Love in the Morning (4 page)

As he neared the back door, he noticed light from the dining room, where there shouldn't be any since it was well past five. Frowning, he swung the door open and stepped inside. Actually, the light was from the kitchen door at the back of the dining room. He frowned harder. No one was supposed to be in the kitchen at this time of night. He wondered briefly if some of his frat-boy guests had decided to come down for an evening snack.

He approached the door carefully and peeked in the window at the top.

Lizzy Apodaca stood at one of the prep tables, slicing onions with precision and grace. There were several bowls on the table around her, already full of vegetables. Just on a hunch, he'd bet they were for the omelets, but he supposed they could be for the salads.

Clark frowned. He hadn't thought about the sandwiches and salads. Were they as uninspired as the breakfasts? They didn't sell as many of them, but most visitors went out to eat in the evening, didn't they?

For the first time he wondered if the quality of the sandwiches and salads had anything to do with their modest sales.

Terrific.
He really didn't want to be worrying about this stuff. Food service was way out of his comfort zone. That was why he'd hired Clarice in the first place, so that she could take care of all these problems and he could run his hotel in peace.

Lizzy Apodaca looked up suddenly, maybe aware of someone staring at her. Clark opened the door, feeling slightly embarrassed.
I'm not a Peeping Tom, lady, honest.
“Hi. Working late?”

She frowned slightly, and he had to admit it wasn't one of his better opening lines.
Lines? Since when are you giving the kitchen help lines?

“I usually get the prep work done for tomorrow before I knock off. It beats coming in at four.”

“In the morning?” he blurted.

The corners of her lips edged up. This seemed to be his day for idiotic statements.

“Clarice starts baking around four thirty. I come in at five and get the meat and potatoes going. And the oatmeal.”

Oatmeal. He'd forgotten that they even served oatmeal. Not surprising since he never touched the stuff. “What about juice and fruit?” Surely they served something healthy.

She shrugged. “Actually, I just finished cutting up the melon a few minutes ago. I'll put the berries in bowls tomorrow morning.”

He frowned. Was there anything she didn't cook? “What about the juice?”

“We have a juice dispenser in the dining room. I fill it before we start serving. Then Desi empties out any juice that's left and cleans it after we stop serving.” She didn't seem particularly annoyed by his interest, unlike Clarice.

He leaned back against the counter again. “Any ideas about how we could maybe change things up a little around here?”

It might have been the dim light, but he could swear she blushed. The flush of color across her cheeks seemed to draw attention to the dark obsidian of her eyes. Until she looked away from him again. “That's not really my area.”

He frowned again. “What isn't?”

“Planning the menu. That's up to Clarice.” She gathered the pile of chopped onion and dropped it into one of the stainless steel bowls on the tabletop.

“Why is that?” Although he was pretty sure he knew the answer.

“Clarice is the chef,” she said slowly. “You don't undermine the chef. It's not…” She paused for a moment. “It's not good form.”

He nodded. “I understand that. Hierarchies matter. But this is my hotel. And I want to put out a good breakfast. Not just an edible breakfast.”

She raised her head again, and this time her obsidian eyes were flashing. “Our breakfast is more than edible. It's tasty and it's filling. Which is what your guests are looking for.”

For a moment he was distracted by those eyes, that dark wave of hair, and those very nice, slightly bee-stung lips. Then he shook it off. “Glad to hear it. Now if we could just get a breakfast that I could brag about, we could all be happy.”

“I'm already happy, Mr. Denham. But I'll see what I can do.” Her lips moved up into a faint smile. Then she picked up another onion.

Clark started to turn back toward the door. His cue to exit. “Good night, Ms. Apodaca.”

“Good night, Mr. Denham.” She didn't look up.

He headed down the hall again. Time to head for the back door and then the Blarney Stone. But all the way there he found himself thinking of Lizzy Apodaca. And what it was that might make her happy. Or maybe happier.

Chapter Four

The day after Denham had appeared in the kitchen Lizzy found herself checking the dining room for his presence. And the day after that. She kept expecting him to materialize in the back of the room, arms folded, watching the breakfast service with narrowed eyes.

When he didn't show, she felt oddly disappointed. Which she told herself was absolutely ridiculous. She
so
didn't want to get caught up in any battle between Denham and Clarice, even if she did have a sneaky suspicion that Denham was in the right on this one.

Clarice was even less present in the kitchen than before, which surprised Lizzy. Just because Denham hadn't appeared in the dining room again didn't mean he wasn't keeping an eye on his chef. If she'd been Clarice, she'd have been watching her step—and watching Denham. Of course, she was already watching Denham.

This whole thing was none of her business
.
She figured she owed Clarice the same kind of loyalty she'd show to any head chef she worked for. But she wasn't going much beyond that.

Those lingering scruples about loyalty to the chef disappeared completely the next morning. Fortunately, she'd decided to get to the kitchen a little early. At four thirty she walked into a dark, empty room. No clanks and thumps. No baking smells. No Clarice.

For a wild moment, Lizzy considered calling her. Maybe she'd overslept or something. But she had no idea what Clarice's phone number was. Clearly, she was on her own, at least for the time being.

She took a deep, shuddering breath and turned the oven on to preheat. She managed to bake some muffins, using the batter Clarice had left in the walk-in, but not as many as Clarice usually made. She also managed to get the usual amount of bacon, scrambled eggs and potatoes going, along with a couple of urns of coffee. She figured she needed the caffeine as much as the guests did.

There was no way she could run the omelet station along with making sure everything else was ready for the buffet line. As the clock inched closer to six, her stomach tightened in panic.

Surely Clarice would show up. Surely she wouldn't leave Lizzy alone in the kitchen to feed the thundering hordes.

At six, she put a tray of muffins out on the counter and made sure the hotel pans of eggs, bacon and potatoes were all set up on the steam table. The coffee urns were full. So was the juice dispenser. The trays of fruit and the bowls of ice with the containers of yogurt were ready. Even the oatmeal urn was warmed up.

And Clarice still hadn't put in an appearance.

Lizzy took a deep breath and walked toward the dining room door. This would either be her finest hour or the end of her career at the Praeger House.

The three hours that followed were too busy for her to suffer as much as she should have. She kept the hotel pans going, refilling everything she could as quickly as possible. When Desi appeared at eight, she put him on duty refilling the juice, oatmeal and coffee dispensers since she figured lack of coffee was the one thing that could turn a disgruntled breakfast crowd into a lynch mob. Most of the customers were unfazed by the fact that the omelet station was closed, but she had to tell two or three very unhappy hikers that they'd have to fill up on scrambled eggs.

And still no Clarice.

At nine, Clark Denham stepped into the dining room and focused on the empty omelet station, then on Lizzy, currently putting another hotel pan of bacon into place on the steam table. She thought about saying something but decided it could wait until after breakfast. Everything could wait until after breakfast, at which time she planned to have a nervous breakdown in the kitchen.

Apparently, Denham didn't see it that way. He pushed through the kitchen door as she was loading several bowls of melon segments onto a tray to be carried into the dining room.

“Where is she?” he snapped.

“No idea.” She hoisted the tray onto her shoulder and started toward the door to the dining room.

Denham stepped beside her, swinging the door open so that she could pass through. “Did you call her?”

She shook her head. “I don't have her number.”

“I do,” Denham said grimly. He strode out of the dining room as she turned back to the kitchen again.

Lizzy half-expected Clarice to show up after that, but she still didn't appear.

Desi seemed oddly elated by the morning, despite the fact that he'd been doing double-duty as a kitchen assistant and a dishwasher. When the last diners had left the room, he dropped into a chair at the side of the dining room. “Man, that was really cool. What a rush.”

Rush
was accurate, given the state of breakfast. At least they'd gotten through it without any major screwups. Lizzy slumped into one of the chairs, letting her head fall back. “Thanks for stepping up. I couldn't have handled all of that on my own.”

He shrugged. “No problem. I asked Clarice to let me start cooking after the last kitchen assistant quit. She kept saying she'd consider it, but she never did.”

She turned to look at him. “You want to be a cook?”

He nodded. “Yes, ma'am. That's why I took this job in the first place. I thought I could get my foot in the door. I guess once Clarice has you doing something she doesn't want you to do anything else, though.”

Lizzy considered just how far she could go in subverting Clarice's orders.
Screw it.
If Clarice wanted to run her kitchen, Clarice needed to be around. “You could help me out with breakfast prep if you want. Lord knows there's lots to do.” Maybe she could even put him to work making sandwiches since all that currently involved was weighing meat portions and assembling the pieces.

Desi nodded again, more enthusiastically this time. “That'd be great. I mean, you've got a lot of experience, right? You really look like you know what you're doing around here.”

Danger, danger, danger.
“I've done some kitchen work before,” she said carefully. “I could show you how to prep the stuff for breakfast.”

Desi's grin was the brightest spot in the dining room. “Super!”

The dining room door swung open and Lizzy steeled herself to tell some hungry hiker he was just too late until she saw it was Denham. He gave her one of those laser looks she was getting used to. “I need to talk to you.”

She nodded. “Right. Go ahead.”

He glanced at Desi. “Let's do it in the office.”

Desi's grin faded a bit.

Lizzy gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “Why don't you get started on cleanup? I should be back soon.” She glanced at Denham's thunderous expression.
Or not.

She followed him down the hall to his office, her pulse thudding like a battle drum, her stomach somewhere around her toes.
It doesn't mean he's found out anything about your past. He could want to talk to you about something else. It doesn't mean he's going to fire you.
Would the fates actually be this cruel—letting her work in a kitchen again for a few weeks and then kicking her in the rear? Well, they'd done it before.

Denham dropped into the leather chair behind his desk, motioning for her to take the chair across from him, then pushed a piece of paper in her direction. “Look at this.”

Lizzy picked it up with trembling fingers, staring at the handwritten note.
Don't be anything bad. Please don't be anything bad.
She focused on the words.

And blinked.

“Clarice is quitting?”

“Apparently, she's already quit,” Denham said. He sounded like he was gritting his teeth.

She looked at the note again. Short and not sweet at all. Clarice had a new job in Aspen. She resigned as chef effective immediately.

Lizzy shook her head. “Geez, not even two weeks' notice?”

“Apparently, she considers that a formality.” Definitely gritting his teeth now, given the tense jaw muscles. “I found that under my door when I came to the office this morning.”

Well, crap.
“What are you going to do?”

He shrugged. “Hire a new chef. But that takes time, and I've got a dining room to run until then. And breakfast to get on the table. I can't close the dining room down—I've got too many guests who bought meal tickets as part of their packages.” He paused, staring at her.

Lizzy bit her lip, staring back. “I can do it.”

Denham raised his chin, frowning slightly. “Yeah? What do you need?”

“Need?” Lizzy tried to get her pulse to slow down. What she really needed was a couple of days to think this through.

“Supplies? People? What do you need to make this work?”

Focus, Lizzy!
She took another breath. “We'll need at least one more person for cleanup. Desi wants to learn the business, so he can do some of the prep work. And he can be a runner in the morning if you want to keep doing the omelet station.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Do you think we should keep the omelet station?”

Crap, don't make me think.
“For now, yeah. This isn't the time to make any sudden changes. Long-term, you may want to consider some readjustments.”

Denham's expression turned mulish. “I'm not readjusting anything. I know squat about what people want for breakfast. You're the chef.”

Lizzy swallowed hard. “I'm the chef?”

He gave her a long look. “For now.”

Her heart gave a leap that was two parts elation and three parts terror. “Okay, this weekend I'll look the menu over and figure out what we can do. But we'll definitely need a dishwasher.”

Denham sighed, rubbing his eyes. “I'll see who I can find. You might ask Desi if he knows anybody since we need someone ASAP.”

She nodded. “Okay. I'd better get back and start planning for tomorrow.” She pushed herself out of her chair.

He raised a hand. “Wait.”

Her heart was pounding again. She leaned against the back of her chair. “Yeah?”

“Have you ever done this before?” One of his eyebrows quirked up.

She nodded. “Yeah. I've run a kitchen before.”

“You know how to do it all? Budgeting and everything?”

She nodded more slowly. “Since I don't know the suppliers around here, I can't access what the costs would be. But I can put together a budget if I can see the invoices for the last month or so.”

He blew out a long breath. “I can get you the invoices. And I won't forget this. If you can get me out of this shithole that Clarice has dropped us into, you'll deserve a raise.” He raised his gaze to hers again.

Nice eyes. Sort of greenish brown.
Hazel?
She wasn't entirely sure what color hazel was.
Focus, for God's sake!
“Okay, thanks.”

She took another breath, then turned and headed back to the kitchen.
Her
kitchen. At least for the time being.

*****

Clark didn't know whether he was more pissed about Clarice taking off or more concerned about Lizzy Apodaca taking over. She looked about as apprehensive as he felt.

But she'd said she'd done this before, and judging from the fact that Clarice had apparently dumped the running of the kitchen in her lap before firming up her new job, maybe he should believe her. He didn't have much choice.

Clark showed up at work a lot earlier than usual the next morning, slipping into the back of the dining room around seven. There was already a good-sized crowd, but everything seemed to be moving fairly smoothly. As he watched, the kitchen door swung open and Desi stepped out, carrying a pan full of bacon with two dish towels. He had a white apron wrapped around his waist, and somewhere he'd scared up a white chef's beanie. He managed to look almost professional. Clark wondered how much Lizzy Apodaca had to do with that.

Thinking of Lizzy Apodaca, he scanned the room, looking for her. She stood on the far side at the omelet station, shuffling three pans on the burners. He watched her pour eggs into one of the pans, turning it to coat the bottom, then rake through all three with her spatula for a few seconds. She turned to one pan and dropped a handful of something that looked like bacon, then to another pan where she pushed the edge of the omelet slightly, letting the uncooked egg slide underneath. She added two more handfuls of ingredients to the other two pans, then began flipping the omelets in half. Another few seconds and she pushed them onto plates, handing them to guests who were standing in line to pick up their food.

A considerable line, now that he noticed it. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen a line that long with Clarice. And most of the line was male. He looked back at Lizzy again. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail beneath her beanie and she wore a white chef's coat. There was something mesmerizing about watching her move from burner to burner with quiet grace.

He shook his head.
Snap out of it.

It had taken all of maybe four minutes and she'd served three people. Clark was suitably impressed. On the other hand, it was pretty labor intensive. And if she was spending all her time making omelets to order, she couldn't be back in the kitchen keeping Desi from coming to grief. Clark sidled to the kitchen door, trying not to distract her.

As he stepped inside, he saw Desi at the stove, cooking a huge frying pan full of scrambled eggs. A timer dinged somewhere and Desi opened the oven door, yanking out a pan of bacon. He closed the door with his knee and turned back to his eggs, giving them a vigorous shake while he poured in what was probably the right amount of salt, although it looked like a lot to Clark.

He started across the kitchen in Desi's direction but stopped partway. Another guy who was maybe Desi's age was scrubbing a pot in the sink. Clark frowned. He didn't think he'd hired anybody else, but maybe he had. He turned back toward Desi. “How's it going?”

Desi glanced up, then back at the eggs he was transferring to a pan for the steam table. “Hey, boss. So far, so good. Lizzy got most of the stuff ready and she showed me how to do this. We're keeping up.”