Stef Ann Holm, Lucy Back [paper ebook reader .TXT] 📗

reflections from the slow-moving disco ball glittering across its smooth black surface. He felt as if he was coming down with some sickness. His stomach roiled from the tomato juice he drank. He worried his thumbs.

“That Lucy Carpenters got a client today,” he said aloud, the words souring his already aggravated belly. “Did anyone hear about her sample menu?”

The sparse details annoyed Raul’s stomach even further. He didn’t lack for confidence, but if she got one client, she might get another….

“Why would we know that?” Opal asked.

Furrowing his brow, Raul said, “This town is like a gossip ship. Information lands in all ports—from the hotel bars to the ice cream parlor.”

“I haven’t heard,” Lloyd commented.

Raul pursed his full lips glumly, trying to figure a way out of the creative slump he felt himself slipping into. This was totally unlike him to let a newcomer worry him.

Then a brilliant idea hit! Like an explosion of flavors on his tongue, he tasted victory. “I know what to do! I wan’ you to book a sample menu night with Lucy and tell me what you think of her cooking. Get the recipes and report in to the Raul.”

Grimaces abounded and Opal spoke first. “I don’t need any personal chef, Raul. I cook all day myself and take home plenty from the restaurant.”

Lloyd’s palm rested on his generous stomach. “My doctor’s putting me on a low-fat restricted diet to help me lose a few pounds.”

Raul had never known Lloyd to be weight conscious. “What does that have to do with anyting?”

“All right then,” Lloyd retorted. “I got a bit of a spastic colon issue and I can’t be eating certain foods right now. I’m not about to have that pretty lady come over and me tell her, ‘Sorry there, sis, but I can’t eat that—it’ll give me gas.’”

Raul frowned, but was not defeated. There had to be a way to get a sample of Lucy’s cooking.

“So just who is this client she’s going to be cooking for that has you all riled up?” Opal nibbled on a bowl of buttered and heavily salted popcorn that had been brought to their table. Microwavable with fake flavoring. Raul wouldn’t touch it. Peasant food.

“A Californiano.”

“A what?” Lloyd scrunched his face. “What the hell’s that?”

“The Dickensons from Californias. They moved up here with a big cash flow, but I don’ know what he does for his job. He knows Tolman. Drew Tolman is like that freakin’ E. H. Hutton guy on the commercials. He talks and everyone listens. Damn Californians.”

“Yeah, damn Californians with all their bucks,” Lloyd snipped, then remembered a tidbit. “Hey, Raul. Aren’t you from California?”

“La Puente.”

“Where in the hell is that?”

“C’hew don’ want to know.”

The three of them voiced various opinions on the Californians in Idaho, then tired of that topic and switched gears to discuss whether or not Opal should expand her parking lot.

Raul listened, but only when his name was mentioned did he add to the conversation. These Dickensons could be big trouble for him. If one went over, then another would follow….

And Raul Nunez had had the market on the chef business in Red Duck and Timberline far too long to let any of his clientele slip away. No. He was the best.

This was the Raul’s town.

Seventeen

The Wood River Tigers were playing the Sun Valley Cubs in a doubleheader. Drew sat in the dugout and rallied the boys around for a pep talk. They’d just won the first game three-to-one and, with a break in between, they wolfed down fast food for lunch.

The red-clay floor was dotted with spilled fries, soda pop cups and empty wrappers. Drew’s stomach growled. He hadn’t packed a lunch, and didn’t have someone to bring him in food like the boys did.

The parents were really good about keeping their boys fed, while the coach was on his own. Usually Drew stopped by Opal’s and had her make him a sandwich, but this morning, his mind had been completely elsewhere. Not on Little League baseball, though he’d been doing his damnedest to keep it here.

Mackenzie was coming into town at 5:45 p.m.

Drew was nervous as all hell. He had to drive into Hailey to pick her up at the airport, and he didn’t want to be late. If the second game went as fast as the first, he could be out of the field by 4:00 p.m., head home and shower, then make it on time.

“Nutter, good fielding,” Drew said, clapping with enthusiasm.

Nutter nodded, stuffing a bite of Big Mac into his mouth, then talked around it. “Thanks, Coach.”

“You’ve got mayonnaise on your face, dummy,” Ryan said to Nutter.

Using the back of his stained uniform sleeve, Nutter took care of it.

For the next game, Drew needed two of his players to switch gloves. He was moving their positions in the hopes he could get the game moving and his players motivated…and all done quickly.

Jason Carpenter worked a pine tar rag over his bat handle and disregarded the lunch Lucy had made for him. Drew eyed the thick turkey sandwich and his stomach growled. He’d had her cook for him three times now, and he’d made a referral to some friends of his who lived in the estates. They’d hired her. She’d been grateful.

But not so grateful that she let him kiss her again.

He’d spent some time thinking back on that kiss. Actually, in the moments when he wasn’t planning for Mackenzie’s arrival, he did a lot of thinking about Lucy. He liked her. More than he cared to admit to himself, much less to her. Wanting to be with Lucy wasn’t about his usual chase and catch, love and leave approach that had worked so well in the past. That had gotten him many women, but it had also come with a lot of emptiness the next day.

Lucy was different. He felt different around her. She wasn’t a woman to screw over—not that he would intentionally do so. But if he was with her, it had