Currant Creek Valley

“You picked the wrong place to rob, buster. My brother just happens to be the chief of police.”

He cocked his head, one eyebrow lifted. “Is that right?”

“You better believe it. Now put down the tools and get out of here before I call him.”

“Trust me, you don’t want to do that.”

Her anger kicked up a notch at his tone. As a sous-chef, she had spent more than a few years in the kitchen with temperamental, patronizing little men who thought they could intimidate her with their bluster and bluff. She was tired of it, yet another reason she couldn’t wait to open her own restaurant.

She refused to acknowledge the grim truth of his words. She absolutely didn’t want to call in Riley to help her deal with this. As a general rule, she had always tried to take care of herself, not drag her family into her problems.

She wasn’t about to tell him that. Instead, she shifted the board—now growing increasingly heavy—and whipped out her cell phone. In this case, she would do whatever was necessary. Even if that meant turning to her brother. She scrolled through her address book and found Riley’s number but paused, her thumb hovering over the name.

“You’ve got until the count of three to clear out,” she said, aware she sounded perilously close to something out of a spaghetti Western.

He apparently agreed. “You’re going to feel really stupid if you call in the cavalry right now. I’m not doing anything wrong.”

She sniffed. “Funny, that’s exactly what I would expect a criminal to say.”

“I’m not a criminal.”

“Again, I would have totally expected you to say that.”

He gave a rough laugh that seemed to sizzle through her. Just nerves, she told herself. To fight them, she gripped the board more tightly and stared him down.

He looked a little bit old to be doing the smash-and-grab thing, maybe her age or slightly older, but he did have a biceps tattoo dripping beneath the short sleeve of a worn T-shirt that showed off every hard muscle.

All in all, he was really quite gorgeous, for a criminal, even if he didn’t seem in the least threatened by a woman holding a two-by-four and a cell phone.

“Can I ask who you are and what you’re doing here?” he actually had the effrontery to say.

She gaped at him. “None of your business! You’re the one who’s trespassing.”

“Really? You think? Then why would I have this?”

He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a key that looked remarkably similar to the one she had used to unlock the door for her book club over an hour ago.

“You think I’m stupid enough to fall for that? For all I know, that could be a key to the storage shed where you hide your victims in barrels full of acid.”

He blinked a few times but didn’t lose his amused half smile. “Wow. Been watching a few too many horror movies, have we?”

Okay, maybe it was a bit of an overreaction to accuse him of being a serial killer, but she wasn’t about to back down now. “My point is I don’t know who you are or why you’re breaking into my restaurant.”

“Your restaurant? Wrong. This is Brodie Thorne’s restaurant.”

The board slid a little in her hand and she finally set it down to rest one end on the ground, wondering uneasily if she might have made a teensy little mistake here.

“Okay, technically, yes.” The restaurant was Brodie’s, if one considered that he was the person who took all the risks and paid all the bills. “But I’m his chef.”

The guy’s half smile turned into a full-fledged one and her stomach fluttered at the impact of it. Oh, my.

“We appear to have a little misunderstanding here. You must be Alexandra McKnight.”

She squinted at him. “Maybe.”

“Brodie told me about you, but for some reason I thought you would be older.”

She made a face. She would be thirty-seven this year, which felt ancient sometimes. “Okay, so we’ve established who I am. Now who the hell are you?”

“Oh, sorry.” Coming out of that rough-edged, dangerous-looking face, the charm of his friendly smile caught her off guard.

“I’m Sam Delgado. I’m going to be finishing up your kitchen.”

His words finally penetrated her thick skull and she wanted to throw her face in her hands. She was an idiot who shouldn’t be let out in public.

This man was charged with building her kitchen in an insane handful of weeks and the first thing she did to welcome him aboard the project was accuse him of stealing what were probably his own tools.

If she wanted this kitchen to provide ideal working conditions, she had to work closely with the contractor Brodie had picked. How would she be able to do that now, with this inauspicious beginning?

She propped the board against the wall and faced him with what she hoped was an apologetic look. “Oops.”

To her relief, he didn’t seem upset, even though a little annoyance would be completely justified. “Now aren’t you glad you didn’t call the police?”

“It was an honest mistake. You have to admit, you’re a scary-looking dude, Sam Delgado. It must be the ink.”

“I’m a pussycat when you get to know me.”

“I doubt that.”

“Just wait.”

She knew perfectly well the words shouldn’t send this little tingle of awareness zinging through her.

At least he was being decent about her almost beaning him with a board. She had to give him points for that. “I wasn’t expecting you until the weekend. Brodie said you couldn’t start until then.”

“I wrapped up some other projects in Denver ahead of schedule and was able to break away a few days early. Figured I would come to town and do a little recon of the situation before my crew comes up tomorrow.”

The way he spoke, the short haircut and what she glimpsed of his tattoo—which she could now see looked vaguely military-like—reminded her that Brodie had told her the guy was ex-army Special Forces, like Charlotte’s brother, Dylan.

She figured it was safe to move closer to him. “Well, welcome to Hope’s Crossing, Sam Delgado. I can promise you, not everyone in town will greet you with a two-by-four.”

He smelled good, she couldn’t help noticing. Like wind and sunshine and really sexy male. She really was an idiot to even notice.

“I don’t blame you for being cautious. Any woman would have to be a little wary to find a stranger invading her space. No harm done.” He set the reciprocating saw down on the floor and the belt with it.

“Brodie tells me you have definite ideas for your kitchen. I’m glad you’re here, actually, so we can go over what you want. Care to fill me in?”

“Now?”

He shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”

She could think of several reasons, beginning with her heart rate, which still hadn’t quite settled back down to normal. “Um, sure. Come on through to where the kitchen should be and we can talk.”

“Let me grab your plans,” he said, pointing to the back door.

When he returned, he unrolled the blueprints and she spent the next few moments detailing what she wanted in the kitchen, and the design she and Brodie had already come up with. Much to her delight, Sam had a few suggestions that would actually improve the work flow and traffic patterns.

“Are you sure you can bring us in with only a month before our projected opening?” she asked.

“It will be a push, I’m not going to lie to you, but my guys are up to the challenge. I wouldn’t have taken the job if I didn’t think we could do it.”

“I admire confidence in a man,” she said. That wasn’t the only thing she was admiring about Sam Delgado, but she ordered herself to settle down. For all she knew, he might indeed have a storage unit full of severed heads.

On the other hand, Brodie trusted him, and that carried a great deal of weight, as far as she was concerned. He wouldn’t have brought Sam in on the project unless he had vetted him fully.

Even if Brodie weren’t giving her this unbelievable chance at her own restaurant, he was also the husband and son of two of her dearest friends.

What was wrong with a little harmless flirtation? In fact, Sam Delgado might just be the cure to the restlessness her mother was talking about. She hadn’t dated anybody in months, not since Oliver, the very funny Swiss ski instructor who had returned to the Alps midseason.

Sam was actually just her type—big, gorgeous and only in town for a few weeks. He would be leaving Hope’s Crossing as soon as he wrapped up work on the restaurant. Why couldn’t she spend some enjoyable leisure time with him while he was here, as long as he still had plenty of time to finish the project?

“Looks clear enough,” Sam said, rolling up the blueprints he had pulled out of his pickup truck. “Since all the appliances and shelving and counters are already here, it’s only a matter of putting everything in place. You should still be able to have your mid-May opening.”

“I’m going to hold you to that, Mr. Delgado,” she said.

“Once my crew comes tomorrow, we can dig in.”

“How many guys will you have?”

“Three others, besides me. We’ve all worked together a long time.”

“Does everybody have a place to stay?”

“Brodie has made reservations at a hotel on the edge of town. Nothing fancy but it will do for now.”

“Good. Good.” She smiled. “Well, let me know if you need anything.”

“I’ll do that.”

It was now or never, she thought, and plunged forward. “So I don’t see a ring. Is there a Mrs. Delgado?”

Plenty of men didn’t care to wear a wedding ring, either out of personal preference or deliberate obfuscation. When she was interested in a man, she was scrupulously careful about double-checking that particular point.

Some hard-earned lessons tended to stick with a woman.

Sam Delgado blinked, obviously a little bemused by the question. If she hadn’t been watching him carefully for some sign of deceit, she might have missed the tangle of emotion in his gaze.

“As a matter of fact, there is. My brother’s wife.”

“But you don’t have one of your own?” she pressed.

“Not currently.”

His guarded reaction didn’t seem particularly encouraging. He could be engaged—another hot button of hers because of family history—but she hadn’t missed that sadness in his eyes and sensed he was telling the truth.

“Do you anticipate that changing anytime in the near future?”

“Not that I’m aware of, no. Why are you so curious?”

She shrugged. “Personal rule. I don’t date men who are married, engaged or otherwise involved in a long-term relationship.”

A corner of his mouth danced up. “I didn’t realize we were planning on dating.”

“Planning on it? No. But if the opportunity arose, I like to be certain ahead of time that both parties are...unentangled. Poachers bug the hell out of me. And men who allow themselves to be poached are even worse.”

He gazed at her for a long moment as if he wasn’t quite sure how to answer. “You don’t have any problem speaking your mind, Ms. McKnight, do you?”

“Please. Call me Alex. Especially considering we might be planning on dating at some point in the foreseeable future.”

He laughed as he shook his head. “Here’s something you should know about me then. Call me old-fashioned, but I like to be in the driver’s seat in these sorts of things.”

She gave him a sultry smile over her shoulder. “Oh, you foolish, foolish man. You might think you’re behind the wheel when it comes to most women, but that’s only because we’ve decided to hand over the keys.”

He chuckled that rough, sexy laugh that sent shivers down her spine again. “I don’t know what sort of p—er, pansies—you traditionally date, Alex McKnight, but I’m a former Army Ranger. Know what our motto is? Rangers lead the way. And we don’t just mean into enemy territory.”

She hadn’t been this attracted to a man in ages. She generally didn’t go further than second base with the guys she dated, but something about Sam Delgado made her suspect he was just the sort of guy to tempt her into changing her mind.

“I’ll keep that in mind. I guess I’ll see you around, then.”

She gave him a smile and a wave, tucking a strand of flyaway hair behind her ear as she picked up the basket of picnic supplies and headed for the door.

“Wait a minute,” he called out. “You can’t just leave. We were having a conversation here.”

Was that what he called it? She smiled. “I thought we were done.”

“What time am I picking you up tomorrow night?”

Oh, she really, really liked a man who took the initiative.

“I’m working tomorrow night until nine.”

“Perfect. I’ll probably be busy here until late and will need to unwind a little before I head to the hotel.”

“Do you play pool, Army Ranger Delgado?”

“I’ve been known to chalk a few cues in my time.”

“Great. Why don’t I meet you at The Speckled Lizard? It’s on Front Street, two blocks west of the center block of Main Street. It’s one of the few places that stays open late on a Thursday night during the off-season.”

“I’ll see you then. Tomorrow, twenty-two hundred, Speckled Lizard. It’s a date.”

She smiled and headed out the door, anticipation winging through her.

All in all, she was very glad she hadn’t hit him with a two-by-four.

CHAPTER TWO

SAM WATCHED BRODIE’S CHEF walk down the hill toward town swinging a picnic basket at her side, her blond curls bouncing behind her as she walked.

His heartbeat was still racing and he didn’t know what the hell just happened there. Right now, he felt as if he’d just spent the past thirty minutes tumbling around in a cement mixer.

This surge of adrenaline and anticipation and life churning inside him was unfamiliar, uncharted territory.

When he walked into this old firehouse, he certainly never expected to stumble across a woman like her, brash, funny, brimming with energy.

What was it about her? She was beautiful, yes, with those huge green eyes and the endless spill of hair, but he knew plenty of beautiful women.

Though he continued to insist it wasn’t necessary, Nicky’s wife, Cheri, was always trying to hook him up with some friend of hers or other. For a stay-at-home mother, his sister-in-law seemed to know an unusually large number of lovely women, many from her previous job as a public-relations executive.

While he might have been attracted to a few of those women Cheri had found for him, none of them had ignited these wild sparks that still snapped and buzzed through him, even after Alex McKnight had turned down a side street and disappeared from view.

He would have to tread carefully here. The situation had the potential to spawn a whole morass of complications.

For the next month, he would have to work closely with her on the Brazen project. She was the chef, after all. Not only that, he knew from conversations with Brodie that Alex was good friends with Brodie’s wife, Evie.

His whole life hinged on making a success of this project, on finishing the work on budget and on time and on doing a good enough job that Brodie would continue to contract with him and would recommend him to his friends around Hope’s Crossing.

Sam couldn’t afford to screw things up.

He looked at the scene below him, the neatly quaint downtown with its wide streets and graceful old historic buildings, the rows of established clapboard houses mingling with higher-end log homes.

Colorful spring blooms already burst out in patches, and the trees leading down the street had new pale green buds on them. He could imagine the place would be spectacular in the summer, with those raw, rugged mountains looming as a backdrop.

He breathed in the high mountain air. It seemed sweeter here, though he knew that was probably just the abundance of pine and fir trees around, sending out their citrusy fragrance.

This was the new start he wanted, that he needed, and he couldn’t afford to screw up his chances of making a life here.

A couple kids rode down the hill on bicycles, legs sticking out as they let gravity take over and flew past him, their laughter ringing loudly.

Across the street, an older lady with snow-white hair tended to flowers in a box hanging from her porch railing, and farther down from that, a couple people stood talking beside a mailbox.

It looked peaceful, comfortable. Perfect.

A few weeks ago, he had come up from Denver to check things out. From the moment he had driven into the city limits, he had felt the tension in his shoulders relax, the dark edges retreat.

He wasn’t naive enough to think trouble couldn’t find him here. While the surface of Hope’s Crossing might look like something out of a Norman Rockwell illustration, the reality was never as ideal.

After all, he had met Brodie at the Denver Children’s Hospital when Sam had been working on renovations to an office suite there at the same time Brodie’s teenage daughter was a patient, after she had suffered a terrible accident here in Hope’s Crossing.

Bad things happened in small towns just as easily as big cities like Denver. Marriages still fell apart, plenty of kids dabbled in drugs and alcohol, people still got cancer and died.

He grimaced at that thought and turned around to head back into the restaurant just as his cell phone rang. After a quick glance at the caller ID, his frown disappeared.

“Why, hello,” he answered. “If it isn’t my favorite son.”

“Favorite and only,” Ethan said primly.

Sam smiled, picturing his nearly seven-year-old’s dark curls and the blue, blue eyes he had shared with his mother. “Maybe so. But even if you had a half-dozen siblings, you’d still probably be my favorite.”

“That’s hypothetical, though. We can’t really know that for sure, can we?”

Hypothetical was apparently the word of the week. Last week it had been enumerate and the week before precocious. Spoken in that sweet young voice that still had a trace of a lisp, the hundred-dollar words always made Sam smile.

Love for his terrifyingly brilliant son was a sweet ache in his chest. “How is everything at Uncle Nick and Aunt Cheri’s?”

Ethan’s sigh was heavy and put-upon. “All right, I guess. I had to play Barbie dolls today with Amanda. I was Malibu Ken and she had Hula Barbie and they were supposed to be going on a date. I decided they should go on a date to the beach and we had them go surfing down the rain gutter in front of the house. How was I supposed to know Malibu Ken would fit down the sewer grate?”

“I bet that went over real well with your cousin.”

“Aunt Cheri made me stay in my room for an entire half hour. I don’t see why I had to be punished when it was simply an estimating error.”

“Life isn’t fair, is it?”

“Rarely, in my experience,” Ethan said glumly.

His son was six for a few more weeks but acted as if he was thirty-six most of the time.

“When can I come see Hope’s Crossing again, Dad?”

He grimaced, though there was no one but the lady across the street with her flowers to see. He missed his son already. “I’ll bring you up first chance I get, I promise.”

“I want to live with you for good in our own house, where I don’t have to play Barbies or share a room with somebody who still watches Barney.”

“I want that, too, more than anything. I’m working on it, I swear. Soon, okay? Six weeks. You have to finish the school year first and I need to find a decent place for us to live.”

“Six weeks seems like forever.”

“I know. To me, too. But we’ll spend every weekend together and before you know it, school will be out and you can come here for the summer when Uncle Nick and Aunt Cheri take off to Belgium. Then next fall you’ll have a whole new school and new friends.”

“I don’t want to go to a new school,” Ethan said, that stubbornness creeping into his voice.

“I know you don’t, son. But Hope’s Crossing is too far for us to drive to St. Augustine’s every day. If we’re going to live here, we’ll have to find a school here, too. Don’t worry. I’ve heard this one is terrific. You’ll see.”

Beyond the two-hour distance involved, Ethan attended a very elite private school. He had thrived at St. Augustine’s, where they celebrated his brain and had spent the past two years trying to stimulate it.

Move or not, he couldn’t continue there now. For one thing, Sam’s former in-laws had insisted on paying the hefty private school tuition but those funds had dried up a year ago.

They loathed Sam now. While they claimed they wanted to continue a relationship with Ethan, he couldn’t allow it, not when they filled his son’s head with lies and vitriol.

The whole thing was such a mess. When his late wife’s father had been arrested, the tuition payments stopped. Sam had managed to scrape together enough to keep Ethan at St. Augustine’s this year but he certainly couldn’t continue paying that much unless he wanted to deplete Kelli’s entire life insurance policy before Ethan even reached college age.

“You were going to have to go to a new school either way, kid. You know that. You couldn’t stay at St. Augustine’s. The schools here in Hope’s Crossing are supposed to be excellent. We’ll have all summer together to get ready for second grade.”

“I miss you,” Ethan said, his voice small.

“Oh, son. I miss you, too. It’s only a few weeks and then things will be better. You’ll see.”

“I guess.”

“Hang in there and be good for Uncle Nick and Aunt Cheri. I’ll call you every night to check on your homework and I’ll come home next weekend, okay?”

After a few more moments, he hung up with his son. As he gazed down at the picturesque little town, he decided he could use some of the town’s eponymous Hope.

He sincerely hoped he was making the right move here. He had to make a living and that was becoming increasingly difficult in Denver. His reputation in Denver construction circles suffered coming and going.

From J.T.’s friends, he was considered a traitor for whistle-blowing on his own father-in-law and starting the chain of events that had led to J.T.’s conviction. Sam still didn’t know what else he could have done except go to authorities in Denver with his suspicions about his father-in-law. After all, Sam had first given J.T. the chance to make things right when he had discovered Tanner and Sons Construction was dangerously cutting corners—and using shoddy imported materials—but billing full price on government contracts.

From the honorable contractors left, Sam was painted with the same ugly brush as his father-in-law because he had been J.T.’s second-in-command for the last three years and should have known what was happening under his nose at the company. They didn’t seem to make allowances for a floundering man who had been helping his wife fight cancer and then grieving when she lost the battle.

Hope’s Crossing offered a chance to make a new start, away from all that ugliness. Thanks to Brodie and a few of his contacts, he had jobs lined up for several months. He had no doubt he could keep them coming, as long as he focused on the work at hand.

That was all the more reason to keep things casual and friendly with Alex McKnight. He couldn’t afford the distraction and the complication of a woman like her. He would meet her the next night for a game of pool and some friendly conversation, but that was as far as he would let things go.

His future—and, more importantly, his son’s—depended on it.

CHAPTER THREE

THE NEXT NIGHT, THURSDAY, Alex escaped to the employee restroom after her shift and quickly changed out of her white jacket and black slacks to jeans and a tailored soft green shirt. She added a chunky hammered silver necklace she had made a few months ago and a matching pair of earrings and bracelet.

Much to her dismay, she had spent hours before her shift trying to figure out what to wear for her little outing with Sam. Discarded clothes were still strewn all over every flat surface of her bedroom.

She wanted to set just the right tone for the way she had decided the evening should proceed. She would be friendly and fun but completely casual. No more of that high-octane flirting from the other day.