CHAPTER ONE
THE MILL DIDN’T look like failure.
In fact, Delaney Carter had to admit it looked good. The last time she’d been here, years ago, it had been an ugly, abandoned lumber mill. Then her grandmother, Abigail Carter, had created a new revenue stream for Carter’s Crossing by turning the town into a romantic getaway destination. In the past two years the town had been renamed Cupid’s Crossing, and this building had undergone a massive renovation to make it an event venue for weddings and similar celebrations.
Now the former eyesore nestled into the hillside, blending with the early fall landscape, the longer side running parallel to the stream that passed behind it. Instead of a stretch of rusting metal, the wooden siding echoed the trees that were just beginning to show hues of yellow and red and orange among the green. The parking lot was covered with paving stones instead of gravel, and a portico welcomed people to the main entrance near the road.
Even the rear entrance, farthest away, had been renovated with new doors to match the rest of the building. Inside was the commercial kitchen she’d been assured was brand-new, everything top-of-the-line. She had no doubt it was designed to be perfect for a chef and her kitchen staff. Everything she could ask for. Hers, as of yesterday, to rule over for the next few months.
It was still failure. For a Carter, this wasn’t enough. For her, it wasn’t enough. For just a moment she wondered if she’d ever get back on her path, and her chest tightened.
Her brain scrambled through the familiar what-if scenarios. The ones that didn’t end with her Manhattan restaurant closed, her partner in the hospital and Delaney back in Carter’s—no, Cupid’s Crossing. Her hands tensed on the steering wheel of her grandmother’s car in frustration. What-ifs didn’t matter. They weren’t real. What was in front of her was.
She unclenched her hands enough for the knuckles to no longer show white and slowed her breathing. Her stomach twisted and she shook her head, trying to clear it. There was no way to turn back time. She was here. Here to do the pity job her grandmother had given her. She’d head up the kitchen for the Mill, the position available when they lost their original chef last week, one Rudy Dunstan. And while she was here she would figure out how to recapture her life. Her real, successful life.
Enough whining. She grabbed her shoulder bag and picked up her carefully packaged knives in their waxed canvas carryall. She opened the car door and stood up, breathing in the clean air.
She didn’t want clean air. She wanted exhaust fumes and sweat and garbage. But this was what she had.
A quick glance around the parking lot showed that her organic produce supplier, OPD, wasn’t here yet. Rudy had set up the arrangement, and Delaney now needed to take up the knife, so to speak. If OPD wasn’t here, she wasn’t late. She crossed to the rear entrance, determined to be the professional she was. She couldn’t let her standards down just because she was no longer the owner of a hot new restaurant in New York City.
The code she’d been texted turned off the alarm, and the key opened the lock. For a moment she paused, hand on the doorknob, unwilling to enter and embrace this as her new reality.
The knob felt strange under her hand, but she turned it and stepped inside, shuddering. Windows let the light land over counters and appliances, all she’d expected. She set her knife bag down on a countertop and slowly pulled the purse off her shoulder.
She was cold. And her head felt like it was drifting upward. Was she coming down with something? She held up a hand only to find it trembling. The door latched behind her, and her stomach cramped. Her body told her she was in danger. She had to get out of this place. She looked around to find the source of that fear and felt dizzy.
She didn’t remember leaving the building. The next thing she knew, when her stomach stopped twisting and her breathing was no longer shaking her chest, she was outside, sitting on the ground. She had broken nails, and her head still felt light, her thoughts chaotic and out of control.
What just happened? She’d never felt anything like it before. Was something wrong with her? She really feared there might be.
***
JORDAN EVERTON HAD to force himself to turn his truck into the parking lot of the Mill. He couldn’t stay stopped on the county road forever, blinker on, so he braced himself and tapped the accelerator.
Once safely off the road, he let the truck idle. The Mill didn’t look anything like the building in which his mother had died all those years ago. She’d been an employee there, but somehow left the office she worked in and was killed by falling debris in a closed-off section of the mill.
His father had already been trying to sue the Carters based on an old property claim. The accident had convinced his father that there was merit in the claim, and that his mother had been murdered, despite all evidence to the contrary. The results had upended Jordan’s life.
He refused to indulge the painful memories. That was the past, and he wasn’t going to dwell in it. The Mill bore little resemblance to its former life as a lumber mill beyond the basic shape. Didn’t much matter. He knew it was the same place.
His dog Ranger whined beside him, picking up his mood.
“I know, boy. I signed up for this. Doesn’t mean I like it.”
His grip tightened on the steering wheel as he slowly drove down the length of the building to the rear entrance. He didn’t need to dawdle. Just find Rudy Dunstan, the chef who’d placed the order, deliver the produce he had in the back of the truck and get a signature. Then he could go back to the farm and indulge on his own any guilt he felt about doing business with the place where his mother had died.
There was a car near the kitchen door, a Prius. Good. Dunstan must be here, so this would be quick. He had about two days of work to finish up before sunset, so maybe he could get a good portion of that done.
He backed the truck in, so the tailgate was facing the doors. The Mill was closed, but at least he knew his guy was around here somewhere. Probably working inside. He opened the driver’s door and stepped out, waiting for Ranger to jump down after him.
He tugged the tailgate down, grabbed the first box and swung toward the doors to the kitchen. There was a buzzer, and he pushed it once he’d set down that box. He grabbed the second and returned to the door.
It was still closed.
Was there a problem? Maybe the buzzer didn’t work?
He knocked on the doors, hard enough to create a loud echo inside the building. He hesitated, torn between wanting to empty the truck and be gone as soon as possible, and a looming feeling that something was wrong, and he might have to load everything up again.
Then he heard Ranger whine.
He turned. Ranger was staring in the direction of the stream that ran along the back side of the building, head tilted toward something out of view. Jordan listened again, making sure no one was coming to answer his knock, and followed Ranger around the corner.
At first, all he noticed was the stream, rushing closely alongside the Mill. Then he saw a pile of clothing, or maybe some table linens, heaped against the wall. He made out the shape of a white chef’s jacket, wrapped around a person.
This must be his missing contact. Was Dunstan okay? He moved forward to check.
He’d never met the man, but the hair he saw was long and dark, pulled back in a French braid. And the hands, gripped tightly around the person’s knees, were slender, long and smaller than he expected.
He shook his head. Not Dunstan. A female chef. And something was or had upset her.
He scanned the area, not finding any visible threat. Ranger was focused on the person huddled against the wall, so he didn’t sense any immediate danger, either. Jordan squatted down in the narrow space in front of her, making his body smaller, less threatening. Ranger stepped closer, nose out, sniffing at the bundle of woman. They were frozen in place for a moment, and then the woman lifted her head and reached out her hands for Ranger’s ruff. She threaded her fingers in his fur, gripping tightly as Ranger moved closer and sniffed again.
Jordan remained locked in position, balanced on his toes, hand down to steady himself when the surprise hit.
He knew this face.
It was older. The soft roundness of adolescence had firmed into a sharper jawline, higher cheekbones. There was a furrow between the brows, and lines around her mouth. But the eyes, deep blue with dark winging brows, were the same. The pink lips familiar, the straight nose unchanged.
Her head moved up, and those blue eyes locked with his. Her mouth dropped open, and she shivered. Then she tucked her head into Ranger’s side, almost burrowing into the dog.
Jordan felt light-headed, his chest pounding. He’d never wanted or planned to see Delaney Carter again; never wanted to revisit that heartbreak. He should never have signed that deal with the Mill. Nothing good came from dealing with a Carter.
His dad was right.
DELANEY GRIPPED TIGHTLY to the dog’s fur, grateful to have something to cling to. None of this could possibly be real. If it was, something was seriously wrong.
She’d thought, hoped, for a few minutes, that things were getting better. That whatever had happened when she went in the kitchen was over, an aberration, maybe the start of the flu, something she understood. She was getting back to her normal, her body feeling like hers again. No more panicky gasping for breath, her limbs responding to her commands. But then she looked up and saw Jordan Everton, and she knew she was in a dream or more likely a nightmare.
There was no way one of her greatest hits on the all-time Delaney mistakes list was here at the Mill.
Sure, his family farm
was in the area. But even if he’d stayed on that farm, there was no way he’d set foot on the Mill property. There was nothing that would spur him into doing business with the Carters. And his dad—he’d have been the first suspect if there’d ever been a fire at the Mill. He hated her family.
No, she just had to accept that none of this was real. And if it wasn’t, was there any possibility that the past two months weren’t, either? Maybe she still had her restaurant, and her partner was uninjured?
What an incredible thought.
The dog whimpered as she accidentally tugged too hard. She eased her grip and turned her hands flat to pet him. Her. It.
She cracked open an eye to look at the animal. He was large, mostly German shepherd in appearance, but with a leaner build, a rounder muzzle, enough to show he was mixed in his breeding. She didn’t care. Right now he was something she could cling to. She knew what a dog was, what a dog felt like. This was real.
Deep breath. Her lungs worked properly, and her stomach was no longer churning. Another breath. Even her brain began to feel like it was hers again, controlling her body, her movements feeling like her own once more.
Okay, whatever had happened, she’d deal with it. She was in her familiar chef’s coat, so she was working. Maybe...maybe she’d find herself back at the restaurant in New York, the shooting a nightmare.
She really wanted that to be true. But she was sitting on dirt, not concrete. She could hear rushing water, not traffic, and there were none of the scents of garbage and car exhaust that she would breathe in if she was in New York.
Another breath and she looked up. And saw Jordan again.
Not the Jordan she knew. This was a man, not a teenager. He had a full beard and shaggy hair over a large, muscled frame. But those eyes—she’d know those eyes anywhere.
They were staring at her in horror.
She finally had it figured out. She’d somehow ended up in purgatory. Purgatory, with the boy who’d broken her heart.
JORDAN HAD NO idea what was going on here, but he had two immediate problems to work out. First, a truck load of produce. It didn’t take much in the line of math skills to put together the Prius and the chef’s coat and add it up to the unwelcoming total that Delaney Carter was supposed to receive his produce, not Dunstan. There was no one else here, and he wasn’t sure if Delaney was up to it.
That was the second problem. This wasn’t the Delaney he knew. Unless something drastic had changed her personality, she wasn’t someone to huddle behind a building in obvious distress. He had to talk to her, find out what had happened to her and if she was okay. He might be unused to social conventions these days, but he wasn’t going to leave her here like this.
His dad would tell him this served him right for getting involved with the Carters. The man was safely away in Florida right now, so he shoved thoughts of his father out of his head.
“Delaney.” His voice cracked. He hadn’t spoken her name in years.
She looked up at him warily. She wasn’t afraid of him, was she? Even with what had gone down back in high school, he’d never threatened her or her family.
“Are you okay? Did something happen to you?”
He wanted to roll his eyes at himself. Obviously, something had happened. She was holding on to his dog like he was the last life jacket on the Titanic.
“Jordan? You’re real?”
His mouth opened and closed. Did she often see things that weren’t there?
“Pretty sure I am.”
She glanced around their surroundings. From here she’d see the stream and the trees climbing the hillside behind the mill.
“So not purgatory.”
He frowned. She thought of him and purgatory together. Didn’t make him happy, but he was pretty sure she’d be in his purgatory as well.
He kept his voice calm and flat. “You’re at the Mill. Do you know why you’re here?”
He couldn’t see any sign that she’d hit her head, but he wouldn’t necessarily if the bump was hidden beneath her hair. What was going on, and what should he do?
She closed her eyes and gripped more tightly onto Ranger. Jordan thought he saw the dog flinch and felt for him. Still, Delaney seemed to need Ranger, so he waited, relaxing when her fingers did as well.
“I’m taking over for Dunstan in the kitchen. He got another job last week. I just agreed to work here two days ago.”
Just as he’d suspected. He wondered for a moment if the Carters had deliberately not told him of the switcheroo, knowing he’d never have agreed to supply the Mill if Delaney was working there, but he refused to allow the idea to take hold. His father was paranoid enough about the Carters for both of them.
‘You came here to work.” He tried not to let any of his frustration come through, though he was tense enough to want to shout his protest.
She nodded. “I’ve got a delivery coming from OPD—” She broke off and scrambled to her feet. “What time is it? They should be here. I hope they didn’t leave.”
Her hand was still on Ranger, and it was trembling, slightly.
Jordan slowly rose to stand in front of her. She moved back but was trapped by the wall of the Mill. Jordan stepped away, hands up, doing his best to look harmless.
“Don’t worry about OPD.”
Her gaze slid from him to the corner where the parking lot was just out of sight, then to the trees and back to him. Jordan couldn’t back up much more without risking falling into the stream, and he didn’t think anyone could ask that of him. He turned and walked backward toward the parking lot. Ranger stepped forward to follow him, and Delaney kept her hand on the dog, with the result that the three of them moved together.
Jordan wished reinforcements
had shown up while he’d been around back with Delaney since he had no idea what he was doing right now. The lack of audience meant no one watched him step around the corner of the building, arms up in front of him, with Ranger and Delany following. As if Ranger was a weapon Delaney was holding on him.
Jordan hoped Delaney would relax when she had open space around her, but her gaze flicked to the door to the kitchen and back to him and then Ranger, as tense as when she’d been hiding behind the building.
Another glance around the parking lot. Her gaze stopped on his truck.
“Is that...? Is that OPD?”
He understood her confusion. The truck had Stoney Creek Farm on the doors.
“Yes, I’m OPD.” He wasn’t going to explain to her that he’d set up OPD, Organic Produce Delivery as a dummy company between Stoney Creek and the Mill so that his dad wouldn’t realize that Jordan had agreed to become a supplier. The man might see the sale to OPD in the books, but at least nothing with the name of the Mill on it.
The farm bank accounts and records were down in Florida with his father. They had a joint account up here that Jordan used to deposit farm profits into, as part of the deal they’d set up.
The deposits into that account would show OPD, not anything connected to Carter’s Crossing. He didn’t want to mislead his father, but he needed the Mill’s business.
He didn’t need to share any of that with Delaney.
A glance at him, one at the truck and then the door of the kitchen. She took a breath, straightened to her full height and nodded. ...
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