Finding His Lone Star Love. Amy Woods

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СКАЧАТЬ fun. You see,” Dr. Blake said, his voice more serious, “this is more than just a place for science research and learning. It’s a big part of the community. That’s why it’s so important that we keep it alive. Tell you what—after you meet with Ms. Monroe, why don’t you come back by my office and I’ll set you up with one of the interns? You should check the place out while you’re here. And of course,” he said, nudging Sam with an elbow, “the museum always welcomes donations.”

      Dr. Blake smiled wide at Sam, who was fairly certain the old man winked. Sam had never believed in Santa even as a child, and he hadn’t had many pleasant holiday seasons growing up. With a single mom who’d had to work so much, there hadn’t always been much time for celebration. But if he’d ever put his cards on a miracle, he supposed now was the time. He could use all the help he could get.

      * * *

      After searching for Ms. Monroe all over the museum, Dr. Blake suggested they try the observatory’s café.

      “Here we are,” the man said, as they rounded a hallway corner and Sam saw a sign for the Lonestar Café. “It’s the only other place she could be, though between you and me, I can’t imagine what she’d be doing in the kitchen, unless she’s having a snack. She’s in charge of the staff and in all the years I’ve worked here, I’ve never once seen that woman take a break during the business week. Besides, anyone who knows her can tell you that Lucy Monroe sure as shoot does not belong near a kitchen.”

      The doctor chuckled and Sam felt as if he’d missed out on some sort of inside joke. Being in the small Texas town, even for a short while, would take some getting used to. Not that people weren’t friendly where he came from—it’s just that the pace was different. He was used to the city and the constant bustle of people moving from one thing to the next, but here, the director of a significant institution seemed to have all the time and patience in the world to chat with Sam and show him around. He would have to be careful in this environment, where people were more likely to notice him, and Lord knows he must stick out like a sore thumb.

      Sam and Dr. Blake walked through a small, but comfortable, dining area with beautifully handcrafted wooden tables and chairs, and Sam wished he had a moment to stop and admire the work; he had a fondness for carpentry and had taken a few classes. He had developed some skill and he’d made a few pieces here and there, mostly for friends, but he’d never had the luxury of taking on a real project. Maybe he would finally be able to carve out some time to do so.

      As they got closer to the back of the café, a terrible scent bit at Sam’s nose. As a trained chef, there was one thing he loathed the smell of more than anything in his kitchen, and that was the exact odor permeating the air as he inhaled. A thin cloud of smoke lent a gray haze to the area, and Sam and Dr. Blake had to force their way through a crowd, some of whom were peering through the kitchen door. They all probably had the same question. What in the hell was burning? Sam sniffed the air again and had the answer in an instant: butter and flour. Someone on the other side of that door was ruining pastry. Maybe he’d be of use here in more ways that he had anticipated.

      “It’s hotter than a hog’s behind in here” were the first words Sam heard the second he opened the door.

      “Well, thanks for the welcome,” Sam joked.

      The owner of the voice, a woman with olive skin and short, spiky black hair, stood near a prep counter, smiling at him, and was joined a second later by the cutest girl Sam had ever laid eyes on. She was petite with gorgeous curves, reminiscent of 1940s pinup beauties and comic book heroines, though, sadly, the clothes she wore did much to hide what he guessed was an incredible figure. Curls the color of autumn-red leaves brushed her shoulders. Huge green eyes, filled with what looked like disappointment and traces of tears, maybe from the smoke Sam could see billowing out of the oven in great clouds, peered at him curiously from behind large purple glasses.

      “Hi, there. Looks like you could use a hand.”

      Dr. Blake said he’d see them all later and disappeared as fast as he could. Sam couldn’t blame the doc, but there was no chance of escape for him now, as he’d walked straight into a war zone.

      Sam rushed over to join the two women, grabbing oven mitts from a counter along the way, and began taking the pies from them and dumping the offending confections into the nearest large trash can.

      “Oh my gosh! What do you think you’re doing?” the lovely, green-eyed girl shrieked, actually pulling a pie from Sam’s hands and holding it to her chest as if he’d just snatched a baby from her, the momentum causing what remained of the pie’s less thoroughly burned contents to spill on her shirt. Sam stared at her, alarmed at her reaction.

      “I’m saving whatever disaster of a dessert you’ve got going here, is what I’m doing,” he said, gently taking back the pie. He had to peel the woman’s fingers from the edges, and as he did, chunks of blackened crust hit the ground, causing her cheeks to redden until she had no choice but to let Sam slip it out of her hands.

      “Who are you? And what on earth are you doing in my kitchen?” she asked. Sam had the feeling she meant to sound stern, but her voice came out thin and defeated.

      “I’m Sam. Sam Haynes,” he said, in as soothing a voice as he could. From the look of things, the woman had had a hard day, and he could understand her frustration at a stranger showing up, but he had the strong idea she could use his help.

      “This is your kitchen?” He raised an eyebrow, suspicious. It didn’t line up with what Dr. Blake had mentioned, but if the kitchen were indeed hers, clearly he’d arrived right in the nick of time.

      “Well. For now it is. My chef quit and—” she glared at Sam and placed both hands on her hips “—what difference is it to you anyway? Why are you here?”

      “Actually, if you’re Ms. Monroe,” Sam said, glancing at the apple filling–splattered name tag on her lapel that read Lucy, “I’d really like to speak to you in private.”

      “Regarding?”

      “Well, it’s complicated,” Sam said, weighing his words carefully. He cursed himself for not thinking this through all the way. Then he had an idea. He squared his shoulders. “Actually, I’m in the restaurant business and I have some experience. It’s clear you’re in need of a chef, and it appears I’ve come at a good time.”

      “You’re really a chef?” she asked, eyeing him up and down as she took in his choice of outfit.

      “Straight from heaven, it would seem,” said the other woman, moving forward and offering Sam her hand. “Hi, I’m Tessa. Forgive my bestie here. We’ve had a rough morning, if you hadn’t figured that out already. The chef really did just up and quit, so it’s true that you are just in time if, in fact, you’re really a chef, Mr. Haynes.”

      Still holding his hand after shaking it, Tessa batted her eyelashes at Sam. The woman he’d assumed was Ms. Monroe tossed her an irritated look.

      “What?” Tessa asked, innocence sugaring her words as she finally released Sam’s hand.

      “Never mind her,” Lucy interrupted, waving a hand at her friend. “Where did you train, Mr. Haynes?”

      “Call me Sam. Please.”

      “Okay, Sam. Where did you train? And where are you from? And what—”

      “Hang on now. Let’s tackle one thing at a time, if that’s all right with you.”

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