The Rebel

by J. R. Ward

  Nate let out his breath in a whistle as he imagined the possibilities and swung his legs over the side. Putting his feet on the cool floor, he scratched the side of his neck and the delirious relief instantly made him suspicious. He stood up, felt his ankle check in with a shot of pain, and limped over to the mirror. As he leaned in, he cursed. Running from his left ear down to above his collarbone, there were three rows of tiny blisters, a little plow field of misery.

  Poison ivy.

  Those leafy greens cushioning his fall had seemed innocent enough, but he should have known better. In the Adirondacks, the stuff grew like a carpet at the sides of roads and trails. He was lucky that most of him had been covered by the jacket and none of the leaves had connected with his face, but it was still going to be a pain in the ass to deal with.

  He grabbed a towel and hit the bathroom. Frankie had mentioned there were two parties staying overnight, so he figured he better hustle downstairs to make breakfast. Ten minutes later, wearing the same clothes he’d had on the day before and with his hair damp, he headed for the kitchen.

  The first thing he did was crack open the walk-in refrigerator and take inventory. There wasn’t much. Eggs and milk, generic cheeses like cheddar and Monterey Jack. Some fresh veggies of the diner variety like iceberg lettuce, cucumbers, and carrots. As he was heading out, he saw a lone box of fresh blueberries.

  At least breakfast would be covered, he thought, grabbing the carton.

  As for the rest of the meals, he was in trouble. If he were cooking for a bunch of five-year-olds, he was good to go because he could whip up a fleet of grilled cheese sandwiches. But those guests snoozing away in the front bedrooms were not going to be satisfied with kiddy chow. He was going to have to order some supplies, nothing flashy, but enough to make some real food. He needed feta and goat cheese, some cilantro and scallions, heads of cauliflower and cabbage. Artichokes.

  He went next door to the meat locker, figuring he’d find a graveyard. Instead, there was a good-looking side of beef, a hefty leg of lamb and a turkey. That all gave him hope.

  Nate resisted scratching the side of his neck and took the cardboard box over to the stove. It was close to 6:00 a.m. so there was plenty of time to make some killer blueberry muffins. A half hour later, he’d just taken the first batch out of the oven when he heard footsteps. Frankie’s sister appeared at the bottom of the stairs.

  He smiled. “Well, good morning there, Angel.”

  “Those look wonderful,” she said, coming over to the muffins. She leaned down and breathed deeply.

  “You should try one.”

  Joy shook her head. “They’re for the guests.”

  “This is only the first batch. And you look like you could use breakfast.” His eyes flickered over the bathrobe that hung off her like a tent.

  She brought the lapels closer together and crossed her arms over her chest, as if trying to conjure bulk out of the terry cloth.

  “Is there some way I can help you?” she asked, as if to distract him.

  “You can make the coffee. Were the tables set last night?”

  “No. But I can do that, too.”

  “Great.” Nate frowned, moving his head around and wincing. That itching was going to drive him nuts.

  “Are you okay?”

  “For a guy whose neck is on fire, I’m fine.” He pointed to the left side. “Poison ivy.”

  “Oh, that’s terrible.” Joy came in for a closer look.

  “Can’t say I’m crazy for it myself.”

  FRANKIE STRETCHED, FEELING unusually well-rested, and glanced at the clock.

  “Aw, damn it!”

  She’d forgotten to set the alarm the night before and it was now nearly a quarter of seven. Moving fast, she leaped out of bed and changed into a fresh white shirt and a clean pair of her standard black pants. She needed to get prepped for breakfast, the tables hadn’t been set and there was a vegetable delivery due soon that would have to be accepted and inventoried.

  She was pulling back her hair and twisting it into a ball when she froze. There was a delicious smell in the air, something that seemed to suggest muffins or scones.

  Nate must be up already.

  Frankie moved even faster.

  She flew down the stairs and was running into the kitchen when she stopped dead in her tracks.

  In the shallow space between the stove and the island, the cook and her sister were standing close enough to be kissing, his head bent down low, Joy balancing up on her tiptoes as if she were whispering something in his ear. Was her sister touching him? On the neck? Wearing nothing but a bathrobe?

  “Sorry to interrupt,” Frankie said loudly. “But maybe we should be thinking about breakfast?”

  Joy stepped away from the man with a blush, while Nate looked over calmly.

  “Breakfast is ready,” he said, pointing to a tray of beautiful muffins. “The guests aren’t up yet.”

  “Joy? Would you mind giving me and Mr.—” she paused, not even knowing his last name “—ah—him a minute alone?”

  Her sister left the room as Frankie glared at Nate. “What part of stay away don’t you understand?”

  He turned and opened the oven, inspecting what was inside. “You always this cheerful in the morning?”

  “Answer me.”

  “How’d you like some coffee?”

  “Damn it, you want to tell me what you were doing with my sister?”

  “Not particularly.”

  The more forceful she came at him, the calmer he seemed to get and irritation fanned the brushfire in her chest. “I thought we had an agreement. You stay away from her or you get out.”

  He laughed and shook his head while reaching for some side towels. He began folding them up into thick squares. “Just what do you think I was going to do? Take her down on this floor, rip open that robe of hers and—”

  Frankie squeezed her eyes shut and cut him off. “There’s no reason to be crude.”

  “No reason for you to be worried, either.”

  She looked at him, thinking she wasn’t about to fall for the denial. When it came to women, a man who looked like him was probably about as trustworthy as a thief facing an open door. And, if he was capable of melting even her with those hazel eyes, Joy wouldn’t stand a chance.

  God, what had she brought into their house? And she hadn’t checked his references… What if he was a convicted felon? A serial rapist?

  Frankie began to imagine all sorts of terrible, America’s Most Wanted scenarios with her sister as the victim. If anything ever happened to Joy, Frankie would never forgive herself—

  “Poison ivy,” he said dryly.

  She forced herself to halt the spiral of paranoia. “What?”

  “She was looking at my poison ivy. See?” He pointed to the side of his neck and she squinted at him. “You can come closer, I don’t bite. Unless I’m asked to.”

  In spite of his half smile, Frankie sidled up to him and leaned in. Sure enough, there were the telltale streaks of blisters running up his skin to just under his hairline.

  “That must itch terribly,” she said, by way of offering an apology.

  “Yeah, it’s no fun.” He turned back to the stove and took out another tin of the most gorgeous, golden-topped muffins she’d ever seen. The smell was something north of heaven.

  “You want one?” he asked. “I tried to get your sister to have a go at them but she shut me down.”

  He took a muffin out and pulled it apart even though it steamed with heat. Spreading butter on the inside, which quickly melted and glistened, he offered her half.

  She paused and then took the piping hot piece. Unlike him, she had to shuffle it around in her hands, and when she put some in her mouth, she had to cool it off by breathing over it.

  She chewed a little and then closed her eyes so she could savor the taste.

  He laughed with satisfaction. “Not bad, huh?”

  He was one hell of cook, she thought. But she was still go
ing to check his references.

  “They’re—ah, wonderful.” She paused. “Listen, I’ll need the name and number of your most recent employer. And your last name. I forgot to ask last night.”

  “Walker. Last name is Walker.”

  Frankie frowned, thinking she’d heard of the name somewhere. And no, not on Court TV.

  Before she could ask about it, he said, “And the last joint I worked at was down in New York. La Nuit. Ask for Henri. He’ll give it to you straight.”

  Frankie widened her eyes. Now, La Nuit she’d definitely heard of. It was one of those four-star restaurants that got featured in the glossy magazines the guests left behind in their rooms. How had someone like him come to work in a place like that?

  “Now, about supplies,” he said. “When do deliveries come?”

  “Saturday and Wednesday noontime for veggies and meats. Dairy comes Mondays. Fridays also, if we need them to.”

  They hadn’t for the past year.

  “Great. What’s the number? Maybe I can catch the produce guy.”

  “You want to talk with Stu?”

  Nate frowned. “Yeah. Unless he’s a mind reader.”

  “I do the ordering. Tell me what you want.”

  “I won’t know that until I have a sense of what I can get.”

  She gestured sharply over to the walk-ins. “You can get what’s already in there.”

  There was a pause and then he crossed his arms over his sizable chest. “I thought you wanted me to be the cook.”

  Facing off at him, Frankie found there was plenty of steel behind his laid-back facade—which made it seem a little more plausible that he could have worked in a place like La Nuit. “I do.”

  “So let me take care of business.”

  She was tempted to ask just whose kitchen he thought he was standing in, but took a deep breath instead.

  “As you’ve so graciously pointed out, White Caps isn’t exactly thriving. I have to make sure we stick to the budget and that means I don’t want some guy in the kitchen throwing money out the door indiscriminately.”

  Nate pointed to the dining room. “You want to put asses in those chairs? You want those guests to come back? Then you need to set good food on those tables, not serve stuff fit for a nursery school. You’ve got to spend money to make money, sweetheart.”

  She laughed and eyed his well-worn clothes. “What would you know about money? Or running a restaurant, for that matter?”

  He leaned in close and she stopped smiling. “You might want to dial down the attitude, considering you don’t know much about me. Other than the fact that you really need me over your stove.”

  She could feel her eyes widen of their own accord. It was a new experience to have someone stand up to her and she took a step back as she collected herself.

  “All I need to know is that you work for me. Which means you do what I say.”

  He stared at her long and hard and she thought for a moment he was going to walk out. She had a flash of anxiety as she thought about last night’s chicken fiasco and what would have happened if he hadn’t shown up when he did. Still, she knew if he couldn’t take orders she didn’t want him in the kitchen. His theory about spending money was probably sound in a lot of situations but not when she had less than five thousand dollars in the checking account. Running a business that was teetering on the edge was a balancing act and that meant she had to know where every penny was. He could no doubt blow the whole wad on fancy stuff that would only go to waste, leaving them with nothing to cover the food costs of the following week.

  Or the plumber who was coming in an hour.

  Frankie blew out her breath and noted his hand was creeping up his neck as he stared at her. “Look, why don’t you pull together a wish list and I’ll see what I can do, okay? And don’t scratch that neck. When I go to town this morning, I’ll get you some calamine lotion.”

  Frankie turned away, thinking she had no more time to waste arguing. She had to try to locate some invoices in her damp office. And figure out where she was going to find the money for the plumber.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  NATE BRACED HIS ARMS AGAINST the stainless steel counter and bit back the curse teasing his tongue.

  What did she think he was going to do, order truffles, foie gras and blowfish? He knew damn well they were on a shoestring and he had no interest in bringing the place down. He understood the kind of pressure she was under and he was here to help, not make things more difficult.

  But he needed some real supplies.

  He thought about it and decided to humor her for a little while. Make lists for her to review. Prove he could be trusted. And when she realized he had half a brain, she’d back off. As general manager, she should be marketing the place, following up with customers for feedback, balancing the books. She did not need to concern herself with whether he ordered five or six heads of romaine.

  God, when was the last time he’d submitted an order list for review?

  After a quick look around the kitchen for some paper, he headed for her office. As he walked in, he found her gripping the edge of her desk and throwing her whole body into the thing. In spite of all the effort, it wasn’t moving from underneath the gaping, dripping hole in the ceiling.

  “Let me help,” he said.

  Her head jerked toward him. “I’ll be fine.”

  She wasn’t going to be fine. The desk was made of mahogany and weighed about as much as a small car.

  Ignoring her, he walked over and picked up one corner. Pulling the thing out from under the exposed pipes, he put it to rest under a window that had a lake view. Then he grabbed the heavy chair and carried it across the room.

  “Do you have any paper?” he asked when he was finished.

  “Er—in the closet.”

  She seemed flustered by his initiative so he took what he needed and left her alone, thinking that woman was going to have to start relying on him.

  FRANKIE HUNG UP THE phone and stared at it. After a glowing report from the owner of La Nuit, it appeared as if she’d won the lottery when Nate walked through her back door.

  A graduate of the Culinary Institute of America. A classically trained chef who had worked in Paris. Who’d have thought? Assuming that Henri guy was on the up-and-up, and her instincts told her he was, Nate was a gift from God.

  Which got her thinking…if he stayed long enough, maybe he could help put them back on the map. At least with the locals. And then they could—

  Frankie looked up and saw Nate standing in her doorway.

  Trying to hide her surprise, she lifted her eyebrows and waited for him to speak.

  “Here’s my list, Boss.” His voice was relaxed, the term almost an endearment.

  He came forward and dropped the sheet of lined paper on the desk. His handwriting was all in capitals and very neat. The list itself was ordered logically by food group, also including his meat and dairy requirements.

  “I assumed we wouldn’t have more than ten people a night for the next seven days so I’ve kept it light. And just so you know, I’m going to redo your menu. It’s old and boring.”

  She nodded and looked up, narrowing her stare. “I spoke with Henri just now.”

  Nate smiled. “How is the old buzzard?”

  “He told me you were…very good.”

  “Precisely why I gave you his name. Figured if you heard it from him you wouldn’t worry about me so much. And by the way, I don’t have a criminal record and the only time I was in a police car was when I was in college and went skinny-dipping in the Charles River by mistake. My father had a lot to say about that one but I wasn’t formally charged. Oh—but I do have about thirty outstanding parking tickets in New York City.”

  Frankie frowned in an attempt to keep a smile off her face. “Let me ask you something.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Why would someone with your background and training want to work here?”

  He shrugged. “I need the money. And it’s
just for the summer.”

  “But why don’t you find somewhere like La Nuit to work? Down in the city. You could be making a lot more.”

  Frankie closed her mouth, thinking she should shut up. Was she actually trying to talk him into going somewhere else? Because he was right—she did need him.

  Nate considered her for a long moment, as if debating how up-front to be. “A buddy and I are going to buy our own restaurant. We’ve been looking for the last four months in New York, Boston, D.C. and Montreal, but the right opportunity hasn’t come along.” He grinned. “Or maybe it’s more like we haven’t found a place we can afford yet. I’ve been living off my savings and we need that money for a down payment to secure a small-business loan. Right about the time my car broke down, I’d decided to find summer work and then resume the hunt in the fall. Your place is as good as any.”

  Frankie looked down, absurdly hurt. To her, White Caps wasn’t just any place. It was home, it was family, it was…everything. But to a stranger, of course, it would just be a bunch of walls and a roof.

  “I guess that makes sense.”

  “Besides, how can I resist the opportunity to work for someone like you?”

  She glanced up. “Like me?”

  His gaze drifted from her eyes to her lips. Her breath stopped.

  He was looking at her as if he wanted to kiss her, she thought. He truly was.

  Time slowed, then halted altogether. She looked away from him, unable to stand the tension.

  “Hey, sweetheart,” he said softly.

  She braced herself and met his eyes again, thinking that the casual endearment really shouldn’t please her.

  “Smile for me and don’t hide it this time.”

  She flushed. “Maybe later.”

  Nate’s lips lifted slightly, as if he enjoyed her show of spirit. “I’m willing to wait.”

  And then he went back out to the kitchen.

  Frankie put her head in her hands, propping the weight up by her elbows. She was not the kind of woman who fell for romance. She really wasn’t. But, in a matter of moments, he could completely disarm her with that charm of his. Somehow, even if it was a ruse, just some throwaway words to him, his husky voice had the power to short out her brain and turn on her body’s boiler system.