“Here.” I reach for the dripping spatula in her hand.
The second she sees me, her eyes bulge, and then she shoots an accusing look at Jackson. “What is he doin’ here? Did you go and get him?”
Jackson shrugs. “He can cook.”
Annie gapes up at me.
“I can.”
“It’s dangerous for you to be down here. We don’t need your help.”
I can’t stop my chuckle as I point to the beeping deep fryer behind her and then glance down at the black patties. “Yeah, I can see that.”
“Oh shit!” She starts flipping patties in a rush, and they topple on top of one another. Reaching for the back one, she lets out a yelp. “Ow!”
I catch the spatula before it hits the floor. “Are you okay?”
“I just burned myself.” She sucks her knuckle.
“Go run it under cold water.”
She shakes her head and sniffs. “I’m all right.”
“You look sick.”
“It’s hay fever!” She throws her hands up, then snatches a tissue out of the box, blowing her nose like she wants to hurt something and then hurling it in the trash with a little scream.
I start salvaging the burgers I can, tossing the ones that are too far gone. Checking the orders in front of me, I figure I’ll start with the one on the left and work my way across. Until I see a menu, I don’t know exactly what the customer is expecting, so I just have to make up what I think a good cheeseburger should be. The ingredients are laid out on the counter behind me, and I go about putting together a couple of burgers with fries on the side.
Annie’s washing her hands, muttering under her breath as a flustered waitress walks in, a pencil shoved behind her ear and her curls askew. “How are we going on those orders? We’ve already lost two tables who don’t want to wait anymore.” She spots me and blinks. “Who’s this?”
“The new chef!” Jackson grins, handing me an apron.
“Where the hell did he come from?”
“Does it really matter right now?” I avoid the question with a small smile. Popping the two plates for Booth Four on the server, I ding the bell and grin. “Order up.”
The waitress chuckles as she reaches for the plates and shakes her head. “You better be good, kid. This is going to be the busiest shift of your life.”
“I’m up for the challenge,” I mumble, glancing at Annie.
She’s standing by the sink, drying her hands like she’s in shock. Her eyes are wide and she’s still staring at me.
“Don’t worry.” I wink. “I was in charge of meals on the ranch. I’m used to cooking up a storm. Let’s do this.”
She blinks and then glances at Jackson, who punches his fist into the air and grins. “What’s up next, chef?”
22
Keeping a Lid on the Volcano
Jackson turns into Michael’s right-hand man. As I wipe a little burn cream on my knuckles, I can’t help admiring the smooth way Michael moves. Before I know it, he’s got Jackson plating up the salads, quietly correcting and rearranging while the patties fry behind him.
I burned the chicken, so we had to start that again, but within twenty minutes, the orders are rushing out of the kitchen.
People in the diner seem to be liking what’s served, even though it’s a little different.
“That was the best chicken I’ve ever had here, Annie.”
“Good job on the food today.”
“I don’t know what’s different, but I like it.”
Celia walks over to me after thanking the latest customer. Slipping the dollar bills into the register, she hands me a few with a wink. I pocket them quietly, hoping my face is innocent enough as I scan the rest of the tables.
“Well, it looks like the mystery man in the kitchen has just saved the day. Where on earth did you find him?”
I let out an awkward chuckle, relieved when Celia’s called to the end booth.
Darting back into the kitchen, I take the next three plates that the boys have just served up and deliver them. As I slide the food across the table and ask if they want anything else, I suddenly realize that I’m not sniffing anymore.
The drugs have started working.
Or maybe it’s just the fact that I don’t feel on the verge of tears that’s helping me see straight.
Celia’s right about Michael. He is absolutely the savior of the day. And Jackson. It didn’t even occur to me to ask for Michael’s help. It’s so risky exposing the guy, and now I’m gonna have to come up with some kind of story to explain it all.
Clearing Table Nine, I carry the dirty dishes into the kitchen, moving around Michael as he does some kind of cooking dance that’s hard not to watch. He moves between the different areas smoothly—a sprinkle of salt here, a grind of pepper there, a flip, a shake, a flourish.
“Maybe you should be thinkin’ chef, not ranch hand.”
He chuckles. “Not sure I’m cut out for this full time, but hopefully I’m cooking well enough for today.”
“Uh, anything will be better than Mateo. Believe me.”
Fear skirts through me, scratching my windpipe and making it hard to speak.
Michael may be saving the day right now, but what the hell is Dean gonna say when he finds out Mateo quit?
He’s gonna hate having to hire someone new. He’s such a tight ass that he’s not willing to pay for a decent chef, so finding someone’s gonna be real hard, and until we do, we’ll be scrambling. Dean might have to cook, and although he’s capable, he’s gotten used to just running the bar and ordering me around. To actually get his hands dirty? He’s gonna hate it.
I walk out the last order before closing for the afternoon, smiling as I place it down in front of Missy Ember and her son, Josh.
“Wow. This looks amazing.” She’s so surprised I nearly laugh.
But the sound gets cut off when the door flings open and Dean walks in.
Shit!
“Enjoy your food,” I rush, then scramble for the kitchen, ducking in before Dean gets there.
Thankfully he’s being detained by Wesley, who’s talking football. That should keep them busy for long enough.
“You gotta go!” I untie Michael’s apron for him.
He’s in the middle of scraping down the grill.
Oh my gosh, he’s cleaning up after himself. I could kiss this man!
He spins to face me, and I stare at his lips before common sense reminds me that I’m about to get my butt kicked.
Going on my tiptoes, I attempt to pull off his apron, but he stands tall, gently holding my shoulders to stop me.
“Annie, what’s going on?”
“Dean just arrived. You have to leave. Like five minutes ago!” I push Michael’s chest, but he’s a freaking pine tree, tall and unyielding.
Panic rockets through me and I look to Jackson for help, but he’s gone stock-still, staring at the archway leading into the diner like he’s waiting for the Kraken to appear.
He’s about right.
I whirl around and ready myself for battle. I don’t know how I’m going to explain this.
Celia rushes in behind Dean, her eyes bulging as she looks at me.