Love in the Morning (7 page)

She gave him a dry smile, as if she knew that wasn't exactly what he'd been thinking about. “It's okay. A little heavy on the cottage cheese, but okay.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You don't like cottage cheese?”

“Not so much in lasagna. I'm more the ricotta and mozzarella type.”

He leaned back a little. “You worked in an Italian restaurant?”

She shook her head. “I never cooked lasagna in a restaurant. I was talking more about how I fix it at home.” She gave him a bland smile, but he didn't miss the slight stiffening of her shoulders.

Talking about her past always seemed to make her uncomfortable. Usually he let it go, but this time he felt like pushing a little. People who hid things made him itchy. “So, what did you cook in restaurants back in California?”

She shrugged. “I was a salad chef for a while. And I've been a line cook. You do a little of everything when you do that, depending on the time of day. It's where I learned to do omelets.”

“You didn't go to culinary school?” He couldn't remember her résumé offhand.

She shrugged again. “I did a few semesters. Then I got a job in a restaurant, and I figured I'd learn more there.”

No locations of course. And damned few details about the jobs. Clark weighed how much he wanted to pursue the question of Lizzy's mysterious past. On the one hand he had a strong feeling she was hiding something. On the other, she was currently keeping his customers happy and getting ready to help him out with this absurd contest he'd become obsessed with.

He took another bite of pizza and decided Lizzy Apodaca could go on hiding her secrets. For the time being, anyway. “So, what's your opinion on breakfast grits?”

*****

Lizzy felt like she'd had a close call, although she wasn't sure why. Clark hadn't really pushed her about her past, after all. But it stood to reason that he would sooner or later. Her luck couldn't hold out forever. She'd figure out what to say for herself when the time came.

Right now she just wanted to enjoy herself
.
That was, of course, pretty much what she was trying to do. The evening air had developed a bit of a bite. Summer had begun to glide into fall. Sooner or later she'd have to take the time to buy a winter jacket—assuming she could find an affordable one. As they walked back to Praeger House, she wrapped her arms around herself to hold the warmth in.

“Are you cold?” Clark's voice rumbled in the darkness.

She shook her head. “Not so much. Maybe a little. I'm still getting used to the mountains.”

“Here.” He pulled off his jacket, draping it around her shoulders.

The leather was still warm from his body, sending a quick shiver through her center that had nothing to do with cold air. “Desi says it sometimes starts snowing in September.”

Clark shrugged, his face illuminated as they passed a streetlight. “September's a little early for anything except flurries. We start getting more serious stuff in October. But like I said, it probably won't begin to stick until November. Before then everything melts.”

She glanced up at the cool radiance of the moon. “I've never lived anywhere it snowed before. I'm sort of looking forward to it in a weird way.”

“You always lived in California?”

She nodded. No reason to dodge that particular question.

“It'll be different for you, then.” He grinned, teeth flashing in another streetlight. “You'll probably love November and hate April. By spring everybody's ready for winter to be over.” He turned at the gate, putting his hand on her elbow to move her into the Praeger House drive.

She shivered again, the warmth of his touch making her breath catch in her throat. Ahead of them, Praeger House glowed in the gathering darkness, the lights warm and welcoming in the night. The dark blue-black of the mountains jutted up behind the hotel. She took a deep breath, filling her lungs with cold air that sent another jolt of exhilaration through her shoulders.
Autumn in Colorado. Very cool.

She paused at the front steps, pulling the leather jacket from her shoulders so that she could hand it to him. “Thanks. I need to get one of these.”

He frowned slightly, taking the jacket from her. “You don't have a coat yet?”

She shook her head. “Not really. I haven't taken the time. I'll head over to that western store on Main one of these days.”

“Better make it sooner than that. Like I said, snow flurries in September.” He put a hand on her shoulder, guiding her up the stairs to the long veranda with its rocking chairs and wicker couches. “Take some time off next week. I'd hate to think of you shivering through a snowstorm because you wouldn't leave the kitchen.”

The warmth of his hand seemed to raise a new round of gooseflesh. She fought off another shiver. They were almost to the front door when she paused. Letting him walk her to the door of her room seemed sort of…odd. “Thanks again for dinner.”

He stared down at her for a heartbeat, then raised his hand, brushing his fingertips across her cheek, then running them lightly through her hair. “Dry leaf,” he said softly. “In your hair.”

“Oh.” She swallowed hard, trying to clear her suddenly tight throat. “Thanks.”

His lips moved up into a faint grin. “See you tomorrow, then.”

She nodded, eyes wide. “Right.”

After another moment, he turned, pushing the door open so that she could walk through. Somehow she managed to make it down the hall to her room without looking back or breaking into a trot.

Clark Denham was a very dangerous man. She needed to stay on her guard. Absolutely
.
She closed her eyes for a moment, then unlocked the door to her room.

Chapter Seven

Lizzy discovered that Clark Denham's prediction was more on target than he'd probably realized—the first snow fell in Salt Box two days after they'd gone to dinner. It wasn't much more than a dusting and it had vanished by mid-morning, but it brought along colder temperatures and a gusty wind.

She'd only packed the clothes that fit in her car, which meant leaving behind about two-thirds of her wardrobe. She definitely didn't have the kind of sweaters and outerwear she needed for the mountains.

She was warm enough as long as she was in the kitchen or the dining room. The heat of the oven took care of the former and she wore a long-sleeved chef's coat in the latter. But in the halls of Praeger House or her previously cozy room—where the glorious view of the mountains meant she was exposed to the winds that came roaring down their flanks—she needed a sweater. Hell, she needed long underwear.

Now she surveyed her kitchen. It was just after one. The salads and sandwiches for the case were already done and in place. The prep for tomorrow's breakfast was largely done, except for the muffins. Desi was currently finishing up on the diced melon and the grapefruit segments for the fruit cups. She could turn him loose on the baking when he was done.

His first round of applesauce muffins had been a qualified success. On the one hand, they were way too moist and had a tendency to break into pieces. On the other hand, they tasted great. And they made Desi grin like Ronald MacDonald. Over the days since then, she'd let him try his hand at other flavors, although she'd clamped down on the recipes, insisting he perfect the basics like blueberry and lemon poppy seed before she'd let him introduce more exotics.

She followed him to the walk-in, where he was sliding the last trays of fruit into place. “You want to do the batter for the muffins today?”

He gazed back at her, wide-eyed. “Yeah, absolutely. What are we baking?”

“Let's try some zucchini. Grab those bags and bring them back to the prep table. Then we can get started.”

Desi's broad smile made her feel a little guilty. The muffins weren't going to be all that exciting. “The recipe's not that unusual, really. Just a sort of variation on the carrot ones we're already doing.”

“No problem.” He grinned as he hefted the bags of zucchini onto the prep table. “Every new recipe helps, right?”

“Right.” She wasn't sure exactly what they were helping—maybe his burgeoning career as the muffin man.

She dug out the recipe card for the zucchini muffins, attaching it to the rack above the prep table with a magnet. “You can get started prepping. You need to peel the zucchini and then get them all grated up in the food processor and then squeeze them out in a dishtowel to get rid of as much water as you can. Otherwise, the muffins will be all soggy.”

“Right.” He nodded, his jaw squaring in determination. He flexed his non-existent biceps. Maybe squeezing the zucchini dry would help him build some.

“Once you've gotten that done we can start putting the batter together. I'll be back in a half hour or so to show you how.”

Desi frowned. “Where are you going?”

“I need to buy a jacket.” Also heavier socks and a couple of long-sleeved T-shirts if she could find some that wouldn't break her budget. “It shouldn't take me too much time.”

Desi looked unconvinced. “Clothes shopping takes my mom forever.”

Lizzy sighed. “I'm not fussy.” Largely because she didn't have enough money to be fussy. “But I need some warm clothes before I freeze. Trust me, I'll be back here before you're done with the zucchini.”

“Okay.” He picked up the vegetable peeler with grim determination as she headed out the door.

Salt Box had a fair selection of upscale boutiques and luxury stores at the far end of Main. And of course there were the boutiques at the resort that even had designer stuff.

None of which mattered a rat's ass to Lizzy. Luxury wasn't in the cards. She needed warmth and she needed cheap, although she finally had enough money to go somewhere other than Goodwill. She headed for the western store she'd seen when she first came to town. Anything that could withstand a bucking bronco could probably withstand the Praeger House kitchen.

Inside the scarred wooden doors, the store seemed about equally divided between boots and jeans, with a separate section for hats out of a John Wayne movie. She considered asking for help, but the woman behind the cash register was busy with a crossword puzzle. Lizzy scanned the racks, trying to find something that resembled jackets or even a heavy-duty lumberjack's shirt.

“Can I help you, hon?” The woman behind the counter gave Lizzy a semi-suspicious stare. Given that she was shivering in the entryway in her T-shirt, jeans and running shoes, maybe that stare was justified.

“I'm looking for a jacket,” Lizzy said quickly. Fortunately, she managed to keep her teeth from chattering too much.

“In the back.” The cashier waved toward the far end of the store, picking up her crossword puzzle again. Apparently fall was not the busy season for western wear.

Lizzy headed where the cashier had pointed, working her way through racks of jeans, overalls, and plaid shirts. At the far side, she saw a rack of denim jackets that seemed to be lined with flannel.

Should be warm. Probably.
Maybe later on she could invest in a ski parka after she'd earned a little more money at Praeger House. Given the dropping temperatures, by January she'd probably need something that would make her look like the Michelin Man.

She checked the price tag on the denim jacket and grimaced. Not as much as a ski parka would probably cost but more than she'd hoped. Still, it seemed to be good quality, which meant it would last her a while, and it wasn't like she could go on shivering her way through town. She pulled one of the jackets off the rack and stepped in front of the mirror to try it on.
Not bad.
It looked like a Salt Box kind of jacket and it fit like it was hers. If she didn't know better, she might actually think she belonged in this place.

“Lizzy, is that you?”

Lizzy's shoulders jerked in surprise, her stomach clenching tight. She whirled around to see the woman from the Blarney Stone—Dick's friend Nona.

In the brighter lights of the western store, her hair was the color of black coffee, pulled into a bun at the back of her head that showed a sprinkling of gray roots around her forehead. She wore wire-frame glasses and a white button-down shirt along with the inevitable jeans. She gave Lizzy a tentative sort of smile. “I don't know if you remember me—Nona Monteith. We met at the Blarney Stone when you came in with Clark.”

Lizzy nodded a little jerkily. “Of course, sure, good to see you again.”
No babbling, Lizzy. Do
not
babble!

“Nice jacket,” Nona nodded toward the denim jacket Lizzy had draped over her shoulders.

“Yes, it is. I like it. I think I'll take it.” Lizzy took a quick breath to keep herself from saying more.

“Good quality,” Nona said, nodding at the rack of jackets. “Menninger's is a solid store. They stand behind their stuff. Been here over a hundred years now.”

“Really?” Now that Lizzy looked around, the place did have a sort of well-worn vibe.

“Yep. Here before the resort, that's for sure.” Nona seemed to be watching her closely—more closely than Lizzy felt comfortable with.

“I'd better go pay for this,” she said quickly. “I've got to get back to the kitchen to help my assistant get the muffins in the oven.”

Nona's attention didn't waver. “You do good muffins at Praeger House. You got time for a cup of coffee before that?”

Lizzy bit her lip. “Well, I mean, I've got all these muffins.”

Nona narrowed her eyes slightly, as if she hadn't heard. “See I think I finally figured out where I've seen you before.”

Lizzy felt as if an icicle had suddenly formed around her spine. “Really?” she croaked.

Nona nodded. “You're that Annalisa Antonio, right? The one who made all those people sick? On
Lovely Ladies of LA?
”

Lizzy closed her eyes. It had all been too good to be true. Everything had been too good to be true. She should have known it from the beginning. Salt Box wasn't a refuge—just another stop on the way down. She took a deep breath and gave Nona Monteith a level stare. “My name's Lizzy Apodaca. But once upon a time I went by Annalisa Antonio. And I never knowingly made anybody sick in my life.”

Nona gave her a smile that seemed half-sympathetic and half-curious. “There's a coffee shop around the corner.”

Lizzy nodded. “Let's go there.”

At least she managed to buy the jacket before they left the store. She figured if she was going to lose her job, she'd have a warm coat before she headed off to Denver, or wherever the hell she headed to next. Clark owed her some back salary. It should be enough to get her down the mountain.

The café where they ended up had slightly raised booths along one wall. Nona made a beeline for the one at the end, nodding at a waitress along the way. “Hey, Karen, could we get a couple of coffees over here when you've got a minute?”

“Sure thing, Nona.” The waitress gave Lizzy a cursory glance, then went back to filling salt shakers.

Lizzy settled onto the other side of the booth, trying to calm her fluttering heart. She was actually a little more worried about her fluttering stomach. She really didn't want to end up losing her lunch in the restaurant's ladies room.

The waitress brought two heavy china cups as Nona was settling in her seat, pouring coffee and depositing a metal cream pitcher on the table with a practiced hand. “You ladies want menus?”

Nona raised a questioning eyebrow in Lizzy's direction, but she shook her head. Food was the last thing she wanted at the moment.

“Just coffee for now, Karen, thanks.”

They waited until the waitress headed back to the front again before Nona leaned across the table. “Listen, I don't want to upset you, honestly. But when I figured out who you were, I thought I should talk to you about it. I mean, Clark Denham's a friend of mine and I didn't want…” She paused for a long moment, her cheeks suddenly pink.

Lizzy closed her eyes, sighing. “You didn't want his cook to end up poisoning his clientele.”

Nona blew out a breath. “Well…yeah. But I wanted to hear your side of it too.”

My side of it.
Lizzy rubbed her eyes, suddenly feeling the weight of all the sleepless nights she'd had since she'd come to Salt Box. She needed to learn how to do this. Nona was the first person to recognize her, but she probably wouldn't be the last.

“I started my own catering business in LA two years ago, after I'd been a chef in some restaurants around town,” she began. “I had some family recipes, along with others I'd put together, and I'd had luck with customers from the restaurants where I'd worked. A couple of them invested in the business, along with some of my family.”

Her shoulders gave a quick throb and she rubbed her hands across to loosen them. At least her investors hadn't lost everything. Not as much as she had, anyway.

“What was your specialty?” Nona asked, sipping her coffee.

Lizzy poured a dollop of cream into her cup, giving it a quick stir. “I did a lot of Mexican stuff—those were the family recipes. Queso flameado, quesadillas, shrimp nachos. And I could also do the kind of stuff you usually see at a catered party—curry or lasagna or roast chicken and turkey. It was a normal catering business.”

“How many people did you have working for you?”

“Working for me?” Lizzy gave her a dry smile. “Mostly me. I brought in waiters when we had parties, and if I had a really big gig, I'd hire a prep cook to work with me. But I did most of the cooking.”

Nona sighed. “So I guess that means you did the cooking…”

“For the show.” Lizzy nodded slowly. “All me. All my deal.”

Nona picked up her coffee cup. “How'd you get on that show anyway?”

“My cousin Teresa. She's one of the ladies on the show.” Lizzy shrugged. “She's married to a rich guy—I don't exactly remember what he does. Real estate or something. Anyway, she was one of the original cast members.”

Nona frowned. “Were you a regular? I don't remember seeing you that often.”

Lizzy shook her head. “No, I was only on a couple of episodes. Teresa just offered me a job. She wanted to have a cocktail party on the show, with all the women and their husbands or boyfriends or whatever. She offered to have me make the hors d'oeuvres. She said it would be good exposure.”
People will see it, Lizzy. They'll want to hire you. You can use it on your promo.
Of course only the first of those statements had turned out to be true.

Nona was still frowning. “What about your name. Did you do the catering as Lizzy?”

Lizzy sighed. “That was Teresa's idea too. She used to be an actress—she changed her name to Teresa Antonio instead of Teresa Apodaca. She thought it would make more sense if we had the same last name. People would be more likely to make the connection between us. Annalisa is my real name.” In reality, the name change had been the only good thing Teresa had done—she'd made it easier for Lizzy Apodaca to slip under the radar after everything fell apart.

Nona settled back in her seat. “So what happened?”

Lizzy closed her eyes for a moment, pulling all the details together in her mind. She wasn't exactly enjoying this, but still there was something reassuring about getting it all out in the open. “I worked out the menu with Teresa—sort of Italian, sort of chichi. She couldn't do seafood because one of the ladies was allergic, so I did feta and spinach in puff pastry pockets and some bruschetta. And stuffed mushrooms. Teresa loves chips, so I did some fancy flatbread with smoked cheese as well as crudités with dip. There were some profiteroles too—a little bit of everything.”