Stef Ann Holm by Lucy Back (best fantasy books to read .txt) 📕

to lunch—just the two of them. She’d spent so much time helping Jason pull himself together that she’d had to stop and realize she had a younger son who needed her attention just as much. Over French fries and chicken strips, Matt had told her the latest about every dog that came through the groomer’s.

“Yes, ma’am. I like it.”

“You’re a good boy.” Then she turned to her oldest son, his hair spiked in a short summer cut. She swore he’d grown an inch taller in the last few days. “Jason, you’ve really proved yourself lately. Taking the initiative for the job at Woolly Burgers, going to the Sunrise and helping. Staying out of trouble. I appreciate the effort. Thanks.”

“Sure, Mom.”

“So because you’ve both been on your best behavior, I got you something.” She grabbed the large bag of fireworks she’d bought at one of the stands in town. “Here. Just don’t hurt yourselves when you set them off.”

“Bang-o-rang!” Matt squealed, rifling through the items. “We got whistlers, rockets, speed freaks, turnabouts! Wow! Thanks!”

He gave her a big bear hug, compressing her ribs as hard as he could with fond affection.

“You’re welcome.”

Jason was less physical these days. Lucy couldn’t remember the last time her son had hugged her. She knew the likelihood of him doing so with his friends around was slim to none, so she simply smiled.

“Thanks, Mom.” Jason took the bag, and he and Matt headed off to the shore.

Lucy laid out her personal chef brochures and set business cards beside them, then gave the table a last glance. Everything looked inviting. She’d done what she could. Now it was time for the food to speak for itself.

In short order, friends and acquaintances she’d made in Red Duck came over to sample. Sue hung around and enjoyed the roasted portabello mushroom melts with Gruyère.

“Delicious, Lucy. Dave would love these.”

Lucy and Sue had talked about her cooking for them, but Sue was proficient in the kitchen and liked to do the cooking herself. Of course Lucy knew that just because she had friends, that didn’t necessarily mean they would hire her.

“I’ll give you the recipe.” Lucy cracked the top of a bottled water. “Just don’t tell anyone. Especially not Raul Nunez.”

Sue laughed. They’d joked plenty about Raul in the past, how he’d slipped just a little on the personal chef monopoly. Lucy wasn’t going to give up. This was her home now. Free enterprise.

The afternoon wore on, and Lucy and Sue visited. Dave came by a few times, tasted items, then went back to the group of men playing football on the beach, Drew among them. Drew stood out a head above the others, tall and muscular, wearing a white tank top and khaki shorts. Barefoot, tan and chiseled, he made tackles and outran several of the beefier guys.

Lucy couldn’t help watching him for long moments. If she had any sense, she would have kept her gaze moving right along. But when it came to Drew, she rarely took her own advice.

Busy with his friends, he didn’t come to her table, and she hated the fact that this disappointed her. He’d already hired her and had eaten her cooking, but she had hoped he would at least stop by to say hi.

Clyde Cooper dropped by for a sample once, then twice, and by the fifth time, Lucy got suspicious.

Being discreet, she followed him along the edge of trees to a picnic area not in use. Hiding behind a spruce, she saw Raul Nunez at the redwood table—five empty paper plates in front of him. The off-duty deputy left, and Lucy waited a few seconds before walking quietly forward.

Raul was examining her crustless quiche bites, taking the side of a fork and flaking the egg and vegetables. He brought a taste to his mouth, smacked his lips, then shrugged.

Leaning forward, and talking loudly into his ear, she said, “It’s the wasabi paste.” No harm in revealing just that small detail; he’d never get the other ingredients right.

The plate and fork flew into the air, and Raul let out a scream like a woman, hand over his heart. Quiche dumped into his lap, a mess of egg and red peppers on the coarse black hair of his legs. “C’hew gave me a freakin’ heart attack!”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she innocently replied.

He jerked his head toward her, a scowl on his swarthy face. “I don’ tink you’re that sorry.”

“So, do you like the quiche? It’s different, isn’t it?”

“No comment.”

Lucy had to laugh. “It’s the best.”

“The Raul does quiche, too.”

“I’m sure.”

“C’hew don’ want to know how much better than yours it is. I use a different cheez. Richer. More full-bodied.”

Lucy simply sighed with indifference. Inside, she seethed at the gall of the man.

Raul could make her so mad. His arrogance was as big as the whole damn dam.

“Well, you come back over and help yourself to whatever else I have left. But it’s been going fast.” She waved at him. “I’m all out of brochures and I have two consults next week.”

He glared.

“Happy Fourth of July,” she added, while walking away.

There was a confidence in her stride, and the smell of success tasted every bit as good as a piece of fine milk chocolate. This was the first time she’d taken the upper hand with Raul and beaten him at his own weasel game, and it felt delicious!

Not long after her triumph, the campfires were lit and dusk began its slow descent. The sky was awash with pink as ribbons of clouds reflected the sunset.

Dotted along the sand, flames flickered and sunless air took on a slight chill. Children ran with sparklers, and Lucy noticed her boys were with the older kids, starting to set off the bigger fireworks.

Rubbing her bare arms to warm up didn’t provide immediate relief so she snagged her car key and went to get her sweater from the Passat. She made her way up the dirt trail to the parking lot, which was now deserted. Everyone was at the shore,