Blackhawk Desires. Barbara McCauley
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the truth. Meeting Clair had helped ease the pain somewhat, but there was still so much to learn. So many questions to be answered.
And besides, after her incredible lapse of good judgment with Sam, she needed a distraction. Cooking and talking with Clair would certainly be a welcome one.
“My favorite Cookie story—” Kiera said while she turned the chicken “—has to be the day one of the new ranch hands inadvertently commented that his mama made the best ribs in the entire state of Texas….”
Six
It seemed as if everywhere he turned, Sam saw an expectant mother. In the lobby. On the elevator. At the pool. An hour ago he’d seen two of them, walking together into the hotel spa. Then there was Christine, Adagio’s manager, three of the women in Housekeeping and two of the desk clerks. Was it some kind of cosmic joke being played on him, or had he just suddenly become excruciatingly aware of their presence?
Scrubbing a hand over his face, he leaned back in his desk chair and stared at the report on his monitor. He’d been staring at the same page, at the same figures, for the past half hour. The way his day was going, he might finish this simple accounting statement around one or two in the morning.
But why should today go any better than last night?
It frustrated—and irritated—the hell out of him he couldn’t get Kiera out of his mind. Or the burning question: was she pregnant?
It had taken a will of iron today not to seek her out and force the issue. If she’d thought she was pregnant, it might explain why she’d been so secretive since she got here, especially if she was running away from the father of her child. She’d told him she wasn’t married, so the father would most likely be a boyfriend. He remembered the black eye she’d had when she’d first arrived, and his hands tightened on the arms of his chair.
Five minutes, Sam thought, narrowing his eyes. That’s all the time he’d need with the guy. Hell, that would be taking it slowly. He could mess the jerk up big-time in under two without breaking a sweat.
He shook his head and sighed. Something just didn’t jive here. Not that he knew anything at all about pregnant women. He didn’t know a damn thing.
He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he had a feeling that what he was seeing, what she’d let him see, was all wrong.
Or was that just what he wanted to think?
He swore, then rose and walked to the window in his office, stared down at the crowded pool. It was late afternoon, a popular time for guests to swim and stretch out on the lounge chairs. There had to be at least thirty people down there. Kids splashing, old men in shorts with white legs and socks sitting under umbrellas. Gorgeous women sunbathing in bikinis. And where did his eyes end up?
On a pregnant woman.
Dammit!
He turned and started to pace. Kiera was just as attracted to him as he was to her, there was no question about that. She’d been just as wild for him as he’d been for her. God, he could still taste her, still feel her body pressed against his.
He dragged both hands through his hair and linked them behind his head. What the hell was she hiding from him? he wondered. Or, more likely, who? Why wouldn’t she tell him anything? And why wouldn’t she let him help?
She was driving him crazy.
I don’t want this complication, he told himself. I like my life just the way it is.
So why couldn’t he stop thinking about her? Why couldn’t he stop worrying if she was all right, if she needed anything?
If the test was positive …
He continued to pace. In spite of his lack of knowledge regarding “female stuff,” he just couldn’t believe she was pregnant. Kiera hadn’t missed a beat since she’d been hired at Adagios. She worked as hard, if not harder, than any other server on staff. Weren’t pregnant women supposed to throw up a lot, turn green and sleep all the time?
Shoot, Clair was acting more like she was pregnant than Kiera, he thought. Just yesterday she’d fallen asleep in the middle of a presentation by that publicist for the Cattlemen’s Association, and she’d had that bug she hadn’t been able to shake—
He stopped, furrowed his brow.
Clair?
Where the hell had that thought come from?
Clair had been acting strangely the past two days. He’d assumed because she’d suspected something had happened between him and Kiera.
But what if he’d had it all wrong, and she’d been distracted for another reason? Lord knew nothing had been as it seemed since Kiera had shown up. Why should this be any different?
Why indeed?
He squared his shoulders and set his back teeth. Enough already. He wanted answers.
And he wanted them now.
“Imbecile!” A loud clash of pots and pans followed Chef Phillipe’s ringing insult. “This is repulsive. Mon dieu, I would not feed this slop to the pigs, let alone people.”
A plate of grilled salmon in her hand, Kiera listened to Chef Phillipe berate Robert, Adagio’s sous-chef. Phillipe was on his usual daily rampage and poor Robert was his most recent victim.
“This is what I think of your so-called food.” Phillipe picked up the pan and turned it over, spilling the sauce onto the floor. For good measure, he then tossed the pan on the floor, as well. “You are a disgrace to chefs everywhere.”
Red-faced, Robert glanced from the mess to Phillipe. “But I did what you—”
“Silence!” Phillipe bellowed. “Your brain is like a petite pea. Who taught you to cook? The man who cleans out your plumbing pipes?”
Kiera winced. While she was grateful that Phillipe’s anger hadn’t been turned on her for once, she couldn’t help but feel sorry for the young man. He was fresh out of culinary school and from what she’d seen, quite talented, though still unsure of himself. Kiera figured any confidence that Robert had would quickly be beaten out of him by Phillipe.
Stay out of it, she told herself. Just turn around and walk away.
“Must I do everything myself?” Phillipe towered menacingly over Robert, who was visibly shaking. “You are incompetent.”
She clamped her teeth together and turned away. Haven’t you got enough problems of your own? This is your last order of the day. Just keep walking …
“You will never be a chef,” Phillipe continued. “You are not even fit to serve the food that I prepare.”
Unable to help herself, Kiera glanced over her shoulder, saw Robert’s eyes welling up.
Oh, hell.
She sucked in a breath, let a heartbeat pass, then dropped the plate in her hand. Well, more like threw the plate, she supposed. It landed with a loud, satisfying shatter.
Phillipe spun around, his eyes bulging with fury.
“Sorry,” she said innocently. “It slipped.”
Launching into his native language, Phillipe rounded on her, his fists clenched. Kiera spoke, and understood, enough French to know that his insults were as vile as they were insulting. The man was an ass, and she knew she should probably back away—or at least be afraid—but anger overrode her good sense.
And the expression on poor Robert’s face—a mix of horror and relief—was enough to make her stand her ground.
If there was one thing Trey had taught her, Kiera thought, it was how to drop a man—any size—to the floor. When Phillipe strode toward her, she waited for the man to even lift a finger. Almost hoped that he would.