To Marry McKenzie

ingredients heated.

Her mouth quirked. 'Did your mother and I manage to get through tea

together yesterday without scratching each other's eyes out!'

'Well—did you?' He leant back against one of the kitchen units, arms folded

across his chest as he waited for her answer.

Again Darcy gave him a sideways glance. 'I'm happy to report there are no

physical injuries,' she finally answered.

Except to his pride, it seemed; his feelings of being a dismissed servant

yesterday, when assured by both women that they could manage without

him, had not abated!

He nodded abruptly, that same pride precluding him asking for more

information on how that meeting between Darcy and his mother had gone.

'And your father?' he pressed. 'Exactly where did he come from?'

'I didn't ask,' Darcy answered quietly, still busily stirring the contents of the

saucepan.

'You didn't—! Whyever not?' Logan exclaimed.

Given the same circumstances, it would have been the first thing he would

have wanted to know!

She shrugged. 'Because it's none of my business.' Satisfied with the

consistency, she put the hot saucepan on a rack to let the contents cool.

Logan didn't agree with her. But one look at her determinedly set features

told him it would be useless to pursue the point; Darcy could be as stubborn

as him if the occasion merited it.

He drew in a deep breath. 'Okay,' he said tautly. 'Let's try this from another

angle. What—?' He broke off as a buzzer sounded behind him.

'Excuse me for a moment, Logan.' Darcy moved deftly around him to open

an oven door and take out a dozen or so individual pastry cases. 'Perfect,'

she said with satisfaction after checking the pastry.

Logan frowned as he watched her. 'Are all the desserts made on the

premises too?'

'Of course.' Darcy gave him a scandalised look. 'Any chef who has pride in

his—or her—work wouldn't dream of serving bought desserts.'

Despite the fact that Darcy had chosen to move to a different career, it was

rapidly becoming obvious to Logan that she was actually an excellent cook.

Coupled with her immense loyalty and warmth of personality, that meant

she was going to make some lucky man a wonderful wife one day—

Where on earth had that come from? What did it matter to him what sort of

wife Darcy was or was not going to be?

'Could you just excuse me for a few minutes while I put on the electric

beater to whisk up these egg-whites?' Darcy didn't even wait for his answer,

pushing the switch, the noisy drone of the beater making it impossible to

make further conversation.

Not that Logan particularly minded—he was still stunned by the strange

direction his thoughts had just taken!

He had come here today simply to put his mind at rest concerning Darcy's

meeting yesterday with his mother. Well, he could see that Darcy looked,

and sounded, just fine, so he had no further reason to stay.

Except, she hadn't really told him anything...

'There.' The silence in the kitchen was gratifying as Darcy switched off the

beater. 'Now, can I get you a cup of coffee?' she invited lightly. 'I can finish

the lemon meringues in a few moments,' she explained easily, smiling at

him brightly. 'Oops.' She grimaced as she obviously saw the way his

expression tightened. 'I forgot I'm not supposed to smile at you!'

Logan could have kicked himself for so plainly reacting to that smile that

Darcy couldn't help but notice it. It was time he got himself out of here. And

stayed out!

'I'll pass on the coffee, if you don't mind,' he refused coldly. 'I only wanted

to confirm that there were no repercussions from your meeting yesterday.'

He moved away from the work unit. And Darcy. 'Everything appears to be

back to normal,' he pronounced.

In fact, everything was so normal—Daniel Simon back in his restaurant,

father and daughter obviously reconciled—that Logan was decidedly in the

way.

How he felt it!

Darcy looked at him with dismay now. Without Logan's help in meeting his

mother—albeit reluctantly!—the situation between her father and herself

could still be termed as one of armed warfare. The least she owed Logan

was a cup of coffee. At most, she probably owed him an explanation of

exactly what had taken place yesterday after his departure from the hotel. In

fact, it would probably be better—for everyone!—if she were the one to tell

him that!

'Please stay for coffee, Logan,' she pressed. 'It's already made, I only have to

pour it.' She indicated the perculator of coffee being kept hot on one of the

worktops.

As she watched him, it was obvious Logan was having an inner battle with

himself. No doubt a part of him was still angry with both Darcy and his

mother. But the other part of him, the part that had compelled him to come

here at all today, really wanted to know what was going on. As his mother