Mr. Congeniality

by Sherry Lewis

  The dismissal ignited a spark somewhere deep inside of Annie. “Gary hasn’t told me what my duties include,” she said before Dean could get away. She was through letting someone else call the shots while she reacted, and she wasn’t about to let Dean Sheffield—or anyone else—think she could be pushed around. “According to your meal plan, you’ll want three meals a day for staff and guests. How many people will that be?”

  Dean turned back reluctantly. “That will vary. We have twelve cabins. Each can hold up to four people. If we’re full, that’s forty-eight guests and a staff of seven, counting you and your daughter. But we won’t always be full.”

  “So I’ll be feeding between seven and fifty-something people on any given day?”

  “That’s right. You’ll know in advance, of course.”

  “Fine. And who do I see if I encounter a problem?”

  Dean’s gaze lifted to hers and locked there for the first time. The expression in his dark brown eyes startled her. It seemed aggressive and vulnerable at the same time. “You can see either Irma or Gary.”

  His gaze was so disconcerting, Annie’s gaze was the one that faltered this time. “Perfect. Thank you.” She started up the stairs, then turned back. “One last question. Where do I find you if I need to discuss something with you?”

  He looked at her for a long moment, and she could have sworn she saw uncertainty flicker in his eyes. But the expression disappeared in a heartbeat and his eyes grew distant. He turned away and tossed his answer over his shoulder.

  “You won’t.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  IT TOOK ALL THE SELF-CONTROL Dean had not to check behind him as he strode away from Annie. That anyone could look so much like another person was uncanny. Unbelievable. And one of the worst shocks he’d ever received.

  Nothing Gary had said had prepared him for meeting Annie Holladay. Her blond hair had been pulled back, but he knew those barely controlled curls would cascade beyond her shoulders if they were turned loose. She was the right height—or the wrong one, depending on your point of view—reaching barely to his shoulder. And those sky-blue eyes…

  It had taken several seconds for Dean to realize that he wasn’t staring at Hayley. He didn’t think his heart had realized it yet.

  It wasn’t just her looks that left him shaken. She moved with that peculiar grace that he’d only found before in women who’d been raised with a sense of taste and culture. Women like Hayley. The kind of woman who was used to eating—and apparently cooking—gourmet food. She even wore the same scent, for hell’s sake…or something close to it.

  His hand trembled as he opened the door to his office, and the shaking spread to his legs as he shut himself inside. He sank into the chair behind his desk and ran a hand across his face while he tried to process what had just happened.

  He’d reacted badly. He knew that, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself. He’d been doing a lot of physical work lately, pushing himself too hard. The resulting pain in his shoulder served as a constant reminder not just of the car crash, but of her. So even though logic had told him he was talking to a stranger, he had felt the old hurt, anger and frustration in every word he’d said.

  Gary should have warned him…but, of course, Gary had never met Hayley. He couldn’t have known. But there was no way Dean could spend the summer with that woman under his roof. Every time he looked at her, he’d remember the three years he’d spent with Hayley. Every time she spoke, he’d think about their disagreements and he’d relive the pain of Hayley walking out on him just two months after the accident.

  Those memories were better left in the past.

  He closed his eyes and tried not to see Annie Holladay’s image as it swam in front of his eyes. But over and over again, he relived the kick in the gut he’d received when he came around the corner and saw her standing there.

  He didn’t want Annie underfoot all summer, but he couldn’t send her away. Gary was one of the few friends he had. Dean didn’t want to offend him. And the ranch was already running on a skeleton crew. He couldn’t afford to lose even one person.

  Well, he’d been good at separating his personal and professional lives before. He’d just have to dredge up those old skills and put them to use again.

  As far as he was concerned, the less time he spent around his new chef, the better off he’d be.

  ANNIE STARED AT THE LUGGAGE piled against her wall and tried to figure out how she could possibly survive for an entire summer in the tiny room she’d been assigned. The room was clean and bright, but it was barely large enough to hold a single bed, a wooden chair in front of a minuscule writing table, and a narrow four-drawer dresser that doubled as a nightstand. Then again, with that incredible room downstairs, she probably wouldn’t be spending a whole lot of time up here.

  Determined not to let disappointment throw her off track, she concentrated on figuring out where Gary had put the bag that held her cookbooks. Not that she’d need them. If she followed Dean’s meal plan, she could probably find every recipe she’d need all summer in one good women’s magazine.

  As Annie leaned over to pick up her heaviest suitcase, the door to her room flew open. She glanced up in surprise to find Nessa glaring at her from the doorway.

  The girl strode inside and flopped onto Annie’s bed with a sigh that seemed to have come up from the soles of her feet. “I think Gary’s right about the whittling and spitting. Do you realize they don’t even have a TV here?”

  Annie yanked the suitcase free of the pile. “Are you sure? Maybe they have one downstairs.”

  “I checked. Dean doesn’t want one.” Nessa shoved a hand beneath her head and frowned up at the ceiling. “This is going to be one boring summer.”

  Annie straightened and tried to catch her breath. “I know you’re disappointed, but we just got here and I’m exhausted. Let’s get through today and worry about the rest tomorrow, okay? I’ll ask Gary to take us into town in the morning and maybe we’ll find some things there to keep you occupied.”

  Nessa lifted her head slightly. “Like what?”

  “You brought your boom box, didn’t you?”

  Nessa nodded miserably. “I can lie on my bed and listen to CDs, but I don’t have that many with me.”

  “Then we’ll try to find some new ones in town. I’m sure we’ll find other things, too. Have you checked out the bookshelf downstairs?”

  Nessa shook her head. “Not yet.”

  “Well, maybe there’ll be some books you’ll enjoy there. And we’ll buy paper and pens so you can write letters to your friends….” Annie let her voice trail away as if the list were endless, but the truth was she couldn’t think of any other possibilities off the top of her head, and she didn’t want to suggest something they wouldn’t be able to find in Whistle River.

  “I can write letters and tell them what?” Nessa rolled onto her side and propped her chin in her hand. “That I’m lying on my bed listening to cowboy music and counting the holes in the ceiling?”

  Annie tried to hang on to her rapidly fraying patience. “Tell them whatever you want to. When they write back, you’ll have things from home to talk about.”

  “They’ll be too busy having fun to write,” Nessa predicted dourly. “Please tell me you aren’t going to make us stay here all summer. We don’t even have our own bathrooms.”

  Annie didn’t want Nessa to see the disappointment she’d felt when Irma showed her the facilities a few minutes earlier. “I’ll admit it’s not as convenient as having a bathroom of our own, or even one on the same floor. But Irma told me that she and her husband live in town, so you and I will be the only staff members using the women’s room.”

  “Yeah, but it’s the principle of the thing. These rooms are like…” Nessa waved a hand through the air, searching for the word she wanted. “They’re like barracks.”

  “At least they’re clean and so is the bathroom.”

  Nessa let out another overly dramatic sigh. “That’s not the point
.”

  Their long day of travel and her encounter with Dean had frazzled Annie’s nerves. Nessa’s complaint snapped the last thread. “And what is the point? If you’re trying to convince me to send you back to Chicago, save your breath. I’m not going to let you throw in the towel after only a few minutes.”

  Nessa fell back on the bed and flung an arm over her eyes. “I want to go home. I want both of us to go home.”

  “I’m not leaving, and neither are you.” Annie scowled at her determined daughter, at the stubborn lift of her narrow chin and the set of her shoulders. She took out her frustrations by opening her suitcase and busily filling the dresser with socks and underwear. “Try to view this as a new experience. Take walks. Learn about nature. Practice volleyball. Do something besides complain all day, honey, or you’ll end up making us both miserable and I won’t be able to do my job.”

  “Come on, Mom. You don’t need this job.”

  “We need money to live on until I start teaching at the culinary institute,” Annie reminded her. “And I need some time with you.” She slammed the drawer shut and turned back to face her daughter. “You might think that letting you live with your dad is no big deal, but it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever been asked to do. Harder than finding out that your dad was seeing Catherine. Harder than watching the court dissolve my marriage after sixteen years. Harder than applying to the culinary institute and starting over with a new career.” She dashed tears from her eyes angrily and turned back to her suitcase. “Maybe you’re ready to say goodbye to me, but I need a little more time before I’m ready.”

  Nessa sat up quickly, eyes wide. “Then stay in Chicago. I’d rather live with you, anyway. I’d rather live with you and Dad together than with either of you alone.”

  Annie sank to the foot of the bed and grabbed her daughter’s hands. “That’s not going to happen, sweetheart. The divorce will be final by the end of the summer and you’re going to have to accept it.” She squeezed Nessa’s hands gently. “I know how frightening it is to make changes, but wishing won’t bring back the life we had. Your dad’s with Catherine now, and I’ve told you how hard it is for me to work around them.”

  Nessa dropped her head. “I know. But he isn’t going to stay with Catherine. I know he won’t. He loves you, not her.”

  Annie shook her head firmly. “Love can’t exist without respect and trust.” And the way Spence had handled the affair, his complete lack of remorse, had killed both. “Even if he broke up with Catherine tomorrow,” Annie said, “our relationship is over. I could never trust him again. But let’s not argue, okay? There’s not enough time for that. Can’t we just forget about everything that’s wrong with the Eagle’s Nest and have a great summer together? Even if there are some things we don’t like. Even if we have to share a bathroom, and go outside to shower, and get along without a TV while we’re here?”

  She held her breath while Nessa pondered that suggestion. After only a few seconds Nessa sent her a lopsided grin. “I’ll try. But it’d sure be easier if you’d chosen a dude ranch with cute guys on it.”

  Annie let out a relieved laugh and pulled her daughter close for a hug. “Sorry. You’ll have to talk to Gary about that.” She held Nessa at arm’s length. “Who knows? Maybe getting rid of all the distractions for one summer will be good for both of us. It’ll give us a chance to concentrate on each other before we have to say goodbye.”

  “I guess you’re right.”

  “So it’s a deal? No distractions?”

  “Sure.”

  Annie suspected Nessa wasn’t one-hundred-percent committed, but she didn’t care. As long as Nessa was still here, she had time. And that’s all she cared about.

  THAT EVENING, DEAN PUSHED open the kitchen door and checked the dining area of the lodge’s great room. Since Annie had arrived only a few hours earlier, Irma had volunteered to fix dinner, and Dean had to admit that she’d done a bang-up job. The aromas in the kitchen were making him almost sick with hunger, and he hadn’t ever imagined the lodge could look so spectacular.

  Irma had set the long pine table with a white tablecloth and napkins. Candles in tin holders alternated down the table’s center with Mason jars full of wildflowers. The soft glow of candles filled the room with golden light and shadow.

  He inched the door open a little wider and found Annie and Nessa sitting in matching wing chairs near the window. Annie sat primly, hands in her lap, speaking softly to her daughter. She wore silk pants and an expensive-looking pink sweater—exactly right for dinner with friends in a high-rise apartment but all wrong for the mountains of Montana.

  Nessa wore baggy jeans and a gray hooded sweatshirt. She’d curled in the chair beside her mother’s, wearing an expression that was either bored or irritated, Dean couldn’t tell which.

  He turned back into the kitchen and let the door swing shut behind him. Irma had stopped working and stood near the sink, frowning at a piece of lettuce over the rims of her wire glasses. In all the years he’d known her, Dean had never seen Irma wearing anything but jeans rolled up at the cuff and plaid shirts—cotton in the warm months, flannel when it was cold.

  She was the kind of low-maintenance woman he’d come to appreciate since leaving Baltimore. She kept her salt-and-pepper hair cut short, and Dean doubted she’d ever worn makeup—a far cry from Hayley, who wouldn’t even check the mail without first spending an hour in front of the mirror. Judging by that getup Annie Holladay was wearing, she probably wouldn’t, either.

  Not that Dean cared. All he needed was for Annie to do her job without bothering him. The rest would take care of itself.

  He crossed the kitchen and filched a radish from the relish tray. “Everything looks great and smells better,” he told Irma. “Are you almost ready?”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be.” She pushed a lock of hair out of her eyes with the back of her hand. “I’ve never cooked for a gourmet chef before. Hope this is good enough.”

  “It’s fine,” Dean assured her. “More than fine. If she doesn’t like it, she can fix her own dinner.” He took another radish and would have followed it with a carrot if Irma hadn’t slapped his hand away.

  “Quit snitching my food,” she snarled. “And quit being such a sourpuss. You’ve been in a foul mood all afternoon.”

  Reflective, not sour. But Dean didn’t want to explain the difference. “Only because I waited too long to take a pain pill,” he fibbed. “I’m fine now.”

  “Uh-huh.” Irma gave him a quick once-over and turned back to her dinner. “We’ll see.”

  Dean stole a piece of cauliflower from the salad and popped it into his mouth. “Before you serve dinner, let me load a plate, okay? I’m going to eat in my office.”

  Irma stopped working. “Oh?”

  “I have a ton of paperwork to do.”

  Irma motioned for Dean to hand her an oven mitt and bent to pull a pan of biscuits from the oven. “If you don’t stop picking at the food, you won’t need a plate at all. And you can’t take a plate into your office. You have guests.”

  “They’re not guests, they’re employees,” Dean reminded her. “And they’re doing fine without me.”

  The heat from the biscuits made Irma’s glasses slide down her nose. She nudged them back with one finger. “They’re new folks under your roof. You shouldn’t be ignoring them.”

  “I’ve met them both, what more do you want me to do?” Dean knew he’d spoken too harshly. He softened his voice and forced a smile. “All I want is to eat dinner in my office while I finish some paperwork. What’s wrong with that?”

  “It’s an excuse.” Irma set the biscuits aside to cool and pulled a basket from an overhead cupboard. “I don’t know what it’s an excuse for, but it is one.” She leaned against the counter and stared into his eyes. “What’s your problem, anyway? Annie and her daughter seem nice enough.”

  “I’m sure they are.”

  “So, why are you avoiding them?”

  “I’m not. I’m busy.”<
br />
  “You had time to shoot the breeze with Les for an hour this afternoon, but you’re too busy to sit down for dinner? I don’t believe it. Whatever’s on your mind, I suggest you un-busy yourself and get your hindquarters into the other room. There’ll be no plates anywhere but the dining room tonight.”

  Dean pushed away from the counter. He should be used to her bossing him as if he were one of her own sons, but tonight it rubbed him the wrong way. “I’m not a child, Irma. I’ll eat wherever I like.”

  “Not while I’m in charge of the kitchen, you won’t.”

  “Are you forgetting who signs the paychecks around here?”

  She planted her fists on her hips and straightened her spine. “Are you going to let me forget?”

  “I hadn’t planned on it.”

  “Well then, I guess I won’t.” She turned away and flapped a hand as if she’d lost interest. “Fire me if you want to. Makes no difference to me. But you and I both know there’s nothing that needs doing so badly that you can’t take time for dinner. So unless there’s some other reason you don’t want to sit down with the rest of us, I suggest you try acting civilized and get out there.”

  Dean could have given her a reason, but he knew what Irma would say if he did. He’d already endured one too many of her lectures about holding on to painful pieces of the past.

  Grumbling under his breath, he shoved through the door into the main room. When every head turned toward him, he pasted on a smile and headed toward the bar, where Gary was already mixing a drink for him.

  “Thanks,” he mumbled when Gary slid a glass toward him.

  Gary wiped his hands and tossed the towel onto the bar. “Nice of you to join us.”

  Dean glared at him. “Save it, okay? Irma’s already given me enough grief for one night.” He sipped and set his glass down. “Why are you playing bartender?”