The Rebel Read Online Free

was bolting back for the kitchen when she heard the man say, “My God. This is…edible.”
    Great, Chef Wonderful got the raw veggies right. But what about the chicken?
    As she pushed through the kitchen door, she wondered why she was being so critical of a guy who seemed to be saving her bacon, but she didn’t dwell on the thought. She was too astonished at the sight of George laying out a row of his favorite oatmeal and raisin cookies on a sheet of cheesecloth.
    The stranger was talking, in that calm voice.
    â€œAnd then you’re going to hold them over the boiling water when we’re ready. Okay, Georgie?” he was saying. “So they get soft.”
    All Frankie could do was watch in amazement as the man, in a whirling dervish of motion, created dinner out of disaster. Twenty minutes later, he was spooning onto White Caps plates a curried, creamed chicken mixture that smelled out of this world.
    â€œNow, it’s your turn, Angel. Come on, follow me.”
    As he worked his way down a row of four plates, Joy was right behind him, sprinkling on raisins and almonds. Then the man packed couscous into a series of coffee cups and tapped out the mounds onto each plate. A sprig of parsley was put on top and then the man called, “Pick up.”
    Frankie sprang into action, scooping up the plates at once, as she’d done since she started waiting tables when she was a teenager.
    â€œJoy, you clear,” she called out.
    Joy swept into the dining room with her, clearing the salads as Frankie slid the entrées in place.
    It was over two hours later. Against all odds, the guests left happy and raving about the food, even the godforsaken Littles. The kitchen was cleaned up. And Joy and George were positively glowing with the good job they’d done under the stranger’s direction.
    Frankie was the only one out of sorts.
    She should have been falling on her knees to thank the man with the fancy knives and the quick hands. She should have been delirious with relief. Instead, she was crabby. Having always been the savior, it was hard to accept a demotion in favor of a man she didn’t know, who’d come out of nowhere.
    And who still had a bag of frozen corn tied to his ankle.
    The cook finished wiping off one of his knives and leaned under the overhead track lights to examine the blade carefully. Apparently satisfied with what he saw, he slid it into the leather roll and tied up the bundle. When he put it into the backpack, she realized he’d never gotten to make his call.
    â€œYou want to use the phone now?” Her voice was gruff because what she needed to do was thank him, but gratitude was something she was rusty with. She was used to giving orders, not praising initiative, and the role reversal felt uncomfortable.
    And maybe she was just a little envious of how easily he’d pulled everything together.
    Which was a perfectly ridiculous way to feel.
    When he looked at her, his eyes narrowed. Considering how relaxed he was with Joy and George, Frankie figured he must not like her very much. The idea irked her even though she knew there was no reason to care what his opinion of her was. She wasn’t going to see him again. Didn’t even know his name, as a matter of fact.
    Instead of answering her, he looked over at Joy who had one foot on the stairs that led to the servants’ quarters. “Good night, Angel. You did a really good job tonight.”
    Frankie wondered how he’d known that Joy was yawning and about to disappear up to bed when he’d been focusing on his knives.
    Joy’s charming smile flashed across the kitchen. “Thanks, Nate.”
    And that was how Frankie learned his name.
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    N ATE ZIPPED HIS PACK CLOSED and regarded the woman staring up at him evenly.
    Behind her vague hostility, he could see exhaustion lurking. She looked worn down and had the drooping mouth of someone who had barked too many orders to too many people in