Colton by Blood, page 6
Where had Kate been during the kidnapping and murder? Had she been afraid? Had she seen the body? He hoped not. He hoped she hadn’t even seen the bloodstains. A sight like that could stick in a person’s mind permanently.
He knew the kitchen was going to be tucked off somewhere discrete. At least, that was what he figured in a place like this. In normal houses, the kitchen was the center of the home, a meeting place for families to gather. Not so for the wealthy, who’d rather pretend their meals were magically created before being delivered to their ornate dining tables.
That was another thing wrong with this house, now that he thought about it—no kitchen smells. Even when Levi and his mom were at their lowest and poorest, their living space still retained the scent of food, if only cups of ramen noodles or bags of chips.
Sure enough, Levi found a grotesquely formal dining room, illuminated by more night-lights. Chandelier, thick rugs, polished wood, the works. Even those fake place settings that were removed when the real meal was served. He would never eat in this room, of that he was certain. No servants were going to wait on him if he could help it.
On the far end of the hall was a door. Dollars to doughnuts it led to the kitchen. He walked through the room, temporarily distracted by a huge family portrait of Jethro and his daughters in the center of the wall, lording over the space. With a snicker of disgust and a shake of his head, he pushed through the swinging door and into a staging area that ended with an enormous kitchen.
He inhaled deeply. There it was, the right smell. His stomach growled. The burrito he’d picked up during his road trip had been a long time ago, and the bread pudding, while one of the most delicious dishes he’d ever eaten, was far too small to satisfy. If it hadn’t have meant more work for Kate, he would’ve had second or third helpings.
The long, wide room glowed with dim lighting, like the rest of the house. He smoothed a hand over the stainless-steel island workstation that dominated the center of the space. It looked a lot like an operating table. The same way that there was a little magic in the science of medicine, he wondered if there were some science to Kate’s dessert magic. He smiled, wondering what delectable sweet she’d prepare tomorrow. He could hardly wait.
The kitchen boasted two hulking, stainless-steel refrigerators. In the nearest one, he worked hard to tread lightly so as not to disturb the obviously meticulous organization. Behind a block of cheese, he found cartons of yogurt. Good enough.
He had his hand on a carton of strawberry flavor when a row of plastic-wrap-covered ramekins caught his eye. Custard. Vanilla, judging by the color. Kate would’ve made these. The big question was, were they available leftovers or earmarked for the next night’s meal?
Deciding he didn’t care, he nabbed two. It took him another five minutes of opening every drawer in the room before he finally found spoons. Then, custards and spoons in hand, he decided to check out the darkened hallway to his left.
Through the hall was another dining room, but unlike the first one he’d encountered, this room looked and smelled lived-in. Other than Kate, this room was one of the few aspects of the mansion that felt authentic. The table was made of worn, scarred wood, with a newspaper holding down one corner and a caddy of salt, pepper and napkins in the middle, sitting on a lazy Susan. The caddy was so darn normal, he was drawn to it and gave the lazy Susan a push.
Watching the napkins revolve, he straddled the bench seat and dug in to the first custard. At that initial taste of vanilla, sugar and egg on his tongue, his eyes rolled up and he moaned. It took him only two minutes to dispatch the custard in both ramekins. Dropping the spoon in the second one with a clatter, he yawned and stretched, his hunger satisfied.
Near the hearth of a simple stone fireplace sat a sofa, rumpled and beige. And darn it all if it wasn’t calling his name. He scratched his stomach and yawned again. This must’ve been how Goldilocks felt after she ate all that porridge and found the perfect bed.
He dropped onto the sofa with a contented sigh. It was even more comfortable than it looked, and smelled faintly of must and dust. He set the alarm on his watch for five-thirty, which would hopefully give him time to get up before anyone found him and still allow him a little under three hours of rest. Not really enough to stay healthy, but there had been many nights in med school and his first year of residency that he’d netted less sleep than that.
Bringing his feet up, he lay lengthwise on his back with his head on a shapeless, cream throw pillow, and crossed his arms over his chest.
* * *
Bleary-eyed and as cranky as she always was before her morning coffee, Kate pulled her chef jacket on as she clomped to the stairs from her second-floor room in the employee wing. She flipped lights on as she went, torn between being grateful for the alone time because she was the first person up every morning and ruing the fact that bread couldn’t bake itself.
She punched the light switch to the dining room and frowned. Somebody had helped themselves to the crème brûlée, and rather than try to hide their crime, they had the gall to leave their dirty dishes sitting out. Not only that, but they’d also eaten the dessert incomplete, without the burnt sugar topping that balanced the taste of the custard. Un-freakin’-believable.
And definitely not something she was willing to deal with before coffee.
Thankfully, no other workers trickled downstairs until after five-thirty, so she could be as grumpy as she wanted in the morning and no one would be the wiser. Growling, she trudged to the kitchen and started a kettle of water heating, then measured coffee grounds into a French press. Bracing her hands on the counter, she sank into her arms and indulged in a full-fledged scowl as she stewed about the brazen custard thief.
The water reached a high simmer, and simply knowing she was minutes from tasting the elixir of life, she felt more human and less witchy. She poured the water into the press, checked the time and decided she might as well grab the dirty crème brûlée dishes before Agnes woke up and blamed her.
Fantasizing about fitting the refrigerator door with a lock, she plodded to the dining room again, but a snore coming from near the window stopped her short. From the hall, she peeked around the corner, looking first under the table, then farther into the room at the sofa. Her heart did a flip-flop.
Chapter 5
Levi Colton was fast asleep on his back, one leg stretched on the floor and an arm slung over his forehead.
Morning grumpiness all but forgotten, she dimmed the overhead lights she’d turned on and tiptoed across the room to him, though she probably was being overly careful since he hadn’t woken during her clomping and grumbling. Why had he slept on this sofa instead of in the guest suite on a bed as comfortable as money could buy? If Kate had a bed like that, she might never get out of it in the morning. Fresh bread—and her job—be damned.
Perching on the edge of the bench, she propped her elbows on her knees and studied the devastatingly handsome face of her custard thief. His dark blond hair stuck up at odd angles, and without the intense soulfulness of his hazel eyes, his face looked boyish and carefree. Adding to that illusion was that he slept slack-jawed and his long, muscled arms and legs stretched haphazardly in all directions—the total opposite of the self-containment he exuded while awake.
His T-shirt had pulled up, revealing a strip of hairy skin above the elastic waist of his pants. And beneath the pants, an absolutely impossible-to-ignore erection.
Eyes widening, she gave it her full focus.
The sight got her blood moving south and her heart beating faster, probably because it’d been a while since she’d last seen one of those. At least a year.
She’d been determined after William’s death not to let her sexuality die with him, at least what was left of it given the tepidness of her married bedroom life. After a couple years, she’d been brave enough to give intimacy a try. The opportunity had come in the form of a rodeo cowboy traveling with the circuit. A perfect, no-strings-attached guy to test the waters with.
The experience had been okay, better than she’d expected, actually. Not shout-from-the-rooftops good, but satisfying nevertheless. Every year or so since then, she’d stepped out of her comfort zone and into some man’s bed, refusing to feel guilty about giving in to her basest needs. Men did that all the time, so why shouldn’t she?
In a lot of ways, going solo was more consistently successful than her dalliances were—it’d been that way when she was married, too—but the problem was that taking care of her own business didn’t satisfy the need nearly as much as being with an actual man. She reveled in the feel of strong, rough hands and manly smells and being squished under a broad, muscular body. Plus, fanaticizing about erections was nowhere near as good as the real thing. Not even close.
Levi was impressive. She couldn’t tear her eyes away or stop wondering exactly what he looked like or how he would feel sliding into her body. Did he make love like he slept, with abandon, or with that same steely control he had while awake? What would it be like to sleep with a man who had a doctor’s knowledge of the human body and an intensity of personality so sharp he stole the air from every room he entered?
He’d stirred something to life inside her last night. A part of her she worked hard to keep under control. The part of her that craved more. More attention, more excitement, more sex.
The trouble with that way of thinking was that life didn’t work that way. Once upon a time, she’d gone after more. She’d let dreams and love and cravings rule her, and it’d left her in financial and emotional ruin. The past six years had been so rough on her, she wasn’t certain she could handle what she thought she craved. Like a child who begged for extra sweets then got sick to his stomach.
The longer she stared and wondered, the heavier she sank into arousal and the more aware she became that it was totally inappropriate for her to ogle him in that way. He was a guest in this house, and a Colton at that. Desiring him was a complication she couldn’t afford. Literally. She was only now beginning to crawl out of the hole of debt she’d sunk into after William’s death. Losing this job was not an option, not if she wanted a roof over her head and food to eat.
With a sharp inhalation, she wrenched her gaze away.
From the kitchen, her coffee timer beeped. She stood, sweeping her gaze from Levi’s tousled hair all the way along his lean, long body to his bare feet, and an entirely new feeling took root in her—not replacing the arousal, but merging with it. She wanted to take care of him. He needed somebody and part of her wished that somebody was her.
With a shake of her head at the notion, she strode from the room, snagging the empty crème brûlée ramekins as she went. If anything had the capacity to sneak past her defenses it was a person with a weakness for sweets. Although she’d have to be vigilant with her heart, she could still take care of him in that small way and offer him the only part of herself she shared freely.
In the kitchen, she assembled for Levi a tray of coffee fixings and added a new cup of custard, sugar and a brûlée blowtorch.
Tray in hand, she turned toward the hall and paused midstep. Levi had his shoulder propped against the threshold, his hands in his pockets. His hair was still in complete disarray and in direct odds with the quiet gravity of his eyes. Her face grew hot as she considered the possibility that he’d been faking sleep so she could study him, but she shoved the idea aside. No one could act out a snore that convincingly.
She held the tray up. “I was bringing you coffee.”
“Thank you.” Holding her entranced with those disarming eyes, he pushed away from the wall, took the tray and set it on the prep island. Brows up in a sheepish look of apology, he lifted the custard ramekin. “I guess you found the evidence of my midnight snack on the table. I couldn’t help myself. Sorry if I messed up your plans for them.”
The apology was so sincere that she smiled. “No, you didn’t. Not at all,” she lied. “But it does bother me that you were eating an unfinished product.”
“I was?” He frowned at the custard. “It tasted finished to me. It was the best custard I’ve ever eaten.”
Inwardly, she beamed at his compliment, though his opinion on the point was meaningless since he hadn’t even eaten it correctly. She took the ramekin from him and set it on the counter, then poured them both coffee. “That’s no ordinary custard. That’s crème brûlée, except you missed out on the brûlée part, and I’m afraid I must insist you try it again the way it’s meant to be eaten.”
Leaning his hip against the island, he picked up his mug of coffee without adding any sugar or cream. “Right now?”
Kate dropped two sugar cubes in her mug. “We have to rectify the wrong.”
He brought the mug to his lips for a slow sip. Over the rim of the mug, his eyes lightened with amusement.
The effect on his whole face was electrifying. Like eating a crumb of dark chocolate, the taste hinted at splendor but only left her wanting more. What would it be like to see him really smile? To watch him let go and laugh?
When he finished the sip, he lowered the mug and the lightness remained on his face. “You like things done the proper way.”
He was teasing her. Well, two could play at that game. She waited until he had another mouthful of coffee, then said, “Only with desserts. With everything else, I’m shamelessly improper.”
He spluttered the coffee, as she thought he might. And then the extraordinary happened. The cough turned into a laugh. Her heart gave a squeeze. Now that was a sound she could get addicted to fast.
“Shamelessly improper, hmm?” His smile lingered. “I hate to break it to you, but no one who is actually shamelessly improper would ever phrase it like that.”
She sprinkled brown granules of turbinado sugar over the custard, racking her brain for a response that would feed into his turn of mood and keep the conversation buoyant. “Quibbles.”
Much to her delight, his smile broadened to show a hint of teeth. “And a shamelessly improper person would never use the word quibbles.”
Who would’ve guessed that an intensely serious man like Levi would have such a cheeky sense of humor? Kate was transfixed. She couldn’t remember the last time she had so much fun chatting with someone, much less a man, of all the preposterous things.
She brought the flame of the blowtorch to life. “What are you, some kind of expert on shamelessness and impropriety?”
“Big-time. It’s an arduous certification process.” He watched with rapt attention as she moved the flame over the sugar. “A bit early in the day for blowtorches, isn’t it?”
“Don’t worry. I’m a trained professional.”
“And a very proper one at that.”
She waggled a brow at him. “So the rumors say.” She wanted to linger near him indefinitely, but the bread couldn’t wait any longer if she was going to serve it to the family for breakfast. “I’ve got to get busy on the bread. Let the burnt sugar sit for a few minutes to harden. And don’t let me catch you sneaking a bite.”
He placed a hand over his heart. “I wouldn’t dare cross you on that.”
She could feel his eyes following her as she moved between the pantry and the island, gathering ingredients and mixing tools. There was no other word for the way he made her feel but infatuation. When was the last time she had a bona fide crush on a guy? It had to be William when she was in high school. She barely recognized the feel of it anymore—the light-headed, pulse-quickening high of attraction that knew no reason or consequence. Levi Colton was witty and gorgeous and... Oh, boy, was she in trouble if she didn’t get a grip immediately.
As she mixed yeast into warm water, she forced herself to conjure an image of her bank account’s measly balance. If she ever wanted to break free of working at Dead River Ranch and strike out on her own, she’d need at least another year to pay off the last of the creditors and sock away a little savings as a cushion. A fling with her employer’s estranged son was out of the question. And she refused to contemplate the possibility that the Colton daughters would shut down the ranch after their father passed on.
“Can I try it now?” he asked.
She glanced his way to see him holding a spoon over the crème brûlée, waiting for her to give him the green light. “Dig in.”
A satisfying crunch filled the air as he broke the spoon through the burnt sugar shell. Her hands paused in the flour she was measuring, her breath held in anticipation of his response. It was pathetic to be so hungry for a compliment when she already knew it was one of the best batches she’d ever made, but his opinion mattered to her.
He gave a thumbs-up as he chewed. “That’s amazing. You were right about the brûlée part.”
“I tried to tell you.” She set the oven to warm, then checked on her yeast.
“I’ll never doubt you again. May I make a request?” Levi added.
“Name it.”
“You know how last night Jethro ordered dessert at every meal?”
She combined the dough ingredients and got busy mixing. “Mmm-hmm.”
“You’d better double that order.”
Elation flooded through her. “You’ve got yourself a deal. Anything else?”
“Yeah, on a related topic. Please tell me this ranch has a gym.”
Her grin was so wide, it hurt. When was the last time she’d smiled so much? “It does. Around the corner from the infirmary I told you about last night.”
“Good.” He shoveled a heaping spoonful of crème brûlée into his mouth.
She turned the dough out onto her kneading board. “Do you live in Wyoming?”
“No, Salt Lake City. I went to med school there and it made the most sense to stay for my residency.”
