Ready To Burn (Due South Book 3) (39 page)

Must’ve been a trick of the light, but his faded eyes seemed to have sharpened into gas-flame blue.

“What—why?”

“This is your big break, girlie.”

Hot tears stung her eyes. “It is.”

“But you’re holding back because of some misplaced sense of duty to me and Due South.”

“Among other things.”

“Your mum?”

She nodded.

“Not many daughters would do for their mother what you did for Glenna,” he said. “She’s strong again now, and she has your brother and sister here.”

“After Dad died, I swore to his empty memorial I’d look after Mum.”

Bill sighed. “And you have. You were always your daddy’s girl—his princess. But Michael never treated you like one, did he?”

Shaye shook her head, kept her lips pressed tight together.

“He raised you to be strong, and smart, and to follow your dreams—whether it’s a fairy princess like you wanted to be when you were six, or a chef as you got older. If your dad was alive, he’d tell you the same thing I’m telling you now.
Pack a damn bag and get on that plane.
”

“I don’t want to leave you like this.” She waved a hand at him, swiping tears off her face with the other. “I love Due South…and I love you.”

“Ah, now, don’t get like that.” Bill slid the box of tissues over from the center of the table. “Don’t make me go all mushy; you know how I feel about you, girlie. I never cut you any slack in the kitchen, and I won’t cut you any now. This place’ll keep running one way or another, don’t you worry.” He paused thoughtfully as Shaye snatched out a tissue. “The tears aren’t just about work, or your mum, or stepping out of your wee comfort zone, are they?”

Shaye blew her nose, shaking her head at the same time.

“You and Del,” he said.

“Yeah.”

“Need me to give him a hiding?”

“No.” But her lips tugged up in the corners.

“Good. ‘Cause he’s kinda grown on me again.”

“You love him.”

“He’s my boy.” Which in Bill-speak meant yes, he loved him. “Doesn’t mean I won’t kick his backside if he’s hurt you.” His eyes slitted and he took a sip of his tea. “Has he hurt you?”

Del had more than hurt her; he’d carved her up. Bill didn’t need to know that, so she shrugged. “If I go to New York, it’s a moot point.”

Bill set his mug down. “Sometimes a man has to let a woman fly to the other side of the world before he realizes he’s a fool.”

“Like you and Claire?”

“Letting Claire and Del leave was both the hardest and best thing I ever did. A few times, I nearly sold up and went after her, but in the end, I chose my work. Like I said, a fool. When Claire rang out of the blue to say she and Lionel were together, and would I sign the divorce papers, well…” Bill shrugged. “For once in my life, I put her happiness first. I signed the papers and gave her my blessing.”

“You did the right thing.”

“Well, give Del a chance and likely he’ll do the right thing, too.”

What if Del’s
right thing
didn’t include her? Shaye’s rose-colored glasses had been broken beyond repair last night. Maybe no happily ever after existed for her and Del.

She adopted a smile that’d likely fool no one, and stood. “I’m going to miss you.” Shaye walked around the table and hugged him.

Bill patted her back. “Get away with ya. I know how to send an e-mail, and text on the fancy phone West bought me. Now go sort out your work visa and buy a ticket.”

She blew him a kiss and walked down the hallway.

Bill was right; her dad raised her to be strong, and smart, and to follow her dreams. But was her dream working in one of the world’s most vibrant cities? Or spending her life with a man who loved her?

Could she have both? But more importantly, was that man Del?

***

The one time Del could’ve used some brotherly advice, West was still snuggled up in bed with his new wife.

Del’d been desperate enough to hike to West’s place to catch him before he and Piper left on their honeymoon. Except standing at West’s front door with his fist raised, glancing at the closed drapes upstairs, he’d chickened out.

In LA, a pet therapist or a chakra cleansing or some such crap would be the norm. But he had veins filled with stoic, third-generation Stewart Island blood. He’d deal with the shitfest he’d created alone. Just as he always dealt with it.

He didn’t need anyone’s help.

Turning away, Del shoved his hands into the pockets of his wool coat and trudged down the driveway. A cool wind blew off the ocean, and puffy clouds scudded over the rolling hills behind them. It’d be a beautiful day, the last day of formal filming before Ethan and his crew left. He couldn’t wait.

Once they were gone, he’d have an opportunity to sit down with Shaye and reason things out. She was, after all, a reasonable woman. He sighed, scrubbing a hand over his unshaven face and continuing down the road toward Due South.

Shaye might listen, but how could he convince her
she
was perfect for him—even though he was very much a work in progress. Well, for starters, he’d sort shit out with his dad.

Five minutes later, he sat in the kitchen with his parents on one side of the dining table, him on the other—feeling like an eight-year-old, about to receive a bollocking for fighting with his older brother.

The way they kept exchanging glances…

He drummed his fingers on his knees and gulped a steadying breath. “I want you to have my kidney.”

His dad’s eyebrows popped up, and his mom squeezed Bill’s hand.

“Dr. Joe said there are other tests to be done, but as long as we’re a match, let’s do it—let’s keep you around for a few more years to bug the hell outta everyone.”

“Including you?” Bill asked. “You want me around?”

Tempted to say something flippant, Del instead fisted his hand and said, “Yeah. I do. We’ve missed enough years together.”

His mom started to make fluttery
I’m-gonna-cry
motions, so he rolled his eyes.

“Maybe there’s still some stuff you could teach me,” he added.

Bill’s face creased into a slow grin. “Probably there is. Something you can show your cronies in LA.”

“About that.” Del folded his arms on the table. Once again, he’d have to eat a serving of humble pie, but Shaye was worth it. “I’d like to stay on as head chef.” Saliva evaporated in his mouth, and he swallowed with a dry click. “At Due South. You know, while you’re recovering.”

Bill and his mom did the glance-swap thing again. Ah—he got it! Bill wanted Shaye to take over head chef!

His dad went to speak, and Del held up a palm. “No, it’s okay. I mean, I know once the film crew’s gone, you’ll reinstate Shaye, and I’m happy to work as her sous.” He shrugged. “Look, is there a place for me here? I’m done with the stress and pressure of LA or anywhere else in the States. I know you’ll think it’s fucking funny—sorry, Mom—but Oban is home now.”

“Oh, Del.” His mom pressed her trembling lips together and slanted yet another look at Bill.

His father lowered his eyes to the table and gusted out a sigh that sounded almost like a death rattle. “Due South is yours and West’s now. I won’t be working in the kitchen as chef anymore. You’ve more than proven you’re capable of filling my shoes, and I’m bloody happy you consider Oban home again. But, son, I don’t quite know how to say this, and hell, it isn’t my place, but…” He released another drawn-out sigh. “Shaye stopped by this morning to tell me Ethan Ward offered her a job in New York.”

Del’s heart shot into his throat as if a cannon had blasted it there. He stood, his chair screeching on the linoleum, his fists balled so tightly his clipped nails dug into his palms.

“The bastard. The fucking—” Del’s teeth clicked together at his mother’s bugged-open eyes.

That Ward thought he could poach their sous from right under their noses didn’t surprise him, not really. And he didn’t believe the man had an interest in Shaye, other than a professional one—because she would’ve told him where to stick his job if she’d any inkling the offer came with ties of an unsavory nature.

“Did she say yes?” His lungs had apparently gone into shock and forgotten how to work. He couldn’t catch his breath as he waited for his dad’s answer.

“You’ll have to ask her yourself,” Bill said.

Del swore, pacing away from the table, his brain firing off machine-gun rapid questions but receiving no goddamned answers. He whirled back to his parents.

“You told her to take the job?”

Bill squirmed in his seat. “I told her she’d be a fool to turn it down.”

“No chef would be stupid enough to turn down the opportunity to work in one of his restaurants,” he muttered, stalking to the table. Bracing his palms on the smooth wood, Del hung his head. “You said the right thing, Dad. And a while ago I told her the same. Dammit.”

“Even if you don’t make it to the finals, you could still find work in New York to be near Shaye,” said Bill. “West’ll set up an ad for a new chef; you’re not bloody indispensible, boy. Go.”

And if he did go to New York? He’d have to work his ass off just to pay rent—if he could even find work—and when would he and Shaye ever get to spend time together? No poker with their buddies. No horsing around on the beach with his brother and new sister-in-law. No motorbike rides or impromptu picnics or hikes along the Rakiura track.

Things that now appealed to him more than any urge to blot out his problems with crazy long hours and excess alcohol. The desire for liquid oblivion had transformed into another kind of addiction. His brother. His dad. Friends. Plans for Due South. His little beach house. Community. Even bloody Bird-Brain. All the things he’d once tossed mindlessly aside in the wake of his own ambition, he now desperately wanted.

But most of all, Shaye.

He straightened and moved away from the table. “I have to find her and see what her decision is.”

With a brief kiss to his mom’s cheek—more of Shaye’s influence rubbing off on him—Del met his dad’s eyes. “Maybe I’m replaceable here, but she’s not.”

***

The window of opportunity was small—catch Del before the day’s prep started and sort things out. She didn’t want to wait hours and hours until dinner service ended or she’d lose her nerve.

Shaye’s heart raced, and not in a good way, as she descended the steps. She’d been staring at the four walls of her room and at her laptop—open to a travel agent’s website—dithering.
To go or not to go
. That was the million-dollar question. If she went, she only had to pack her clothes and a few odds and ends. Everything else was already stored in neatly labeled boxes in her mum’s garage.

If only her life could be so neatly boxed and labeled.

With a wave to Denise, she headed into the kitchen to wait for Del.

Her kitchen was ghostly still, sunlight sifting through the high windows and sparkling off the stainless steel. Tiny motes spun in the air currents, stirred by the constant hum of the overhead fans. The fridge buzzed to life, and for a moment, she stood by her workstation with her head bowed. She couldn’t claim Due South as hers any longer. Not when she was prepared to cut the apron strings.

The back door creaked open, and tiny hairs on her nape rose to attention.

Del had arrived. That her body still knew him, still craved his touch, still almost disobeyed her brain’s order to
not
go running into his arms, emphasized how deeply she’d fallen.

Silly girl.

She turned to face him, her chin angled high. Kind of fitting this conversation would happen in the place where it all began.

Del filled the doorway, still clenching the doorknob, dressed in his black pants and chef’s jacket, looking professional and ready for action. Good. Maybe if she could focus on being professional, she’d make the tingly, weak feeling spreading through her body disappear. A ray of sunlight drew out the golden tones in his brown hair, which was rumpled as if he’d run his fingers through it. The same way she had—over and over—when he’d kissed her to a melted puddle of goo.

So much for professionalism.

“Dad says you’ve been offered a job in New York,” he said.

Shaye leaned a hip against the counter, the cool stainless steel seeping through her skirt’s thin fabric and centering her. “Yes.”

His eyebrows rose. “Have you accepted it?”

“Not yet. I’m still making a list of pros and cons.”

A dimple appeared in his cheek, as if a smile lurked just out of sight. “Lists, huh? Should’ve guessed. What did your family say?”

She folded her arms. “I haven’t spoken to them yet. I’m capable of making my own decisions, and I’m sure my family will accept whatever I think is right.”

Wow. That sounded stiff and defensive. She made an effort to relax her muscles, but nope, tension continued to zip through her at Del’s steady and unreadable gaze. Damn the man’s poker face.