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There it was again, Kayla thought. Pride. She sensed Elizabeth was a woman who would never feel anything but pride for her children.
“Not wild.” Jackson stooped and switched on the Christmas tree lights. “I knew what I wanted and I went after it.” He turned his head to look at Kayla, his gaze loaded with meaning.
Oblivious, Elizabeth stacked the plates and cups on the tray. “You were all wild. And once Tyler started racing—I couldn’t ever watch. I watched the recording, once I knew he was safe.”
Kayla tried to respond, but her mouth was dry, her brain empty and her gaze captured by Jackson. And then he smiled and that smile caught her somewhere behind her ribs.
She’d thought she’d experienced chemistry before, but nothing in her life had ever felt like this.
“Come over for breakfast tomorrow,” Elizabeth said. “You can sample our maple syrup with my homemade pancakes.”
Jackson’s gaze dropped to her lips and lingered there.
“Pancakes.” Somehow she managed to form the word, and she saw Jackson’s smile widen. Then he dragged his phone out of his pocket.
“I need to take this.”
She hadn’t even heard it ring.
This was not good.
“Afterward, we’ll make a batch of cinnamon stars together,” Elizabeth was saying. “Then you’ll be able to make them when you get back home.”
Kayla didn’t say that she was more likely to choose to poke herself in the eye with a pen than bake at home. She wasn’t capable of saying anything.
Jackson strolled back into the room. “I have to go over to the lodge. Chef trouble. Darren is threatening to walk out.”
“As long as it’s not Élise. She’s a fabulous cook,” Elizabeth murmured to Kayla, “but hot-tempered. French. Cooks like an angel and swears like she’s in the military. Darren drives her crazy because he likes to do things the way they’ve always been done. I expect she told him his food is boring, only not as politely as that. Go and soothe her, Jackson. Don’t let her leave. I just love her duck confit. You should try it, Kayla.”
Kayla decided she’d better sign up to Weight Watchers before she left Snow Crystal. “Maybe I will.” Without looking at the tree or Jackson, she picked up her bag. “Thanks for the tea and the chat, Elizabeth. You’ve given me some ideas to work with.”
Jackson slid his phone into his pocket. “I’ll drive you.”
Which meant being trapped in an enclosed space with him. She didn’t trust herself not to spontaneously combust. “I’ll walk. You go and sort out your chefs before they chop each other into tiny pieces.”
“In that case I’ll pick you up at seven for dinner.”
He was asking her on a date? In front of his mother? “Dinner?” She looked at him stupidly, and he gave her that slow, sexy smile that told her he knew exactly why she wasn’t getting in the car with him.
“Dinner, Kayla.”
She licked her lips. “I—er—”
“I’m keen to spend more time discussing your initial ideas for Snow Crystal. I presume you have no objection to dinner meetings?”
A dinner meeting.
No candles.
No seduction.
Work.
Aware of how close she’d come to making a total fool of herself, Kayla gave a relieved smile. “Dinner meetings work for me. Great use of time.” She breathed again. “I’ll see you at seven.”
She left the house and closed her eyes for a moment, letting the freezing air cool her heated skin.
Snow Crystal might be in a whole heap of trouble, but it was nothing compared to the heap of trouble she was in.
CHAPTER EIGHT (#ulink_64678ac6-259e-5210-94e5-887a4e770ca6)
JESS SAT CURLED up on the window seat in her bedroom, her arms around Luna as she stared at the snow falling in the darkness. Ash lay on the floor next to them, his head on his paws, watching her with those pale, beautiful eyes. The two Siberian huskies were her best friends, and Snow Crystal was her favorite place in the world.
Better than her home in Chicago, where there wasn’t a mountain in sight. When she was younger she’d had no interest in dolls or anything pink and glittery, and a few years on she had no interest in boys or shopping malls.
Other girls had posters of Justin Bieber on their walls. She’d had a poster of her dad skiing the Hahnenkamm in Austria, one of the most terrifying and dangerous downhill runs in the world. A run so steep that only the best made it down to the bottom in one piece. The top of that slope was a terrifying seventy-three degrees. Seventy-three degrees. Shit. That wasn’t skiing, it was flying. Or falling.
She angled her hand and tried to imagine it. Imagined the adrenaline and the death-defying speeds you’d reach shooting out of the start gate onto a slope so steep you couldn’t see where you were landing.
One day she wanted to ski that course, but it was an ambition she’d shared with no one.
She felt out of step with her friends and even her family. Most of the time she felt like a stranger, living a stranger’s life.
Only here did she feel as if she fit. Only here did life make sense.
This was the only place she’d lived that felt like home.
One hand buried in Luna’s fur, Jess rubbed the windowpane with the other and peered into the darkness.
Her mother hated Snow Crystal. She hadn’t been back since the day she’d walked out, taking Jess with her. She hated everything about the place. She hated the snow, the mountains and, most of all, she hated Tyler O’Neil.
She wouldn’t have his name mentioned in the house so Jess made scrapbooks and kept them hidden under her mattress. Ever since she’d been old enough to know what to do with a stick of glue, she’d kept pictures of her dad. Her grandmother and great-grandmother had cut out pictures for her, and at Christmas when she’d come to stay, they’d stick them in a new book together. She had photos of him skiing the most famous and prestigious downhill runs on the World Cup circuit. She knew their names and all the details. As well as the Hahnenkamm there was the Lauberhorn in Switzerland, the longest downhill of them all and a real test of stamina—the list went on, and the one thing those runs had in common was that her dad had skied them all. And if that hadn’t made her want to burst with pride, there were the two gold medals he’d won at the Olympics and the World Cup title.
She’d boasted about him in school once, but most of the kids hadn’t believed Tyler O’Neil was her father.
She knew her mom wished he wasn’t.
Her mom could have married him, but instead she’d chosen Steve Connor, because Steve had wanted to be a lawyer and could give them a better life than a guy whose only ambition in life was to get from the top of a mountain to the bottom faster than any person alive.
Once or twice, Jess had tried explaining how much skill that took, but her mother hadn’t wanted to hear it. Skiing wasn’t a “proper” job and Tyler O’Neil wasn’t a suitable father figure.
The past year had been hell, not that she’d shared that detail with anyone.
She might have told her grandmother, but she knew she was still hurting, and Jess figured if her dad could break a leg and then get up and ski to the bottom of the run on the one leg that still worked, she could cope with the shit her family had thrown at her without falling apart.
The truth was, she was never going to be the daughter her mother wanted her to be.
Janet Carpenter had done everything she could to knock the O’Neil out of Jess. She’d dragged her to piano lessons, extra French, debating, dancing—
All Jess wanted to do was ski as fast as humanly possible.
The final straw had been when she’d skateboarded down the stairs in the house and almost broken her stepfather’s leg.
“You’re just like your father,” her mother had screamed, and Jess had hugged the words tightly because they were the best words her mother had ever spoken to her.
She wanted to be just like her father.
She was her father’s daughter and always had been, and that drove her mother mad.
And now the baby had arrived, her half sister, a squalling tiny being with a wrinkled face and a shock of hair, and her mother was too absorbed by this second chance at parenthood to waste time molding a child who was all the wrong shape and always had been.
Jess had heard her on the phone that night, yelling at Tyler.
“She’s your daughter, so you can have her. I can’t cope with her anymore.”
And so Jess had been shipped off to Snow Crystal for Christmas, just as she always was, the only difference being that this time she wouldn’t be flying home at the end of the holidays.
She was here for good.
It had come to her in a cold moment of realization that no one wanted her. Not her mother, not her stepfather, not even Tyler. She’d been forced on him.
In her dreamier, more optimistic moments, she’d imagined them spending time together, but so far all they’d done was ski on groomed, safe slopes. Jess was bored out of her mind, and he had to be bored, too.
He obviously didn’t think she was good enough to ski anything else, and she couldn’t prove him wrong because he’d virtually grounded her.
He didn’t want her here.
Shivering, she hugged Luna closer, warming herself on soft fur and unlimited doggy affection.
She was a burden, cramping his style, ruining his carefree life.
Maybe if she could prove to him she could ski the way he did, he’d be pleased to have her around. Maybe then, he’d think she was cool.
Maybe then, everything would stop hurting.
Kissing Luna on the head, she slid off the window seat. She dug her scrapbooks out from under the mattress, pushed the photograph of her baby sister inside her favorite, then picked up her pen and wrote Jess O’Neil on the cover in curly writing.
KAYLA HAD EXPECTED something in keeping with the rustic setting. A place a family could gather after a day of skiing and fun in the snow to exchange stories of daring exploits and slopes conquered. She hadn’t expected elegance, but the Inn at Snow Crystal was definitely elegant. Candles and fresh flowers adorned the center of tables dressed with pristine white tablecloths. A large fire flickered in one corner of the restaurant adding a cozy, intimate feel.
She’d chosen to wear her favorite black dress. It had frequently taken her from a day in the office straight out to a dinner meeting with clients.
And that was what this was, she reminded herself. Dinner with a client. It didn’t matter that their table faced the illuminated ski slopes and was perfect for a romantic, intimate dinner.
“Thanks, Tally.” Jackson took the menu from the waitress. “How are things in the kitchen now?”
“All fine, sir.” Tally’s gaze slid from his, but not before Kayla had seen anxiety.
Jackson saw it, too. “Tally?” His voice was gentle, and Tally cast a desperate look over her shoulder just as a crash came from behind closed doors.
Calm and controlled, Jackson rose to his feet. “It seems I need to visit the kitchen before we eat.”
Before he could take a step across the restaurant the kitchen door opened and a burly man dressed in chef’s whites blundered out.
“That’s it.” He ripped off his chef’s hat and thrust it at Jackson. “I’m done being told what to do by a woman half my age and height. Either she goes or I go, O’Neil. Your decision.”
Tally stood there, frozen with dismay, and Jackson smiled at her. “Thanks, Tally. We’re going to need some time with the menu. We’ll call you when we’re ready.”
The waitress shot him a grateful look and shot off, relieved to be out of the line of fire, while Jackson squared up to the furious chef.
“This is not the time or the place for this conversation.” He spoke in a low voice that couldn’t be overheard by the other diners. “Be in my office at nine tomorrow. We’ll talk then. And now I’d like you to return to the kitchen. We’re full tonight and I can’t be a chef down.”
“You should have thought of that before you hired that French bitch.”
Jackson’s expression didn’t flicker. “You’ll call her Élise, or Chef. And if you want to be on the team at Snow Crystal, you’ll work with her.”
“I won’t work with her. One of us has to leave.”
“If that’s your decision, then of course you must go. I won’t stop you.”
Darren’s face worked in fury. “Wait a minute—you want me to leave?”
“I have no use for people who won’t work as a team.”
The chef blustered for a moment and then stabbed a finger into Jackson’s chest. “Your grandfather hired me. He never had any complaints.”
“I’m not my grandfather.” Those blue eyes were icecold, that same mouth that could deliver a smile both sexy and wicked, hard-set and grim. “Go. Now.” His tone made Kayla wish she’d escaped along with Tally, and apparently Darren felt the same way because the bluster left him in a rush. He deflated like a balloon popped at a child’s party.
“I’ll reconsider if you’ll talk to her.”
“You threatened to walk out in the middle of service. I accept your resignation.” The softness of his voice was a contrast to the flint in his eyes, and Darren’s expression was wild.
“No one can reasonably expect me to work with that woman! Do you know what she said to me? She told me to get out of her kitchen because male chauvinist pig wasn’t on the menu.”
Kayla kept her head down and focused on her phone. She mustn’t smile. There was nothing to smile about.
Jackson’s chef was about to walk out and the restaurant was fully booked.
Darren was still blustering. “If you fire her, I’ll reconsider.”
“Élise has a job and a home here for as long as she wants.” Something in the way he said it caught Kayla’s attention, leaving her with the feeling that there was more behind his words, but Jackson was already walking the man to the door and she could no longer hear the conversation.
When he returned, she could sense anger simmering beneath the calm. “You’re going to have to excuse me for a moment while I go and talk to my remaining chef.”
At that moment a young woman with short dark hair emerged from the kitchen. She walked with the energy and grace of a dancer, head held high, eyes gleaming.
Assuming this to be Élise, Kayla braced herself for another explosion, but instead, the woman approached a young couple dining at one of the tables by the window. “You wanted to see me, non? You enjoyed my langoustines.” She spoke with only a trace of a French accent, her movements fine and delicate as she used her hands to illustrate her speech. “You will come back again and I will cook you my pot-au-feu. It is perfect for this cold weather. When you ’ave tasted it you will never want to eat anything else.” She beamed at the dazzled couple and then virtually danced across the restaurant to where Jackson and Kayla were sitting.
“Jack—” She softened the j, turning it into the French Jacques, and he rose to his feet, controlled and professional.
