Because the only table open there was between the Fieger family and the entrance. One never seated important clients next to the door or a noisy family. Silently, she prayed Miss Weston wouldn't reject Sam's omelet.
Sam served the dish with a flourish. Dixie tried to block the Hostettler sisters's view of Miss Weston's table, but there were too many of them and not enough of her.
She felt Sam at her back, lingering. Why didn't he go back to the kitchen, him with his black tee and longish hair? What was he waiting for?
She glanced over her shoulder just as Miss Weston sank her fork into the omelet. Sam, his hands folded behind his back, his legs splayed, was waiting for Miss Weston's verdict. Dixie faced the Hostettler sisters and held her breath.
Then, a sound like none she'd ever heard—at least not in a public place—emanated from the vicinity of Miss Weston's table. Dixie turned and gaped as the woman chewed and moaned, her eyes rolled back in her head. Sam grinned that wonderfully boyish grin of his, gave Miss Weston a bow, pivoted on his heel, winked at the Hostettler sisters, and strode off toward the kitchen.
"I'll take whatever she's having," Esmeralda Hostettler said with a nod in Miss Weston's direction.
"I'll have the same," Penelope said and nodded after Sam, "as long as he serves it."
Dixie smiled weakly at Sam's backside disappearing through the swinging doors. He did cut a dashing figure in that crisp, white apron and jauntily set chef's cap. But the close-cut jeans and black t-shirt sent out an entirely different signal—one that made her think of leather-clad bad boys. Hortense Hostettler, eldest sister and family matriarch, was sure to find fault with that last.
Dixie held her breath and waited for Hortense to harangue her younger siblings for their obvious lapses in propriety and her for employing an improper young man. Hortense handed her menu back to Dixie unopened. Here it comes, Dixie thought. But to her surprise, Hortense said only, "I'll have the same as my sisters."
Sam Ryan may not be reputed as the most reliable man in the world, but he was clearly a man of his word. He'd promised her an omelet to die for, and considering the sounds Miss Weston had still been making when she left the dining room, he'd delivered.
"You are one hell of a silver lining to my latest dark cloud catastrophe," Dixie said as she charged into the kitchen.
Pancakes, eggs, hash browns, and every side meat listed in her menu lined the flattop. Sam flipped and scraped and nudged, all the while whistling. She stood there, gaping at him.
He looked at her, stopped whistling and gave her a grin that made her go weak clear to her toes. "Told you I could handle the kitchen, Red."
She strode closer, surveying the quality and quantity of what he cooked. "And I repeat. You are one hell of a silver lining."
"Thank you," he said, his grin turning almost sheepish. But it was the quietness of his tone that made her feel like she'd just done him a favor instead of the other way around.
#
"Don't volunteer anything you're not prepared to deliver, Sam. I can't handle two chefs walking out on me in the same day."
Sam trod the well-worn path that led away from the back of the house to the garage, his duffel under his arm and helmet dangling from his fingers. He didn't know why he was feeling guilty. Brunch was over and the kitchen clean. Even her Cousin Annie had gone home. The job he'd promised to do and more was done. He wasn't abandoning Dixie.
I can't handle two chefs walking out on me in the same day.
Okay, so he was technically doing the one thing she clearly stated she couldn't abide. He was sneaking off without so much as an "it's been nice meeting you." The cowardice of his act pressed down his shoulders.
But, if he lingered long enough to say good-bye to Dixie, he'd never leave. He'd already tried when he'd gone into the kitchen early this morning to tell her he was leaving. Look what being polite had gotten him. A job cooking all morning.
Not that he minded it. It was the most fun he'd had in a long time. But still…
He focused on the corner of the garage where he'd parked the Ducati. If he stayed, he would disappoint her. Sooner or later, at the very least, he'd lose interest in this latest adventure and run off to the next. Lack of responsibility his uncle called it. Worse yet would be if she figured out Stuart had sent him to spy on her. Better that he sneak off with his memory of the way her eyes had shined when she'd returned to the kitchen and essentially decreed him her knight in a chef's cap.
He was almost to the garage. The old swing type doors would open soundlessly on well-oiled hinges and nothing would be between him and the open road.
…Provided no one sounded the alarm.
He eyed Bear who loped ahead of him and willed the dog to remain silent. One yip out of him and Dixie was sure to be routed from whatever task had taken her to the barn beyond the private drive that circled from the front parking lot and between the side of the house and outbuildings.
As for the rest of the household...
He glanced back at the house. Miss Weston was parked in a wicker chair on the side porch huddled over a book. She'd said nothing as he'd passed. Actually, she hadn't said anything to him since making those ungodly sounds over the omelet he'd cooked for her. He hoped she wouldn't speak up now. She had the potential volume to be heard in the next county.
A curtain fluttered in the window of the room at the top of the back stairs. The grandmother's room. Someone had said she'd gone "up" for a nap. He assumed Ben had gone with her. Four-year-olds took naps, didn't they?
Bear disappeared around the corner of the garage. Sam blew out a breath. All he had to do was roll his bike out of the garage and to the front of the house where it would be too late for anyone to stop him, even if they heard him start her up.
With one eye trained on the barn, the largest and furthest from the house of the outbuildings, he stepped around the garage corner after Bear.
"Hiya, Tin Man."
Sam skidded to a halt in front of Ben. The kid looked up at him, head tilted back as far as it would go. Ben's thin little boy arms hugged a huge black and white cat to his chest—a cat with long ears. Make that a rabbit.
"Hey, I thought you were with your grandmother."
"Nana's napping."
"And you're not," Sam murmured, scanning the buildings clustered around the circular driveway for any sign of Dixie. If the grandmother wasn't watching the kid, then Dixie was.
"Where ya goin'?" The kid was eyeing the helmet dangling from his fingers.
"Where am I going?" Sam repeated, vying for time as he pondered whether lying to the kid was the same as lying to Dixie. He opted for a half-truth. "I'm going for a ride."
A one-way ride to parts unknown. Once Stuart figured out he'd screwed up yet again, the more continent he had between him and his uncle, the better. Now all he had to do was get the kid out from between him and the garage doors.
"Can I go fo' ride with you?" Ben asked.
"Maybe next time."
Yeah, like he hadn't heard that one a thousand times from his mother during her semi-annual visits post marriage to the creep who didn't want another man's castoff kid. Not the image of himself he wanted to leave with Mickey's son.
"Look, kid. Motorcycles eat up little boys. Besides, I don't have an extra helmet."
The kid screwed up his mouth like he was gearing up to debate what Sam said while Bear plunked his behind down beside Sam and leaned into him. Things were getting worse by the minute. Maybe a little diversion was called for here.
Sam tweaked the rabbit's ear. "What ya got here, kid?"
"Checkers. Nana said he could be my pet. Sh-she said we would never eat him."
"It's good not to eat your pets." Bear licked Sam's neck and he added under his breath, "Better yet, if the pets don't eat you."
The rabbit wriggled in Ben's grip, his back legs scrabbling for the ground.
"Be still, Checkers," Ben scolded, sounding more like an elderly Nana-type than a kid. Was that the role model Sam
should leave the kid with?
Far better that than a stern uncle, an absentee mother, and an overly efficient nanny.
The rabbit stopped struggling and hung in Ben's arms, its nose twitching and round eyes shiny as black marbles. That pretty much summed up Sam's take on his current position.
"How about you and Checkers take Toto off to Oz?"
The kid squinted up at him as if he'd suffered his own tornado-induced delirium.
"Bear," Sam said, nodding at the dog.
"Don't want to. Playing with Checkers now."
The rabbit erupted into a flurry of wiggles. Ben scrabbled to hang onto the over-sized rodent. Before Sam could help, the rabbit got his hind feet on the ground and vaulted out of Ben's arms. Instantly, Bear bounded after the rabbit. Pet dog eating pet rabbit definitely ranked among those experiences no child should ever witness.
Sam dropped his helmet and duffel and lunged after Bear, yelling, "Get the rabbit, kid."
But Ben wasn't as quick nor as coordinated as the rabbit. Just as he grabbed, Checkers hopped. Sam got a grip on Bear's collar and wound up stumbling after the Great Dane who seemed to think proper hunting methods involved mimicking the movement of its prey.
Across the gravel and onto the grassy oasis mid driveway the unlikely quartet hopped, lunged, and stumbled, a virtual Keystone cops-like parade of prey, predator, and would-be rescuers. Checkers paused to nibble clover. Bear sniffed the rabbit's tail. As much as Sam preferred to stay out from between Bear and anything the dog might consider lunch, Sam acted on the opportunity. He dove between dog and rabbit, grabbing for Checkers...who scooted out of reach. Belly-first, Sam hit the ground hard and skidded face-first into a pair of rubber boots...red ones.
"I could learn to like a man falling at my feet," Dixie Rae said in that sultry voice of hers.
Sam forgot about rabbits and dogs and little boys. He forgot about the motorcycle helmet tottering in the gravel back by the garage—forgot about escaping. Denim jeans melded to Dixie Rae's legs like they'd been custom woven for her shapely limbs.
She squatted and the denim tightened across her knees and up her thighs. "Sam?"
He loved how that throaty voice said his name. He loved it almost as much as the way one blouse button strained across—
"You okay?" She brushed a hank of hair out of his eyes, her fingertips tickling his forehead. He'd happily lie at her feet for as long as she touched him like that.
He grinned. "Never better."
"You sure you're okay? You hit the ground pretty hard."
"Ground. Hard. Yeah," he said through a sigh, reality slow to hit him. But when it did...
"Jeez, the kid's rabbit!" Sam was half way to his feet when he spotted the rabbit grazing on clover under the apple tree mid-oasis, the dog nose to tail with him.
"No," Sam wailed, reeling toward the furry pair.
But once again, rabbit and dog were faster than man. Checkers spun, reared up, and batted Bear on the nose. With a yelp, the Great Dane crumpled back onto his hindquarters.
With a grimace, Sam checked his forward momentum. "I should have known you'd own the Arnold Schwartzeneger of rabbits."
"Checkers grew up with dogs," Dixie said, moving to his side, her eyes twinkling with silent laughter.
"He didn't grow up with the kind of dogs I grew up with," Sam countered, brushing dirt from his jacket sleeve.
Following the movement of his hand, Dixie's eyes dimmed and she plucked a blade of grass from his jacket above where his heart would have been…had he had one. Clearly he didn't or he wouldn't be sneaking off and causing disappointment to shade across those cornflower blue eyes as realization dawned on her. He winced.
"Kind of warm out to be wearing your motorcycle jacket," she murmured and looked him in the eye.
And getting hotter by the minute.
Her eyes cut to the garage door where his helmet and duffel lay. Damn, why hadn't he just set the kid aside, shooed the dog off, and hopped onto his bike? Now he'd have to run the gauntlet of excuses why he couldn't stay, none of which would be the truth…unless he confessed that he'd come here under Stuart's orders...not to mention he was far too attracted to her to be decent.
"I hope you were going to say good-bye before you left," she said, her purr a tad tight.
"Sure. Of course." He stared at the red toes of Dixie's footwear—boots this time, which was about as close to looking her in the eye as he could manage. Maybe if she didn't see into his eyes, she wouldn't see the lie in him.
But the seconds stretched and he knew he hadn't fooled Dixie Rae one iota. He shoved his hands into his pockets and confessed.
"I was sneaking off."
"Poor Sam."
He blinked at Dixie—gaped at her. Hardly the response he'd expected.
"You don't need to sneak off from us, Sam." She brushed at the dust on his sleeve. "You can come and go here as you please." She turned his hand over, her fingers light on his wrist, her thumb soft against the grass stain on the heel of his hand.
If she kept touching him like that, his pleasure would all be in the staying. Was that her plan, entice him with provocative caresses?
One corner of her lips tugged further upward as though she knew her secret was out. "Just making sure I'm not sending you off with any of my gravel imbedded in your hand. Blame the mother in me."
"The mother, huh?"
Her crooked smile stretched further still. "That's what mothers do."
"Not mine," he answered without thinking.
The flirtatious curl of Dixie's lips slipped and the message in her eyes couldn't have been clearer if she'd said it aloud, poor Sam.
He should be disturbed by her pity. He should be so shamed by it that he couldn't face her—that he'd all the more need to leave. But he couldn't turn away, couldn't stop exploring the sympathy in Dixie's eyes. Suddenly he wasn't so sure he wanted to leave the world of a woman who knew what it was like to be cast out by the Carringtons.
"You said the restaurant was closed Mondays," he said. "So I knew you wouldn't need a chef tomorrow."
"I'll have all day to talk Carl into coming back."
He had no doubt she could talk any man into anything.
"Besides, I've already imposed on you enough," she added.
"We already had this discussion. I'm family, remember? Besides, it was fun."
"Good." Her lips curled into their seductive smile and her hand in his warm—comfortably so, invitingly so.
Ask me to stay.
"We'll miss you."
Don't send me away.
"Come visit us any time you want."
Would it count as a visit if he drove down the road a few miles, then turned around and came back?
"I'd love for Ben to get to know you better."
Ben. The kid...who was rolling around the grass with Checkers and Bear at the moment. That's whom she'd invited him to visit. Not her. Sam forced a smile. "I'm not much of a role model for kids."
She tugged at the front of his jacket. "Boys need a little rebel in their lives, especially little boys who live in a household full of women."
Rebel? Him? That label was for men who didn't care what others thought of them. That wasn't him. He cared, especially about what Dixie thought. Dixie who was giving him an out—an excuse to change his mind and stay. Why didn't he jump at it?
Because his staying would have nothing to do with the kid. The kid was safe and happy. He knew that now. He could see it in the way Dixie cared for her son.
Dixie's fingers spread across his forearm. "Thanks again for helping out in the restaurant. I don't know what I'd have done without you this morning."
"You'd have managed."
"Not without more than a few singed edges."
"Couldn't let that happen."
"Not to Michael's wife, huh?"
"Not to any woman as fair and beautiful as you."
"Careful there, Sam. You'll turn my head." She looped her arm through his, walking him toward the helmet
and duffel that lie in the dust like his wasted past. "Sorry we had so little time to visit."
"Me, too," he murmured, aware he wasn't just being polite in his answer, willing her to remind him if he stayed they'd have all day tomorrow to share stories about Mickey.
They stopped and Dixie snatched up the helmet and handed it to him. "Have a safe trip."
Ben squeezed in between them, peered up at his mother, and said, "Want to go fo' a moto'cycle ride with Sam."
She looked Sam in the eye, her smile stretching a little. "I wouldn't mind taking a ride with Sam myself."
The idea of Dixie's arms wrapped around his waist and her curves pressed into his back made him itch in places he hadn't scratched in a while. He shifted from one foot to the other.
Her smile faded. "The open road in front of you and the wind in your face, right Sam?"
And responsibility left behind in the dust. That's what she was probably thinking, not that she'd have been wrong. Still, he couldn't fully admit his biggest failing to Dixie, however obvious it was, and he shrugged.
She flashed him a sympathetic smile and said to her son. "Maybe next time Sam visits he'll give us a ride on his motorcycle."
Sam wanted to shout for her not to give the child empty hope. There would be no next time. Not if he left now.
Dixie's arm slid out of Sam's and settled around her son's shoulders. She pulled Ben in front of her, held him there against her legs as she smiled and tilted her head from one side to the other.
"We'll miss you," she said.
"You already said that."
"Some things are worth repeating."
He nudged the duffel with his toe, trying to figure why he couldn't just tell her he'd changed his mind—that he wanted to stay.
She ruffled Ben's hair. "Say good-bye to Sam."
Ben stretched his arms up at him…as Sam had so often reached out to his uncle. Sam hoisted the kid in his arms the way Stuart had never done him. Ben folded his arms around Sam's neck and squeezed. The child was so small, his arms thin and his back narrow. Yet, the power in that hug took Sam's breath away. Had Stuart finally figured out this was what he'd denied himself all these years? Is this why Stuart wanted the child?
Finding Home (St. John Sibling Series Book 2) Page 6
