Best of Desire. Оливия Гейтс

least, she wouldn’t have had to wonder if she’d had one or not.

      “Sorry,” she said and walked to a cupboard for a plate. “I get a little emotional about great kitchens, and let me tell you, this one’s a beauty!”

      “Uh-huh.” He didn’t care. Until he’d hired Kevin to cook for them, the most the kitchen had seen was a lot of microwave action from him and Sam and the others who lived here. As long as the kitchen held a fridge for food and beer and provided a sink and ready fire, that was all he needed to know. Jericho remembered the kitchen remodel he’d done to the place years ago, but he’d simply turned the designer loose and hadn’t asked any questions.

      Their clients were served simple food and plenty of it. No one had ever complained. Now though, he gave it a quick look, following her pleased gaze. He took in whitewashed plank walls, dark cedar cabinets, dark green granite counters and a gleaming wood floor. There was an industrial-size cooking range, double ovens, a couple of microwaves and a refrigerator big enough to hold supplies for a battalion. That wasn’t even counting the two big freezers situated in the butler’s pantry.

      Overhead lights banished shadows, and through the wide windows on every wall, night was creeping its way across the mountain. Inside, though, the oversize room was feeling a little cramped at the moment.

      She was standing just opposite him on the other side of the island. In front of her was more granite and a snaking stainless sink that served, as he recalled Kevin telling him once, as an “entertaining sink.” Apparently, you could stock drinks in ice at one end of the sink, then as the ice melted, it simply drained away.

      Didn’t impress Jericho any. A cooler was just as good.

      “You seem to have found your way around,” he said finally, when he noticed she was simply staring at him waiting for him to say something.

      “I have. It’s like exploring an amazing new country.” She slid open the refrigerated drawer, plucked something from inside and dropped it onto a plate beside a pie she’d already taken from the cooking tray. “Now, I want you to try this and I think you’ll be glad I talked you out of having a sandwich,” she said, sliding the plate across the counter toward him.

      Jericho shifted his gaze from her to the plate and back again. “What is it?”

      “It’s good,” she said, giving him a teasing smile. “Honestly, don’t you have any adventure in your soul?”

      “I’ve had plenty of adventures,” he countered. “I just don’t usually include food in them.”

      Still, he thought, it did smell good, not that he was going to admit it anytime soon. The half-a-pie was still steaming and alongside it sat a small bowl with a couple of radish roses, curls of carrot and celery beside a small dish of what looked like ranch dip. He lifted his gaze to hers. “Raw vegetables? Not a favorite.”

      “I’ll make a note,” she said with a shrug. “But for now, you could eat them anyway. They’re good for you.” Then she waved at the plate. “Try the pasty.”

      “Pasty?” One eyebrow lifted. “Not the definition of pasty that I’m familiar with.”

      It took a second to register, then she blushed—actually blushed, for God’s sake—chuckled and that soft sound rippled through the room. “I can imagine. But this is a meat pasty. They’re from Cornwall, originally, I think. Some say it pah-stee,” she said. “Wives made them for miners’ lunches. They were easy to carry and hold and satisfying enough to take care of a hardworking man’s hunger.”

      Jericho nodded absently as she talked. Picking up the half pie, he sniffed it again, almost suspiciously, then took a bite. The piecrust simply dissolved in his mouth and the filling was… He groaned.

      Daisy gave him a bright smile. “You like it!”

      “You could say that,” he muttered around another mouthful. He really hated to admit it, but she was a hell of a cook. “It’s great.”

      “I’m so glad. I made them to go along with the home made soup. I know soup isn’t a very substantial meal, but with the fresh bread and the pasties…”

      He held up one hand. Clearly extreme measures were needed if a man was going to get a word in edgewise. “You made fresh bread?”

      “It’s just a couple of loaves of quick bread.” She sounded almost apologetic. “That way I didn’t have to wait for the yeast to rise.”

      “Right.” She’d only been here a few hours and she’d made soup, bread and this incredible pie he couldn’t stop eating. Kevin was a good enough cook, but he didn’t have half the drive this one small woman did. Plus, he wasn’t exactly adventurous with his cooking, which was, frankly, one thing Jericho had liked about him. But, if this pasty of hers was any indication, he had a feeling “adventures in food” was going to be a good thing.

      And, he had to admit, she might look like a flighty little thing, but she sure as hell wasn’t afraid to work. She’d done more in a couple of hours than Kevin managed to do in a day. To be fair, Kevin probably would have enjoyed doing more, but cooking for a bunch of men probably sucked the creativity out of him. Daisy was still fresh enough that she was excited about her work.

      While she talked, Jericho nibbled on the raw vegetables, surprising even himself. He’d always been more of a meat-and-potatoes man by choice. And frankly, being in the military had pretty much flattened his taste buds long ago. Food there was fast and plentiful. Cooked to keep a man on his feet, not to have him lounging around a table tempting his palate. But whatever kind of dip this was she’d concocted for the vegetables was damn tasty and the pie was good enough it could bring a grown man to his knees.

      As if she could read his mind, she wagged her index finger at him and said, “You’ll like my soup, too. Soups are actually one of my specialties, which will work out really well up here during the winter.”

      “What kind of soup?” he grudgingly asked, since he was being tempted by the satisfaction filling his stomach at the moment.

      She turned around, went back to the stove and lifted the lid on the pot again. Steam rushed up, carrying an amazing scent. “It’s beef and barley. I found all of the supplies in the fridge and the pantry and it’s so brisk and cold out right now, I thought soup would be good for tonight.”

      “It’ll be fine,” he said, already looking forward to sampling it as he finished off the pasty and wished he could get another one.

      “I have got great recipes for tomato soup and chicken and leek—”

      “Leek?”

      She glanced at him. “You’ll like it, I swear.”

      He probably would, he thought and warned his stomach not to get used to the good life.

      “Anyway, when it snows up here, there’ll be lots of good, hearty soups and breads and stews. Then in summer, you’ll love my barbecued chicken wraps and—”

      He cut her off before she could get too wound up. “Don’t be making long-term plans just yet.”

      “Affirmations, remember?” she countered with a grin. “As for dinner, I’ll do even better tomorrow night. What would you like? Pot roast? Pasta? Chicken enchiladas? Do you have any favorites?”

      God, his mouth was watering just listening to her. Between her looks and her abilities with a stove, she was definitely double trouble.

      Then she stopped and whirled around to look at him. “Better—what do you hate?”

      A reluctant smile curved his mouth. Hell, he had to give her points for tenacity. He’d given her an inch and she was quickly scrambling to take the whole damn mile. He admired that in anybody. And for a woman alone, fighting to make a place for herself, it took even more guts to stride right in, settle herself and immediately go to work carving out her own niche.

      But as much as she wanted this job, heck,