His Secret Agenda Read online

  Still no response. He didn’t try to persuade her he was best for the job, didn’t promise he’d stick it out as long as possible. He sure didn’t seem all that desperate for work. So why was he here?

  She glanced over his résumé again. After graduating from Athens high school in Texas, Dean had worked at a Dallas establishment called Benedict’s Bar and Grill for three years before joining the Marine Corps, after which he’d served in both Afghanistan and Iraq. “I see you tended bar before you went into the military, but your recent work record has quite a few gaps. Care to explain those?”

  “I was trying to find something that suited.”

  “Since you’re here, I take it you didn’t find what you were looking for?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  She picked up a pen and tapped it against the table. “See, this is where we get back to me being able to rely on you to stick around. And from what I can tell of your work history—or at least, your work history over the last two years—you don’t stay in one place long.”

  He clasped his hands together on the table. “After my discharge I did some traveling. For personal reasons.”

  “Hmm…” He was hiding something. She could feel it. “So you had a difficult time adjusting back to…what would you call it…civilian life?”

  “No more than anyone else who served.”

  She tucked her hair behind her ear and studied him. Maybe he suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder. She was far from an expert on PTSD, but knew that a person affected by it could have trouble keeping a job. Or it could be something else. Wanderlust. The inability to get along with his employers or fellow employees.

  And then it hit her why he was so secretive. Why he gave such vague answers. Why there were periods of up to three months unaccounted for in his work history.

  “Have you ever been convicted of a criminal offense?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

  “The gaps. I’m just wondering…”

  “Are you asking if I was in prison? Is that even legal?”

  “In New York State, a prospective employer may ask if a prospective employee has been convicted of a criminal offense, just not if they’ve ever been arrested or charged with a crime.”

  Something flashed in his eyes, something like respect. But before she could be certain, he said, “That makes no sense.”

  “That’s the law for you. Besides, being arrested or charged with a crime in no way means you were convicted of said crime.”

  “You could always run a background check on me.”

  She sipped her soda. “I could—after I informed you of that fact, of course. But I like to form my own impressions of the people I hire based on what I see and hear from them. Not what the state of New York tells me.”

  “Would you refuse to hire me if I had a criminal past?”

  “Article 23-A of the New York Correction Law prohibits employers from denying an applicant employment because the applicant was previously convicted of one or more criminal offenses.” She caught herself and shook her head. She wasn’t a lawyer anymore. No need to talk like one. “I just mean that it’s illegal, not to mention unethical, to refuse to hire you because of your past. So no, that wouldn’t be a problem.” She paused. “But you lying about it would be.”

  “You make a habit of hiring convicted criminals?” he asked, his accent so sexy it made her want to do whatever it took to keep him talking. She tilted her head in a silent question. “Just wondering what type of people I’ll be working with if I get the job,” he explained.

  She took a long drink. “If you get the job, you can be assured that none of your coworkers have a criminal record.”

  After all, Kelsey’s juvenile record didn’t count, and while Allie’s kitchen assistant, Richie, had some past troubles with drug use, he’d never been formally charged with possession.

  And Allie’s sins hadn’t landed her in jail.

  Just her own purgatory.

  “But,” she continued when Dean remained silent, “if you have a problem with people who’ve paid their dues to society, reconsider if you want this job.” And really, did she want someone so…judgmental working for her? “One of my good friends spent time in prison and he stops by quite often.”

  Dillon Ward, Kelsey’s brother, had served time for manslaughter after killing their stepfather while protecting Kelsey. After his release, Dillon had battled prejudice and his own guilt. Luckily, he’d gotten past all of that and was now able to move forward in a relationship with local bakery owner Nina Carlson.

  Allie smiled sweetly. “I wouldn’t want any of his criminal tendencies to rub off on you.”

  “You don’t have any problems with his past?”

  “No,” she snapped. She inhaled a calming breath. “I don’t have a problem with anyone’s past.” Well, except her own—but that was what she was doing here, right? Her penance. “I have a bigger problem with people in the present. Out of the last three individuals I hired, one stole from me, one walked off the job and one…” Allie squeezed the can she was holding, denting the aluminum. “She was the worst of all. She lied.”

  “Lying pissed you off more than desertion and theft?”

  “Deserters can come back,” she said coolly. “A thief can return what he or she stole. But a liar? You can never take back a lie.”

  He inclined his head and slowly straightened. “I’ve never been imprisoned or convicted of a crime.”

  “And the gaps in your résumé?”

  “As I said, I was traveling.”

  All the signs, everything she’d ever learned about being able to tell when someone was lying, said that Dean Garret was just what he appeared to be. Easygoing. Stoic. Confident. A sexy cowboy in need of a job. If he could mix drinks, he’d be an asset behind her bar. Once word got around about him, women would flock to The Summit just to hear his Texas drawl. And he wasn’t so pretty as to put her male patrons on the defensive.

  “I guess that’s all the information I need then.” She stood, and couldn’t help but second-guess herself when he got to his feet, as well. Who knew manners could be such a turn-on? Still, she walked around the table and offered him her hand. “Thank you for coming in.”

  His large, rough fingers engulfed hers, and damn if a crackle of electricity didn’t seem to shoot up her arm and jump-start her heart.

  “When can I expect to hear from you?” he asked, still holding her hand.

  She pulled free of his grasp and stepped back. “I’m sorry, but you won’t.”

  “I don’t understand,” he said.

  “Listen, I have to be honest. I’m going in a different direction.” She met his eyes and told him what her instincts were screaming. “You’re just not what I’m looking for.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  DEAN DIDN’T SO MUCH AS blink. Hell, he was so stunned, he didn’t even move.

  He wasn’t what she was looking for? What did that mean? His blood began a slow simmer. Damn it, he was perfect for this job. He’d worked for three years tending bar before joining up. What more did she want? A note from his mother?

  “If anything changes,” she said, the hint of pity in her tone causing him to grind his teeth together, “I’ll be sure to let you know.”

  In other words, here’s your hat, get your ass moving.

  He forced himself to smile. “I appreciate your time.” He pulled his coat on and set his Stetson on his head. Though his better sense told him not to, he stepped forward until she had to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact. Until her flowery scent filled his nostrils. “You be sure to let me know if you change your mind,” he said, letting his accent flow as thick as honey.

  Heat flashed in her eyes, turning them a deep, denim blue.

  He tipped his hat. “I’ll find my own way out.”

  He didn’t slow until he’d pushed open the door and stepped out into the blowing snow and mind-numbing cold. He trudged across the parking lot, unlocked his truck and slid insid
e.

  He didn’t get the job? He slapped his hand against the steering wheel. Unreal. He always got the job. Always got the job done.

  He started the engine and cranked up the heat. Allison hadn’t believed he’d stay in Serenity Springs.

  She didn’t trust him.

  He sat there, resting his forearms on the steering wheel, and stared at the swirling white flakes drifting down. His record of success was a direct result of his tenacity. He’d go back to his hotel room and regroup. Come up with a plan to somehow convince her he was the best candidate for the job.

  That she could trust him.

  Even if she really shouldn’t.

  “YOU SENT HIM PACKING?” Kelsey asked. “But I wanted to keep him. I’ve never had a cowboy of my very own before.”

  Allie, perched on the top rung of the stepladder, snorted down at her sister-in-law. “You can’t have one now, either.” She climbed down, careful to keep her high heels from hooking on the rungs. Once both feet were safely on the ground, she moved the ladder next to the bar. “I don’t think Jack would appreciate you wanting to keep this—or any—cowboy.”

  They were the only people in the bar. Allie hated this time of day—what Kelsey referred to as the dead zone. The two hours in the afternoon after the lunch crowd left and before people got off work.

  Allie knew she should be taking advantage of this lull to get caught up on the pile of paperwork on her cluttered desk. She had inventory sheets to go over. Bills to pay. Taxes to file. Liquor deliveries to schedule and grocery orders to submit.

  All of which bored her to tears.

  “I guess you’re right,” Kelsey said in mock disappointment, as if she wasn’t completely gaga over Allie’s brother, ever since the day they’d met, right here at The Summit a few months ago. Kelsey tapped her forefinger against her bottom lip. “Hey, I know. What if I slap one of those cowboy hats on the sheriff? And do you think spurs would be too kinky?”

  “Eww. I think my brain just imploded. And if it didn’t, I wish it would.” Allie climbed two more rungs and reached down for the red paper heart Kelsey held up to her. “For one thing,” she said, hanging the heart from a rafter, “could you please refer to my brother by his name? Or better yet, pick a better nickname for him. He’s the police chief, and you calling him ‘sheriff’ is too weird. What about ‘pooky bear’? Or ‘snookums’?”

  “You expect me to get down and dirty with a man called snookums?” Kelsey grimaced. “That is just wrong.”

  Allie glared down at her. “And that’s the other thing. I don’t want to hear anything about you and Jack playing dress up or getting down. Dirty or not. How would you like it if Nina told you all about her and Dillon’s love life?”

  Nina, a mutual friend, had been involved with Dillon since Christmas. Everyone around Allie had paired up. It was like Noah’s ark.

  With her all by her lonesome on a life raft.

  Good thing that’s how she wanted it, or else she’d be depressed as hell.

  Kelsey waved another paper heart in the air. “Nina’s far too sweet to ever discuss something like that.”

  Allie rolled her eyes and descended the ladder. She reached the last rung and slipped, twisting her ankle when she landed on the floor. “Ouch.” She rubbed the sore spot through her boot. “Why don’t you be a real friend and hang the rest of the decorations?”

  “Take your boots off. Why are you climbing a ladder in that getup?”

  “Because I don’t have any other shoes with me. And if you think I’d walk around in here in my stocking feet, you’re more delusional than usual.”

  Kelsey picked up the ladder and moved it to the end of the bar. “There. I helped. But I’m not hanging any froufrou hearts. You know how I feel about decorating for holidays. Especially ones as commercial as Valentine’s Day.”

  What could Allie say? That she needed to keep busy? That if she stopped for even a minute she started questioning herself? Started wondering if she should’ve listened to Evan, her ex-boyfriend, and accepted the partnership at Hanley, Barcroft, Blaisdell and Littleton. Or if her life would’ve been different if she’d never taken Miles Addison’s case.

  But she had taken it. And she’d been so determined to get ahead that she forgot all the reasons she became a defense attorney in the first place—to help people. People who needed it.

  See why she hated this time of day?

  “Hey,” Kelsey said, rubbing Allie’s arm. “You okay? Your ankle isn’t sprained, is it?”

  Allison rotated her foot while she cleared her thoughts. “No. It’s fine. I just can’t believe you don’t like Valentine’s Day, that’s all.” She climbed the ladder again. She was so counting this as her workout for the day. “Are you sure you’re female?”

  “Valentine’s Day is a holiday made by the greeting card companies and retailers to trick poor saps into spending money on a bunch of useless crap.” Kelsey’s voice rose and she began to pace. “I mean, what’s up with sending flowers? They just die. And if I want candy, I’ll pick up a Hershey’s bar at the convenience store.”

  Allie hung a set of pink hearts and climbed down. “What about jewelry?”

  She sneered. “Do I look like someone who wants diamonds?”

  No, she didn’t. Well, except for that gorgeous engagement ring Allie had helped her brother pick out. “You poor thing,” she said, wrapping an arm around Kelsey’s stiff shoulders. “Have you ever gotten a valentine?”

  “I never wanted one,” Kelsey said haughtily.

  “I’m sure Jack will get you something superromantic,” Allie assured her. She gave Kelsey a little squeeze.

  “He’d better,” she mumbled. “And it better be expensive.”

  “At least now I understand why you want to host a speed-dating event on Valentine’s Day. You’re rebelling against romance.”

  Kelsey crossed her arms. “I’m all for romance. The speed dating thing gives our customers a chance to find true love. And if they happen to find love while helping our bottom line, all the better.”

  Allie grinned and folded the ladder before carrying it back down the hallway to the supply closet. Her good humor faded as she realized what had become of her life. Instead of playing a very important part in the American legal system, she now spent her time hanging cheap decorations, preparing the same meals over and over, and avoiding paperwork.

  She slammed the closet door shut. Well, she’d wanted to change her life. As usual, when she set out to do something, she’d succeeded. And while running a bar might not be as exciting as practicing criminal law, it was a lot less stressful.

  And she wasn’t unhappy, she told herself as she went into the kitchen. She loved Serenity Springs and had fabulous friends and the best, most supportive family a person could ask for. A family that didn’t ask too many questions. Such as why she’d quit her job and moved back.

  She owned her own business, which was growing by leaps and bounds. Plus, she got to do something she enjoyed every day. Even if a year ago she hadn’t considered her love of cooking to be anything other than a fun hobby.

  Hey, she was nothing if not adaptable.

  She gave her pasta sauce a quick stir, adjusted the flame under the pot and picked up her coat.

  “I’m going home to change,” she told Kelsey as she walked back into the bar. “The sauce is simmering, so could you check it once or twice? Oh, and I almost forgot, can you switch the appetizer on the specials board to grilled flat bread pizza? I’ll do a veggie one and a chicken one.”

  Kelsey leaned against the bar and sipped from a bottle of water. “Sure. But hey, before you go, you never told me why you did it?”

  “We’ve offered bruschetta twice this month,” Allie said, pulling on her red leather coat, “and it hasn’t gone over too well. I thought we’d try something different.”

  “No, why did you reject Mr. Tall, Not-So-Dark but Very Handsome? Didn’t he pass your test?”

  Well, damn. And here she thought she’d avoid
ed the subject of Dean Garret.

  “Actually,” Allie said, lifting her hair out from beneath her coat, “he passed with flying colors. He didn’t hit on me once.”

  Although she remembered how, right before he left, he’d stepped closer to her, how his eyes had heated and his voice had lowered.

  Kelsey set her glass on the counter and crossed her arms. “If he passed the test, what was the problem?”

  Allie shrugged and picked up her purse. “He wasn’t right for The Summit.”

  “Ahh.” She nodded sagely. “In other words, he didn’t need to be saved.”

  Allie narrowed her eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You only hire the downtrodden, the needy or, in a few memorable cases, the just plain pathetic. You’re like the Statue of Liberty. All you need is a tattoo on your forehead that reads ‘Give me your poor, your tired, your flakes who don’t know the difference between a cosmo and a mojito….’”

  “So?” Allie asked, sounding to her own ears suspiciously like a pissy teenager. “I don’t know the difference between them, either.”

  “Which is why you need to hire a bartender who does. Besides, none of the people you’ve hired since I’ve been here have stuck around. What does that tell you?”

  Allie pulled on her black leather gloves. “That my manager keeps firing them all?”

  “Hey, I only fired three of them—and they all deserved it. The rest quit. And they quit,” she continued, when Allie opened her mouth to speak, “because though you tried to save them from themselves, they weren’t interested. All they wanted was to get on with their dysfunctional lives.”

  “Who was stopping them?” Allie zipped her coat. “You act like I offered counseling sessions as part of a benefits package or something.”

  “Pretty close,” Kelsey mumbled.

  “Relax. I’m telling you, Dean Garret isn’t right for this job. Trust me on this, I’m doing the right thing here.”

  “I hope so,” Kelsey called after her as Allie walked out the door.

  She shivered and hurried over to her car. Yeah, she hoped so, too. And Kelsey was way off base about her trying to save people. She was out of that game.