wearing the standard black-andwhite checkered pants and double-breasted shirt he associated with professional chefs. She was drinking a canned cola from a straw. Most everyone else was sipping high-octane espresso from tiny cups.
“I’m glad you liked it. Mom said we should have a typical Romani feast in your honor. Regular patrons get the same stuff only in smaller quantities.”
“You’re truly a culinary genius. I can see why your sister wants to open a satellite operation.”
Kate frowned but didn’t say anything. From the candid exchange over lunch, he’d discerned that Grace’s sisters had reservations about the new endeavor…although he’d gotten the impression they’d toned down some of their opinions about Charles because of MaryAnn’s presence.
Yetta had actually said very little but appeared to watch everything.
“So, what now?” he asked. “Since my ride’s left me stranded—” And has my suitcase and gun. “Do I walk the rest of the way? Probably wouldn’t hurt,” he added, patting his belly.
The women all spoke at once, and although Nick couldn’t follow every thread, Yetta seemed to have no problem deciphering. She rose with regal grace. “Alexandra, you take Maya back to The Dancing Hippo. I don’t believe her earlier behavior warrants a trip to the ranch. Elizabeth, you’re on your own when it comes to installing the dishwasher. I still think you should have paid the extra thirty dollars to have a serviceman do the work. And, Katherine, dear, thank you for this. It was lovely. I’ll remind Grace about payroll when I take Nikolai home. I’m sure she’ll be over her snit by the time we get there.”
After clearing her throat to gain the rest of the room’s attention, Yetta said, “Everyone, thank you for coming. Nikolai will be staying with Claude, so please do your best to make him feel welcome.”
Nick had been surprised that no one appeared to question his story and no one pressed for details of his youth. And, most surprising of all, everyone seemed glad to meet him.
He might actually have enjoyed himself if Grace had been there. Her absence disturbed him. He tried to convince himself that he was worried she might have run back to Charles. But he knew that wasn’t the whole truth. He found himself watching the door like a teenager with a crush, for God’s sake.
CHAPTER SEVEN
G RACE BRUSHED the potting soil from her hands and stood up, stretching her tired lower-back muscles. She used the sleeve of her mother’s faded cotton shirt, which she’d grabbed from the nail beside the gardening tools in the garage, to wipe the sweat from her brow.
“Well,” she said, stepping back to survey the results of her hard work. “Not bad for an amateur.”
Gardening was her mother’s forte, but Grace was the one who tended the plants here at her father’s grave. Which probably explained why she’d needed to replace the two rosebushes that bracketed her father’s headstone.
“Roses are one of the hardiest plants around,” the clerk at the greenhouse had told her. “Even in the desert it takes a lot to kill a rose.”
Somehow Grace had managed to do that. Maybe these two will do better, she thought, eyeing the leafy bushes skeptically.
“Okay, Dad, they’re yours, now. See if you can take better care of them than the last two, all right?”
She’d gotten into the habit of talking out loud during her visits to her father’s grave. Her sisters would have given her a hard time about it, but Grace found the one-sided exchange comforting.
She tossed the empty plastic containers into the gardening bucket she’d brought from home and set it to one side. “I suppose lunch is over by now,” she said, placing the rubber knee pad on the grass near the base of the headstone.
She sat down, back against the marble marker, and stretched out her legs. If she positioned herself just right, the back of her head rested against the silver dollar that was recessed into the
“I’m glad you liked it. Mom said we should have a typical Romani feast in your honor. Regular patrons get the same stuff only in smaller quantities.”
“You’re truly a culinary genius. I can see why your sister wants to open a satellite operation.”
Kate frowned but didn’t say anything. From the candid exchange over lunch, he’d discerned that Grace’s sisters had reservations about the new endeavor…although he’d gotten the impression they’d toned down some of their opinions about Charles because of MaryAnn’s presence.
Yetta had actually said very little but appeared to watch everything.
“So, what now?” he asked. “Since my ride’s left me stranded—” And has my suitcase and gun. “Do I walk the rest of the way? Probably wouldn’t hurt,” he added, patting his belly.
The women all spoke at once, and although Nick couldn’t follow every thread, Yetta seemed to have no problem deciphering. She rose with regal grace. “Alexandra, you take Maya back to The Dancing Hippo. I don’t believe her earlier behavior warrants a trip to the ranch. Elizabeth, you’re on your own when it comes to installing the dishwasher. I still think you should have paid the extra thirty dollars to have a serviceman do the work. And, Katherine, dear, thank you for this. It was lovely. I’ll remind Grace about payroll when I take Nikolai home. I’m sure she’ll be over her snit by the time we get there.”
After clearing her throat to gain the rest of the room’s attention, Yetta said, “Everyone, thank you for coming. Nikolai will be staying with Claude, so please do your best to make him feel welcome.”
Nick had been surprised that no one appeared to question his story and no one pressed for details of his youth. And, most surprising of all, everyone seemed glad to meet him.
He might actually have enjoyed himself if Grace had been there. Her absence disturbed him. He tried to convince himself that he was worried she might have run back to Charles. But he knew that wasn’t the whole truth. He found himself watching the door like a teenager with a crush, for God’s sake.
CHAPTER SEVEN
G RACE BRUSHED the potting soil from her hands and stood up, stretching her tired lower-back muscles. She used the sleeve of her mother’s faded cotton shirt, which she’d grabbed from the nail beside the gardening tools in the garage, to wipe the sweat from her brow.
“Well,” she said, stepping back to survey the results of her hard work. “Not bad for an amateur.”
Gardening was her mother’s forte, but Grace was the one who tended the plants here at her father’s grave. Which probably explained why she’d needed to replace the two rosebushes that bracketed her father’s headstone.
“Roses are one of the hardiest plants around,” the clerk at the greenhouse had told her. “Even in the desert it takes a lot to kill a rose.”
Somehow Grace had managed to do that. Maybe these two will do better, she thought, eyeing the leafy bushes skeptically.
“Okay, Dad, they’re yours, now. See if you can take better care of them than the last two, all right?”
She’d gotten into the habit of talking out loud during her visits to her father’s grave. Her sisters would have given her a hard time about it, but Grace found the one-sided exchange comforting.
She tossed the empty plastic containers into the gardening bucket she’d brought from home and set it to one side. “I suppose lunch is over by now,” she said, placing the rubber knee pad on the grass near the base of the headstone.
She sat down, back against the marble marker, and stretched out her legs. If she positioned herself just right, the back of her head rested against the silver dollar that was recessed into the
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