could she possibly say no?

  ***

  Shaye crept downstairs at 7:00 a.m. She did some funky ninja moves to avoid Charlie and Helena, there early to start the tidy up, and slunk through the front door. She couldn’t bear to take a short-cut to Bill’s place via the kitchen. In fact, she hadn’t been back since Del fired her.

  Hurrying along the sidewalk, she continued to check over her shoulder. It seemed everyone who’d been at West and Piper’s wedding the night before still slept off the after-effects. Was Del, too, sleeping off the after-affects? Quicker than greased lightning, she slapped a pot-lid on that witch’s brew.

  Shaye cut across the parking lot and tapped on the cottage door.

  Soft footsteps came from the other side then the door swung open to reveal Claire’s smiling face. “Shaye, this is a nice surprise.”

  “I’m here to see Bill, if he’s feeling okay this morning. I know he likes to get up early, catching the worm and all.” Shaye nipped her mouth shut, stopping the stream of words desperate to babble forth.

  God, she hadn’t been this nervous about talking to Bill since she’d asked him for a job as a teenager.

  “Come on in.”

  She followed Claire down the short hallway and into the open plan kitchen-dining room.

  Bill glanced up from the table. “The hell you doing up already? You should be having a lie in after the wild party last night.”

  “I wanted to ask for your advice”—she shot a glance at Claire—“in private, if that’s okay.”

  “Of course it is, honey,” Claire said, patting Shaye’s arm. “I’ll hang out a load of laundry, it’s going to be a beautiful day.” Claire disappeared into a small room off the kitchen and shut the door.

  Bill flicked a thumb toward the stove. “Kettle’s hot if you want a cuppa.”

  Shaye shook her head and sat down opposite him. “No, thanks. I can’t stay long.”

  “With all this wedding kerfuffle, I haven’t seen you since Del fired you. He told me what the little director weasel made him do, and I’m bloody sorry my boy put you through that. Once the Hollywood lot clears out, you’ll be back here—”

  Shaye jerked in her seat and the words shot from her mouth like bullets. “Last night, Ethan Ward offered me a job. In New York.”

  Bill’s bushy white eyebrows flicked up. “Well, now. That’s not something you get dropped in your lap every day.”

  “No.”

  “And what did you tell him?”

  “I said I’d think about his offer.” Shaye couldn’t drag her eyes from the folds of Bill’s woolen jersey. The same jersey he’d worn for years—one Claire knitted for him before she left Stewart Island. Now, instead of fitting snugly around his stomach, it sagged loose, stretched to the shape of the man Bill was no longer.

  He leaned forward, bracing his palms on the dining table. “Then you’re a damn fool.”

  Must’ve been a trick of the light, but his faded eyes seemed to have sharpened into gas-flame blue.

  “What—why?”

  “This is your big break, girlie.”

  Hot tears stung her eyes. “It is.”

  “But you’re holding back because of some misplaced sense of duty to me and Due South.”

  “Among other things.”

  “Your mum?”

  She nodded.

  “Not many daughters would do for their mother what you did for Glenna,” he said. “She’s strong again now, and she has your brother and sister here.”

  “After Dad died, I swore to his empty memorial I’d look after Mum.”

  Bill sighed. “And you have. You were always your daddy’s girl—his princess. But Michael never treated you like one,
did he?”

  Shaye shook her head, kept her lips pressed tight together.

  “He raised you to be strong, and smart, and to follow your dreams—whether it’s a fairy princess like you wanted to be when you were six, or a chef as you got older. If your dad was alive, he’d tell you the same thing I’m telling you now. Pack a damn bag and get on that plane.”

  “I don’t want to leave you like this.” She waved a hand at him, swiping tears off her face with the other. “I love Due South…and I love you.”

  “Ah, now, don’t get like that.” Bill slid the box of tissues over from the center of the table. “Don’t make me go all mushy; you know how I feel about you, girlie. I never cut you any slack in the kitchen, and I won’t cut you any now. This place’ll keep running one way or another, don’t you worry.” He paused thoughtfully as Shaye snatched out a tissue. “The tears aren’t just about work, or your mum, or stepping out of your wee comfort zone, are they?”

  Shaye blew her nose, shaking her head at the same time.

  “You and Del,” he said.

  “Yeah.”

  “Need me to give him a hiding?”

  “No.” But her lips tugged up in the corners.

  “Good. ‘Cause he’s kinda grown on me again.”

  “You love him.”

  “He’s my boy.” Which in Bill-speak meant yes, he loved him. “Doesn’t mean I won’t kick his backside if he’s hurt you.” His eyes slitted and he took a sip of his tea. “Has he hurt you?”

  Del had more than hurt her; he’d carved her up. Bill didn’t need to know that, so she shrugged. “If I go to New York, it’s a moot point.”

  Bill set his mug down. “Sometimes a man has to let a woman fly to the other side of the world before he realizes he’s a fool.”

  “Like you and Claire?”

  “Letting Claire and Del leave was both the hardest and best thing I ever did. A few times, I nearly sold up and went after her, but in the end, I chose my work. Like I said, a fool. When Claire rang out of the blue to say she and Lionel were together, and would I sign the divorce papers, well…” Bill shrugged. “For once in my life, I put her happiness first. I signed the papers and gave her my blessing.”

  “You did the right thing.”

  “Well, give Del a chance and likely he’ll do the right thing, too.”

  What if Del’s right thing didn’t include her? Shaye’s rose-colored glasses had been broken beyond repair last night. Maybe no happily ever after existed for her and Del.

  She adopted a smile that’d likely fool no one, and stood. “I’m going to miss you.” Shaye walked around the table and hugged him.

  Bill patted her back. “Get away with ya. I know how to send an e-mail, and text on the fancy phone West bought me. Now go sort out your work visa and buy a ticket.”

  She blew him a kiss and walked down the hallway.

  Bill was right; her dad raised her to be strong, and smart, and to follow her dreams. But was her dream working in one of the world’s most vibrant cities? Or spending her life with a man who loved her?

  Could she have both? But more importantly, was that man Del?

  ***

  The one time Del could’ve used some brotherly advice, West was still snuggled up in bed with his new wife.

  Del’d been desperate enough to hike to West’s place to catch him before he and Piper left on their honeymoon. Except standing at West’s front door with his fist raised, glancing at the closed drapes upstairs, he’d chickened out.

  In LA, a pet therapist or a chakra cleansing or some such crap would be the norm. But he had veins filled with stoic, third-generation Stewart Island blood. He’d deal with the shitfest he’d created alone. Just as he always dealt with it.

  He didn’t need anyone’s help.

  Turning away, Del shoved his hands into the pockets of his wool coat and trudged down the driveway. A cool wind blew off the ocean, and puffy clouds scudded over the rolling hills behind them. It’d be a beautiful day, the last day of formal filming before Ethan and his crew left. He couldn’t wait.

  Once they were gone, he’d have an opportunity to sit down with Shaye and reason things out. She was, after all, a reasonable woman. He sighed, scrubbing a hand over his unshaven face and continuing down the road toward Due South.

  Shaye might listen, but how could he convince her she was perfect for him—even though he was very much a work in progress. Well, for starters, he’d sort shit out with his dad.

  Five minutes later, he sat in the kitchen with his parents on one side of the dining table, him on the other—feeling like an eight-year-old, about to receive a bollocking for fighting with his older brother.

  The way they kept exchanging glances…

  He drummed his fingers on his knees and gulped a steadying breath. “I want you to have my kidney.”

  His dad’s eyebrows popped up, and his mom squeezed Bill’s hand.

  “Dr. Joe said there are other tests to be done, but as long as we’re a match, let’s do it—let’s keep you around for a few more years to bug the hell outta everyone.”

  “Including you?” Bill asked. “You want me around?”

  Tempted to say something flippant, Del instead fisted his hand and said, “Yeah. I do. We’ve missed enough years together.”

  His mom started to make fluttery I’m-gonna-cry motions, so he rolled his eyes.

  “Maybe there’s still some stuff you could teach me,” he added.

  Bill’s face creased into a slow grin. “Probably there is. Something you can show your cronies in LA.”

  “About that.” Del folded his arms on the table. Once again, he’d have to eat a serving of humble pie, but Shaye was worth it. “I’d like to stay on as head chef.” Saliva evaporated in his mouth, and he swallowed with a dry click. “At Due South. You know, while you’re recovering.”

  Bill and his mom did the glance-swap thing again. Ah—he got it! Bill wanted Shaye to take over head chef!

  His dad went to speak, and Del held up a palm. “No, it’s okay. I mean, I know once the film crew’s gone, you’ll reinstate Shaye, and I’m happy to work as her sous.” He shrugged. “Look, is there a place for me here? I’m done with the stress and pressure of LA or anywhere else in the States. I know you’ll think it’s fucking funny—sorry, Mom—but Oban is home now.”

  “Oh, Del.” His mom pressed her trembling lips together and slanted yet another look at Bill.

  His father lowered his eyes to the table and gusted out a sigh that sounded almost like a death rattle. “Due South is yours and West’s now. I won’t be working in the kitchen as chef anymore. You’ve more than proven you’re capable of filling my shoes, and I’m bloody happy you consider Oban home again. But, son, I don’t quite know how to say this, and hell, it isn’t my place, but…” He released another drawn-out sigh. “Shaye stopped by this morning to tell me Ethan Ward offered her a job in New York.”

  Del’s heart shot into his throat as if a cannon had blasted it there. He stood, his chair screeching on the linoleum, his fists balled so tightly his clipped nails dug into his palms.

  “The bastard. The fucking—” Del’s teeth clicked together at his mother’s bugged-open eyes.

  That Ward thought he could poach their sous from right under their noses didn’t surprise him, not really. And he didn’t believe the man had an interest in Shaye, other than a professional one—because she would’ve told him where to stick his job if she’d any inkling the offer came with ties of an unsavory nature.

  “Did she say yes?” His lungs had apparently gone into shock and forgotten how to work. He couldn’t catch his breath as he waited for his dad’s answer.

  “You’ll have to ask her yourself,” Bill said.

  Del swore, pacing away from the table, his brain firing off machine-gun rapid questions but receiving no goddamned answers. He whirled back to his parents.

  “You told her to take the job?”

  Bill squirmed in his seat. “I told her she’d be a
fool to turn it down.”

  “No chef would be stupid enough to turn down the opportunity to work in one of his restaurants,” he muttered, stalking to the table. Bracing his palms on the smooth wood, Del hung his head. “You said the right thing, Dad. And a while ago I told her the same. Dammit.”

  “Even if you don’t make it to the finals, you could still find work in New York to be near Shaye,” said Bill. “West’ll set up an ad for a new chef; you’re not bloody indispensible, boy. Go.”

  And if he did go to New York? He’d have to work his ass off just to pay rent—if he could even find work—and when would he and Shaye ever get to spend time together? No poker with their buddies. No horsing around on the beach with his brother and new sister-in-law. No motorbike rides or impromptu picnics or hikes along the Rakiura track.

  Things that now appealed to him more than any urge to blot out his problems with crazy long hours and excess alcohol. The desire for liquid oblivion had transformed into another kind of addiction. His brother. His dad. Friends. Plans for Due South. His little beach house. Community. Even bloody Bird-Brain. All the things he’d once tossed mindlessly aside in the wake of his own ambition, he now desperately wanted.

  But most of all, Shaye.

  He straightened and moved away from the table. “I have to find her and see what her decision is.”

  With a brief kiss to his mom’s cheek—more of Shaye’s influence rubbing off on him—Del met his dad’s eyes. “Maybe I’m replaceable here, but she’s not.”

  ***

  The window of opportunity was small—catch Del before the day’s prep started and sort things out. She didn’t want to wait hours and hours until dinner service ended or she’d lose her nerve.

  Shaye’s heart raced, and not in a good way, as she descended the steps. She’d been staring at the four walls of her room and at her laptop—open to a travel agent’s website—dithering. To go or not to go. That was the million-dollar question. If she went, she only had to pack her clothes and a few odds and ends. Everything else was already stored in neatly labeled boxes in her mum’s garage.

  If only her life could be so neatly boxed and labeled.