The Maverick's Christmas Homecoming

by Teresa Southwick

  She glanced at him. “There’s something in your voice, an awe, a respect, as if you’re whispering in church.”

  “It kind of feels that way,” he admitted. “There’s a sense of being in the presence of God. The natural beauty here...”

  “Speaks to your heart?”

  “Yeah. I do love it. Especially on a night like this.”

  She looked up at the moon and stars. “I don’t know what’s more beautiful, the sky above or valley below.”

  “Maybe it isn’t either one.”

  There was a raspy quality in his voice that made her look at him. Their gazes locked and his sparked with heat and intensity. His shoulders were wide, his arms strong. Suddenly she was filled with an ache to feel them around her. She wanted to be dessert.

  As if Shane could read her thoughts, his mouth inched toward hers and again time stood still.

  Until it didn’t.

  One second passed with him just standing there, then two before he backed away even though the expression in his eyes hadn’t changed. “It’s getting late. I should probably see you to your car.”

  Gianna blinked up at him wondering what just happened. She wasn’t so out of practice that she didn’t know when a man was going to kiss her, and Shane had been about to do that. Something had changed his mind, but darned if she knew what it was. But clearly she’d been dismissed for unknown reasons.

  “It is getting late. I’ll just get my coat.”

  Shane got her things, and if the atmosphere at the restaurant was as awkward as the walk down to where she’d parked her wreck of a car, work was going to be even less fun than being one waitress short while feeding the Swiss delegation.

  Chapter Two

  Three days later Gianna was stewing in The Gallatin Room kitchen, which was ironically appropriate. It had been three nights since Shane had made dinner for her at his place. Three nights of seeing him at the restaurant where they both worked and he hadn’t said a word to her—not about work, not even about things other than work. Even a hello, how are you, wasn’t in his repertoire. In fact he was going out of his way to ignore her and she didn’t understand why.

  She also didn’t have time to think about it. Waitresses were hurrying in and out of the kitchen with orders and busboys handled trays of dirty dishes, utensils and glassware. It was busy and noisy and she was putting together a basket of bread for the order she’d just taken. Shane stood by the stove concentrating on sautéing seafood over a hot flame. She stared at his back and felt like a lovelorn idiot, but she couldn’t help it. When he was in a room her gaze automatically searched him out.

  He, on the other hand, didn’t even look at her when he wasn’t cooking. Disappointment trickled through her and she felt incredibly stupid. Maybe she’d been hoping the third time was the charm—or third day post dinner he would finally break his silence.

  No such luck.

  Bonnie Reid pushed through the swinging doors separating the kitchen areas from the dining room. Her friend did break the silence.

  “Wow, it’s busy in there tonight, G.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  Gianna rested her hip against the stainless-steel work-table. She’d become good friends with the other waitress, a petite brunette with a pixie haircut and big brown eyes. They’d both been hired at about the same time and bonded over the good, the bad and the awe of their celebrity boss. The other night she’d thought he actually was awesome, but now? Not so much.

  “I’m very glad you’re over your cold and back to work.” Gianna dragged her gaze away from Shane and looked at her friend.

  There was sympathy in those brown eyes. “If I hadn’t been too sick to crawl out of bed, I’d have been here. It must have been awful by yourself, serving that big party of Swiss businessmen.”

  “I managed.” And now she heard Shane’s voice in her head, telling her she always did. The words still made her glow, but she was doing her best to get over it.

  “I hated leaving you shorthanded. You must have run your legs off.”

  Gianna looked down. “Nope. Still there. Cellulite, the extra two and a half pounds on each thigh and all.”

  “Yeah. Right.” Bonnie grinned. “You’re fit and fine, my friend.”

  “Not that anyone would notice.” She glanced at Shane who still had his back to her.

  “Did something happen while I was out sick?” Bonnie’s tone was sharp with curiosity, but fortunately their boss was too far away to hear in the noisy kitchen. “What did I miss?”

  “Nothing.” That was the very sad truth, Gianna thought.

  “I’m getting a vibe, G.” Her friend glanced at Shane, then back. “Did Roarke the magnificent do something? Say something?”

  “Said something, did absolutely nothing.” Darn him. Gianna picked up the silver basket in which she’d artfully arranged a variety of herb-covered rolls and cheese cracker bread, then started to walk back to the dining room.

  “Uh-uh. Not so fast.” Bonnie shook her head. “You can’t drop a cryptic comment like that and not elaborate. It violates every rule of friendship and is just wrong on so many levels.”

  “Really, nothing happened. I guess I just got the signals wrong. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

  “You’re trying to deflect me. Even if this is about all the time you wasted on too many men who have an allergy to commitment, it’s not going to work. Did Roarke make a move on you?” Bonnie’s eyes filled with indignant anger and she looked a little dangerous.

  “Nothing like that.” Gianna pulled her farther around the corner to make sure they couldn’t be overheard even with the sizzle of cooking and banging of utensils. “We had a moment.”

  “What kind of moment?”

  “When you called in sick I missed the staff dinner then did double duty and was starved at the end of my shift. I thought everyone had left and came in here to grab something to eat. Shane wasn’t gone.”

  “You were alone with him? Did he try something?”

  If only... “No. He made me food and gave me wine.”

  “To lower your resistance? I’ll take him apart—”

  “Stand down.” Gianna couldn’t help smiling at the thought of her tiny friend taking on tall, muscular, masculine Shane Roarke. “He asked me to dinner on Monday, at his place.”

  “How was it? His place, I mean. I’ve got more questions, but first things first.”

  “All I can say is rich people really are different.”

  “That good, huh?”

  “The artwork. Furniture. Spacious floor plan and high ceilings. The lighting.” She sighed at the memory. “And don’t even get me started on the view.”

  “So he caught you in his web, or lair, or whatever, then pounced?” The fierce look was back.

  “That’s just it. He took me out on the balcony to show me the view of the mountains, the valley getting ready for Christmas. There was a moon and stars and lights stretching across said valley.”

  “Romantic with a capital R.”

  “Romantic with every letter capitalized and the whole word italicized.” She sighed. “I was sure he was leaning in for a kiss and then—”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. He all but told me to go home, except he did it in his Roarke-like way. ‘I’ll see you to your car,’” she quoted.

  “Bastard.” Bonnie shook her head. “Gentleman bastard.”

  “I know.” Gianna peeked at him again, busily sautéing something. “That
was Monday night and he hasn’t acknowledged me here at work since. I’m not sure which is worse. The let’s-just-be-friends speech I’m used to or this cold shoulder.”

  Bonnie’s frown went from fierce to puzzled. “I prefer the speech. At least you know where you stand.”

  Maybe that was her chronic problem, Gianna thought. If the relationship status wasn’t spelled out, she went straight to hope. That meant she’d made no progress in breaking her bad habit of being a hopelessly romantic fool who wasted time on the wrong men.

  “Anyway, that’s the scoop.” She angled her head toward the swinging doors. “I have to get back to work.”

  “Me, too.” Bonnie gave her a sympathetic look. “I’ve got your back.”

  “Thanks.”

  Gianna put her shoulder to one of the kitchen’s swinging doors, then opened it and walked into the quiet and elegant world where special service was the key to success. A beautiful setting during any season, The Gallatin Room was even more so, decorated for Christmas. A ten-foot tree with white lights, red, green and gold ornaments and shiny garland stood in the corner. All the tables had red poinsettias in the center on white linen tablecloths.

  Now that Gianna had seen the view from Roarke’s penthouse apartment, she knew this restaurant wasn’t the most romantic place in Thunder Canyon, but she’d put it very high on the list. This was a weeknight but the place was nearly full, and that happened when you served the best food in town. That’s what the two women at her table were after. Gianna had chatted them up while delivering menus and found out they were having a girls’ long ski weekend.

  She put the breadbasket on the table, then looked at the beautiful blonde and equally pretty brunette, both in their late twenties. “Have you decided or do you need another few minutes to look over the menu?”

  “Too many tempting choices,” the blonde said. “Do you know what you’re having, Miranda?”

  “I should go with salmon.” She frowned, but her face didn’t move. “But Shane’s filet with that yummy sauce is to die for.”

  Gianna didn’t recognize either woman and she had a good memory for faces. “So you’ve been here before?”

  “Not here.” Miranda shook her head. “But I’ve been to Roarke’s in New York. Daisy and I do a winter ski trip every year and have been talking about trying the slopes in Thunder Canyon for a while. But we always decided on somewhere easier to get to that had restaurants with a reputation. Then we heard Shane Roarke was the chef here.”

  “He definitely is.”

  “Miranda says this menu is different from the one in New York,” Daisy said.

  “He’s tailored his signature recipes specifically for The Gallatin Room. I can tell you that every one is fantastic.”

  “What’s your favorite?” Daisy asked.

  The chicken he’d made for her at his place. But that wasn’t for public consumption yet. She smiled at the two women and hoped it was friendly because that’s not the way she felt.

  “It would be easier to tell you what’s not my favorite. If you’re in the mood for beef, the filet is excellent, practically melts in your mouth. And the sauce only enhances the flavor. I’m not a fan of lamb, but people who are rave about it here. The stuffed, grilled salmon is wonderful. And a little lighter, which would leave room for dessert.”

  “Tell me the chocolate, sky-high cake I had in New York is a choice.”

  “I don’t know if it’s the same, but there is one that will tempt you to lick crumbs off the plate.”

  “That does it.” Miranda smiled in rapture. “Shane’s desserts are the best. I’ll have the salmon. Tell me about The Gallatin salad.”

  “It’s greens with avocado, tomato and goat cheese in a very delicate dressing. So delicious you won’t believe it’s good for you.”

  “You talked me into it.”

  “Make it two,” Daisy said. “And a bottle of the Napa Valley Chardonnay.”

  “Excellent choice.” Gianna smiled at the two women. “On behalf of Thunder Canyon Resort and The Gallatin Room, I’ll do everything possible to give you a perfect dining experience. If there’s anything you’d like, just let me know. It’s our goal to make this your ski vacation destination every year.”

  “Shane being the chef here made the difference in our choice this time,” Miranda said.

  “He’s really something.” Just what, Gianna wasn’t sure.

  “Is he by any chance here now?” Miranda asked.

  “Every night.”

  “I’d love to say hello again.” She looked at her friend. “And Daisy has never met him.”

  “I’ve certainly heard a lot about him,” the blonde said. “Do you think he would come by the table?”

  “I can ask.” And that would give her an excuse to talk to him. “Although he’s pretty busy.”

  “I understand. I’m not sure he’ll remember me, but my name is Miranda Baldwin.”

  Gianna walked back to the kitchen and her heart was pounding at the thought of talking to Shane. Maybe it would break the ice. Give him a chance to say he’d just been too busy, up to his eyeballs in alligators what with Christmas parties and planning menu changes to shake things up with new dishes in January. It was a slim hope, but hope was something and a hard habit for her to break.

  She went through the swinging doors into the kitchen and saw Shane directing the sous-chef. He shifted to the cutting board on the stainless-steel table across from the stove.

  “Can I talk to you?” she asked, moving beside him.

  “What is it?” There was no anger or irritation in his tone. In fact there was no emotion at all, which was worse.

  If only the world would open now and swallow her whole. Gianna felt her hope balloon deflate. His non-reaction made it unlikely that he would mention their dinner or anything about spending time with her. It was like nothing had ever happened. Situational amnesia. If he wasn’t going to bring up the subject, neither would she.

  “There’s a Miranda Baldwin in the dining room who says she knows you from New York and wondered if she could say hello. I told her you might be too busy—”

  “I can do that.” He started toward the door and said over his shoulder, “Thanks.”

  “For nothing,” she whispered under her breath.

  In every serious relationship she’d had, the guy had strung her along and when it was time to fish or cut bait, she got cut. But Shane couldn’t get away from her fast enough, which was a first. Apparently bad dating karma had followed her from New York and mutated.

  Clearly he wasn’t into her. Since she wasn’t into wasting any more time, that should make her happy. Somehow it didn’t.

  * * *

  Shane pushed through the double doors into the dining room and left Gianna behind in the kitchen with the hurt he’d caused evident in her eyes. She probably thought he was crazy and who could blame her? Certainly not him. He’d invited her to dinner, then stood with her looking at the night sky and wanting to kiss her more than he wanted his next breath. Every day since then he’d fought the urge to tug her into a secluded corner and see if her lips tasted as good as he imagined. There were times he wished he was as good with words as he was with food and this was one of those times.

  He liked her, really liked her. The attraction was stronger than he’d felt in a very long time, maybe ever. He was still coming to terms with the truth about his father’s identity so, for Gianna’s sake, he wouldn’t start something that he could really mess up. Coolin
g things was for the best and judging by the look on her face when he’d left the kitchen so abruptly, he’d done an exceptional job of it. The depth of emotion he’d seen proved that even though it would be temporary, she could get hurt and he wouldn’t do that to her.

  Looking over the bustling dining room a sense of satisfaction came over him. Revenue was up from this time a year ago and if that was because of him, he was glad. If the information about who his father was got out, that could keep him from drawing a local crowd, so he planned to enjoy this while it lasted.

  Shane knew which tables Gianna had tonight and headed in that direction, then recognized Miranda. She was a beautiful brunette and asking her out had crossed his mind while he’d been in New York. Now she seemed ordinary compared to a certain redhead he wished he’d met while they’d both been there.

  He stopped at the table. “Miranda, it’s good to see you again.”

  “Shane.” She smiled. “You remember me.”

  He didn’t feel especially charming, but it was said that trait was what had won the reality cooking show and launched his career. He dug deep for it now.

  “Of course I remember.” He bent and kissed her cheek. “A woman like you is unforgettable.”

  “Then maybe it was my phone number you forgot. You never called me.” Her eyes both teased and chastised.

  “Believe me when I say that you’re better off.” It was easy to look sincere when telling the truth. “And there was no one else.”

  “Contrary to what the tabloids said.”

  “Because, of course, we all know that every word the rag sheets print is the honest truth.” He grinned to take any sting out of that statement. “Truly, I had no personal life. It was all about opening Roarke’s and keeping it open. I was practically working around the clock.”