Heart's Haven

Heart's Haven
Lois Richer

Handsome Boss Otherwise how would chef Cassidy Preston ever quit her job? Cooking at The Haven, a new outreach mission in Chicago, was temporary–payback for a huge favor. But the shelter was Tyson St. John's life. And it provided him a place to raise his orphaned nephew, a boy sorely in need of a mother figure and Ty's love.But something was holding Ty back from opening that hardened heart of his. Something Cassidy found herself working overtime to uncover. And, once she did, she'd have to prove to Ty that she should have a very permanent position…as his wife!

Heart’s Haven

Lois Richer

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter One

Chicago

January 2

Six years with temperamental chefs in kitchens around the world had not prepared Cassidy Preston for this.

Like fingernails on a chalkboard, the scraping of steel against steel scratched through a blue-gray fog. Smoke swirled within her throat, filling her nostrils with the acrid stench of—porridge? Cassidy wrinkled her nose to block it from her lungs.

Wincing at the painful din, Cassidy stepped across the littered room and grabbed the battered pot from the man’s hand. She then scanned the kitchen, found and flicked a wall switch. The exhaust fan wheezed to life and the smoke cleared, allowing her to peer into eyes so richly blue she might have been back in Greece, staring into the Aegean.

“Excuse me.”

“Certainly.” Long, elegant fingers dropped the slotted spoon he’d been using as a pot scraper. He pressed a hip against the center island, tilted his head to one side. “You’re excused. Now may I have that back?”

“It’s a saucepan.”

“Yes, I know.” Amusement bubbled through his words.

“Which is for making sauces. Cooking. Things like that.” Cassidy slid her nail tip over the charred bottom. “In my experience, saucepans are more effective if you don’t fossilize your meal in them. That way you can use them again.”

He didn’t respond. Instead he studied her with the lazy, relaxed manner of a man who had all the time in the world to lounge around. And he might well have.

She didn’t.

But his silence offered Cassidy time to note his mussed jumble of almost-curls that framed a face made for the stubbled look. The Romanesque nose didn’t diminish his appearance, nor did the dimples at the sides of his mouth. A faint scar on the edge of his chin only enhanced the chiseled jawline.

He was gorgeous.

But Cassidy wasn’t here to admire handsome men. In fact, she would only be here long enough to work off her debt to Elizabeth Wisdom.

He crossed one long, lean leg over the other, stubbed a booted toe against a mark on the tile floor as if scraping one blob of scorched food from its filthy surface would make any difference.

Cassidy cleared her throat.

He lifted his head, blinked incredibly long lashes. Said nothing.

She raised her eyebrows expectantly.

His eyes danced, amused by her impatience.

“Tell you what. Since I belong here and you don’t, perhaps you’d better tell me who you are.”

Cassidy didn’t think he belonged here. Not in a kitchen. Not in that white shirt—silk if she wasn’t mistaken. The jacket—a designer brand for sure. Probably Italian.

No. He didn’t look like he belonged in this mess.

But he did look like trouble.

The tall, rich and handsome kind of trouble.

“You do have a name, don’t you?” he asked.

Add sense of humor to his assets.

“Of course I have a name. It’s Cassidy.” She tucked a lock of hair behind her left ear. “Cassidy Preston. Elizabeth Wisdom sent me. Apparently I’m to be the chef here for the next six months.”

“You’re the cook?” Sapphire deepened to impenetrable cobalt. The dimples vanished. He unfolded from his lazy stance and straightened. “Oh.”