Beauty and the Black Sheep. Jessica Bird

Чтение книги онлайн.

      Frankie caught the burning smell first and raced for the oven. She’d been so distracted trying to clean pears for poaching that she’d forgotten all about the chicken she’d put in to cook.

      When she opened the oven door, smoke poured out and she grabbed two folded side towels for the evacuation. Holding the roasting pan away from her body, as if the thing was radioactive, she threw it down on the counter.

      The sound of a pot on the stove boiling over drowned out most of her curses.

      “That don’t look right,” George said.

      Frankie let her head fall forward, trying to keep from cursing again. The temptation was nearly irresistible, especially when he followed up with, “Maybe you should try that one more time.”

      Joy rushed into the kitchen from the dining room in mid-sentence. “The Littles, that couple whose bureau wouldn’t open when they went to unpack, they want their dinner now. They’ve been waiting for forty-five minutes and—oh.”

      Frankie took a deep breath. Even if the Littles hadn’t been rude as hell about the bureau, the lumpy pillows on the bed, the cleanliness of the windows and the fact there were wire hangers in the closet, she didn’t see how she could serve them the desecrated carcass.

      But now what? If White Caps was closer to civilization, she would have called for take-out from some other restaurant in the first place rather than take a chance on her cooking skills. Deep in the Adirondacks, though, the closest food emporium with anything ready to eat was the Bait Shoppe.

      Although feeding the Littles night crawlers disguised as gourmet cuisine had some appeal.

      “What are we going to do?” Joy asked.

      Frankie reached over to turn off the oven and saw that she’d put the thing on broil, not bake. Of all the stupid mistakes…

      “Frankie?”

      She could feel Joy and George staring at her and to avoid their eyes, she looked down at the chicken. Her mind went blank. She was aware of a humming in her ears and that was about it. Except for her feet. She could feel them pounding inside the ancient running shoes she had on, as if someone had a vise to her toes.

      How old were those shoes, she wondered idly. Five years?

      “Frankie?”

      She looked up at her sister whose face was wide open. Joy was ready for direction. Ready to be saved.

      God, what she wouldn’t give to be able to look at someone with that kind of expectant hope.

      “Yeah, okay,” she murmured. “Let me think.”

      Like a tired lawnmower, her brain started to churn again. Options, they needed options. What else was in the meat locker? Only big cuts. And the freezer—no, there was no time to defrost anything. Leftovers. What could she bash together out of—

      The sound of someone pounding on the back door brought her head around.

      Joy looked to the noise and then back at her.

      “Answer it,” Frankie said, heading for the walk-in refrigerator. “George, take the Littles more bread.”

      She was searching the shelves and seeing nothing that offered a solution when her sister let out a startled hello.

      Frankie looked over her shoulder and lost her train of thought.

      A man the size of a barn had walked into the White Caps kitchen.

      God, he was as big as George, although not built the same. Definitely not built like George. This guy was hefty where you wanted a man to be: in the shoulders, in the arms. Not in the stomach.

      And he was almost too handsome to look at. Wearing a black leather jacket and carrying a beat-up backpack on one shoulder, he looked like a drifter but carried himself as if he knew exactly where he was. He had thick dark hair that was on the long side and his face was stunning, though it seemed as if it belonged on someone else. His features were a little too patrician to be attached to a man dressed the way he was.

      But his eyes—his eyes were what really stood out. They were extraordinary—dark as the night, deep set, with thick lashes.

      And they were totally focused on her sister.

      Given how slight she was, Joy looked like a child standing in front of him with her head tilted up. And Frankie knew exactly the kind of resplendent astonishment that would be showing on her sister’s face, so it was no wonder the man looked poleaxed. Any guy worth his testosterone would be snared by that expression alone, much less the fact that it was shining out of such a garden of female delights.

      Great. Just what she needed, some tourist lost and looking for directions. Or worse, a wanderer looking for work. She could barely keep Joy and George on the straight and narrow. The last thing she needed was another big lug kicking around.

      “Hey there, Angel,” the man said. A bemused expression was СКАЧАТЬ