Finding Home (St. John Sibling Series Book 2)

by Barbara Raffin

  And to make his point, he reeled back from her, turned, and escaped through the door between kitchens, leaving her alone with her arguments.

  Leaving himself still wanting to scoop her up and carry her off to bed.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Sam had made it clear. Corner him and he'd run. She didn't want him to run. She wanted him to stay and for reasons far beyond his chef's skills.

  So she'd kept her distance…as much as a restaurant owner could from her chef. But she hadn't stopped trying to figure out how to convince him there was nothing wrong with their feelings for each other. At least interviewing two potential chef candidates forced them together. It hadn't taken much to convince Sam she needed his input in evaluating them.

  The first candidate, an experienced cook, had come in yesterday at end of day's service. The second, a young man fresh out of culinary school, came in today. The young man had just finished demonstrating his knife skills with an onion.

  "Looks uniform to me," Dixie said as she looked overt the pile of chopped onion. "What do you think, Sam?"

  Sam stepped closer and poked through the pile, all business. He nodded. "Good. Uniform."

  "Okay," Dixie said. "Let's try some cooking."

  She leaned back against the dish-washing station next to where Sam had settled so as to give the kid space to cook. She could feel the heat of Sam's body, smell the scents of herbs and spices clinging to him. The man didn't need aftershave, not as long as he had a kitchen.

  He moved away from her. Because he too felt the draw? Because it made him uncomfortable?

  Or did he move just to get a better view of the young man working her flattop. She'd given the chef an order that would test his time management skills as well as how he did with one her menu mainstays. French fries, cheeseburger with toasted bun, and fried onions.

  She watched the kid cook, but it was Sam her attention fixed on. He had spoken little to her since the kiss. Avoided her. And he no longer laughed, at least not with her. She sorely missed the old Sam.

  The kid placed a plate on the prep table in front of them, his hand shaking.

  "Nicely arranged," Dixie said, eyeing the plate.

  "The fries are dripping with oil," Sam said. "Your oil wasn't hot enough."

  "I realized that too late," the kid said.

  Dixie lifted the top of the bun. "The cheese is perfectly melted."

  "Nice caramelizing on the onions," Sam said.

  But before she even cut the burger in half, she knew the kid had grilled the life out of it. She sighed. She favored the kid over the experienced cook they'd interviewed the day before.

  "Jessie, the burger is overdone—dry. I take pride in serving juicy burgers."

  "I took too much time trying to brown the fries." He glanced in Sam's direction. "Because I didn't have the fryer hot enough. It threw off my timing and, as a result, my burger was on the grill too long." The kid hung his head. "Guess I blew it."

  "Don't be too quick to write yourself off, Jessie," Dixie said. "You took responsibility for your error and I appreciate that."

  The kid's head came up. "You're known for your omelets, too. I make great omelets. Give me a full breakfast order and I'll prove I can cook to your standards and manage my time."

  "Sounds like you took the time to learn our menu," Sam said.

  The kid glanced between them. "Isn't that what anyone applying for a chef's job would do?"

  "Yes," said Dixie, exchanging a glance with Sam. Their first chef candidate hadn't known anything about The Farmhouse before arriving for his interview.

  "So," the kid ventured. "Can I cook an omelet for you?"

  "Sure," Dixie said. "Cook us an omelet…and a sunny-side up egg, pancakes, and sides of bacon, sausage links, and hash browns."

  The kid grinned, turned, and threw himself into the task of preparing her order. She gave him props for fighting for this job. If only she could get Sam to fight for what he needed…wanted.

  #

  After Jessie left, they sat at a table in the empty dining room, Dixie with the application of the two chef prospects and her notes, Sam with his regrets.

  "What do you think?" she asked him.

  I think I want you more than breath. But you want—deserve a man who will take responsibility for his errors. A reminder of her standards, thanks to her comment to Jessie.

  "They both have their strengths and weaknesses," he said. "The kid has the skills but no practical experience." He tapped the other chef's application. "He's got the practical experience."

  "In a burger joint," she said.

  "He needs refining but he knows how to run a kitchen."

  "The kid cooks with love, Sam. You know what love adds to food."

  He looked at her—looked her in the eye for the first time in two days. He didn't want to address love in any form with her. "If we—you go with Jessie, I'll need to stick around until he learns how to run a kitchen."

  "The other guy needs to be brought up to speed on cooking just about anything beyond a burger and fries," she said. "Either way I could use your help training my next chef—would appreciate it if you'd stay a while longer and do the job."

  He drew a deep breath, a mistake as it pulled in the scents that he would always equate with Dixie…apples and cinnamon. "Looks like either one you choose, I still have a job to do."

  "Only if you're willing, Sam."

  He snorted. "Just don't sneak out on you, huh?"

  "Just tell me you've have enough and you're free to go," she said.

  Sounded good. Problem was he wasn't free. Never would be as long as the memory of Dixie Rae followed him. He shook his head.

  "I won't bail on you." Not until I've seen to it you have the right chef running your kitchen.

  "Thank you, Sam. How about each candidate cooks with you, one each of the next two days?"

  "Works for me."

  #

  Which brought them back to the same table at end of Friday service two days later.

  "I want to hire Jessie," she said.

  "I knew all along you'd hire him," Sam said, feeling an odd sense of regret that had nothing to do with which chef she hired and whole lot more to do with his time at The Farmhouse running out.

  Seeming to misread his silence as disagreement, she leaned toward him and thumped a finger pointedly against the tabletop. "He's got the passion for cooking."

  "Agreed."

  "He's trained in the basics."

  "Agreed."

  "He's eager to learn. He's like a sponge," Dixie said.

  "Agreed."

  "He needs this job."

  "They both need the job," Sam said, even though he knew she needed the upscale chef more than a run-of-the-mill cook who could run a kitchen—knowing she'd handle the kitchen business just fine on her own.

  "But Jessie needs that first job to get him started," she said.

  And there it was. What worried him most where Dixie was concerned.

  Sam leaned forward, bracing his forearms against the table. "Started being the key word here. You'll mentor him, teach him. He'll build a resume on your little restaurant and then move on."

  She lifted him a wobbly smile at him. "I know. It's what I do."

  He slumped back in his chair. Of course she knew that about herself. Still, he couldn't just leave her guiding herself by her big heart.

  "And when he leaves?" he asked.

  "Before he leaves, he'll train my next chef."

  "And then you'll let your little chick fly and you'll start over with another one."

  "I suppose that's what I'll do."

  "Is that what you've been doing with me?" Sam asked.

  She huffed. "Training you as a chef? Hardly."

  "You know what I mean. Fixing me so I can fly off like the rest of your little rehabbed chicks."

  She frowned. "I guess it sort of started that way."

  "Sort of?"

  She slanted a crooked smile at him. "My first thoughts upon seeing
you pressed against my leaded glass door that first night had nothing to do with rehab."

  "What were your first thoughts?" he asked even though he wasn't surprised. At that early moment of meeting, she hadn't known who he was—hadn't known about his wounded soul.

  A bit of the flirtatious Dixie glinted in her eye. "You cut a dashing figure, all flattened out before me. Kind of incited carnal thoughts."

  "Carnal?" He swallowed. No wonder he hadn't been able to keep his hands off her. With her being attracted to him, he'd been fighting a losing battle all along.

  She shrugged, a sheepishness dulling her flirty edge. "At least I had thoughts at that moment I hadn't entertained since Michael died."

  Sam winced. "You smartly pinned my ears back later that night when I got too fresh with you."

  "You were Michael's cousin" she said.

  "And it didn't feel right, did it?" he stated more than asked.

  "Among other things."

  "What else did there need to be?" he asked, belatedly regretting his question.

  "That first night, I was leery of why you came to The Farmhouse."

  "Aah." He leaned back in his seat. The root of the problem, the real reason he'd declared her hands off.

  "Why did you come here, Sam?"

  He should tell her Stuart had sent him. He should confess his deception—end this charade right now. But she still needed his help and, if he revealed what a snake in the grass he was, she'd send him on his way.

  Wrong. He couldn't confess because he couldn't face seeing how she'd look at him afterwards. He was coward.

  "Why, Sam?" she pressed. "Did you need something and you thought it might be us?"

  The possibility that she was right cut through his chest with the ease of a finely honed knife through Prime grade filet.

  She took his hands in hers. "If you need us, Sam. We're here for you. We'll always be here for you."

  Us? She didn't get it at all. He needed her.

  "I won't press you about the kiss. I won't talk anymore how Michael wanting you and me to be happy could translate into you and me together."

  "And what about you, Red?" he asked, wanting badly to slip his hands from hers and stroke her cheek the way she needed it stroked. "What do you need?"

  She released his hands, blinked. "I have my family. They're everything I need."

  She actually believed family was all she needed—that she'd be okay sacrificing her own needs to make him feel comfortable in her home.

  He shook his head. "Red, you're so busy taking care of everything and everyone else, you don't even think about what you need."

  #

  Twenty-four hours later, Dixie still couldn't stop thinking about what Sam had said to her. Absently, she dropped a napkin-rolled place setting onto the very dining room table where he'd accused her of not thinking about her own needs.

  Annie came up to her waving one of the wrapped sets of silverware. "Since when do we set five places at a table for four?"

  "Huh?"

  "Get it together, Cuz. We'll need all our wits to handle tonight's wedding reception."

  "Yeah. Sure," Dixie said, smoothing a wrinkle from the tablecloth, wanting everything to be perfect for the young couple who'd chosen her humble establishment for their modest reception.

  But it had already been a tedious day, but not because Saturday pretty was much a dawn to dusk workday what with dinner service added. The tension crackled between her and Sam whenever she entered the kitchen even with Jessie there to act as buffer between them. If Sam had thought calling her out on her penchant for putting everyone's wellbeing ahead of her own would end her attraction to him, he'd badly miscalculated their effect. She ached all the more for him because he was what she needed.

  Annie slung an arm around Dixie's shoulders. "You're not your usual perky self, Dix. What's up?"

  "Nothing really," Dixie demurred. "It's just, last evening, Sam said something that's got me thinking."

  Annie gave her a squeeze. "And that is?"

  Dixie tipped her head against Annie's. "He said I take care of everyone else before myself."

  "You do."

  "But it makes me happy."

  "I'm sure it usually does," Annie said. "But you haven't been your chipper self ever since you called me about kissing Sam. What went wrong?"

  Dixie dropped into a chair, her basket of silverware in her lap. "He said it wasn't a good idea, him and me. That I wasn't a one-night stand kind of girl."

  "How…responsible of him." Annie pulled out the chair around the corner from Dixie's, set her tray of coffee cups on the table and sat facing Dixie. "Did you tell him you knew he wouldn't be around forever—that even good girls can handle a one-night stand now and then?"

  "Yeah, but…"

  "You want more than a one-night stand," Annie stated. "You want Sam to be more than a transition guy."

  Dixie nodded. "And he clearly saw that."

  "And what, you think he's afraid of commitment?"

  Dixie slumped. "Sure. He's not a guy that sticks around anywhere too long. He's made that clear."

  "He's stuck around here for nearly a month and, you've got to admit, The Farmhouse isn't five star in anything but food and good, loving family."

  Dixie grunted. "I also think he's hung up on me being Michael's widow. He kept saying things like he wasn't the right guy for me."

  "And you're accepting that?"

  Dixie shrugged. "You'll recall I pretty much had the same questions about him and me and Michael."

  "So you're not even going to give him a chance?" Annie asked.

  Dixie blinked at her cousin, confused. "A chance for what?"

  "To come to the same conclusion you did, that Michael would readily give you two his blessings. To realize he, Sam, is doing the same thing you are, sacrificing his own happiness to protect the person he loves."

  #

  If there was the slightest chance Sam held her at bay because he thought he was protecting her, they had a lot more to talk about. That's how Dixie saw it. But they couldn't talk until after the restaurant closed, and the evening reception seemed to last forever. Then came cleanup, Jessie and Sam scrubbing down the kitchen, Annie and she clearing the dining rooms, and the twins running dishes through the washer.

  Dance music still played on the speaker mounted iPod, lending a lively beat to work to. Soon, the last dishes had been washed, the kitchen cleaned for next day service, and the rugs vacuumed. Everyone lent a hand setting up for Sunday brunch, the festive mood of wedding reception yet lingering.

  A particularly good dance beat blasted from the speakers and Annie grabbed Sam and danced him among the tables. The twins joined in. Nana and Ben emerged from the private quarters wanting to know what the commotion was all about and were soon dancing.

  Laughing, Dixie looked at Jessie. "Shall we?"

  He replied by boogying them to a space where they could move unencumbered.

  They all danced through a second song. The third was a slow number and Annie cut-in, taking Jessie from her. Dixie sighed, turned and found herself facing Sam. She slipped her arms around his neck and hugged herself against him, giving him no option but to put his arms around her.

  "What are you doing, Red?"

  "Snuggling in where I belong."

  "I'm not what you need," he said.

  "Shhh. It's just one dance."

  To Dixie's relief, he settled into their embrace, his arms warm, strong around her. They swayed in rhythm to the music—in rhythm to each other. They felt so right together. Did he feel it, too?

  "Sam," she said.

  "Yeah," he said, his tone full of uncertainty…regret.

  She looked up, looked into his sad eyes. "Yesterday you asked me who took care of me. It seems, Sam, that it's you."

  Sam's stomach dropped. This was so wrong. He tried to ease back from her. But she wouldn't release him.

  "You are my strength," she said.

  He couldn't let her believe that of him.
"You were strong enough on your own to fight off Stuart, move, and start a new business before I ever came along."

  "Since you came to The Farmhouse, everything's been easier for me."

  Much as he wanted to be the man she thought him to be, he wasn't. "I'm not reliable."

  "I've never seen that in you."

  "Didn't Mickey warn you about me?"

  "You've been reliable with me, Sam. What does that tell you?"

  Without thinking, he drew her close and swayed to the music for several beats before responding. "You and Mickey are the only two people who never demanded I be something I wasn't."

  "That's good, right?" she asked.

  He pressed his temple to hers. "I still let Mickey down."

  She started to shake her head. He lifted his and looked her in the eye.

  "Mickey wanted me to be his best man at your wedding and for me to run his restaurant kitchen."

  "You knew better about the restaurant," she said, "and he understood about the wedding."

  "Nobody should have to be understanding of my failings, Red, least of all Mickey or you. You need someone you can depend on."

  She gazed up at him, confidence shimmering in her eyes. "You've been dependable for me, Sam. You stepped in when I needed a chef. You stayed way longer than I had any right expecting you to. You stayed when things didn't go right. You even took over when I was having a minor melt-down and kept my kitchen running in top form."

  He laid his cheek against hers and whispered in her ear. "I'm a coward, Red. I couldn't even face Mickey's funeral."

  "You faced down Miss Weston when she laid hands on Ben," she said, her breath warm and reassuring against his ear.

  "What do you want from me, Red?"

  "I want you to give us a chance."

  He swallowed hard. "You need more than a guy passing in the night."

  "You're right," she said, pressing her cheek into his. "I need you to stay and be my strength and for you to let me be yours. We're good together."

  "I'll disappoint you, Red."

  "There'll be times I expect you will, as I will you," she murmured, her lips brushing his jaw. "But that's part of life. We'll work through those times."

  "What if I hurt you?"

  "I've survived a lot of bruises, Sam."