A Baby for Mummy. Cathy Thacker Gillen

mixture of anticipation and delight sparkled in her smile. “An orchard I’m in the process of buying.”

      As she bent over the table to reach an item at the other end, the hem of her white chef’s tunic edged up, revealing the taut underside of her buttock and shapely upper thigh.

      Dan tore his gaze from the delectable sight and forced himself to concentrate on the important matter at hand—her skill as a chef. “So you haven’t closed on the property yet.”

      With a determined expression, Emily secured the top of the plastic box with a snap. She straightened and hefted the heavy container. “I will, as soon as I get paid for this gig and secure financing on the property next week. Then I’ll be out of here.”

      Dan took the box from her and carried it to the back of the catering van. He set it where she indicated and turned back to her, noting she was about six inches shorter than his own six-two. “What about Chef for Hire?”

      Emily shrugged one slender shoulder and pivoted back toward the banquet tables. To the left of them, two guys from the company that had supplied the outdoor cooking appliances loaded the equipment onto their truck. “It was fun while it lasted,” she said.

      Dan followed lazily, not for the first time noticing how nicely she filled out the starched white tunic. As he neared her, he inhaled the orange-blossom scent clinging to her hair and skin. The November sunshine glimmered in her mahogany hair, highlighting the hint of amber in the silky strands.

      “You’re going to quit, just like that, to do something else?”

      “Run an orchard,” she said as she gathered and folded the linens covering the tables. “And yes, I am, Mr.…?”

      Embarrassed he’d forgotten to introduce himself, he extended his hand. “Dan Kingsland.”

      She accepted his grip with the same ease she did everything else. “Nice to meet you, Dan. I’m Emily Stayton.”

      Surprised by how soft her hand felt, given the kind of work she did, Dan released his hold on her reluctantly. He stepped back before he could think of her as anything but a potential employee. “Lunch was great, by the way.”

      Her soft lips curved in an appreciative smile. “That was the plan, but…thanks.”

      Dan carried a stack of linens back to the van for her. “Since you haven’t left yet, how does one go about hiring you?”

      Her elegant brow furrowed. “For a party?”

      More like…every evening. But figuring they would get to that, Dan looked her in the eye and cut straight to the chase. “I can’t remember the last time my family sat down to a good dinner. Not that it was ever that great, given the lack of culinary skill in the family, even before their mom and I divorced a couple of years ago. But now, with the older two in high school and my youngest in elementary, it seems like the dinner hour has become downright impossible.” He sighed heavily. “The kids are always fighting about what we’re going to eat. Whereas their great-uncle Walt, who lives with us, just wants hot, home-cooked food and plenty of it.”

      She gave him a compassionate look. “Sounds stressful. But I’m not sure how—”

      He held up a hand, urging her to let him continue. “You see, I watched you today, juggling everything that had to be juggled to feed such a large group under less than ideal circumstances. And I thought, if she could do that for us—help us figure out how to get back on the right track at meal times—maybe we’d have a chance to be a happy family again.” Dan paused. He hadn’t meant to reveal so much, hadn’t expected anywhere near the sympathy and concern he saw in her pretty eyes.

      Not sure what it was about this woman that had him putting it all on the line like this, he forced himself to go on. “So what do you say? Will you help us out?”

      

      EMILY’D THOUGHT DAN KINGSLAND was attractive when she met him earlier, but that kick of awareness was nothing compared to the sizzle she felt when she arrived on his doorstep at six that very evening for the agreed-upon “consultation.”

      The single dad of three answered before she could even ring the bell.

      He was dressed in boots, faded jeans and a pine-colored pullover sweater that brought out the green of his eyes. His sandy-blond hair was cut in a rumpled, laid-back style that required little maintenance. His five-o’clock shadow only added to his ruggedly handsome appeal.

      He looked a bit harried, but as their eyes met and he said, “I’m really glad you came,” he gave her an easy, welcoming grin.

      Emily wished she felt the same ease. She sensed that if you gave this man an inch, he’d take a mile, anything to get what he wanted. Which was, apparently, a path to family peace.

      Attempting a laid-back cool she didn’t feel, Emily thrust her hands in the pockets of her tailored wool slacks. These days, she avoided situations that felt too…intimate from the get-go. Plus, she was a chef—not a consultant—and it was clear from the sounds of rambunctious activity in the foreground that his family was in the midst of end-of-workweek chaos. But in this case, money talked. She needed the extra cash the gig offered to facilitate her move back to Fredericksburg. So she’d taken it, even though she wasn’t sure what Dan expected her to be able to do here tonight.

      Oblivious to the conflicted nature of her thoughts, Dan led her through the foyer to the rear of the two-story brick home. A messy, hopelessly outdated kitchen was on one side, an equally cluttered breakfast room took up the middle and on the other side of the thousand-square-foot space was a gathering room, complete with an L-shaped sofa and large stone fireplace, with bookshelves on either side. There was stuff everywhere. Briefcase. Schoolbags. Jackets and shoes and caps.

      In the midst of it were his three offspring. All had his long, rangy build, sandy-blond hair and green eyes. There the similarity ended, she realized after Dan’s brief introduction. Ava, seventeen, had her nose in a book and was busy highlighting passages with a yellow marker. Fifteen-year-old Tommy was standing in front of the fridge with the door open wide, studying the contents. Eight-year-old Kayla was dividing her time between an easel and paintbrush, and a mess of rainbow-colored modeling clay. She seemed to be working on both art projects simultaneously. Everyone seemed to be in everyone else’s way and not particularly inclined to do anything about it.

      The little girl got up and rushed over to Emily, skidding to a stop just short of her. Washable paint dotting her arms and face, she demanded, “Are you here to cook for us?”

      “Emily is here to consult with us and help us solve our problem,” Dan explained. “She’s going to give us some ideas on what we can eat for dinner that will make everyone happy.”

      “Good luck with that,” Tommy grumbled. He grabbed a bottle of some sports drink from the fridge, guzzled half and started toward the door. “I’m going for a run.”

      Dan held up a hand. “You just got home from wrestling practice.”

      Tommy shrugged and plucked his sweat-dampened T-shirt away from his body. “I didn’t get enough of a workout.”

      Emily gauged the flushed state of his skin and thought maybe he had.

      “Not now,” Dan repeated with paternal firmness.

      Ava stood. “I don’t have time for this, either. I’ve got to study.” She picked up her heavy AP Biology textbook and highlighter.

      On a Friday night? Emily wondered. Shouldn’t the girl be going out with friends or just relaxing after a long week? As Emily had planned to do herself before getting waylaid by Ava’s father?

      Not to be outdone by her older siblings, Kayla tugged on Emily’s blouse. “I’ve got to paint. Want to watch me?” She grabbed a brush so quickly she knocked over a jar of paint, splattering the table and floor.

      Irritated, Tommy said, “Dad, make her get that stuff out of here!”

      Kayla clamped her hands