Old Memphis was dead. I’d killed that version of myself. I’d stabbed her to death with the shards of a broken heart.

  Good riddance. Old Memphis, though not all bad, had been a brat. Soft and silly. She wouldn’t have survived the past year. She would have caved and given into her family’s demands. She wouldn’t have been the mother that Drake needed.

  My son would not be spoiled. I would teach him how to work hard. How to fight for a life on his own terms. When he walked past a housekeeper in a hotel, he’d pause to say thank you.

  Maybe I’d lost my shine, but I was a better person without it.

  Knox pushed through the swinging door to the kitchen, holding it for me to follow him inside.

  The scent of bacon and onions and buttered bread filled my nose, making my hunger claw. The stainless steel table in the center of the room was crowded with mixing bowls. The smaller ones had sauces, the larger salads. Five cutting boards were placed in between. One had an array of sliced vegetables, lettuce and pickles and tomatoes, all ready for sandwich and burger toppings. Another had a beef brisket, sliced thin.

  “Did you bring me here to torture me?” I asked.

  Knox chuckled, not quite a laugh but more a rumble from deep in his chest. He went to the side of the table where Eloise and I had sat on my first day, taking out a stool. “Have a seat.”

  “Hey, Memphis.” Skip glanced over his shoulder from where he stood at the flat top, caramelizing some onions.

  “Hi.” I waved and sat down.

  “Want some lunch?” he asked.

  “I’ve got it.” Knox held up a hand and walked to a shelf teeming with pots and pans. He took down a pot and filled it with water. Then he set it over a flame with a dash of salt before disappearing to the walk-in, returning with four different blocks of cheese. He chopped and grated until the water boiled, then he dumped in a box of dried pasta.

  Knox moved through the kitchen with command and grace. It was like watching a dance.

  A movement at my side stole my attention. Skip slid a plate and napkin in front of me, then winked. Busted. I hadn’t so much been staring at Knox as caught under a spell.

  I blushed. “Thanks.”

  “Want a new fork?” He nodded to the one still in my fist.

  “This one is fine.” I set it on the plate.

  Skip returned to his tasks, tearing off a ticket that rolled from a small black printer against the wall. He read it, then attached it to a clip that hung beside a warming rack. The bulbs glowed orange against the silver metal shelf.

  My gaze drifted to Knox as he plated salads on three white plates. His hands plucked exactly the right amount of lettuce from a mixing bowl. His forearms flexed as he sprinkled the greens with shredded carrots and croutons from a roasting pan. Then he added sliced cherry tomatoes and drizzled on a purple vinaigrette.

  Those blue eyes stayed focused, never once drifting my way. If he felt me staring, he didn’t glance up.

  And once more, I became entranced with his every move. His steps. His hands. His face. His hair was long enough to curl at the nape of his neck. My mother would have called it shaggy, though I’d argue it was sexy. I’d seen what was beneath that coat my first night in the loft. I knew what those curls looked like dripping wet.

  A low pulse bloomed in my core. There was always a rush where Knox was concerned but this was a curl, like thread wrapping around a spool, winding tighter and tighter with every turn.

  Knox was more tempting than any meal.

  More dangerous than the knife in his grasp.

  The swinging door flew open and a pretty woman with brown hair hurried inside. A black apron was tied around her waist. Her white long-sleeved button-down was perfectly starched. “Hey, Knox. We’re out of chardonnay in the wine cooler. Do we have more stashed away?”

  “There’s more in the cellar,” he answered, returning to the cutting board, this time with a red chili pepper. What would have taken me minutes to chop, he diced in seconds, the pieces precise and delicate. “I forgot to grab it this morning. Give the front desk a call. Eloise or someone else can bring some up for us.”

  “I can go get it,” I offered.

  The woman looked to me and smiled. “You’re Memphis, right? One of the housekeepers? I’m April.”

  “Hi.” I waved. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Here.” Knox dug a set of keys from his pocket. “The wine cellar is two doors down from the break room. Would you mind?”

  “Not at all.” I took the keys and hurried from the kitchen.

  I couldn’t, wouldn’t, let myself get distracted by a handsome man. Not again. My heart couldn’t handle another break.

  Not that Knox was in any way interested. In truth, I wasn’t all that interesting. I’d given up worrying about my appeal the day Drake’s life had stirred in my belly.

  Hurrying to the cellar, I unlocked the door and stepped inside, scanning the dimly lit shelves. The temperature was cooler in here and goose bumps broke across my bare arms.

  I’d been hot all morning. Usually when I cleaned a room, it was right after the guest had showered, and it made the rooms muggy.

  I scanned the wine labels, some I recognized. My fingers drifted along the sleek neck of a cabernet from a winery I’d visited in Napa years ago. It was a bottle I could no longer afford.

  One day.

  I moved to the shelves of white wine, loading up on a variety, then hauled them out of the cellar, locking up behind me. In the short time I’d been gone, the number of restaurant patrons seemed to have doubled. Without Knox snagging attention, fewer noticed me as I rushed back to the kitchen, depositing the wine bottles on the prep table.

  “Thanks.” Knox nodded to my plate. “Lunch.”

  A steaming bowl of macaroni and cheese sat beside the plate Skip had brought over. On it was the same salad Knox had made for an order.

  I took my chair, knowing I would never eat it all, but picked up my fork and dove into the mac ’n’ cheese first. Rich, creamy flavors exploded on my tongue. A moan escaped my throat. The chili peppers gave the sauce a kick. The cheese was gooey and tangy and complex.

  Knox stood on the opposite side of the table, and when I met his gaze, there was nothing but utter satisfaction on his face.

  “This is really good.”

  “I know.” He arched an eyebrow. “No more blue box.”

  “I bought a ten-pack.”

  “Ditch it. I always keep the ingredients on hand if you want some.”

  “Thank you.” A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth as I dove for another bite. I wouldn’t bother him to cook for me. I’d just save my cheap pasta and powdered cheese for dinners alone at home.

  By the time he came home most nights, he’d never know otherwise.

  I’d paid too much attention to his schedule this week, mostly in hopes of staying out of his way. But also for a rare glimpse. The thrill that came with Knox was addicting. Only a foolish woman wouldn’t appreciate such a good-looking man, and I was trying very hard not to be a foolish woman.

  Knox went back to cooking as I ate with abandon. He tore off an order slip from the printer, and it joined the lineup of others. While Skip manned the flat top, Knox arranged plates, then dropped a basket of shoe-string-cut potatoes in a fryer.

  “Why Quincy?” His question was spoken as he sliced a ciabatta roll. He was so intent on the bread that it took me a moment to realize his question was for me.

  “I wanted a small town. A safe place to raise Drake. I was thinking California. An influencer I follow on Instagram was raving about these small towns up and down the coast. But they were too expensive.” As much as I would have loved to live beside the ocean, there was no way I’d be able to afford it.

  “You’re from New York?”

  “I am. I was tired of the city.”

  He pulled the fries, then smeared the ciabatta with an aioli, balancing what seemed like ten orders at once.

  When I was in the kitchen, I had to concentrate only on the food, cooking one thing at a time. He’d probably grimace if he knew that preparing my blue-box macaroni had taken me just as long as it had taken him to make it from scratch.

  “So how’d you land on Montana?” he asked.

  “That same blogger did an interview with this baker in LA. She, the baker, said her favorite place to vacation was Quincy. That she and her husband spent a Christmas here and fell in love with the town. So I looked it up.”

  The pictures of downtown had charmed me instantly. School ratings and the cost of living had sealed the deal.

  Knox gave a dry laugh as he shook his head. “Cleo.”

  “Cleo. Yes, that was the baker’s name. You know her?”

  “She invaded my kitchen on her vacation here that Christmas. I’ve never seen anyone make so much food in a few hours. We’ve kept in touch. I actually just sent her some recipes a few weeks ago. Including that one.” He pointed toward my plate. “Small world.”

  “That it is.”

  Though I hoped, for my sake and Drake’s, there was a bit that remained big. That over the miles between Montana and New York, I’d be able to put some distance between the future and the past.

  Montana had an appeal for many reasons. This intimate, friendly community was one. Another was the lack of Ward Hotels in the entire state.

  My grandfather had started the first Ward Hotel in his twenties. Over his lifetime, he’d grown his enterprise into a chain of boutique hotels before passing the business to my father. Under Dad’s rule, the company had quadrupled in the past thirty years. Nearly every major metropolitan area in the country had a Ward Hotel, and he’d recently begun expanding into Europe.

  But there were none in Montana. Not a single one.

  “I read Cleo’s interview, then saw the application for a housekeeping position and applied,” I said.

  “And now you’re here.” Knox stopped plating and braced his hands on the table, locking his gaze with mine. Questions swam in his eyes.

  Questions I wasn’t going to answer.

  “Now I’m here and had better get back to work.” I stood from the table. “Thank you for lunch. It was delicious.”

  “See ya, Memphis,” Skip called over his shoulder.

  “Bye.” I headed for the door, glancing back one last time.

  Knox’s gaze was waiting. His expression was almost unreadable. Almost. Suspicion was written across his handsome features. And restraint. Probably because he wanted my story.

  But that confession was mine and mine alone.

  I was halfway through the restaurant when my phone rang in my pocket. I dug it out, checking to make sure it wasn’t the daycare. It wasn’t. So I hit decline and stowed it away.

  Sixty-three.

  At this rate, it would be one hundred before the end of September.

  Maybe by then, the calls would stop.

  CHAPTER SIX

  KNOX

  “Thanks for dinner.” Griffin clapped me on the shoulder as we stood on the front porch of his house.

  “Welcome.”

  The macaroni and cheese I’d made Memphis last week had given me a craving, so I’d made a huge batch today with plenty to spare. Before coming to see Griff and Winn with a pan for dinner, I’d dropped one off at Mom and Dad’s place too.

  “Nice night.” Griffin drew in a long breath. The scent of leaves and rain and cooler temperatures was in the air.

  “Sure is.” I leaned against one of the wooden beams, glancing out across the land as I took a sip from my beer.

  Surrounded by trees with the mountains in the distance, Griffin’s place was the reason I’d built my own. I’d wanted my own haven away from the bustle of town. Our styles were entirely different. Griff preferred a traditional look with an abundance of wood, while I favored the sleek, modern lines of glass.

  Though our houses were different, the setting was the same.

  Rugged mountain countryside. Evergreens with the year-round scent of pine. Sunshine and blue sky. Home.

  A cry came from inside the house and Griffin straightened, turning toward the front door as Winn came outside with my two-month-old nephew, Hudson, fussing in her arms.

  “Tag, you’re it.” She handed her son to his father. “He wants me during the day but only Griff at night.”

  My brother nodded at his son. “We’ve got lots to talk about at night, don’t we, cowboy? And sometimes you just need a new set of arms.”

  Hudson’s fussing ceased as my brother walked the length of the porch.

  My heart twisted at the sight.

  I loved Hudson. But his birth had triggered memories I’d done my best to forget these past five years. Memories that weren’t as buried as I’d once thought.

  Griffin hadn’t known Gianna, nor had any of my siblings. Mom and Dad had met her once on a vacation to San Francisco, but that had been before Jadon. My family knew what had happened, but it was something I’d refused to discuss after I’d moved home.

  No one knew how hard it was to be around a baby.

  “Dinner was amazing.” Winn gave me a sleepy smile. “Exactly what I was craving.”

  “Anytime.” I winked as she pressed a hand to her belly.

  It was early in her second pregnancy, but I suspected before too long they’d all come to the restaurant more frequently. While she’d been pregnant with Hudson, I’d taken it as my personal challenge to feed my sister-in-law’s cravings.

  “How are things at the restaurant?” she asked, sinking into one of the porch’s rocking chairs.

  “Good. Busy.” Roxanne was running the show tonight. Wednesdays were typically slow this time of year, so when she’d told me to stop hovering and head home after lunch, I’d actually listened.

  Griffin kept pacing with Hudson, murmuring words to his son that I couldn’t make out.

  “It’s his voice.” Winn followed my gaze. “I think because it’s deeper. This time of night, Griff’s voice is about the only thing that will put him to sleep.”

  “Makes sense.” It wasn’t always easy to see Griffin with his son, but that wasn’t something I’d admit to them. To anyone.

  “You feeling okay?” I asked Winn.

  “Just a little tired. But I think that will be the norm for a few years.”

  Griffin strode our way. “Maybe by the time we have this next one, Hudson will sleep through the night.”

  “That’s the dream.” Winn crossed her fingers. “How’s it going with Memphis?”

  “All right. I don’t see her much.” And that had been by design. There was a reason that I hadn’t taken much time off lately. That I hovered at Knuckles. There was a reason that on my rare night away from the restaurant, I’d escaped to the comfort of my brother’s home and not my own.

  Griffin and I had a bond formed from youthful years of hiding mischief and suffering the consequences when our parents inevitably caught us causing trouble. He’d been my best friend since birth. We knew each other better than most, which was probably why he hadn’t asked about Memphis. He could sense I didn’t want to talk about her.

  What would I say? I was attracted to her. Every time she walked into the room, my heart stopped and my dick twitched. If that had been the end of the story, if it had been just a woman passing through town, I would have chased her that first night.

  But she wasn’t a tourist here today, gone tomorrow. There was no escaping her, at work or at home. Then there was the kid.

  Seeing Drake was harder than seeing Hudson. I wasn’t sure why but every time he cried, it cut right through my chest. Maybe it was because Memphis was dealing with it alone. She bore the brunt of his screams. She carried the weight on her slender shoulders.

  But it wasn’t my business. It wasn’t my place to interfere.

  I’d had enough dramatics for a lifetime and Memphis had drama written all over her pretty face.

  It had taken me five years to build a life in Quincy. I’d walked away from San Francisco a broken man. I’d come home to recover. To start again. To return to a place where I’d had good days in the hope of finding them again.

  Five years and I was there. I loved my job. I loved my family. I loved my life.

  Unchanged.

  As soon as Memphis was gone from the loft, it would be easier to put her out of my head.

  I drained the last swallow of my beer as Hudson’s eyelids began to droop. “I’d better get home. Let you guys get him to bed.”

  “Thanks, Knox.” Winn yawned.

  “Have a good night.” I walked over, bent to kiss her cheek, then shook my brother’s free hand. I ruffled the dark hair on my nephew’s head and touched his button nose. “Give your parents some rest, kid.”

  Hudson had a tiny hand over Griff’s heart.

  Damn, that stung. As Hudson grew, it had dulled, but not disappeared. I let it spread through my chest, then jogged down the porch steps for my truck.

  My drive home was through a maze of gravel roads. The highway was more of a direct route to home, but taking the back roads gave me time to roll down the windows and simply think.

  When I’d stopped at Mom and Dad’s earlier, they’d asked me if I’d made my decision about the hotel. Uncle Briggs had had a rough week. He’d gone out for a hike without telling anyone, and though he’d probably been lucid at first, he’d had an episode and gotten lost.

  Lost on the land where he’d lived his entire life.

  Thankfully, Dad had found him just before dark. Briggs had tripped and twisted his ankle. So after a trip to the ER—Talia had been the doctor on call—they’d gotten Briggs home. But the scare had spurred Dad’s urgency to get my answer.

  An answer I didn’t have to give.

  Part of me wanted to agree, simply because it would make them happy. I had the best parents in the world. They let us fail when we needed to fail. They gave us a hand when it was clear we couldn’t get back up on our own two feet. They loved us unconditionally. They’d given us every advantage possible.

  But if I said yes to the hotel, it wouldn’t be for me. It would be for them.

  Did I want The Eloise? I didn’t want it to go to someone outside of the family. But me? Maybe. I just wasn’t sure. Not yet.

 

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