The Cook's Secret Ingredient - Meg Maxwell Mills & Boon Cherish

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in question was her aunt. But how could she not? And she certainly did understand Carson’s concern for his dad. But what if her mother was right about Edmund and Sarah?

      What if, what if, what if. The story of Olivia’s life.

      Not that Carson was waiting for an answer. He was already heading down the street, holding the toddler in one arm, pushing the stroller with the other. The boy’s own little arms were wrapped around Carson’s neck. His son sure loved him. That feeling swirled inside Olivia so strongly it obliterated all other thought.

      Six thirty. One hundred Thornton Lane. She knew the house. A mansion on a hill you could see from anywhere on Blue Gulch Street. At night the majestic house was lit up and occasionally you could catch the thoroughbreds galloping or grazing in their acres of pasture. Sometimes over the past few weeks, when Olivia felt at her lowest, missing her mother so much her heart clenched, she’d look up at the lights of One Hundred Thornton and feel comforted somehow, as though it was a beacon, the permanence of the grand house high on the hill soothing her.

      She didn’t know what she could possibly say to Edmund Ford that his tightly wound, handsome son would approve of. But at least Olivia knew what she was doing for dinner tonight.

       Chapter Two

      Carson stood by the open window in his father’s family room, watching his dad and Danny in the backyard. Fifty-four-year-old Edmund Ford held the toddler in his arms and was pointing out two squirrels chasing each other up and down the huge oak. Carson smiled at the sight of his son laughing so hard.

      “Let’s pretend we’re squirrels and chase each other around the yard,” Edmund said, setting Danny down. “You can’t catch me!” he added, running ahead at a toddler’s pace, which couldn’t be easy for the six-two man.

      “Catch!” Danny yelled, giggling.

      Edmund let his back leg linger for a moment until Danny latched on. “You got me! You’re the fastest squirrel in his yard.”

      “Me!” Danny shouted, racing around with his hands up.

      Edmund scooped him up and put him on his shoulders, and they headed over to the oak again. Danny pointed at the squirrels sitting on a branch and nibbling acorns. Carson could hear his dad telling Danny that the squirrels were a grandpa and grandson, just like them.

      Who was this man and what had he done with Carson’s father? Carson’s earliest memories involved watching his father leave the house, his father’s empty chair and place setting at the dinner table, his father not making it to birthday parties or graduations or special events. He’d been a workaholic banker and nothing had been more important than “the office.” Not Carson, not his mother, not even his mother’s terminal diagnosis of cancer five years ago, leaving them just four months with her. But then came the moment she’d drawn her last breath, and Edmund Ford had been shaken.

      I didn’t tell her I loved her this morning, his father had said that day they’d lost her, his face contorted with grief and regret. I always thought there was later, another day. I didn’t tell her I loved her today.

      Tears had stung Carson’s eyes and he gripped his father in a hug. She knew anyway, Dad, he’d said. She always knew.

      Which was true. Every time Edmund Ford disappointed them, his mother would say, Your father loves us very much. We’re his world. Never doubt that, no matter what.

      Carson had grown up doubting that. But since his mother died, his father had changed into someone Carson barely recognized. Edmund Ford had started calling to check in a few times a week. He’d drop by Carson’s office for an impromptu lunch. He’d get tickets to the Rangers or the rodeo. But instead of Carson’s old longing for his dad to be present in his life, Carson had felt...uncomfortable. He barely knew his father, and this new guy was someone Carson didn’t know at all. Suddenly it was Carson putting up the wall, putting up the boundaries.

      Then Danny was born, and Edmund had become grandfather of the year. The man insisted on weekly family dinners with Carson and Danny, making a fuss over every baby tooth that sprouted up, new words, a quarter inch of height marked on the wall. And yes, Carson was glad his son had a loving grandfather in his life. But Carson couldn’t seem to reconcile it with the man he’d known his entire life.

      The first week of Danny’s life, when his now ex-wife, Jodie, had still been around, they’d both been shocked when Edmund Ford had come to the hospital’s neonatal intensive care unit every single day, to sit beside his bassinet and read Dr. Seuss to him, sing an old ranch tune, demand information from the doctors in his imperious tone.

      “Grandparenting is different from being a parent,” Jodie would say with a shrug when Carson expressed his shock over his dad’s suddenly interest in family.

      She must have been right because by the end of Danny’s first week, she was gone, with apologies and “you knew I was like this when you married me,” and his father was there. And everything that seemed normal about the world had shifted.

      His father’s housekeeper and cook, Leanna, came into the room and smiled at Carson, then walked over to the screen door to the yard. “Danny, want to help me make dessert?”

      “Ooh!” Danny said. His grandfather set him down and he came running in.

      The sixtysomething woman, with her signature braided bun, scooped up Danny and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Carson loved how much sweet attention his son got at his grandfather’s house. “Twenty minutes ’til dinner,” Leanna called out before heading through the French doors with Danny.

      Carson glanced out the floor-to-ceiling windows on the opposite side of the room. If he craned his neck he could just make out the circular driveway in front of the mansion. No car, other than his own. He wondered if Olivia Mack would show up or not. Probably not.

      “I could cancel my health club membership with all the exercise I get from playing with Danny,” Edmund said as he came inside. He took a long sip from his water bottle, then sat down in a club chair and pulled a small notebook from the inside pocket of his jacket. “Oh, Carson, I won’t be around tomorrow afternoon. I’ll be on the road, checking out four potential hair salons for my Sarah.”

      Enough was enough. “Dad—”

      Edmund held up a palm. “Well, it’s what I have to do since my own son, a private investigator, won’t do his job and help me find the person I’m looking for.”

      Carson crossed his arms over his chest. And sighed. “The person you’re looking for doesn’t exist, Dad.”

      Edmund shook his head. “We’ve been over this. I’m done arguing with you. I’m just telling you I won’t be around tomorrow in case Danny wanted to see the more fun Ford man in his life.”

      His father was the fun one. Unbelievable. He shook his head, staring at his dad as though the concentration would help him come up with a way to reach the man, get to him to see how foolish and fruitless this quest was. And how potentially damaging. Edmund Ford was a handsome man, tall and fit, with thick salt-and-pepper hair adding to his distinguished appearance. And he was very, very wealthy. This Sarah, if he found someone who fit the bill, would latch on to him fast enough to get her hands on his bank account, then take off. She’d probably get herself pregnant, too, to keep the gravy train going for quite some time. Yes, Carson was that cynical.

      The doorbell rang and Carson perked up. He glanced at the grandfather clock across the room. Not quite six thirty. Could it be the fortune-teller’s daughter? Had she come?

      Lars, Leanna’s husband of thirty-two years and his father’s butler for the past five years, appeared in the doorway. “A Ms. Olivia Mack is here.” A short, portly man in his sixties, Lars always stood very straight in his formal uniform.

      “Olivia Mack?” Edmund repeated. “Do I know an Olivia Mack? Is she selling something? I wouldn’t mind a couple boxes of those mint Girl Scout cookies.”

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