Currant Creek Valley. RaeAnne Thayne

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      Ten minutes later, the result was two perfectly cooked burgers, spiced just right and the buns toasted. Frankie deigned to drag them through the garden for her—one of her favorite diner slang terms for topping it with condiments—and even added some of The Speckled Lizard’s signature crisp, fresh-cut fries.

      She carried them out and found Sam sitting at a quiet booth, a bottle of one of the local brews open in front of him.

      “Sorry about the wait. I had to sweet-talk the cook. She can be a little territorial about her grill.”

      “You cooked this?”

      She knew she shouldn’t find such satisfaction from the surprise and, yes, delight in his eyes. “Frankie’s great, don’t get me wrong, but I have my own preference when it comes to my burgers.”

      “I really didn’t mean to put you to work.”

      She slid into the booth across from him and picked up her napkin. “I was hungry, too, as you can see. Anyway, I like to feed people. It’s kind of a thing with me.”

      As a relatively self-aware woman, she didn’t need months of psychotherapy to explore the reason. When she was a girl, she had loved cooking for her whole family but especially for her dad. As the youngest girl, she had been the proverbial apple of her father’s eye. They had bonded over grilled cheese sandwiches and pancakes at first and as she’d gotten older, she had expanded her repertoire and tried new things, always to gratifying raves from her father.

      She had figured out a long time ago that she was compelled to feed people in some vain hope of making them love her enough to stay this time.

      Not that she wanted Sam Delgado to stay anywhere. Sometimes a meal was simply a meal, right?

      He took a bite of the burger and an expression of pure bliss crossed those rugged features. “I do believe that just might be the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted.”

      She laughed, pushing away all thoughts of her childhood. “Oh, you poor man. If that’s the case, I have so much to teach you.”

      The burger was good, she had to admit, with the bun toasted just right, the flavors of meat and good sauce harmonizing together perfectly.

      He took a few more bites, concentrating all his attention to the meal. She didn’t mind. She did love a man who knew how to enjoy his food.

      Finally he set the second half of the burger down as if he wanted to prolong the pleasure and wiped at his mouth. “So, Alexandra, what do you do in Hope’s Crossing besides cook very delicious burgers?”

      Very few people called her Alexandra anymore. In school, all her teachers had used the full version of her name, as well as the principal, with whom she had been entirely too well acquainted.

      Then later Marco had also used her given name, during their time together. In his heavily accented English, her name had sounded exotic and extravagant.

      To everyone else, from her family to her wide circle of friends to the men she dated, she had been just plain Alex as long as she could remember, though her mother still sometimes went for Alexandra Renee when she was exasperated with her.

      She liked the way Sam said her name and decided not to correct him.

      Cooking was who she was, what she did, so it took her a moment to figure out how to answer him.

      “I like to cross-country ski and snowboard,” she finally said. “I just bought my first house a few months ago and I’ve been fixing it up the way I like it. Nothing of the scale you do, of course, just new paint, furniture, that kind of thing.”

      “What about in the summer?”

      Did he really want to know about her or was he simply being polite, laying the groundwork for what he hoped might eventually be a seduction? It was always a hard call on a first date. Not that this was a date, she reminded herself firmly.

      “I hike. Mountain bike. Garden. Hang out with my family and friends.”

      “Your family lives close, then?”

      “Just about all of them. I come from a pretty big family. Six kids. My mother and four of us children still live here in Hope’s Crossing. Two of my sisters live out of state, one in California and one in Utah.”

      “Wow. Six kids. Seriously? That must have been crazy. I can’t even imagine having that kind of family.”

      “It has its moments. Some bad but most of them good. We McKnights are all pretty close. Amazingly, we all get along. Except Riley, the only brother. He can still be a pest sometimes. It doesn’t help that now he’s a pest with a badge.”

      “Right. You mentioned he was the police chief.”

      It took her a minute to remember she had threatened him with calling her brother when she thought Sam was breaking into the restaurant the day before. Heat soaked her cheeks and she really hoped she wasn’t blushing. She never blushed.

      “What about you?” she asked, to distract him from remembering what an idiot she had been. “Do you come from a big family?”

      “One brother, that’s it. He lives in Denver with his wife and kids. That’s where my s...” His voice trailed off. “My stuff is. I’m between places.”

      She had the distinct impression he meant to say something else. What? She had a zero-tolerance policy for deception in a man.

      “So how long have you been out of the Rangers?”

      “Three years.”

      Now, there was a verbose answer. Did his clipped tone indicate a hot button?

      “What did you do for the Rangers?”

      He took another bite of the burger and a drink of beer before answering. “Oh, the usual. Kick butt, take names, general mayhem.”

      He spoke in that same clipped tone, but she saw a little muscle quirk at the edge of his mouth as if he were working to hold back a smile.

      She really liked Sam Delgado.

      Too bad.

      “General mayhem, hmm. I imagine building my kitchen must seem fairly tame to a guy like you, then.”

      “Not really. You’d be surprised how satisfying it can be to set those stainless-steel countertops exactly how the customer, in this case you, envisioned.”

      No trace of sarcasm or irony there. He was dead serious, she realized. She very much respected a man who enjoyed his work.

      “Why did you leave the Rangers?” she persisted. The routes people took in their lives to bring them to a certain point in time endlessly fascinated her.

      “Didn’t really have a choice at the time.” Again, the clipped tone.

      “Conscientious objector or dishonorable discharge?”

      He laughed roughly. “Anybody ever tell you you’ve СКАЧАТЬ