Juniper Hill (The Edens)

There was no place I’d rather be than standing in my kitchen, a knife in hand, with the scents of fresh herbs and baked bread swirling in the air.

Eloise swept through the swinging door that connected the kitchen to the restaurant. “And right through here is the kitchen.”

Correction. There was no place I’d rather be than standing in my kitchen alone.

“Isn’t it awesome?” she asked over her shoulder.

Memphis stepped out from behind Eloise, and I did a double take. Her blond hair was straight and hanging in sleek panels over her shoulders. The bright lights brought out the caramel flecks in her brown eyes. Her cheeks were rosy and her soft lips painted a pale pink.

Well . . . fuck.

I was in trouble.

It was the same woman I’d met yesterday, but she was a far cry from the frazzled, exhausted person who’d moved into the loft. Memphis was . . . striking. I’d thought the same yesterday, even with blue circles beneath her eyes. But today her beauty was distracting. Trouble.

I had no time for trouble.

Especially when it came to my new tenant.

My knife worked through a batch of cilantro, my hand moving faster as I focused on the task at hand and ignored this intrusion.

“If the fridge in the break room is ever full, you can keep your lunch in here,” Eloise said, gesturing to the walk-in.

Wait. What? The knife dropped from my palm, nearly hitting a finger. No one kept their lunch in here. Not even my waitstaff. Granted, they rarely had to bring meals because I’d typically cook them a meal. Still . . . that walk-in was off-limits.

Eloise knew it was off-limits. Except my wonderfully annoying sister seemed intent on forcing Memphis into every aspect of my life. Wasn’t my home enough? Now my kitchen?

“Okay.” Memphis nodded, scanning the room, looking everywhere but at where I stood at the stainless-steel prep table in the center of the space.

She inspected the gas range along one wall, then the industrial dishwasher at her back. On the walls were shelves filled with clean ceramic plates and coffee mugs. She studied the tiled floor, the rows of spices and racks crammed with hanging pots and pans.

“Here’s the ice machine.” Eloise walked to the cooler, lifting the lid. “Help yourself.”

“All right.” Memphis’s voice was no more than a murmur as she tucked a lock of hair behind an ear. She’d promised yesterday to be quiet. I guess she intended to keep that vow at the hotel too.

I glanced at Eloise, then jerked my chin to the door. The tour was over. This was a kitchen. Just a commercial kitchen with bright lights and shiny appliances. And I was busy. This was my time alone to breathe and think.

But did Eloise take the hint and leave?

Of course not. She took up space against my table and leaned. Why the fuck was she leaning?

I clamped my teeth together and picked up my knife, gripping the handle until my knuckles were white. Normally I’d tell Eloise to scram, but I was making nice at the moment. Very nice.

This niceness was the reason I’d agreed to let Memphis crash in the loft above my garage. My sister had asked for a favor, and at the moment, I was granting them all. Soon enough, we’d have a difficult conversation. One I’d been dreading and avoiding. One that would change our relationship.

Until then, I’d let her invade my kitchen and allow her newest employee to stay at my home.

“So that’s the hotel,” Eloise told Memphis.

“It’s beautiful,” Memphis said. “Truly.”

Eloise circled the room with a finger. “Knox renovated the kitchen and restaurant last winter. That’s when my parents annexed the building next door for events.”

“Ah.” Memphis nodded, still looking anywhere but at me.

The crunch of cilantro beneath my knife filled the silence.

My parents owned the actual hotel, The Eloise Inn, but the restaurant and kitchen were mine. The building itself we’d incorporated as a separate entity, the shares split equally between us.

Originally, this space had been a smaller industrial kitchen attached to a basic ballroom. They’d rented out the space for weddings and events, but when I’d moved home from San Francisco years ago, I’d filled the room with tables. It had worked as a restaurant for a while, but it had lacked style and flow. When I’d told Mom and Dad that I wanted to convert it to an actual restaurant, they’d jumped at the chance to expand the hotel’s footprint and grab the building next door.

According to our projections, the annex would pay for itself within the next five years. My renovations would pay for themselves in three assuming the traffic at the restaurant didn’t die off. Considering I had the only upscale restaurant in town, I’d happily cornered that market.

“Would you mind if I stepped out for a minute?” Memphis asked Eloise. “I’d like to just call and check in with Drake’s daycare. Make sure he’s doing all right.”

“Sure.” Eloise stood straight, escorting her to the door and finally leaving me in peace.

I put the cilantro aside and went to the walk-in to grab a handful of tomatoes. Then I shoved the sleeves of my white chef’s coat, not yet stained, up my forearms before I resumed chopping.

Could I run this hotel? Did I even want to? Change was on the horizon. There were decisions to make, and I dreaded them all.

Beyond the renovations, a lot had changed here in the past year. Mostly, my parents’ attitude. Besides our family’s ranch, The Eloise Inn had been their most time-consuming business venture. Their desire to keep a finger on the hotel’s pulse was dwindling. Fast.

Now that Dad had retired from running the ranch and handed control to my older brother Griffin, Mom and Dad seemed in a hurry to offload the rest of their business ventures to us kids.

That, and Dad had gotten spooked. As Uncle Briggs’s dementia progressed, Dad had all but convinced himself that he’d be next. While his mind was fresh, he wanted his estate settled.

Griffin had always loved the Eden ranch. The land was a part of his soul. Maybe that was why the rest of us hadn’t taken an interest in the cattle business. Because Griffin was the oldest and had claimed that passion first. Or maybe that passion was just a part of his blood. Our family had ranched for generations and he’d inherited a joy for it beyond anything the rest of us could comprehend.

Mom always said that Dad gave his love of the ranch to Griffin while she’d passed her love of cooking to my sister Lyla and me.

My dream had always been to run a restaurant. Lyla’s too, though she preferred something small, and owning Eden Coffee fit her perfectly.

Talia hadn’t taken an interest in any of the family businesses so she’d used her inheritance of brains to attend medical school.

Mateo was still young. At twenty-three, he hadn’t yet decided what he wanted to do. He worked on the ranch for Griffin. He pulled a few shifts every week for Eloise, covering when she was short staffed at the front desk—which was often.

Eloise loved The Eloise Inn and working as the hotel’s manager.

My sister was the pulse of this hotel. She loved it like I loved cooking. Like Griffin loved ranching. But my parents hadn’t approached her about taking over.

Instead, they’d come to me.

Their reasons were solid. I was thirty years old. Eloise was twenty-five. I had more experience with business management and more dollars in my bank account to fall back on. And though Eloise loved this hotel, she had a soft and gentle heart.

It was the reason Mom and Dad had just come out of a nasty lawsuit.

Her tender heart was also the reason she’d hired Memphis.

That, and desperation.

Our proximity to Glacier National Park brought people from across the world to Quincy. Tourists flocked to this area of Montana. Given that The Eloise was our town’s best hotel, during the summer months, we were booked solid.

Turnover in the housekeeping department was constant and we’d recently lost two employees to desk jobs. Their vacancies had been open for six weeks.

Eloise had taken to cleaning rooms. So had Mateo. So had Mom. With the holiday rush fast approaching, we couldn’t afford to be understaffed. When Memphis had applied and agreed to move to Quincy, Eloise had been ecstatic.

Not only was Memphis an able human body—a sexy, lithe body at that—but she was also so overqualified for a housekeeping job that, at first, Eloise had thought her application a joke. After their virtual interview, Eloise had said it was really a dream come true.

I’d been happy for my sister because solid hires were hard to find. That happiness had lasted a whole week until Eloise had shown up at my doorstep and begged me to let Memphis live in the loft.

I favored a solitary life. I preferred to go home to an empty house. I liked peace and quiet.

There’d be none of that with Memphis and her baby in the loft. That kid had cried for hours last night, so loud I’d heard it all the way from the garage.

There was a reason I’d built my house on Juniper Hill and not on a plot on the ranch. Distance. My family could visit and if they needed to spend the night because they drank too much, well . . . they could crash in the loft. No pavement. No traffic. No neighbors.

My sanctuary.

Until now.

“It’s temporary,” I told myself for the thousandth time.

The swinging door that led to the restaurant flew open and Eloise waltzed in once more, a wide smile on her face.

I glanced past her shoulder, looking for Memphis, but Eloise was alone. “What’s up?”

“What are you making?” She hovered over my shoulder.

“Pico de gallo.” I didn’t have a huge menu, but it was enough to give the locals and hotel guests some variety. Each weekend, the dinner menu featured a special entrée. But for the most part, breakfast and lunch were consistent.

“Yum. Will you make Memphis a plate of tacos?”

The knife in my hand froze. “What?”

“Or whatever else you have on hand. I noticed that she didn’t bring anything with her this morning.”

The clock on the wall showed it was ten thirty. My two waitresses were in the dining room, rolling silverware into cloth napkins and refilling salt and pepper shakers. Mondays weren’t typically busy, but they weren’t quiet either.

There was no such thing as quiet these days.

Apparently not even at my own home or kitchen.

“I don’t make the other housekeepers lunch.”

“Knox, please. She just got here. I doubt she’s even had a chance to get to the grocery store.”

“Then let her leave early. You don’t need her cleaning today.”

“No, but we have paperwork to do. And orientation videos. I get the impression that she’d like the hours. Daycare is expensive. Please?”

I sighed. Please. Eloise wielded that single word the way a warrior would a sword. And I was being nice. “Fine.”

“Thank you.” She plucked a tomato cube from the cutting board and popped it into her mouth.

“What’s her story?”

“What do you mean?”

“That baby is the same age as Hudson.” Our nephew was two months old, and Winslow, though she pulled a shift here and there, was still on maternity leave. “Isn’t that young to have a kid in daycare full-time?”

“She’s a single working mother, Knox. Not everyone has the luxury of maternity leave.”

“I get that but . . . what’s the story with the kid’s father? Why’d she move all the way to Montana from New York?” And why had she taken that drive alone? That wasn’t a safe trip, especially with an infant. She should have had help. How did an educated, gorgeous woman end up traveling across the country alone with a baby and what seemed like every one of her possessions stuffed into a Volvo?

“I don’t know because it’s none of my business. If Memphis wants to talk about it, she will.” Eloise narrowed her gaze. “Why are you asking? I’m usually the curious one. Not you.”

“She’s living at my house.”

“Afraid she’s going to murder you in your sleep?” Eloise teased, stealing another tomato.

“I’d like to know who’s on my property.”

“My new employee, whose personal life is her own. And a mother new to Quincy. Which is why you’re going to make her lunch. Because I’m guessing she hasn’t had anyone make her a meal in weeks. Fast food doesn’t count.”

I frowned and stalked through the kitchen, swiping up a mixing bowl, an onion and a lime.

Once again, Eloise was getting attached to an employee. After the lawsuit, both Mom and Dad had warned her to keep professional boundaries. But where Memphis was concerned, Eloise had already crossed them.

So had I, the day I’d agreed to let a strange woman and her child move onto my property.

Eloise checked the clock. “I’ll be at the front desk for the rest of the day. Memphis is going to work on paperwork in the staff lounge and then go through orientation videos. What time should I send her here for lunch?”

“Eleven.” Memphis could eat with the rest of us before the lunch rush hit. “You need to find out more about her story.”

“If you’re so curious, you ask her when she comes in to eat.” Eloise smiled her victorious smile and disappeared.

Damn. I loved my sister, but along with that big heart, she was naive. Other than her four years away for college, she’d only lived in Quincy. This community loved her. She didn’t realize just how devious and horrible people could be.

Memphis hadn’t done anything worrisome. Yet. But I didn’t like how little we all knew about her story. There were too many unanswered questions.

I shoved the worries aside, focusing on the prep I’d been doing since five this morning. My days started early, working before we opened the restaurant for hotel guests at seven. After making a handful of omelets and scrambles this morning, I’d been gearing up for tonight’s meals. My sous chef, Roxanne, would be cooking dinner tonight so I could have an evening off.

The minutes passed too quickly and when the door opened, I glanced at the clock to see it was exactly eleven.

“Hi.” Memphis gave me a whisper of a smile.

With an actual smile, she’d be more than trouble. She’d be a hurricane leaving devastation in her wake.

“Um . . . Eloise said something about coming in for lunch.”

“Yeah.” I nodded to the opposite side of the table where I kept a few stools. “Have a seat.”

“I don’t need anything. Really. I’m sure you’re busy, and I don’t want to intrude.”

Before I could respond, Eloise breezed through the door with my line cook, Skip, right behind her. “You’re not intruding.”

“Hey, Knox.” Skip glanced at Memphis, his footsteps stuttering as he did his own double take.

Memphis’s beauty turned heads twice.

“We’re making lunch.” I pointed for Skip to put on an apron.

Introductions could wait. At the moment, I just wanted to make this meal and send Eloise and Memphis on their way so I could concentrate without Memphis’s chocolate-brown eyes tracking my every move.

But did Skip get an apron off the row of hooks? No. Because apparently no one was listening to me today.

“I’m Skip.” He held out his hand.

“Memphis.”

“Beautiful name for a beautiful lady. What can I make you for lunch?” He held her hand for a moment too long with a stupid grin on his face.

“Tacos,” I snapped, rounding the table to get a package of tortillas. “We’re having tacos. Or we would be if you’d let go of her hand and get to work.”

“Ignore him.” Skip laughed but released her hand and went to pull an apron over his head. Finally. He tied his graying hair out of his face before going to the sink to wash his hands. The entire time he worked the soap into a lather, he stared at Memphis.

“Skip,” I barked.

“What?” He smirked, knowing exactly what he was doing.

Skip had worked in my kitchen since I’d moved home five years ago. This was the first time I’d ever wanted to fire him.

“So Knox owns the restaurant,” Eloise said, getting both her and Memphis a glass of water. “My parents own the hotel. There might be times when we ask you to help run room service deliveries, just depending on how busy we are. It’s sort of an all-hands-on-deck approach around here.”

“I’m happy to help with whatever is needed. Do you also run a bar service? Or just have the in-room fridges?” Memphis asked.

“What’s a bar service?” Eloise asked.

“Oh, it’s a newer trend,” she said. “Most upscale hotels in the major cities offer a bar service, like Bloody Mary carts delivered to individual rooms or an on-call service to the hotel’s bar.”

Eloise’s face lit up.

Shit. “No bar service.” I squashed that brainchild before it grew legs. “We don’t have a full bar here. All I serve are beer and wine. Both are included on the room service menu, which is different than the restaurant’s menu.”

“Got it.” Memphis took a sip of her water, her gaze darting to my hands as I began plating.

Skip made short work of grilling the shrimp I’d had in a quick marinade.

Memphis’s eyes widened as he placed six on her plate, like this was the first real meal she’d had in a while. “So, um . . . how does Chief Eden fit into your family?”

“She’s married to our oldest brother, Griffin,” Eloise explained. “There are six of us. How about you? Any brothers or sisters?”

“One sister. One brother.”

“Maybe they’ll come out to visit. We give employees a ten-percent discount.”

Memphis shook her head, her gaze dropping to the table. “We’re not, um . . . close.”

That explained why her sister or brother hadn’t come to Montana with her. My siblings drove me bat-shit crazy, but I couldn’t imagine life without them. But what about her parents? Memphis didn’t offer anything else, and Eloise, who I could normally count on to be nosy as hell, didn’t ask.

My hands moved automatically to assemble two plates, and when they were ready, I slid them across the table.

“Thank you.” Memphis inched the plate closer, carefully folding a taco before taking a bite.

Some chefs didn’t like watching people eat their food. They feared the raw reaction. Not me. I loved watching that first bite. In my early days at culinary school, I’d learned from expressions, both good and bad.

Except I should have looked away.

Memphis moaned. A smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

Any other person and I’d give myself a pat on the back and take it as a job well done.

With Memphis, my heart thumped and a surge of blood raced to my groin. Watching her eat was erotic. Only one other woman had had the same impact. And she’d fucked me over ruthlessly.

Trouble. Goddamn trouble. I needed Memphis out of my kitchen and, before long, out of my loft.

“This is amazing,” she said.

“It’s just tacos,” I grumbled, focusing on the other plates. I didn’t want her compliments. I’d rather she hate the food.

“Knox is the best,” Eloise said, taking her own bite.

“It’s been a long time since anyone has cooked for me.” Memphis scooped a spoonful of my fresh pico, readying her next bite. “Unless you count Ronald McDonald.”

Eloise’s mouth was too full for her to speak but that didn’t matter. I told you so was written all over her face. Her phone rang and she plucked it up from the table, muffling a groan as she swallowed. “I’ve got to take this. Come find me when you’re done,” she told Memphis before picking up her plate and scurrying out of the room.

The doorbell at the alley door buzzed. Our food supplier came every Monday. Bless him for being three hours early. It was the perfect excuse to escape this kitchen, but before I could make a move, Skip shut off the flat top and untied his apron. “I’ll get it. You eat.”

“Thanks,” I said through gritted teeth.

I didn’t take my plate to the stool beside Memphis. I inhaled a taco while standing beside the prep table. The sound of our chewing mixed with Skip’s muted voice as he chatted with the delivery driver.

Then a phone rang.

Memphis put her food down and dug her phone from her pocket. She frowned at the screen, then silenced the call. Not two seconds later, it rang again. She declined it too. “Sorry.”

“Do you need to get that?”

“No, it’s fine.” Except the strain on her face said it wasn’t fine. And she didn’t touch her food again. What the hell? “Thank you for lunch. It was delicious.”

I waved her off when she stood to clear her plate. “Just leave it.”

“Oh, okay.” She wiped her hands on her gray slacks. Her black sweater hung on her shoulders, like it had once fit but now was too loose. Then she was gone, rushing out of the kitchen with her phone clutched in her grip.

Skip came down the hallway with a box, setting it on the table. The delivery guy followed with a dolly.

I signed for the order, then began putting my produce away in the walk-in.

“So who was that?” Skip asked. “New front desk clerk?”

“Housekeeper.”

He grinned. “She’s a looker. You interested?”

“No,” I lied, picking up an apple to run my thumb across the taut, waxy skin. “Once the lunch rush is over, let’s make an apple pie or two for the dinner dessert menu.”

In another life, another world, I’d chase a woman like Memphis. But I’d spent the last five years in reality.

She was a hotel employee. My temporary tenant. Nothing more.

Memphis Ward was none of my damn business.