Page 9 of Safe in His Arms

“Don’t.” He stood, and brushed imaginary lint from his jeans. “When you’re ready to talk, you know where I am.” He met her eyes. “I’d like to help you.”

She started to get up as he left, but he gestured for her to stay where she was. The moment the door clicked shut behind him, she got up anyway and flicked the lock. Then she wondered how on earth she was going to explain herself to her family.

4

Tione grabbeda tray of eggs from the fridge and set them on the counter, then glanced outside. The sun streamed through the clouds, giving the appearance of more warmth than was actually there. Trevor and Bella frolicked in the garden and, as he watched, Trevor tripped over his overly large feet and went muzzle-first into the dirt. Tione shook his head. Giant goofball. He cracked an egg into a glass mixing bowl and was about to crack another when the kitchen door opened.

“Hi,” a soft voice said. Not Kat.

He turned. Hope hovered in the doorway, looking around the kitchen with interest. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders, a slight wave to it, and she wore light blue jeans and a pink blouse that didn’t cover her arms. Her bruises were fading, and the one on her face had turned a strange shade of yellow.

“I look a fright, don’t I?”

He realized he’d been staring. “You look a damn sight better than you did.”

The edges of her lips curved up. It was barely perceptible, but he noticed. In general, he noticed far more than people expected him to.

“Thank you.” She shifted from one foot to the other, sucked in a deep breath, and then made eye contact with him. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

He blinked at the unexpected question. “With lunch?”

“Yes.”

Well. This must be the first time anyone had offered to help him cook. It was his job. What he was paid for. Suspicion flared. She’d avoided him for the past few days. Why was she here and offering to help now?

“No, thanks. I’ve got everything under control.”

To his surprise, she didn’t lower her gaze and hurry out. Instead, her expression turned earnest. “If you’re worried I’ll get in your way, don’t be. I have some experience in the kitchen, and I promise I won’t get under your feet.”

She didn’t flinch when he appraised her from head to toe. Apparently she wasn’t as mousy as he’d thought. Sighing, he went to run a hand through his hair, then remembered he was wearing a hairnet.

What could it hurt? He relented. “Okay.”

She beamed, and not even the ugly scab on her lip could dim her smile’s brightness. “What are you making? How can I help?”

He washed the egg off his hands and dried them on a towel. “We’ve got two options for lunch today: quiche and filled rolls. You can finish cracking these eggs and then dice some of the vegetables for the quiche.” He gestured to the other counter. “There’s a list of quantities over there, and they’re all in the fridge. I’ll get started on the pastry. Does that sound okay?”

She vibrated with excitement. It was odd, but then he was beginning to think Hope was an odd girl. “Perfect. Where are the hairnets?”

He fished one from the top drawer and handed it to her, then watched as she washed her hands and crossed to the eggs. “Be careful not to drop the shell in.”

She cracked the first egg with a deft movement, draining the innards out and setting the remnants aside in a neat pile. His eyebrows rose. She hadn’t been lying when she said she was familiar with a kitchen. She cracked a second one and he set to work on the pastry, blitzing together egg, flour, butter and a little water, then dusting the countertop and rolling the pastry out. By the time he’d got it to the appropriate thickness, cut it to size and pressed it into the pie tin, Hope had finished with the eggs, found the chopping board, and was quickly growing a pile of finely diced carrots, which were exactly the right size, and consistently chopped. He was impressed. He was also impressed by the quick, economical movements with which she peeled and cut. There were no hesitations. If he’d wielded a knife the way she did, he’d have lopped off a finger.

“Are you a chef?” he asked.

“No.” She didn’t so much as falter.

“A cook? A caterer?”

“No, and no.” She finished the stack of carrot, laid the knife down, and turned to him. “What about you? Did you apprentice to be a chef, or are you just good in the kitchen?”

He didn’t like how she’d turned his questions around on him. “I’m not a chef.”

According to his qualifications, he was a software engineer. Funny how life worked out.

Something out the window caught her attention, and he followed her gaze. She’d spotted Trevor, and her entire body had stiffened. Great, she was probably afraid of dogs.

“Whose dog?” she asked. “Does he live here?”

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