State Secrets. Linda Lael Miller

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      The traffic, as Holly had predicted, was terrible. The number of cars leaving the city was equaled only by the number of cars coming in, and the snow swirled and spiraled in front of the windshield, making it almost impossible to see.

      “We’re in hyperspace!” Toby cried in delight. Out of the corner of her eye, Holly saw Skyler grimace and tighten his grasp on the steering wheel.

      She let her head rest against the back of the seat and closed her eyes. Skyler Hollis was what her mother might have called a “catch,” with his good looks and his flourishing business, but his antipathy toward Toby, carefully hidden though it was, disturbed Holly. She wondered if he felt that way about all children or just her nephew in particular.

      An hour and a half later, when they had eaten at a roadside restaurant and were again on their way, Toby asleep in the back seat, she broached the subject. “Do you want children, Skyler?”

      He glanced at her and then turned his attention back to the hazardous road. “Of my own? Most men do, Holly.”

      Holly sat up a little straighter. “Of my own,” he’d said. “In other words, you wouldn’t accept Toby?”

      Skyler’s clean-shaven jaw worked for a moment, and his narrow shoulders grew tense. “Your brother will probably come back for him one day, Holly. You told me that yourself.”

      Holly sighed and looked out the window at the fierce flurries of snow. She had told Skyler that, it was true. But now she had grave doubts that her brother would ever actually reclaim his son or be in a position to take care of him. After all, Toby’s mother was dead, and though few people knew it, Craig was a wanted man, suspected of espionage. It was possible, in fact, that he wasn’t even in the country.

      “Craig won’t come back,” she said quietly, after a long silence.

      “How could he not come back?” Skyler demanded angrily. “You’ve got his kid!”

      His kid. When Skyler said that, used those simple, everyday words, it always sounded inhumane. “And I want to keep him, Skyler. Craig is in no position to be a real father and besides, I love Toby. I love him very, very much.”

      There seemed to be nothing to say after that. Skyler shoved a classical CD into the slot on the dashboard and the car was filled with thunderous Beethoven.

      Chris’s kitchen was a bright, warm, cluttered place. The walls were graced with shining copper utensils and a fire crackled in the huge wood-burning stove in one corner of the room. Two long shelves held the largest collection of cookbooks David had ever seen.

      Frowning, he took down a copy of Fun With Tacos and studied the colored photograph of the author on the back cover. Tousled, honey-colored hair, enormous blue-green eyes. Holly Llewellyn.

      “Taking up the culinary arts?” Chris asked mischievously, standing beside him.

      Startled, David thrust the thin volume back into its place on the shelf and shook his head.

      Chris, a lovely woman with dark hair and eyes, laughed warmly and hugged her brother. “We live in a new age, you know. Men are actually cooking, among other things.”

      A new age. David’s mind caught on those words—he was uneasy, even jumpy. He had the strangest feeling that he was on the edge of something momentous, something that would change his life forever. He took Holly Llewellyn’s cookbook down from the shelf again, turned it over and studied the captivating face on the back.

      Llewellyn, he thought, if you turn out to be a fink, I’m not going to be able to take it.

      2

      Holly looked with a jaundiced eye at the mechanical department-store Santa Claus nodding beside the escalator. Thanksgiving is over, she thought ruefully, so bring on Christmas.

      In the toy section to her left, a horde of shoppers were engaged in a good-natured battle of some sort.

      Reaching the next floor and the cookware section of the large store, Holly found Elaine already there, her hair pinned to the top of her head, a clipboard in hand.

      “What’s going on downstairs?” Holly asked irritably. The weekend with Skyler and his parents had been a disaster.

      Elaine chuckled but did not look up from the list she was going over. “They got in a shipment of Webkinz.”

      Shrugging out of her winter coat, Holly assessed the room. The store had done a good job of setting up; there were tables, aprons and even chefs’ hats for all the students. In the cooking area, where Holly would demonstrate the fine art of baking fruitcake, an assortment of copper utensils had been set out on the counter.

      She peered at Elaine’s clipboard. Normally, twelve students were accepted for her popular cooking classes, but this time the list showed thirteen names. “David Goddard? Who the devil is that?”

      Elaine gave her friend and employer an understanding, patient look. “There’s always room for one more, right?” she grinned. “The guy was so eager….”

      Holly was annoyed and tired. All she wanted to do was spend the night at home, in front of the TV or better yet, in a hot bath with a book. Anywhere but in this posh downtown department store, teaching thirteen people how to bake fruitcake. “Elaine,” she began stiffly, “this is a popular class. There is a waiting list several months long, in case you’ve forgotten. So where do you get off letting some bozo walk in and sign up just because he’s eager?”

      Elaine colored prettily. “Actually, he’s better than eager. He’s a hunk.”

      “Great! You let him in because he was good-looking!”

      Elaine shrugged. “What can I tell you? I looked up into those navy blue eyes and I could not deny the man ten lessons and a chef’s hat.”

      Holly muttered an expletive and flung down her purse and coat. “I’ll be glad to deny him for you,” she snapped, washing her hands at the gleaming steel sink that was part of the store’s fully equipped kitchen. “Where is he?”

      “Downstairs, I think, in the toy department,” Elaine replied, unruffled, as she checked the supplies of flour, sugar and assorted other ingredients against another list on her clipboard. “He said something about buying a couple Webkinz for his nieces.”

      Holly found an apron and put it on over her jeans and cotton shirt. Despite repeated pleas from the store’s publicity director, she refused to wear a chef’s hat. “I don’t know why I agree to do these cooking classes, anyway,” she muttered.

      “You have a contract with the store,” came the blithe reply from her secretary. “And they pay you big bucks.”

      “Thanks for reminding me.”

      Elaine looked up from her clipboard and made a face. “Anytime, boss.”

      Holly couldn’t help it; she had to grin. “I don’t know how you put up with me. I’ve been a grouch all day and I’m sorry.”

      Elaine sighed. “A weekend with Skyler Hollis would do that to anybody. Everything СКАЧАТЬ