Colton Family Bodyguard, page 5
Callum studied her profile, sloping nose and full lips. Long lashes low over hazel-green eyes. He let his gaze travel lower, noticing a button on her white blouse had come loose and exposed more of her cleavage. She was a stunning woman.
He turned his attention to her growing list.
“Do you have regulars?”
“Yes. I’m a personal chef,” she answered without pausing in her writing.
Leaning over he started reading the list. “Are the ingredients all meat and potatoes?”
Smiling she slid a glance toward him. “No. Some are chicken and mashed potatoes.”
He chuckled. “I could do that job.”
“I also have clients who want things like shrimp and scallop scampi. Roasted chicken au jus. Seafood-stuffed salmon. Steak. Lobster. Vegetable dishes. Fruit.”
He would like to try a few of her concoctions. But since he barely knew her, he didn’t mention it.
“What made you decide to become a chef?” he asked.
She smiled softly. “My mother cooked all the time. I grew up with delicious smells wafting from the kitchen.”
“You never told me about your family. You know all about mine and I know nothing about yours.” That wasn’t fair. He felt safe asking her, not too personal.
“Not much to tell,” she said. “My parents are both from Pagosa Springs, Colorado. They knew each other in high school but didn’t get together until after college. My brother is a cop and lives in Phoenix with his wife’s family.”
“I’m sure there is more to tell than that.”
She smiled in that soft way again. “Are you looking for drama?”
“You did say every family has it.” He was starting to love this banter.
She laughed once. “Um...let’s see...well, there was the time when my brother skipped school to smoke pot with his friends. My parents flipped. They were afraid he would drop out of school or be kicked out and his whole future would be in ruins. But it turned out he just went through a phase. He rebelled for a year and then got his grades back up and went on to college.”
To become a cop. Her family drama paled in comparison to his. “What about you? Did you ever rebel?”
“No. I was never good at math or the sciences, but I managed a B average. Art was my forte. I oil painted, drew in lead and colored pencils. My paintings were often displayed in the school hall outside the art room. My parents worried I’d never make a comfortable income. They sat me down for a talk my senior year and said, ‘Hey, look, you might not be able to support yourself.’ Their way of saying they were convinced I’d be the clichéd starving artist.” She laughed. “I suppose I am still, in some ways.”
He liked that she smiled and laughed so much. He smiled and laughed, too, at least he thought he did.
“You were an artist and became a chef,” he said. “How did you go from one to the other?”
That made her think a moment, tipping her head up a bit, eyes lifting in search of an answer. He could see the flecks of green glowing.
“I think the talk with my parents influenced me,” she said. “I went to college for interior design, but one of my optional classes was culinary. That’s what changed everything. I loved the art of making plates look like colorful, abstract paintings. And then I fell in love with flavors and aromas. I dropped out of college after the first semester and went to culinary school.”
She must have a knack for it, since she was so young and already striving for success. “You’re self-employed. That’s quite an accomplishment.”
“I only recently went out on my own. I did my externship at Flemming’s, a renowned restaurant here in Arizona.”
“I’ve heard of it. Where did you go to school that got you that kind of externship?” he asked.
“The Culinary Institute of America.”
He whistled. How had she been able to afford that? He didn’t know the exact tuition but did know it was among the best culinary arts schools in the country, if not the world.
“My parents saved for my college education. They gave me almost half and I took out student loans for the rest. That and the externship got me my first job at a place called Carolyn’s Kitchen. It was an upscale, home-style restaurant. I helped them spiff up their menu and some of the meals I created gave me the idea to go out on my own. Jasmine, the owner of the bakery, lets me cook in her kitchen when I have a big order or several all at once. I cook after the bakery closes at two.”
She didn’t appear to make a ton of money, living in the small apartment, but she had to be getting along just fine, making a decent income to support herself and Evie. Callum admired that. He admired ambition in anyone. Working hard was rewarding. It didn’t matter if the hard work made a person wealthy. If Callum hadn’t been born a Colton, he wouldn’t be wealthy. He made a good income, more than an average bodyguard, but nothing approaching what his father made.
“What’s your favorite food?” Hazel asked, handing him the notepad.
Taking it, his fingers brushed hers. She gave him the pen as their eyes met.
“Seafood. Clams. Scallops. That scallop recipe sounded really good.”
“Clams. I could make you an outstanding clam dinner. We’d have to make something else for Evie. She doesn’t like seafood.”
“Does any kid?”
She took the pen and paper back and jotted down some more ingredients. Then she handed the list back to him. He put it on the coffee table.
“What are you going to make me?”
“Linguine with white clam sauce.”
“Mmm.” He couldn’t wait for that. Spending time with her in the kitchen, too. Doing anything with her. He liked being with her. “How much time do you need to cook tomorrow?”
“Five or six hours.”
Taking out his phone, he took a picture of the list then texted it to one of his agency’s best personal staff and asked to have everything by nine in the morning. Patsy Cornwall responded a few seconds later. She was a night owl. Callum could always depend on her.
“Just like that, we’ll get all the ingredients?” Hazel sounded amazed.
“Just like that. Patsy is paid very well for her services.”
“Is she some kind of concierge?”
“She’s a personal assistant. She works from home and runs errands for us when we need it. We all keep her pretty busy.”
“Nice. Lucky me.” Hazel gave him the pleasure of one of her soft smiles and the color of her eyes spellbound him.
She moved her head a fraction closer, as though she couldn’t help it, stopping short and looking into his eyes.
Callum lifted his hand and placed his palm against her cheek, then, nearly involuntarily, pressed his mouth to hers. She immediately responded, her warm lips melding with his and sparking much more carnal urges. The intensity of sensations just a kiss caused in him made him withdraw.
She opened her eyes and he found himself transfixed again. He had only known her for about ten hours. With all that had happened, he felt he had known her a lot longer.
“I should get some sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a busy day,” she said.
“Right. Yes.” He stood with her, seeing her smooth her hair and press her lips together as though she could still feel him kissing her.
He walked behind her toward their bedrooms, she veering to the right and he to the left. When she reached her door, she slowed and looked at him. A moment of electrified attraction passed between them before she disappeared from view.
Callum entered his room and closed the door. While he undressed and got into bed, he imagined what it might be like to be naked with Hazel. On his back, he folded his arm under his head and stared at the dark ceiling, the passionate urges subsiding as the reality of starting something romantic with her set in. Hazel, single mother of Evie, an adorable little girl who reminded him of what his own daughter might have been.
Daughter. He had never formed that word since his girlfriend died. And now an intense sense of dread came over him. Dread and a horrible, defenseless feeling that swirled in his stomach.
Okay. He had gotten himself into this mess. He would treat it like any other job. Watch out for Hazel and Evie. Get them through what they had witnessed. Catch the bad guy. Move on to the next client. No more kissing Hazel.
Chapter 4
When Hazel woke, she didn’t immediately know where she was. She had been so exhausted, she’d slept deeply. Now, pushing the covers off, she sat up to be surrounded by the luxury of the Dales Inn room. With white, brown and splashes of color in paintings, the room was immaculate and quiet. She stood and saw Evie had already gotten up.
Checking the time, she saw it was almost eight. Going to the door, she cracked it open and heard Evie chattering happily away. Assured her daughter was fine, Hazel hopped in the shower. Remembering kissing Callum, she tipped her face up into the spray, feeling him all over again. She’d had trouble falling asleep last night because of that. She couldn’t even blame him, though, since she was the one who had leaned in. She had been so entranced by him, by his eyes and every feature of his face. The sound of his voice and the things they had talked about, the connection between them.
She dressed in gray slacks and a black blouse and left the room, hearing voices.
“I love strawberries.”
“I can seen that you do,” Callum said.
“I looove strawberries,” Evie repeated.
Evie sat at the dining room table with a huge plate of strawberry crepes in front of her. The dish dwarfed her head and upper torso, just her shoulders cleared the height of the tabletop.
“What are you doing to my daughter?”
Callum looked up from the table, where he arranged two breakfast plates that still had silver covers on them.
He chuckled. “She said she was starving. I hope this is okay with you. I sort of winged it by ordering room service.” He pointed to the plate at Evie’s right. “That’s yours. I’m glad I didn’t have to wake you before it got cold.”
“More than fine. I’m starving, too.” She sat next to Evie and lifted the cover.
“It’s a Santa Fe skillet,” Callum said. “Wheat toast and fruit for sides. Evie picked it out for you. She said you liked food like that. There was a picture on the room service menu.”
She did like food like this. Evie knew she loved green chilies.
He poured her a cup of steaming coffee. “Cream or sugar?”
“Yes, please, just creamer.”
He handed her two small containers of creamer and she went about adding both to her coffee as Callum sat across from her and removed the silver cover from his plate. He had gotten a ham and cheese omelet with rye toast.
“Do you eat out a lot?” she asked.
With a bite of food, he nodded. Then after swallowing, added, “Bachelor.”
She and Evie rarely ate out, but why would they, when Hazel cooked for a living?
“Evie told me the last man you were with was a...what did you call it?” He turned to Evie.
“A nerd.” Evie giggled before shoveling another bite of crepe into her mouth.
“Evie was worried you were falling for him,” Callum said.
Hazel saw his questioning look. She had dated James for a few weeks. She didn’t like talking about him.
“Well, Evie, you’re awfully chatty this morning,” she said.
Evie giggled. “Cal-em is funny.”
“Why is he funny?”
“I don’t know. He’s funny. He’s not a nerd.”
Gaze running over his shoulders and chest, Hazel had to agree. When she met his eyes, the same tingles of sexual awareness assaulted her, just as they had last night.
“Who is this nerd? He must have been important to you if you let him spend time with Evie.”
“He didn’t think Mommy was smart. He called her stupid once.”
Callum’s lower jaw dropped. “What?”
“She told him to leave. Except she used a bad word.”
Hazel remembered the sting of James’s condescension all too well. Just when she had begun to trust him, he’d turned on her. He had made her feel the same awful sense of betrayal that Ed had.
“He had a PhD in economics,” she said. “Apparently he was very proud of that.”
“Why did he call you stupid?” Callum asked, sounding incredulous.
“We were talking about retirement. I didn’t have anything put away at the time. My sole focus was Evie, taking care of her, saving for her college, making sure she has medical insurance and good clothes and shoes and healthy food. It escalated to an argument and he called me stupid. He said I didn’t know arithmetic or anything about science and all I did know was how to cook.”
As she talked Callum’s brows gradually rose with each insult. “The man is clearly mad. And completely blinded by his own self-interests.”
She wasn’t sure she could have said that better.
“Just because you’re more inclined to the arts doesn’t make you stupid,” Callum said. “A person doesn’t have to be a genius in math or any of the hard sciences to be intelligent.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe anyone would say that to another person.”
“I thought he was a decent man, just like Ed.” She glanced at Evie. The little girl didn’t yet understand what had happened between her mother and father, but some day Hazel would have to have that talk with her. She wouldn’t disparage Ed’s character, just state the facts. What she dreaded most was that Evie would feel her father never loved her, even though he hadn’t. He didn’t. He didn’t care about Evie. He didn’t even know her name. Maybe she could tell Evie someday that her father never knew her, but that if he ever did, or took the time to, then he would love her.
When Hazel turned back to Callum, she saw he had caught her meaning. She was no good at assessing men, at predicting their characters. She had always been trusting, had had no reason not to be, having been surrounded by good people, raised in a stable family.
“I’ve always thought relationships were based on trial and error,” he finally said. “Sometimes the trials go well but you learn the person isn’t right for you and you respectfully part ways. Sometimes the trials go badly and end up a mistake. But eventually, with a little luck, you find a person who works.”
Works? He sounded as though he believed what he said, or had at one point. “What kind of trials have you had?”
“Ones where I learned something, and some that were a mistake.”
“What did you learn?” She’d start with the easier question to answer.
His shrewd mind must be at work. He eyed her with subtle suspicion mixed with intrigue, perhaps, and then his head cocked ever so slightly.
“Too personal?” she asked, half teasing.
A one-sided grin was his initial response, then he said, “I learned that some women are more interested in their own gain, and others aren’t certain enough about what kind of man they’re searching for or don’t care as long as he is kind and capable of providing. I’ve learned those kinds of women aren’t for me.”
Oh, my. This man knew what he wanted. He sounded so candid. She didn’t doubt he had learned what he claimed, but what about the mistakes? Maybe there had been only one.
“What about your mistakes?” she dared to ask.
Going still, he just looked at her.
A knock on the door interrupted. Callum went to the door and in came carts of groceries and supplies.
“Whoa!” Evie exclaimed, holding a sticky fork and sporting a strawberry-stained mouth. She put her utensil down, prongs up, on the table, watching the assistant roll bags of food into the suite.
“I’ll help put all of this away,” Patsy said. A woman of average height with wavy brown hair and blue eyes, she had an energy about her that radiated efficiency.
Evie got off the chair. “Are we going to cook, Mommy?”
“I’m going to cook. You’re going to go take a bath.” She stood. “Come on. I’ll get you started.”
Hazel saw the assistant begin to put groceries away and Callum lending a hand. The refrigerator would be bursting by the time they finished.
In their en suite, Hazel started the bath and then went to Evie’s stash of toys and found her floating Barbie boat and doll. Returning to the bathroom, she discovered Evie had removed her clothes and stepped into the filling tub.
Seeing Hazel had her favorite toys, she smiled and reached up for them. “Yes.”
Hazel laughed with the affection that filled her. She handed her daughter the toys and Evie went instantly into playtime mode. Leaving the door open so she could hear her if anything happened, Hazel left the room and saw that Patsy had gone and Callum was removing cooking pans from a box. Patsy must have brought them, since the inn only had a minimal collection.
“You’re going to help?” Hazel asked, going to the sink to wash her hands.
“I wouldn’t want to ruin anything. I’ll keep you company. I have nothing else to do until I make all your deliveries.”
“I make the deliveries. It’s good PR.”
“No, I’ll make them. You stay here, where you and Evie will be safe.”
She had spoken without thinking, distracted with getting ready to cook for a few hours.
“I’ll tell your customers Evie is sick and you sent me instead,” he said. “I’ll be charming. You won’t lose any business.”
Was he a good liar? She wished she could be there to hear him so she could make that assessment. Then again, she was never any good at detecting falsehoods.
While Callum made a call to Kerry to ask her to post an officer outside the inn while he made deliveries, Hazel decided to start with the pork chops. Brining them first, she felt Callum observing her work. While the chops soaked for thirty minutes, she moved on to the chicken and broccoli. Turning on the oven, she put the meat in a bowl, seasoned it and drizzled the cutlets with olive oil. All the while she contemplated picking up her conversation with Callum. She was beyond curious over what mistakes he had made. She knew there was one, probably a big one that he had trouble talking about.
