by Erika Kelly
“I work. We all have jobs, just like any other guardian. Just like her mom did.” He perked up. “Her mom was a flight attendant, so Ruby’s used to babysitters. That’s what it’ll be like here. She’ll get used to it.”
“Is that what the books say?”
“Yeah, Delilah.” He registered her sarcasm and shook his head. “That’s exactly what the books say.” He reached for the doorknob and headed outside
Chapter Thirty
Movement startled him awake. Early morning light streamed in from around the edges of his curtains. Will tuned into the monitor but only heard silence. Ruby was all right.
He needed a full eight hours of sleep in order to put in the kind of training he’d do for Freefest, so he rolled over, determined to shut down his mind and get in a few more hours. Closing his eyes, he visualized the rails, his skis scraping along the narrow pipes. Turning his shoulder hard, he took flight off the bars and—
“Gee-yup, gee-yup.” The whispered voice accompanied a rocking sensation.
Will jackknifed up. What the hell? He fumbled for the switch on his lamp. Warm yellow light spilled across his navy comforter, illuminating the frail pajama-clad back of the little girl sitting on his bed. Book on her lap, her long dark hair bounced with her quiet movements.
“Ruby?”
Face lit up, she crawled over to him, dragging the open book. Will hadn’t even adjusted the pillows before she’d nestled up against him. “Yook. Hawsey.”
The assault of her warm, cotton-clad body and hair that smelled like sunshine on a field of wildflowers ignited every protective cell in his body. “Yeah, Ruby. That’s a horse.” What time is it? He reached for his phone. Five-fifty four. His alarm would go off in six minutes.
Didn’t make sense to take her back to bed.
“Weed.” She thrust the book at him.
What was he going to do with this girl? None of the advice from the books worked with her. She did what she wanted to do…joyfully. “Ruby, you know the deal. You have to wait until I come get you in the morning.”
“I wake, Wheel.” She nudged the book. “Weed.” She curled up like a kitten against his ribcage, those little knees tilting towards him, her butt against his arm.
Of course he wanted to read to her. How could he not? But if he gave into her now, she’d make a habit of crawling into his bed and asking him to read. They’d do this every morning.
Would that be so bad?
Delilah would tell him to do it. To give her what she needs right now.
But he wasn’t sure he should be taking advice from a woman whose rebellious streak cost her a family franchise. He’d been rebellious, too. Look where it got me.
Still, it was hard to say no to such a sweet, simple request. He pushed up higher and looked at the page. A horse, dog, skunk, and squirrel had to work together to get a stuffed animal back to its owner, a red-haired, freckled little girl who lived on the farm and took care of them all.
Ruby glanced up with that sparkly smile, an adoring look in her eyes, and his heart about exploded. She trusted him. Needed him.
A prickly heat skidded down his arms. He didn’t want to hurt her. She’d come to trust him, and then he’d leave. Fin would take over, and then Gray. Then Brodie. How many times could she open her heart only to have the person she trusted bail?
It’d make her feel all alone in the world, and that would change her. Make her hard, closed off. “We’re not reading, Ruby.” Structure would make her feel safe, keep her on the right path. “I told you to wait in your room until I get you.”
Her features crunched in confusion and…hurt. “You weed, Wheel. Weed to me.”
“We read at night before bed. Not at…” He picked up his phone. “Five fifty-six in the morning. Now, if you want, we can read when I get back from my work-out.” Good concession. “And we can read before dinner. But you stay in your room until I come get you.”
He swung his legs out of bed and reached for the athletic shorts he’d tossed on the chair. When he turned back, he found her standing on the mattress in her polka dot pajamas and puffy chicken slippers with her arms held high.
He reached for her, anticipating that moment when she clung to him, relieved when she did because he knew it wouldn’t be long before she stopped loving him so unabashedly. When she’d come to understand he wasn’t hers.
Or did he mean she wasn’t his?
And it sucked because he wished she could have the stability she deserved. He just had to get her used to the way her life would be in this house.
Delilah had grown up in a brownstone—which meant vertical living. From street level, a set of stairs led down to the kitchen and family room on the bottom level. The first floor held the living room and formal dining area. All the bedrooms were on the second and third floors.
Her parents had worked all the time, and her dad had a problem throwing things out, so every floor was cluttered. The comfortable kind, though, with stacks of books against the walls, piles of papers waiting to be filed on the baby grand piano. Side tables held coasters and mugs with the dregs of coffee or tea.
Maybe because she was the youngest, but she’d always loved that evidence of her family around her. That sense that her people had pressed pause on whatever they were doing and would be right back.
The Bowie house couldn’t be more different. With its massive rooms, high ceilings, and plate-glass windows that let the outdoors in, every room looked ready for a photo shoot with Architectural Digest. No piles of books—other than the ones artfully arranged—no unwashed plate with the crumbs of a quiche on the tines of a fork, and no shoes kicked off.
It made her miss home. The way it used to be, before her parents had died. She missed following the trail of her dad’s aftershave to find him fixing whatever plumbing or electrical issue had befallen the big, old house. She wanted to walk into the kitchen and find her mom pouring boiling water from the kettle into mugs. She wanted to snatch a biscotti off a saucer and bite it before her mom could yank it out of her hands. That’s for your dad. Get your own.
But, mostly, she was confused. Her brothers and sisters always praised her food. They thought she had a true gift. So why not give me my franchise and trust me to rock the hell out of it?
Phone in hand, she knew it was time to talk to her brother. They hadn’t spoken since the day after her birthday party, and she needed to make peace with him. She loved him. She loved all her siblings, and she hated being on the outs with them. Plus, she needed to let them know her change in plans.
She’d heard back from Chris. She was in. They’d let her into the competition.
Every time she thought about it, fear immediately squelched the blossoming roar of joy.
Those other five competitors? They were a big deal. Chef Mathilda had a Michelin star, for crying out loud.
She had to keep reminding herself that she had an award, a great review from Harry Morgenstern, and more experience packed into her twenty-six years than most chefs had in a lifetime.
She could do this. Most importantly, if—no, when—she won, she’d get her franchise and the respect of her siblings. Eyes on the prize.
She stepped onto the balcony and hit her brother’s speed dial. As the phone rang, she imagined hanging the Da Nonna’s sign over the funky little space she’d always loved on Bleecker Street. Almost cave-like, it had stone walls and a bay window that overlooked the lively neighborhood.
Of course, she’d stay true to Da Nonna’s standard décor, but she’d add some things that reminded her of her mom and dad. Oh. Maybe she could commission some mixed media pieces from Callie. Like her Dad’s felt Fedora he liked to wear while shoveling snow. Her mom’s strands of pearls and the Pez dispenser collection.
Pick up, Joe. I really want to talk to you.
The leaves shivered as an early morning breeze sailed across the pale green sage meadow. Holy shit. This view. Billowing white clouds shifted across a vast expanse of bright blue sky, skimming the tops of jarr
ing mountain peaks. Jackson Hole, in all its splendor, was laid out before her. She breathed in the clean air, scented with sage and wildflowers and slightly chilled with snow run-off.
Her brother answered, breathless, right before voicemail would’ve picked up. “Delilah?”
“Hey.” Hurt had built up a thick wall of resentment and frustration, but the sound of his voice knocked it all tumbling down.
“I’ve missed you, keiki.”
She could hear kitchen noises in the background. Someone shouting, something clattering. “I miss you, too.” A terrible wave of homesickness crested over her.
“What do you think of Wyoming?”
“It’s great here, actually. Nothing like I expected.”
“Good. Listen, I’m in the middle of the conversation with Tortolli I should’ve had a month ago, but I’ve got your flight information right here. We’re looking forward to seeing you next week.”
“Well, hang on. That’s why I’m calling.” It struck her that this call had the potential to change everything. Telling her oldest brother—a man twelve years her senior, who’d made sure she got to experience her family in the same way he had--that she was staying here for the summer could make him back down and give her the franchise. He’d want her to come home.
In a few days she could be back with her big, crazy family. Back to the life she’d lived before this teeny, tiny glitch of Calamity, Wyoming.
The drag and pull in her soul surprised her. Not to go home, but to stay here. The competition excited her, the idea that she could beat those world-class chefs, the acknowledgement of her talents.
And, of course, Will. She could fall so hard for that man. “Joe, I’m staying here for the summer.”
“What’re you talking about? You’re not staying in Wyoming. Why would you do that?” He must’ve set the phone down because she could hear him talking to someone, but it was muffled and faraway-sounding.
“Joe? Joe.”
He came back on the line. “Come on, Delilah. Don’t punish me. I know you think I’m being too hard on you, but you have to know it was a very difficult decision for us to make. In the end, we made the right one—not only for our business but for you.”
She hardened. “The right decision for me is getting my franchise. It’s what Dad and Mom wanted, and it’s what I’ve earned. Look, I take full responsibility for Harry Morgenstern’s review. You’ve told me a thousand times not to mess with the recipes, and I let my ego get in the way. I shouldn’t have done that in the flagship restaurant, and I’m genuinely sorry.”
“I…thank you. That’s nice to hear.”
“But I should be able to do whatever I want with my own restaurant. And that’s why I’m staying in Calamity. The Bowies are running a competition. Five—well, now, six of the best chefs in the world are competing for a grand prize of a hundred thousand dollars. I’m going to use that money to start my franchise, and that way I won’t touch any of the estate money. You guys won’t be investing.”
Her brother was quiet.
With each moment that ticked by, her anxiety grew. “Joe? Are you still there?”
“Yeah, I’m here.” He sounded defeated.
Well, she was sorry to upset him, but she wasn’t backing down. “I’m not going to fail you. I’ll keep the décor the same. I’ll even keep the menu mostly the same, but I’m going to have some other items. Seasonal dishes, a specials board. It’ll be all right, I promise.” Trust me. Trust my cooking.
“Delilah…no.”
No? If she came up with the money herself, he didn’t have a say in this. “It’s in the will that I get a franchise.”
“That’s right. A franchise. I can’t have you opening a restaurant with our name and décor and then have it be a different style of food.”
“I thought you liked my food.”
“I do. But it’s not Nonna Abelli’s, and that’s what we sell. You can’t open a McDonald’s and sell pad thai and falafel. I’m sorry, Delilah. I love you. I think you’re amazingly talented, but you can’t open a franchise.”
In her apartment in the city, lights flashed across her ceiling all night long. Sometimes red from cruisers, but mostly white headlights. Here, in Callie and Fin’s bedroom at the back of the house, she had…pure darkness.
It was unnerving. Mostly, because her mind compensated for the silence with endless streams of thoughts.
Like the call with her brother. He’d definitively cut her out of the family business. Like, no hope. And it was like he’d pulled out her heart with his bare hands. Because that restaurant was her dad, her mom, her childhood. My life.
Joe kept the house so she could have Christmas morning in the family room off the kitchen and Thanksgiving in the formal dining room upstairs, but her memories, her heart, was in Da Nonna’s kitchen. The utility closet still had the same step stool her mom had bought from Grace’s Hardware so Delilah could stand in front of her dad while he stuffed shells and beat whipping cream.
She’d done her homework at the table by the window, while the wait staff set up for dinner, her mom’s voice on the phone taking reservations, her dad bustling about as he fielded one distribution problem after another.
She’d absorbed the smells and sounds of that restaurant into every fiber of her being.
But Delilah was not the sort to wallow in self-pity. That’s not my style. She had a competition to win. The first event was tomorrow—well, tonight. It had to be past midnight by now. Ideas for hors d’oeuvres swirled and spun, spitting out images now and then, a toast point, a clam shell, a dollop of sour cream. Her go-to ingredients in New York City didn’t interest her. She wanted to use what grew here.
Thanks to the Chamber of Commerce, she’d put together a list of the Farmers Markets and sustainable farms and ranches in the region. She couldn’t wait to visit them and talk to the owners to see what grew locally and who provided the products that didn’t come from the area.
Okay, guess what? I’m not going to fall asleep.
Throwing back the covers, she dropped out of the enormous bed and snatched her brother’s Cornell T-shirt off the floor. She pulled it on and jammed her feet into flip flops. Opening the door, she nearly had a heart attack when she found Ruby waiting in the hallway.
“Oh, sweet pea.” The moment she reached for the little girl, acting on her impulse to bring her into the kitchen with her—she stopped herself. She couldn’t live here and ignore Will’s rules. “Can’t sleep?”
“I hongry.”
What harm could there be in getting her a yogurt?
Will doesn’t want you to. That’s reason enough. “How ‘bout we make pancakes for breakfast? I’ll put some chocolate chips in them, okay?”
She lifted the arm that didn’t hold Squawk, ready to go. “Make cakes.”
“We can’t do it now, Ruby, because it’s the middle of the night.” She says, as she’s heading downstairs to get to work like it’s afternoon. Confusing much? “But I promise we’ll make them in the morning.”
“It morneen.” Ruby tossed Squawk over the gate and then kicked off her puffy chicken slippers. Clutching the white rods, she hoisted herself up. Like a monkey, she got a grip of the bar between her toes, gaining the traction she needed to climb higher. It took her all of two seconds to get to the top of the gate.
“Ruby.” Sorry, but she couldn’t help laughing. Nothing would stop this girl from getting what she wanted. Hooking an arm around her waist, Delilah pulled the little girl off the gate and turned her in her arms.
“Make cakes now?”
How the hell did Will say no to this fierce little girl? Everything in her screamed to take Ruby downstairs and make the damn pancakes. It’s the right thing to do. Forcing her to stay in that strange bedroom, scared and alone, was plain wrong.
But…dammit, she had to honor Will’s wishes. “Sweetheart, we can—”
“Ruby.” That deep, rumbly voice startled the hell out of her.
Will stalked towards them.
If she’d had a black light, she’d see the angry fluorescence radiating off him. Before he even reached them, Ruby hurled herself toward him, forcing him to lunge forward.
The three of them stood so close she could smell him, the scent of laundry detergent, the hint of pine forest, and the unique essence of Will.
He adjusted his sister in his arms, cupping her chin so she’d pay attention. “You need to stay in bed until I come get you. Do you understand?”
“Wheel.” It was a chastising tone, as if he was just being ridiculous.
And it was exactly that kind of confidence that made Delilah love this child so damn much.
“Wally make cake. Shock-let cake. Come wif us.”
Wally? Funny, because her nephew couldn’t say Delilah either and called her La-lee. She’d always gotten a kick out of that, but she loved Wally even more. The whole world should call me that.
Chef Wally.
“No, Ruby.” He rocked that stern, commanding tone, but the hilarious part was that Ruby couldn’t have cared less. “If you want pancakes for breakfast, you have to go back to bed right now, and you have to stay there until I come get you in the morning.” He headed toward her bedroom.
“Wake now. Wally make cake.”
They slipped inside her room and, even though she knew she should go downstairs, Delilah waited, listening. She should get into the kitchen—that’s where her ideas popped—and start thinking about a list of possible ingredients, but she couldn’t move. Which was stupid because she shouldn’t be so invested in this family that wasn’t hers.
But she just really needed Will to make his sister feel safe right now. Love her, Will.
Sheets rustled, the mattress squeaked, and she imagined his big body sitting on the edge of her bed as he tucked her in.
