Page 19 of Her Summer Hope

She could keep the car and try to sell it for more, but again, she wouldn’t know where to start. A headache was piercing her temple and she stood, needing fresh air.

“Excuse me for a minute. I have to call my boss.”

He smirked. “Tell your husband about my offer.”

She grew angry then, something she tried so hard to suppress during her pregnancy and after Em was born.

“My real boss,” she said. “I’m late for work.” She went to the door and thought about slamming it. She turned around one last time. “And my husband died eight months ago.”

That wiped the smirk off his face, but she didn’t stick around for the apology. She was tired of hearing those too.

Outside, life went on even though it seemed like hers was getting worse and worse. She called Christian and explained the situation. He gave her the day off…paid. It humbled her. He had so much going on and yet he was helping her once again.

She declined his offer of a ride, hung up, dug a paper out of her purse, determined to do what needed to be done, and doubly determined not to feel like a bad person because of it. People did worse stuff every day.

“McClellan’s Hope. This is Kyle.”

The voice on the end was brusque and completely mouthwateringly masculine. Her reaction shocked her and the first words slipped right past her. All she heard was his name.

Kyle.

“Um, yes. I’m calling about the job posting?” she said, though she didn’t know why she made it sound like a question.

There was a moment of silence before he made a sound in his throat and then spoke. “You’re a cook—sorry, chef?” he demanded.

She took a deep breath. “Yes. I wondered when a good time might be for an interview…if the position is still open.”

Her heart was racing and the heat was making her hair stick to her neck. She had the prickling sensation of her milk letting down, which was pretty uncomfortable considering the nervous sweat that was forming suddenly.

She felt like a mess and all she could think about was the cool, controlled voice on the other end of the phone.

What did someone wear to an interview about a chef’s position?

She had the absurd vision of herself sitting in front of a desk wearing a white kitchen smock and chef’s hat.

“Can you come this afternoon around five? We’ll consider it a trial run. Prepare the evening meal and if everything goes well, then you’ve got the job.”

“Uh…well…”

“Unless you already have something else planned?” he said.

She made a split-second decision. “No. I’ll be there at four-thirty to prep and start the meal. Thank you, Mr….Kyle.”

He chuckled and it was like warm honey trickling into her ears. In reality, that would be uncomfortable and irritating, but in theory, it was wonderful and she found herself smiling.

“Just Kyle is fine, Missus?”

She cleared her throat and caught the mechanic staring at her through the window. “Just Madison.”

“Madison,” he said and she couldn’t help the frisson of pleasure in her stomach at the way he growled her name. “Do you know where the place is?”

“No, actually. I’m afraid that I’ve never even heard of it. Is it a bed and breakfast type place?”

“It’s a rehabilitation center for wounded veterans. We’ve just opened and unfortunately found ourselves without a chef for the evening meals on very short notice.”

Oh, God. She was going to be cooking for wounded soldiers. What if she wasn’t good enough? What if she gave them food poisoning and killed them?

Suddenly, her lie felt gigantic and the foulness of it started seeping into her soul. She was taking advantage of wounded servicemembers. She was soooo going to Hell for this.

---