Ready To Burn (Due South Book 3) (23 page)

West’s shoulders slumped as he stretched out his legs again and lounged on the plastic seat. “Dad’ll be pissed if you break his sous chef’s heart. If he were well enough today to come with us, he’d be threatening to fry up your junk in his six-inch pan.”

The mention of his father did nothing to stop the spikes pounding in Del’s head. Invercargill hospital had called a couple of days earlier to let him know the blood results. He’d passed stage one. Which meant he now couldn’t hide behind ignorance. He had to make a decision. Was he prepared to submit to the next, more invasive round of testing? And then—well…then he had to decide whether he’d allow surgeons to hack out a kidney and transplant it into a man who kissed him off thirteen years ago.

He wanted to hate the old man still. But Bill didn’t seem anywhere near as cantankerous and cold as in Del’s memory. The other day, when Bill helped with morning prep, Del found himself laughing at his father’s dead-pan jokes.

Del folded his arms and stared out the window. “I don’t want to break Shaye’s heart or anyone else’s.”

Outside, a small plane, wings dipping erratically, zipped into view and landed on the runway. Del stood, walking to the sliding doors as the plane taxied to a crawl, and then drew to a halt opposite the terminal.

“She and I both know the score.”

“That’s the biggest bullshit cliché ever invented.” West stood alongside him. “There’s no scoring in Shaye’s mind. Once she decides you’re hers, she’ll never let you go. You’ll rip her to shreds when you leave.”

“Who says I’m leaving?”

West inhaled sharply, and Del’s teeth clicked together.
Where the fuck did that come from?

He slanted his brother a quick look and found West staring as if Del’d sprouted a sparkling white unicorn horn.

“You’re
staying?
”

Outside, the plane door opened, and a uniformed pilot hopped out. The man cranked the stairs down, and moments later, Ethan Ward, in jeans and a battered leather coat, came into view. Ethan…Del’s ticket back to his real life in LA—or Chicago, since he’d burned his bridges on the West coast.

Would he consider staying here? The ass end of the world? Sure, he’d be the big fish in a small pond, as opposed to a tiny guppy in a shark’s tank like he was in the States. But seriously?
Staying on Stewart Island?

Del shook his head then scratched at his freshly-shaven jaw. “You know me—knee-jerk reaction is to argue with you.”

He made light of it with an elbow to West’s ribs, but West just held Del’s gaze for three long beats.

“I don’t think I know you at all,” West said.

Before Del could react, shoes scraped on the floor behind them.

“’Scuse me, boys.” Robert wiggled a finger at the sliding doors to indicate they were in the way. “Got to help unload the plane. The one with all their gear is due in another twenty minutes.”

Robert slipped out, and on a blast of freezing air, Ethan Ward strode in. Even with his mussed blond hair and designer-stubbled jaw speckled with rain, the man looked as if he’d stepped from the pages of the gossip magazines Del’s female staff at Cosset would pore over during their breaks.

Prick.

Del stuck out his hand. “Ethan—welcome to Stewart Island. I’m Del Westlake.”

Ethan paused to emphasize whose balls wore the kingpin crown, then he squeezed Del’s hand briefly and released.

“Recognized you from the audition tape.” The wide smile Ethan switched on was hard enough to crush walnuts. “Bloody glad we made it in alive though; the weather’s fucking barmy out there.” His eyes flicked to Del’s right. “And you must be Ryan, Due South’s manager.”

“I go by West—only my mother calls me Ryan.”

“Mums are a bit like that, aren’t they?” Ethan offered his hand, and West, being West, took his time about extending his, returning the slight.

No matter their differences, no matter West said he didn’t know Del anymore, his big brother didn’t hesitate to take his side.

“Well then, lads.” Ethan turned toward the glass door. “Ah, here’s the rest of the stragglers. I’ll introduce you to my crew once they get in here.” He transferred his walnut-crushing smile to Del and West. “Then we’ll bugger off to the bumhole of the world, eh?”

Del forced out a chuckle, which to his ears sounded like a cat being throttled, but Ethan bought it and grinned even wider. West dug his hands into his jacket pockets, his elbow accidently on-purpose knocking into Del’s ribs.

Yeah, thinking the same thing, bro.
What an
arsehole.

***

After ten minutes in Due South’s kitchen enduring Ethan Ward slathering on the charm, Del’s opinion of the man upgraded from arsehole to douchebag.

Shaye, who’d greeted Del with a curt nod upon entering the kitchen, looked at Ethan as if he were a rock god. The camera crew had dispersed to the B&Bs they were staying in, and the assistants remained at the airport to oversee the shipping of their precious cameras and shit from the second plane.

While Ethan examined their kitchen, Del’s gaze fell on the polo neck top under Shaye’s chef’s jacket. She caught him staring and a pretty flush flared on her cheeks.

That’s right, babe. Under your collar, you’ve got my mark on your pretty skin
.

Her hazel eyes flicked to his and slitted into a warning glare, as if he’d spoken aloud. He wasn’t at all sorry for sucking on her neck, only that he hadn’t the opportunity to mark her in other areas. Other more
private
areas.

The back door creaked open, and Bill lumbered inside. His gaze zeroed in on Del.

“He here yet? Wasn’t he meant to arrive before lunch service?”

“Mr. Westlake. So nice to meet the man who’s the backbone of this whole establishment.” Ethan stepped out of the pantry, where West had been yapping on about something while Del was distracted by Shaye’s…everything.

Every single thing about Shaye distracted him.

Bill huffed his way over to the counter, and Del dragged over a stool.

“We’re hardly an establishment.” Bill lowered himself onto the stool with a sigh. “Just a humble pub and grub place.”

Ethan’s hearty laugh reeked of insincerity. “I’ve some ideas on how we can update your menu. Turn this pub and grub place of yours into something the tourists will come to for the food alone.”

“You don’t say?” One of Bill’s eyebrows quirked up. “Well, the menu could probably use a do over.”

Del’s eyes popped, and he glanced at Shaye, who stared at him with a
who the hell is that man pretending to be your father
look. Numerous times, he’d mentioned to Bill that Ethan would want a menu change, only to have Bill react with thunderous sighs and muttered curses.

“You’ll sort it out with my son,” Bill said. “He’s head chef now.”

Del’s heart lurched in his chest. The undertone of resignation in his father’s voice…

“Temporarily,” Ethan said. “I have a feeling he’ll be popular on my show.”

“I’m not taking over for you permanently, Bill. You’ll be head chef again soon,” Del said.

Bill shrugged, leaned over, and patted Shaye’s arm. “Del doesn’t want our little pub and grub place, so it’ll be yours and West’s to run when I kick the bucket.”

Shaye recoiled. “Don’t say that!”

“I won’t be around forever, girlie. I’m considering a move to Invercargill, so I’ll be closer to the hospital for my damn dialysis appointments.”

“Dad, no.” West’s face crumpled. “It’d kill you to leave Oban.”

Del glanced at Shaye, who was busy running her fingers under her wet eyes and sending embarrassed sneak-peeks over at Ethan. Ethan—who appeared to be eating up this mini-drama like a teenage girl bingeing on ice-cream.

“It’ll kill me to stay,” Bill said gruffly. “I can’t keep making the crossing, and it’s not right me being a burden on Claire—and now young Carly.”

“You’re not a burden,” West said.

Del cleared his throat, swallowing past a gullet-full of sharp rocks. “Mom and Carly want to be here.”

Faded blue eyes clashed with Del’s. “You think I’m gonna ask either of them to help change my incontinence pants if I get to that stage?”

Bill slipping into self-pity sent the sharp rocks tearing into his guts, and Del only knew of one way to snap him out of it.

He leaned forward, bracing his palms on the counter, meeting his father’s gaze without blinking. “You can change your own fucking pants for a while yet, old man.”

Bill’s bushy eyebrows shot up, and Shaye and West choked in a gasp.

Then Bill smacked a palm on the counter and roared with laughter. “That’s my boy.” He eased up off the stool and stabbed a finger at West. “Get the sour-puss look off your face and go talk to your newest staff member. She’s waiting out front.”

West straightened. “Who’ve you been hiring?”

“Carly. She’s gonna help Kip at the bar, so you don’t freakin’ kill yourself trying to do six damn jobs at once.”

“I can handle it,” West glowered.

Yep. West looked as if good ol’ Dad had confiscated his favorite toy and given it to someone else.

“Like Shaye could handle the kitchen alone, eh?” Bill said. “You made me suck it up and let Del take over. Quit ya whining, and accept your sister’s help.”

West’s eyes popped. “She’s my
step
sister, not my sister—and you can’t make her work; she just got here.”

“This, from the man who made my sister a kitchen-hand the moment she arrived home,” said Shaye.

West glared at her, and Shaye narrowed her eyes in return.

“I’m not making her do nothing,” Bill said. “She offered.”

“Excuse us, Ethan.” West shot a glance over at the man smirking at the end of the counter. “There’s not usually this much screwed-up drama at Due South.”

Shaye snorted and stalked off to the cold storage room.

Del resisted the urge to laugh out loud at his brother’s bald-faced lie.

“No problem, lads.” Ethan Ward grinned his walnut-crushing grin, likely calculating his ratings shooting through the roof filming Del’s fucked-up family. “No problem at all.”

Chapter 12

Sick owner, pain-in-the-ass manager, and a head-chef she wanted to bonk senseless—before she chopped him into tiny pieces, baked him in a pie, and fed him to the dogs, that is.

Damn those Westlake men!

Shaye adjusted the white scarf, craning her neck in the mirror to ensure the chiffon folds covered the faint mark. At least, with her vintage 1960s, floral silk dress, wearing a scarf a la Audrey Hepburn didn’t stand out as an obvious,
oh, hai, I’m a big slut with a hickey on my neck.

Lunch service that day, after their embarrassing first meeting with Ethan Ward earlier, had thankfully gone quickly. Slammed with guests hoping to catch a glimpse of the man himself, she barely had time to moon over her head chef. Yet she’d been unable to stop fixating on every minute, every second of the amazing cabin-fever incident.

Cabin fever
. The heat generated between them could’ve flash-fried an elephant.

Shaye peeled back her lips and applied one last coat of lipstick—a bright crimson to draw attention away from her neck. She returned the tube to her makeup case. No one would be looking at her, anyway. Piper’s bridal shower, put on by their mum and the church ladies, was all about the bride. Not about Piper’s sister hoping to disguise a hickey on her neck—something she hadn’t had to do in a long, long time. How long had it been since she’d had a mark that made her fizzy and breathless every time she thought about the man who put it there? Ah…never?

Shaye hurried out of her room, heading down to the kitchen where she’d stashed the three dozen pastel-colored macaroons she’d baked the night before. A quick check at the bottom of the stairs revealed Ford sprawled in his mother’s usual spot behind the reception desk.

He looked up at the sound of her heels and gave her the raised eyebrow salute then a gratifying double-take. “Hey. You look real nice.”

From Ford,
you look real nice
was the verbal equivalent of a dozen roses, chocolates, and a hand-written ballad sung from below a balcony.

“Just for that, I’ll save you some cake, especially since your mum’s making you work the desk.”

The grin he offered gave her the warm fuzzies but not a tingle more. So much easier if she could crush on sweet, dependable Ford.

“That’s why you’re my favorite Harland,” he said.

“Like your mum hasn’t promised you exactly the same thing. See-ya.”

She breezed through the swinging doors, her peep-toe, six-inch heels clicking prettily—a much sexier sound than the usual hush of her work clogs. Crossing the kitchen floor, she swept her gaze over the stainless steel surfaces, checking everything had been left ship-shape and ready for dinner service that night.

Movement in the pantry caught her eye—Del.

Del jamming the lid back on her plastic container of macaroons.