Undercover Cook. Jeannie Watt

and I can’t if you don’t.”

       “You want to take the lessons? You want to learn to make old-people food?”

       “I want to learn to cook something healthy so I don’t end up having a heart attack.”

       Gabe scowled at him, then shoved a hand through his thick white hair. “That’s dirty pool.”

       “Only two of the guys have signed up, but more will if you do. And I honestly want to go.”

       Gabe grunted, setting the birdseed bag down on the small table next to the window. “Sign me the hell up, then. You’re not going to rest until you do.”

       “No. I’m not. It’s a win-win.”

       Gabe then said the word that Nick had avoided in the name of politeness.

      NICK WANTED TO take cooking lessons? Ha. Nick wanted to maneuver his grandfather into doing something he didn’t want to do and wasn’t above using emotional blackmail. Gabe still wasn’t quite sure why he’d let himself get wrangled into these lessons, except that it was obvious Nick had an ulterior motive and Gabe was curious as to what it was. Too bad it wasn’t the one he’d suggested—a cute teacher his grandson wanted to get to know.

       Nick had changed since his wife had died. Drawn into himself, which was to be expected under the circumstances, and thrown himself into his work to deal with the grief. But after two years, he was still withdrawn, still totally focused on work and nothing but work, which worried Gabe.

       He’d done the same back in his prime, after his wife had left him. And the result had not been good—in fact it had cost him dearly—and now here he was, alone, stuck in an old folks’ home. And he didn’t even have any decent memories to keep him company. The only thing that helped was that he was with some of his own kind. Lenny Hartman, the old son of a bitch, had been in law enforcement down in Vegas, and Paul Meyer had been a firefighter until he retired.

       Both men had checked into Candlewood voluntarily, after their wives had passed away, something Gabe would never understand. He’d hung on to his independence until the last possible moment—where it was either Candlewood or Nick moving in with him after the heart attack. Nick had offered. Gabe had declined. His grandson needed to be in a position to get on with his life, and living with a cranky grandfather was not conducive to bringing home a hot woman.

       Gabe walked over to his computer and brought up a screen, pleased that he was feeling a lot more comfortable using the contraption. For years he’d put off learning to use one, had allowed himself to be intimidated even though Nick had given him a laptop, until that damned Lois had forced him and the other guys into taking a basic class just a few months ago.

       He couldn’t remember seeing a more intimidated group of men than he and his fellow inmates when they’d first settled in front of the computer screens at the community-college technology lab. Lenny’s first official act had been to pour coffee over his keyboard by “accident,” only to find that all the instructor had to do was unplug that keyboard, set it out to dry and plug in another.

       After that they decided resistance was futile and discovered, grudgingly, that, yes, a computer could change a guy’s life. Open his world.

       Make it seem less like he was in stir.

       Gabe sat in his chair—an ergonomic model Nick had given him for Christmas instead of the recliner he really wanted, a blatant effort to get him to learn to use the laptop. He had to admit, though, that he liked the chair and because of it spent more hours on the computer than he had ever expected.

       Which was how he knew that Nick didn’t even have a Facebook page. How in the hell was he going to socialize if he didn’t have the gumption to sign up for a social network?

       Somehow Gabe had to come up with a way to kick his grandson in the ass and make him get on with his life—to not make the same damned mistakes Gabe had made in the name of professional achievement.

       And fear.

      CHAPTER TWO

      EDEN TOOK A moment to survey her class: seven men of varying shapes and sizes, their ages ranging from sixty to eighty, and two younger guys. One of the latter was tall and thin, with a pale complexion, dark hair and a know-it-all expression. The other, standing next to an elderly man with an almost identical jaw and nose, was taller, broader, and also dark haired. Every now and then he would cut his eye toward the first young guy and frown slightly.

       Tall, sturdy Lois, who had first contacted Eden about renting the kitchen, hovered at the periphery, keeping a close eye on her charges. During their initial conversation she had admitted that her own cooking skills were closer to survival level than teaching level, so Eden had offered to help with the class. Two hours a week for six weeks in the slower part of their catering year—March and early April—seemed like a decent way to give back to the community.

       Lois had done all the groundwork, polling the men to find out what they wanted to learn, figuring out balanced menus with the help of a nutritionist, strong-arming a few of the guys into coming for their own health and well-being. All Eden had to do was instruct. Making food was empowering, and she enjoyed helping people move from intimidation to enthusiasm in the kitchen. She sensed that with this group, however, she might have her work cut out for her.

       Several of the men appeared less than happy to be here, and Lois had told her that some had never fended for themselves before losing their wives. They ate whatever was handy, usually unhealthy fare. As for the younger two…Eden had no idea why they were there. Chaperones, perhaps?

       “Shall we get started?” she asked as she walked over to the station where her demonstration was laid out.

       Her remark was met by total silence. Finally a short, gnarled guy in a red plaid shirt growled, “What the hell. Why don’t we?”

       Hearing Lois inhale deeply behind her, Eden smiled to herself. This guy she liked.

      “WE’RE GOING TO begin with eggs,” Eden Tremont said. She was small and blond with cheerleader good looks. All the guys, even Gabe, seemed to be standing a little taller now that she’d started the class. “For some of you,” she said, “this may be new, for others it’s not, but practice never hurt anyone.”

       Nick glanced to his left and then gritted his teeth. Again.

       What in the hell was Marcus doing here?

       Studiously avoiding his eyes, that’s what, which made Nick nervous. Marcus had somehow adopted Lenny, one of Gabe’s closer friends and an ex-cop, and was working at the counter right next to Nick and Gabe.

       Eden quickly demonstrated what she wanted the guys to do, then set them loose and started circulating, calling out instructions. Gabe stood staring at his bowl. Nick shifted his weight impatiently, but kept his mouth shut, having learned a long time ago how to handle his grandfather.

       “She said whip the eggs until they have some air in them, kid,” Lenny said to Marcus, whose hand was a blur as he beat his eggs with a fork, “not turn them into a foamy mess.”

       Gabe exhaled heavily and morosely broke an egg, reaching into the bowl with one of his thick fingers to try and get out a piece of eggshell. He cursed under his breath.

       “Gimme another egg,” he said after wiping his hand on a paper towel. Nick handed him another from the carton they were sharing with Lenny and Marcus. As soon as he could get Marcus alone…

       “Don’t you want to join in?” Eden Tremont asked from behind him.

       He turned. “I, uh, am just here with my granddad.”

       “You can still cook.”

       “I haven’t paid for the food or anything.”

       “I’ll bill you,” Eden said. “I’m billing him.” She jerked her head toward Marcus, who was now ahead of everyone else and pouring his eggs into a pan. They practically exploded on contact.