The Hand-Picked Bride. Raye Morgan

started toward her but Michelle followed more slowly. The woman was young, probably in her late twenties, and yet she had a youthful air that made her seem years younger. She was dressed in designer jeans and a pink sweater and her hair was in braids. This had to be the pretty pastry chef, and though she hid it behind a pleasant smile, unease hovered at the back of Michelle’s eyes. Here she was, the girl Grant had earmarked for Tony. Things were moving more quickly than she could have anticipated.

      Jolene wasn’t sure what she was doing here. She’d turned a deaf ear to Mandy’s persuasion for two days, but this morning, when Kevin had banged his cup for orange juice and she’d heard herself explaining to him that there wouldn’t be enough money to buy things like that until after next Thursday, she’d realized she was just being stubborn. If the man needed a pastry chef, why not take the job? If it turned out her first instincts were right and he only wanted a date for the evening—well, if she could walk in, she could walk out. She was a grown woman. She ought to be able to handle it.

      So here she was in this restaurant located at the edge of Old Town. It seemed nice enough. A decorator had worked hard to achieve just the right Southwestern flair. A large saguaro cactus stood brooding in the entryway and red tiles stretched as far as the eye could see. Desert palms appeared in clumps here and there, hiding tables and supply cabinets, and Mexican ceramics sat propped against faux-Navajo rugs.

      There was someone working behind the bar and she started toward it, but before she got there, Grant appeared out of nowhere, heading her off at the pass.

      “Hi,” he said, smiling at her, his gorgeous dark eyes shining. “I’m glad you decided to come take a look at us.”

      She came to a stop, feeling just a bit awkward. A tall, elegant woman was walking up behind him and she glanced at her with a quick smile, then looked back at Grant.

      “Is the job still open?” Jolene asked him abruptly.

      He nodded, trying to stay serious but having a hard time hiding his reaction to her surprise arrival. “I’ve been holding it for you,” he fibbed, because after all, there hadn’t been any other applicants.

      “I didn’t say I’d take it,” she said hastily. “I just wanted to check it out and see...”

      He shrugged his casual acceptance. “No problem. You’ll like it here.” Turning, he deftly included Michelle. “This is my assistant manager, Michelle Gleason. And your name is again...?”

      It gave her a start to realize he didn’t remember her name. “Jolene Campbell,” she said, holding out her hand to the woman for a quick acknowledgment.

      “Jolene makes some nice pastries,” Grant went on, looking her over as though he were very pleased she’d come, but talking to Michelle. “If she approves of the terms, I’m thinking of offering her a six month contract to start with.”

      “A real contract?” Jolene asked, though that was just a ploy to give her time to think and she didn’t wait for an answer. “I don’t know about that. I thought maybe I could just bring over some of the things I baked each day and you could choose what might fit your needs....”

      He was shaking his head and her voice trailed off. Obviously that was not what he’d had in mind.

      “I’ve got to have a full-time pastry chef,” he told her. “I’d want you to do your baking here.”

      She grimaced, looking around at the tables standing in wait for a flood of customers later on in the afternoon.

      “You see, that’s going to be a problem,” she said, her tone confident. The only evidence of the nervousness she felt was her hand playing with the tassles on her purse. “Tell you the truth, I sort of bake what I feel like baking when I feel like it. If I was under contract...”

      “We’re not all that rigid here. You’ll be free to do a lot of experimenting.” He smiled at her, and she had a quick impression of being coaxed, beguiled. He really wanted her to take this job. She frowned, wondering why.

      But he didn’t notice. “Come on back to the kitchen,” he said, turning. “I’ll show you around.”

      She glanced at Michelle, then back at Grant. “Okay,” she said. “I’d like to see it.”

      He was proud of his place and it showed. And she had to hand it to him, he had something to be proud of. The kitchen gleamed with stainless-steel efficiency. She hadn’t seen such impressive equipment since culinary school. Her heart beat a little faster as she took it all in. It would be very different to do her baking in a place like this.

      “What sort of food do you serve?” she asked, though she thought she probably knew.

      “California modern.”

      She glanced at him as she let her hand trail along the cool surface of a stainless-steel counter. “Trendy stuff?”

      He shrugged, his hands in his pockets. “I guess you could call it that.”

      She wrinkled her nose, looking at him candidly. “I’m not much for trendy stuff. I don’t follow trends myself.”

      He grinned at her. “Just a sweet old-fashioned girl?”

      Her chin rose. “Do you have something against traditions?”

      “No, not at all.”

      “Good.” She sighed softly. She was going to take the job. There really were no more excuses not to. Just one little item had to be cleared up first. “I’d need to bring my little boy to work with me,” she told him, turning her head so that she could judge his reaction. “Could you handle that?”

      His face said it all, but that was hardly necessary to interpret, because his words did the job on their own. “No way. This is a place of business. We can’t have kids running around.”

      She smiled, almost relieved. “Then you won’t have me running around, either,” she said firmly, turning to go.

      “Wait.” He stood in her way. “Now don’t be so hasty. Maybe we can work something out.”

      She glanced into his eyes. There it was again, the sense that he was just a little too anxious to have her here. “There’s nothing to work out,” she said firmly. “Either Kevin comes with me or I don’t come. I won’t leave him with a baby-sitter. The most important thing I have to do with my life is to raise him. I won’t leave it to someone else.”

      He looked pained, torn. “I don’t know how we can manage that. Insurance...safety considerations...”

      Suddenly Michelle interposed herself with quiet dignity, one hand on Grant’s arm. “We’ll manage,” she said firmly, smiling at Jolene.

      Grant looked at her and blinked. “We’ll manage?” he echoed.

      She nodded. “Leave it to me,” she said.

      He hesitated a moment, but something in Michelle’s eyes told him to agree or face the consequences. Smiling, he gave in. “We’ll manage,” he told Jolene with a disarming shrug. “Somehow.”

      Jolene didn’t have time to marvel on the interplay between the two of them, and the influence the woman seemed to have over Grant. He grabbed her hand and started toward his office at the corner of the wide room.

      “Come on, I want to sign you up before you have a chance to think of any other roadblocks.”

      She had a quick glimpse of Michelle’s face and the distinct impression that the woman would have liked to have come along with them, but Grant moved quickly and made it pretty clear he wanted to be alone with Jolene for the moment. She hesitated at the door wondering what this woman knew that she didn’t—and should. But Grant still had hold of her hand and he tugged, pulling her into the office and shutting the door behind her.

      “Sit down,” he told her, pointing to a chair across the desk from where he settled. “We should get to know each other.”

      She