A Baby for Mummy. Cathy Thacker Gillen
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“YOU REALLY DIDN’T NEED to do this,” Emily said when she met Dan at the Starbucks just down the street from her loft on Sunday evening. He looked incredibly handsome in a charcoal-gray suede jacket and slacks, his face ruddy with cold. “We could have settled up tomorrow night after I cook dinner. Besides, it’s my fault for leaving the house last night before giving you the receipt for the groceries.”
Dan gestured amiably as the door to the coffee shop opened and another burst of wintry air swept in. His expression unexpectedly serious, he sat down opposite her, opened a leather portfolio and removed a checkbook. “It’s not the kind of thing I want left undone.”
Emily sensed there was more than that. She had gotten the impression he wanted to talk to her without his family present. She handed over the receipts from the three stores where she had made her purchases, along with the invoice from Chef for Hire, then watched as he wrote out a check. He sat back, his tall form dwarfing the café-style chair, while she slid the check into her purse.
He continued in a brisk, all-business tone. “I don’t know how you normally work, since we got together on the spur of the moment. At my firm, I have employees sign an employment contract. I assume you do the same for your catering gigs.”
“Usually, yes, I do,” Emily said. But this time she hadn’t felt the need to put anything in writing that would have specified her pay and hours. Belatedly, she realized she should ask herself why.
Dan put the checkbook back in the portfolio and pulled out several forms. “I also generally require an updated résumé, completed application, background check and personal references.”
That, Emily knew, could be tricky. “Is it really necessary?” she cut in as smoothly as she could. “Sounds expensive and laborious. And really, considering that I’ll only be working for you a few weeks, quite unnecessary. Unless, of course, you’ve had second thoughts about having me in your home.”
Dan was silent.
Emily knew that what he was asking was routine business procedure. Yet for some reason she felt insulted on a personal level. After all, he had spent enough time with her to be able to tell she was an honorable person.
He seemed to realize he had offended her. He flashed her a crooked smile meant to conciliate. “You’d almost think you had something to hide,” he teased.
Actually, she did. “Ask me whatever you want,” Emily said, hoping to give him enough information that a detailed check into her work history would not be necessary.
His eyes still holding hers, Dan leaned back in his chair. “What’s your background?”
“I grew up in Fredericksburg, Texas. Only child. My parents ran a peach orchard. It was sold a few years after my dad died.” For many reasons, Emily added silently to herself, that still upset me. “College was out of the question at that point, so I started working in restaurants, liked it and went to culinary school, graduated and worked at three different top-tier restaurants in the Dallas-Fort Worth area until I was thirty. I got tired of the grind and long hours and branched out on my own, freelancing as a personal chef. I’ve done that for the last four years. And while being a solo operator has been very lucrative, it’s also very demanding.”
She took a deep breath before continuing. “Now that I’m starting a family, I want a less hectic life, which is why I was trying to buy the orchard. I want to be able to stay home and take care of my child as much as possible, at least for the first four or five years. I thought I had found a way to do that.” She sighed. “Obviously, I haven’t—since my purchase of the orchard fell through—but I’ll come up with a new plan before December first.”
“What happens then?” Their glances locked and they shared another moment of tingling awareness.
Emily told herself her unprecedented reaction to Dan was really just another surge of pregnancy hormones. She forced herself to get a grip. “I have to vacate my loft. It’s already been rented to someone else.”
“So one way or another…”
“I’ll be going somewhere,” Emily finished, aware her voice sounded a little rusty, and her emotions felt all out of whack, too.
Fortunately Dan had no more questions. Standing up, Emily handed him the jacket she had borrowed from him the evening before, slipped on her coat and gathered her things to leave.
Dan stood, too. “You’re going to walk back to your building?”
Emily told herself not to read anything into the concern in his eyes. “It’s just down the block.” She slipped out the door, Starbucks cup in one hand, keys in the other.
Dan fell into step beside her. “I’d still feel better if I walked you as far as your lobby.”
Ignoring the reassurance his strong male presence provided, she shrugged and turned her eyes to the awning that marked her destination. This could not lead anywhere, not if she was working for him. “Suit yourself.”
They arrived at the front door of her building. Emily waved at the security man behind the desk in the lobby, visible through the double glass doors. He waved back.
“So how do you want to manage the paperwork?” Dan drawled.
Emily rocked back on her heels. “By fax. I can send you my standard agreement tonight.”
Dan rocked back on his heels, too. He braced his hands on his hips, pushing the edges of his jacket back. “So you’re still on for tomorrow evening?” he presumed.
Emily tore her gaze from his rock-solid chest and abs. “Absolutely. Unless we hit a snag in the paperwork, which I’m not anticipating.” It was only the thorough vetting of her résumé that would reveal something Emily would rather forget. But she had an idea how to keep that from becoming a problem she would really rather not deal with. Because what happened with the Washburns was not going to happen with Dan’s family. She was wiser now. Better able to keep that protective force field around her heart…
“I’ll read and sign the contract right away,” he promised.
Glad they had come to an agreement that was mutually beneficial, and as thoroughly professional as it should have been from the beginning, Emily nodded. “Thank you.”
Another peaceful moment passed between them. Emily smiled and began to relax. Maybe this would work out, after all, she thought. And, of course, that was the moment the next unwelcome complication arose.
Chapter Four
Emily went pale as a dark-haired man, roughly their age, climbed out of a pickup truck parked in front of her building and strode toward them. In a white western shirt, jeans and black leather jacket, he appeared to be both sophisticated and affable.
He touched the brim of his black Resistol hat and stopped just short of them. “Emily,” he said, smiling and looking her up and down. “It’s been a while.”
Emily stood her ground and made no move to greet the interloper with anything even faintly akin to the same familiarity and warmth. Instinctively Dan slid a protective arm behind her.
“Ten years,” Emily acknowledged, her voice taut. Turning slightly, her elbow brushing Dan’s ribs, she looked up at Dan and said, “Dan, I’d like you to meet Tex Ostrander.”
Her ex-fiancé. The man who’d bought the orchard out from under her and thrown her life into chaos.
“Tex, this is my, um, friend—” she stumbled slightly over the misnomer “—Dan Kingsland.”
Aware Emily was using him to keep her ex at bay, Dan played along and extended a palm. “Nice to meet you.”
“Same here,” Tex said.
As the two men shook hands, Dan noted Tex had a firm, no-nonsense grip.
“What