Midnight Sacrifice by Melinda Leigh Page B

his hand, the muscles would calm down. He tucked his laces into the top of his running shoe, but only because his stomach was audibly growling. As his siblings kept telling him, Sullivans weren’t quitters.
    Most of the time, Danny believed them.
    But right now, packing up his shit and going home was hugely tempting.
    He left the room and jogged down the stairs. The clinking of utensils on dishes drew him through the doorway at the back of the parlor. The dining room held eight square tables with four place settings apiece. On the far wall, a long oak sideboardboasted an assortment of breakfast foods. Beverages in urns and glass pitchers were lined up on a buffet on the adjoining wall. In between was a doorway Danny assumed led to the kitchen. Only two tables were occupied. An older couple dressed for some sort of outdoor pursuit were finishing up close to the door, and four old guys in fishing hats were tucking in to full plates in the corner.
    Danny grabbed a thick mug from the closest table and filled it with coffee. Sunrise peeked through the side windows as he perused the chafing dishes. He loaded a plate with pancakes, bacon, and whole wheat toast. One-handed, the process took him a while. Once seated, he ate with rapid efficiency, keeping one eye on the doorway.
    When he was finished, he bent down and slowly tied his laces on the first try. Patience was a virtue he often neglected.
    Mandy didn’t appear. Danny drained his coffee. He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed. An angry Mandy was better than no Mandy at all, which was just pathetic.

    “Mom, you’re not supposed to be working.” Mandy loaded coffee mugs into the dishwasher. Sweat beaded on her forehead. A strand of hair escaped her ponytail and fell across her cheek. She tucked it behind her ear. “There’s oatmeal in the dining room.”
    “I’m just helping you with the pancakes.” Standing in front of the stove, her mother added a lump of butter to the griddle with one shaky hand. With the other, she gripped the edge of the counter.
    “The doctor said it would take several months to recover. You have to be patient.”
    “I’m tired of being useless.” Mae raised a defiant chin.
    “I know. It’s only temporary. Sit down. I’ll make you some scrambled egg whites and wheat toast.”
    Mae ladled pancake batter into the hot pan. “You have enough to do. You don’t need to wait on me.” Despite her protest, Mae leaned harder on the counter.
    Mandy started the dishwasher, crossed the kitchen, and wrapped an arm around her mother’s shoulders.
    “I’m not good at sitting around.” But Mae’s face was pale, her voice breathy. Clearly, the small effort of standing at the stove, flipping pancakes, was draining her. “You can’t make breakfast alone every day. Running this inn is too much for one person.”
    “You did it for years,” Mandy said.
    “Which is how I know how hard it is,” her mother quipped.
    “How about I give Mandy a hand this morning?”
    Mandy whipped her head around. Danny was standing in the doorway. His black hair still damp from the shower, worn jeans and a snug T-shirt outlined his hard body. No one should be allowed to look that good after less than three hours of sleep.
    She cleared her suddenly constricted throat. “Guests don’t work in the kitchen.”
    “I’m not really a guest, am I?” Danny asked with a bad-boy grin. He sauntered across the kitchen and looked over her mother’s other shoulder. “Mm. Mm. Those sure look tasty.”
    Even in pain, Mae gave him a smile. Oh, no. Her mother was falling for Irish boy’s charm.
    “We’ll manage, but thank you.” Moving closer to her mom, Mandy pulled a stainless steel bowl from the wall shelf. She separated four eggs and beat the whites with salt and pepper.
    Instead of yielding to Mandy’s attempt to claim her space, Danny took her mother’s arm. “How about I take over the griddle, Mrs. Brown? It would make me feel better knowing I was