Chapter Eight

Dream Kit sat across the table from Nando, staring out at the landscape beyond the balcony. He didn’t recognize the place—probably some dreamscape his subconscious had pulled out of an old movie. The sun was setting in front of them, turning the ocean waves a glorious scarlet and rose.

“I love you,” he said.

Dream Kit didn’t look at him. She was wearing something soft and billowing, white against her golden skin. He could see the smooth lines of her body through the fabric. Her profile stood out sharply against the brilliant sunset.

“I love you,” he repeated.

Dream Kit’s gaze stayed focused on the horizon. Her lips turned up in the faintest of smiles, as if she were thinking of something pleasant. Maybe she didn’t know he was there. Maybe she didn’t care.

“Kit,” he murmured. “Please.”

Below them the waves rolled to the shore, the sound distant and rhythmic. Dream Kit ignored him. Maybe he didn’t exist after all.

“Catarina…”

Blaaaaaaat!

Nando’s eyes flew open. He swatted the top of the clock with the flat of his hand, shutting off the alarm.

Guinevere regarded him steadily from the foot of the bed before opening her mouth in a gaping yawn.

Nando sighed, flopping back against his pillow again. “Morning, Bozo. How did you get in here again?”

Guinevere rose smoothly to her feet, stretching from her haunches to her tail. As usual, she ignored him, thumping heavily to the floor and stalking majestically toward his partially open door.

He still couldn’t figure out how she managed to get it open every night. Maybe she was concealing a pair of thumbs somewhere around the apartment.

Right. Thinking about the stupid cat is a great diversion.

He sighed again. He’d had the same damn dream for three nights running now. It always went the same way too. He kept saying I love you, and Dream Kit seemed to be totally unaware of his existence.

He had no idea what it meant. All he could say for sure was that it left him both miserable and hard, which was a really shitty way to start the day.

In reality, of course, he’d never told her he loved her. Except in those last panicked messages on her voice mail that she might never have heard. Yet another one of his screw-ups, part of the whole epic screw-up that was his relationship with Kit Maldonado.

He should have told her. At least, he should have tried.

“Hindsight,” he muttered. “Always dead on.”

He pushed himself out of bed, pulling the spread up over the tangled sheets. Guinevere regarded him impassively from the corner next to the door as she gave herself a quick wash. He also had no idea how he’d come to acquire his very own feline BFF, but for some reason the cat had decided to bond with him.

Oh well, at least one female felt like doing that.

“C’mon, Bozo,” he muttered. “Time for breakfast.”

 

 

Kit stood in the doorway of the Rose, watching Elaine try to take care of a table of four. She got two of the orders mixed up, but the people at the table seemed pretty good-natured about it. And at least this time she remembered to fill their water glasses. Of course, she also forgot to ask the two customers who had ordered wine if they wanted another glass. Kit caught a couple of eye-rolls. She’d have to grab Elaine before she moved on to serving the two-top at the side of the room and then pour the wine before she forgot all about it.

Kit had become the restaurant’s de facto sommelier when she’d realized, somewhere around her first day, that Elaine seemed unable to fill a simple wine order without bringing the wrong bottle or misusing the corkscrew. And putting a sharp implement in Philip’s hands while he was serving some of his more demanding customers seemed like a very poor idea. At some point, she’d have to show Elaine how to open a wine bottle correctly, but right now it was just easier to do it herself.

At least Elaine was now managing to get her salads to the tables before the entrées most of the time, something Kit had already had to caution her about twice. Philip was putting the food out with his usual stone-faced efficiency. Kit had decided by the end of her first week that getting Philip to smile was definitely not part of her job description.

She sighed, pulled Elaine aside to remind her about the wine, and grabbed an iced tea pitcher to take care of a couple of refills before heading off to find the right wine bottle. Gabriel gave her his usual leer, but she ignored him. His libido fell under the same heading as Philip’s lack of smile—not worth her effort to correct.

At least the rush had begun to subside and it hadn’t been as hectic as some days. Since Brenner’s didn’t serve lunch, the Rose had the upscale trade all to themselves, assuming the lunchers in question didn’t mind driving half a mile out of town to the inn. Judging from their capacity seating over the past week from eleven thirty until one thirty, most people in town didn’t see that as a difficulty.

Kit ran credit cards for Elaine and gave Phillip change, careful to include a lot of small bills in the probably vain hope that they’d leave him a decent tip. She’d heard him grumbling about his take-home pay a couple of days ago. Yet he hadn’t seemed to make the connection between his surly demeanor and the amount of money his customers left behind.

The last few diners lingered over their drinks, gazing at the afternoon sunlight dappling the smooth green lawn outside the French doors. By next month the temperature would be spiking into the eighties on most days, but for the moment it was still relatively pleasant. The Rose’s gorgeous location was one of its biggest attractions, and she figured they’d start outside seating in another week or so, provided she could convince Mabel to let her hire another waiter.

Kit heard the swish of a door opening, and watched Joe LeBlanc saunter out of the kitchen and through the dining room. A few diners looked after him curiously. Apparently, he wasn’t yet as well known to civilians as he was to the town’s professional foodie population.

“Hey darlin’,” he drawled. “How’s things? Lunch crowd happy?”

“Doing well. Looks like the roasted corn chowder was a hit.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He wiped his damp face with a napkin, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the hostess desk. “Ran out halfway through. Have to maybe move that higher into the rotation. We didn’t do as well with the mahi mahi, though. I’m still getting a feel for our customers, I guess.”

“I’d say you’re doing fine.” Kit watched Gabriel clear another table. “We’re doing major business, and the crowd is getting bigger every day. I’m going to talk to Mabel about getting another busboy and at least one more server. People should concentrate on the food instead of grousing about the service.”

“Yeah, that’s the least of what we need—experienced waiters would be a nice change. And we could use a pastry chef too. Maybe we should double-team her—you broach the subject and I’ll go in for the kill.”

Kit leaned back on the desk beside him. “I also need to talk to you, as a matter of fact.”

His mouth spread in a slow grin. “Oh yeah? What about, darlin’?”

Kit grimaced. “About the menu for my aunt’s wedding. I just scheduled her into the event center because there was a cancellation. It’s at the middle of next month, and I don’t even know what we can set up in the way of food when we don’t have that much time.”

“Miz Allie’s getting married?” His smile broadened. “Hell, every foodie in the Hill Country will probably show up. We’ll have to do something special for her. And a month’s plenty of time to come up with some good stuff, believe me.”

Kit felt like a large weight had lifted from her shoulders for the first time since she’d talked to Allie the night before. “Really? That’s such a relief.”

“I’ll do her proud, Scout’s honor.” He sketched a quick cross on his broad chest.

“I believe you.” Kit glanced back across the restaurant with its muted colors, the rolling green hills stretching beyond the French doors. “This has such potential. It’s a beautiful location and your food is spectacular. All it needs is a couple of nudges to become a destination restaurant.”

She blinked. Where on earth had that statement come from?

LeBlanc narrowed his eyes. “You interested in nudging, darlin’?”

She shrugged. “Maybe. Sometime. Right now I’ve got a wedding to plan. When can we go over the menus?”

“How about this evening, after everything clears out?”

Joe’s blue eyes seemed to darken. Kit felt her own pulse thump. Danger, danger Will Robinson!

“Um…okay. You mean look at the menus here?”

“Nope. I usually get out of here as soon as I can.” He had that knowing grin again, the one she kept meaning to tell him was annoying.

Kit licked her lips, ready to explain that she couldn’t go to his house or his apartment or his trailer, wherever it was.

His grin didn’t falter. “How about we go catch some dinner at that tavern where Clem Rodriguez cooks? I’ve been meaning to check it out anyway.”

“You mean the Faro?” She suddenly felt slightly idiotic for assuming he was interested in anything more than talk. Hell, for all she knew he might not be interested in women at all, although given his grin, that was probably wishful thinking on her part. “Sure. That’ll be fun. I know the people there.”

“All right then. I’ll meet you there around seven—got to take care of some business here before I leave.”

“Okay, good.” She managed a grin that she hoped looked more friendly than relieved. “I’ll see you then.”

 

 

Taking Clayton Delaney to the Faro always made Nando feel a little like he was corrupting a minor. Tom had carded him the first time he’d come in, and he looked like he was considering doing it again.

Delaney, on the other hand, was having the time of his life. The Steinbruner brothers still hadn’t figured out that they’d never be able to beat him at pool, and Clayton was finishing off a bottle of Avery White Rascal and cleaning their clocks without a dip in his angelic smile. Once upon a time, Nando might have tried to lay a few side bets, but by now everybody in the Faro knew about Delaney, and of course only someone seriously near-sighted or incurably optimistic would bet on the Steinbruners.

He leaned back against the bar and took a sip of his beer, an IPA with a full body that tasted like you could spread it on crackers. “So where’s this one from?”

Tom shrugged, turning away from Deirdre reluctantly. “Colorado.”

Nando’s stomach gave a rumble, reminding him he hadn’t yet gotten dinner. “You got any nachos tonight?”

Deirdre narrowed her eyes. “We do dinner now, you know. Clem’s back there cooking up a full menu. If she finds out you ordered pre-made nachos instead of her chicken Acapulco, she’s liable to skin you.” She grinned up at him. “I can take your order back to the kitchen. Just tell me what you want.”

Tom scowled in her direction. “You’re not waiting tables anymore, Deirdre. You were up at five to open the roaster. You need to take it easy in the evening.”

“Yes, sweetheart, I got the memo.” She gave him a dry smile. “But this isn’t a table, it’s a barstool. And it won’t take me any time at all. What do you want to eat, Nando?”

He shrugged. What he really wanted was nachos, but he figured keeping the peace was worth a compromise. “A burger, I guess. That won’t get me in trouble with Clem, will it?”

“She’d probably rather serve you her chicken, but she still does great burgers.” Deirdre pushed off her barstool and headed for the kitchen.

Tom watched her go with an expression of dazed appreciation that Nando found vaguely annoying. “Why the hell don’t you just ask her to marry you and get it over with?” he growled.

Tom frowned. “I already did. We’re working on a date. What’s got your back up?”

“Nothing.” He took another sip of the IPA, wishing he had something lighter. His stomach gave a quick twinge. “Everything. Hell, I’d still rather have the nachos.”

“So what’s new with the bookstore break-in?”

“Nothing much. I guess they’re reopening next week.”

“So I hear.” Tom turned to fill an order for one of the barmaids.

Nando stared across the room again. Slow night. Nobody around. No Kit, anyway.

As if he’d conjured her up, Kit walked through the door, pushing the silken fall of dark hair away from her face. His pulse gave an unsettling thump, and he wondered if he should do anything about it. Like maybe go over and find a table for her.

She looks tired. Maybe she’d like a beer.

He started to move forward off the barstool, but she stayed standing in the doorway, peering around the room as if she were looking for someone.

A quick shiver moved down his backbone. Looking for someone. Maybe if he’d gotten lucky all of a sudden, she might be looking for him. It was always possible. He started to step forward again, as the door opened behind her.

The man who stepped inside was a stranger, a very large stranger. Well over six feet, muscled, wearing a loose jacket over a plaid shirt and slightly rumpled black pants. He had a well-trimmed beard and moustache, and his shaved head gleamed in the dim light of the Faro. Nando thought he saw the glint of an earring.

Kit glanced over her shoulder and smiled at the newcomer.

Nando felt the ache all the way to his toes. What did you expect? You knew she’d find somebody. You knew it wouldn’t be long. He knew, but he hadn’t let himself think about it much.

You knew it wouldn’t be you. Yeah, that much he’d definitely known.

Tom leaned back on the bar, glancing toward the doorway. “Who’s that with Kit?”

Nando shook his head. “Never saw him before. Maybe he’s somebody she knows from the Woodrose.”

“Maybe. Clem might know.”

“Clem might know what?” Deirdre slid onto her stool again. “Your burger will be out in a minute.”

Kit and the big man moved across to a table at the side of the room. Nando fought the urge to check his ID, just on general principles.

“Who the guy is with Kit. Have you ever seen him before?”

Deirdre glanced at the side of the room, frowning. “No, not really.” She gave Nando a keen-eyed look that was too perceptive by half.

If he hadn’t already ordered a burger, he’d have headed out the door. As it was, he’d lost any appetite he might have had. “I should have ordered fries,” he grumbled.

“They come with the burger. Do you want me to find out who that is?”

He shrugged, doing his best imitation of indifference. “Whatever.”

Deirdre shook her head, letting him know his imitation hadn’t worked, and headed off toward the kitchen. Tom had busied himself at the other end of the bar. Nando wondered if his pariah status would last all night, or just until the guy’s identity was nailed down and people stopped worrying that he might pick him up on a fugitive warrant.

Not that he would. Not that he wasn’t tempted.

The kitchen door swung open and Deirdre headed back to the bar again, carrying a tray with his burger and fries. She gave him a questioning look.

He closed his eyes for a moment. “Okay, who is it?”

“Joe LeBlanc. The head chef at the Rose.”

Nando felt a momentary relaxing of the tightness in his chest. “So they work together.”

“Right.” Deirdre’s smile turned slightly wicked. “Of course, that’s what Tom and I used to do. Work together.”

He occupied himself with putting pickle and onion onto his burger. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about bad breath tonight. The only one who was likely to be around him was Guinevere, and she didn’t seem to notice what he smelled like.

He took a savage bite out of his dinner.

 

 

Joe made a quick survey of the Faro while he pulled out Kit’s chair. Good-sized main room. Pool tables at one side, carved mahogany bar across the opposite wall. Around twenty tables, and it looked like they had a large patio, maybe for performances when the weather was more reliable.

All in all, he was inclined to agree with Clem’s claim that the place was potentially a gold mine. Not that they did the kind of food that was his specialty, but it was the type of place where he liked to hang out after hours. He was as fond of a good burger as the next man.

Particularly when that good burger could be shared with a beautiful woman.

Kit Maldonado was, in fact, one very beautiful woman. The most stunning woman he’d seen in a long time. Dark curling hair that fell slightly below her shoulders. Eyes the color of strong coffee, with a faint almond shape. High, sculpted cheekbones and full lips.

He figured she knew how beautiful she was—how could she not? But she didn’t seem to be overly obsessed with it. She didn’t strike him as a woman who expected tributes, although she probably got more than a few.

He liked her. He’d like to get to know her better. He’d also like to know who the guy at the bar was who looked like he was wishing Joe instant death.

Judging from the way Kit avoided even a glance in his direction, Joe figured there’d been a relationship there at some point. It didn’t seem to be current, though. If it had been, he’d have backed off. He hated being somebody’s revenge fuck, not that it would be the first time that had happened.

Right now, he was just enjoying the moment, and the fact that he was interested in Kit Maldonado. He’d had a couple of years in the recent past when he wasn’t interested in much of anything beyond finding the ultimate white truffle and the ultimate hit of cocaine.

He sighed. “Normality. Ain’t it great?”

Kit’s brow furrowed, “What?”

He could have kicked himself. No point in dragging her into his drama, even if it wasn’t all that dramatic anymore.

The door to the kitchen flew open and a tiny brunette cyclone sped toward their table. “Joe,” the cyclone yelled. “Jesus, look at you!”

“Clemencia!” He wrapped his arms around Clem’s small waist when she got to his chair. Seated, he was almost the same height as she was. If he stood up, he’d have to bend over almost double to give her a hug.

She dropped into a chair beside him, running her hands through her short, spiked hair. At least she’d gotten rid of the neon-blue highlights she’d had the last time he saw her. She still had at least six earrings in each ear, though, plus another one through the eyebrow.

“So how are you?” She grinned at him. “You’re in luck tonight. I’ve got some ranchero sauce that’ll blow a hole in your palate. I’ve been serving it over chicken, but I can whip up some huevos if you want. Fresh queso fresco from a farm up by Mason.”

Joe grinned back. Clem had one of those contagious smiles that only a dedicated depressive could ignore “I’ve got a hard on for one of your burgers, darlin’. You think maybe you could put a little of your ranchero on that?”

She nodded thoughtfully. “Right. And a little quesco fresco on top. Then run it under the broiler for a minute or so.”

“Oh yeah. And then lettuce and tomato. Maybe some red onion…”

“Hey, I’ve got some roasted ancho chilies, too, just to give it a little bite.”

He nodded. “Maybe chopped up in the burger.”

Clem rubbed her hands together. “Yeah, it’ll work. If it doesn’t take the top of your head off, I might even add it to the menu.”

“Hell, even if it does, it could be worth it.”

Clem laughed again. “You want to come back to the kitchen and dish? You can dice the anchos.”

Joe shrugged. “Maybe next time.”

Clem glanced in Kit’s direction. “Hey Kit, I didn’t really forget about you, honest. You want a ranchero burger too?”

Kit shook her head, smiling. “Just a regular burger is fine. I need to get to sleep tonight, and I have a feeling that ranchero burger might fight me.”

“So what is this?” Clem turned her bright black gaze back toward him again, looking a little like a hungry grackle. “A date?”

Joe managed to keep his smile in place. “You do get to the point, don’t you Clemencia?”

She shrugged. “No time to be subtle. I’ve got burgers to fry.”

“We’re planning the menu for Allie’s reception. I got the event center, just like you suggested,” Kit said quickly.

A little too quickly, by his calculations. She seemed kind of eager to make their non-date status clear. All of a sudden he found himself wondering just how recent the relationship with the guy at the bar had been.

“Great.” Clem slapped a hand on the table. “Let me go fix you some food and then I can kibitz.” She pushed herself up in one quick motion, turning toward the kitchen as she did.

There was a beat of silence at the table after she’d left. “So how do you know Clem?” Kit asked, her smile a little too bright all of a sudden.

Joe shrugged. “From New Orleans. She was an intern at the hotel where I was chef, not in the same restaurant, though. We hung out together some.” Actually, it was more that Clem had hung onto him, or tried to. She’d done her best to stop him from sliding down to disaster, but it wasn’t a slide she could have prevented. Only he could have done that for himself.

On the other hand, she hadn’t treated his slide into the abyss as some kind of spectator sport, the way his other so-called friends had. He owed her for that.

“So…” Kit licked her lips. She looked like she was trying to find a discreet way into the menu discussion.

He decided to cut her off at the pass. “So what brings you here to Konigsburg anyway? Allie?”

She shrugged. “Not exactly. I mean having her here was a draw, but it wasn’t what really made me come. I just like the place.”

“You’re not from here?”

Her lips spread in a cautious grin. “Nah, it’s like that James McMurtry song, ‘I’m not from here, I just live here’.”

He chuckled. “True for most of us, I guess. So where are you from?”

“San Antonio. My family owns a restaurant there, down in the Southtown area. Or they used to, anyway. My dad just sold out to a new owner.”

“Was that unexpected?”

She sighed. “It was for me. I thought I might work there for a while, after I finished up my degree at UTSA. I was hoping maybe I could get into front-of-the-house stuff that way. It’s probably just as well that I moved on, though. I mean, I started clearing tables there when I was eight. Maybe I needed to widen my horizons a little.”

“Best way to learn the business. Be part of it from the ground up.”

“Maybe.” She glanced at the guy at the bar and back to him again. Definitely something going on there.

“My dad spent his life running that restaurant after he grew up in his parents’ restaurant in Brownsville,” she explained. “Our whole family sort of revolved around Antonio’s Fine Mexican Cuisine. I’m looking for a job that goes in a different direction.”

Joe let some of his incredulity show. “Like hostessing at the Rose?”

“Technically I’m managing the Rose.” Kit shrugged. “Like I said, the Rose has terrific potential. I’d like to help make it the kind of restaurant it should be.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Good luck with that. I have the feeling Mabel will fight you every inch of the way.”

A waitress stepped up to the table, pencil and pad in hand. Joe blinked. She was almost as gorgeous as Kit. Holy crap, what did they have in the drinking water around here?

She smiled, upping her bombshell quotient by another twenty percent. “Hi, Kit. Can I get you guys something from the bar?”

Kit smiled back, and Joe suddenly felt as if he were a judge at the Miss Universe pageant. Except that he’d never be able to judge a contest between these two.

“Hi Deirdre, do you know Joe LeBlanc? He’s the head chef at the Rose.”

The Most Gorgeous Waitress In the Known Universe turned her smile on him, well-nigh frying his synapses. “Hi, Joe. I’m Deirdre Brandenburg. I own the coffee roaster next door. Would you like something to drink?”

“Um…sure.” He blew out a quick breath. “Maybe a Coke.”

Deirdre turned back to Kit. “How about you, Kit? Lonestar?”

Kit shook her head. “Not tonight. I’m being a wedding menu planner—better keep a clear head or we’ll end up with sweetbreads or something.”

Joe placed a hand over his heart. “While my sweetbreads have been known to bring grown men to tears, I think I can promise to avoid them for Miz Allie’s wedding reception if that’s your wish.”

“Oh.” Deirdre slid down into the chair next to Kit. “You’re menu planning. Cool. Can I help?” She waved a hand at one of the other waitresses. “Marilyn? Could you bring over a couple of Cokes when you’ve got a minute?”

Joe gritted his teeth. “Sure. Join right in.”

Clem pushed through the kitchen door carrying a tray and headed straight for their table. She plopped burger baskets in front of each of them and then took the chair opposite Deirdre. “So. Menu planning. Let’s get to it.”

Joe picked up his burger. Visions of a tête-à-tête with Kit Maldonado were fast evaporating, but at least he could eat some first class Tex-Mex. He glanced around the table. Deirdre Brandenburg with her heart-stopping eyes. Kit Maldonado with hair like black silk. Clem Rodriguez, not in the same class, but someone you couldn’t ignore. How did he end up with three women when he’d come in here hoping to focus on one?

Deirdre flicked a quick glance at the bar and then back, her smile widening, her eyes dewy with innocence. All of a sudden, he had a feeling she and Clem hadn’t exactly dropped in by chance. More and more he wanted to know the identity of the guy at the bar.

“Have at it ladies,” he growled. “I live to serve. Or to cook, in this instance.” He took a bite of his burger. Damn, that ranchero sauce rocked!

 

 

Nando was home by ten thirty, cold sober and disgruntled. He’d had a good enough dinner. Deirdre was right—Clem’s burgers were superlative. But then he’d had to sit and watch the guy at the table hold court with the three most interesting females in the place. And he said this knowing that Clem’s interests weren’t fastened on men at all, not that it was any of his business whom she pursued.

He considered getting a bottle of Shiner from the fridge but rejected the idea. Drinking alone every time he saw Kit Maldonado wasn’t exactly the path to mental health.

He headed down the hall, pursued by Guinevere, then dropped into bed and managed to get to sleep after a half-hour or so of tossing. When he started dreaming of Kit he wasn’t exactly shocked.

He was going through the same I love you routine when her cell phone began ringing.

“Answer it,” he muttered, but she ignored him.

“C’mon Kit, answer it.”

Dream Kit narrowed her eyes. “It’s not my phone.”

The ringtone finally woke him, and he glanced at the clock. Five. He groaned. What sadist called at this hour of the morning? Outside his window the early morning sunshine leaked lemon-colored light through the pecan tree in the backyard.

He flipped the phone open, recognizing the number. “Yeah.”

“Better get down here,” Toleffson’s voice rumbled. “We got another one.”