Cooking Up Romance (The Taylor Triplets Book 1) Read online

  From the frying pan...into a second chance?

  Food isn’t the only way to this single dad’s heart...

  Lacy was a redhead with a pink food truck who prepared mouthwatering meals. Hunky construction manager Zack Gardner agreed to let her feed his hungry crew in exchange for cooking lessons for his young daughter. But it looked like the lovely businesswoman was transforming the single dad’s life in more ways than one—since a family secret was going to change both of their lives in ways they never expected.

  Right spot. Right man. Sure felt right.

  “Your timing is perfect,” Zack said with a broad smile.

  “Good to know. It was quite a trek up that hillside.”

  He grimaced. “I should’ve warned you. Sorry.”

  “That’s fine.” Lacy clapped her hands while imagining running into his arms and laying a big kiss on him that would make the already beautiful day turn magical. An adult version of her little-girl fantasies. What had gotten into her! Him. Obviously. One little kiss. An upcoming date. She felt more alive than she had in ages. Would her silly expression give her away? Instead of going with her gut, because who did that sort of thing in real life, certainly not her, she turned and headed toward the truck.

  “Hey,” he said, making her ticker pick up a beat or two without trying.

  “Yes?”

  “Thanks for coming.” With the full sun making him squint hard, she couldn’t tell if he’d just winked at her or not.

  “Of course!” She squinted back, along with what felt like a jack-o’-lantern grin.

  “The guys are gonna love the wraps.”

  How could she resist a man who believed in her?

  THE TAYLOR TRIPLETS:

  Once lost, now found!

  Dear Reader,

  If it wasn’t for DNA testing, I never would have known who my true paternal grandfather was. The discovery was unnerving to say the least, though the history far removed. I bring this up because my reaction to the news was both emotional and physical, without ever having the chance to meet the man. From my personal exaggerated response, I could imagine how discovering at thirty-one that a person was separated at birth from a sister might be earth-shattering! Then I rubbed my hands together and got down to writing this trilogy.

  Lacy and Zack are two of my all-time favorite characters. Both are down-to-earth and hardworking. Both have been dealt a tough hand in life but refuse to give up hope. If Lacy hadn’t set out on her own as a food truck cook, she never would’ve met her forever love. If Zack hadn’t been willing to take a chance on the woman with the wild pink lunch mobile, he never would’ve discovered his perfect match, and a mother figure for sweet Emma, his daughter.

  But when a stranger insists Lacy looks exactly like another woman, that’s when the series’s mystery begins.

  I hope you enjoy book one of the Taylor Triplets. I loved writing it.

  Send me a line anytime! Or check out my author page on Facebook.

  Until next time!

  Lynne

  www.LynneMarshall.com

  Cooking Up Romance

  Lynne Marshall

  Lynne Marshall used to worry she had a serious problem with daydreaming, and then she discovered she was supposed to write those stories down! A late bloomer, she came to fiction writing after her children were nearly grown. Now she battles the empty nest by writing romantic stories about life, love and happy endings. She’s a proud mother and grandmother who loves babies, dogs, books, music and traveling.

  Books by Lynne Marshall

  Harlequin Special Edition

  The Delaneys of Sandpiper Beach

  Forever a Father

  Soldier, Handyman, Family Man

  Reunited with the Sheriff

  Her Perfect Proposal

  A Doctor for Keeps

  The Medic’s Homecoming

  Courting His Favorite Nurse

  Harlequin Medical Romance

  Miracle for the Neurosurgeon

  A Mother for His Adopted Son

  200 Harley Street: American Surgeon in London

  Her Baby’s Secret Father

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.

  For those who may be searching for relatives they never knew existed.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Excerpt from Reluctant Hometown Hero by Heatherly Bell

  Chapter One

  Lacy Winters pulled her bright pink food truck with the brand-spanking-new logo—Wrap Me Up and Take Me Home—onto the busy construction site at 10:45 a.m. Friday morning. Little River Valley wasn’t exactly the business hub of the state of California, being that the small city voted way back to never allow unnecessary building or chain stores of any kind. That was part of the charm and draw for the residents. However, Mayor Aguirre had recently made a deal for added senior housing in the town, which was tucked fifteen miles inland between Ventura and Santa Barbara. The homes were sorely needed since many adults chose Little River Valley for their retirement, and the sprawling homes that dotted the hills lining the valley were too big and expensive for most fixed incomes.

  Thanks to the mayor’s foresight, one hundred new cottage-style units were being built, and that meant a good-sized construction crew would be employed. Which also presented a great opportunity for Lacy, because on that construction site there would be workers who needed to eat.

  Before Lacy left home, she had posted on her social media page, the one with a photo of her standing in front of her foodmobile as the cover picture. Off on new adventure today. Wish me luck! #lookingforwork.

  Her late father’s list of best businesses from back in his food truck days had included Franks & Gardner Construction at number one. After her permits and licenses for running the small business were in order, and the truck was repainted—which cost a fortune but was so worth it because, well, it was pink and had a great advertising logo on both sides—she’d looked them up and found out about their new building site nearby.

  She gulped a breath and drove the twenty-four-foot kitchen-on-wheels onto the dusty makeshift driveway, watching for nails or other damaging debris.

  “Here goes,” she whispered. Her heart fluttered from nerves as she headed toward the temporary on-site office trailer and parked.

  The city had strict rules for trucks like hers. Rules about when, where and the need for general approval to set up shop. In other words, she couldn’t park just any old place she chose. Except she had chosen this place, and she had seriously high hopes of getting the gig.

  Lacy wouldn’t want to get off on the wrong foot. No. Not little ol’ redheaded maverick her. She cleared her throat and straightened the logo-laden apron, fully aware neon pink clashed with her hair. It was one small-style humiliation she’d have to swallow for the greater good—her new business! And since when did “style” and “Lacy” ever come up in the same sentence? But, back to her logo, branding was everything these days, and pink turned out to be her color. Who knew?

  She took the few steps from the steering wheel to the newly overhauled kitchen area and flipped the switch for
the awning over the service window. Showtime! She watched proudly as it quietly opened, wondering if this was how actors felt when the curtains rose. All she could do was smile through the itchy excitement. She’d done it. She’d taken the next step in her life. And, boy, did she need a “next step” after all she’d been through this past year. Her mouth went dry and she took a swig of water.

  “May I ask what you’re doing here?” The deep masculine voice out of the blue surprised her, and she jerked as bottled water splashed over her chin and dribbled down her front.

  “Oh!” She wiped her chin with the back of her hand, acting casual, like she did this all the time—made cold calls at construction sites in hopes of drumming up new business. In her case, über-new business since, if she got this gig, it would be her first regular job as a food truck owner. Too bad her trembling fingers gave away her so-called nonchalant, just-show-up approach. “Um, yes.” She leaned forward onto the service window, forced to look down at the man, who appeared too young to be the long-time big honcho. Probably just his on-site guy. “I was hoping to talk to Mr. Franks?”

  “He’s here in name only.” The tall, striking, dark blond man with suspicious green eyes didn’t let up watching her and was probably waiting for the full explanation.

  That threw her. Franks wasn’t the guy? So much for Dad’s list. He’d only been gone a year, and yet the list was out-of-date. She cocked her head, trying to add things up. Daryl Franks was the name her father had put first, but she’d found Franks & Gardner in the town business directory. Now he was telling her Franks was a name only. Had the man retired or died? More important, if Franks was gone, was this vaguely familiar man—because who could forget a gorgeous face like that—the gatekeeper?

  Flustered, she had to think fast.

  “Uh, may I speak to Mr. Gardner then?” She said it an instant before her vision landed on an official name tag pinned to his minichecked green-and-tan shirt. Zackery Gardner, Construction Manager. “Oh, hello.” She didn’t give him the chance to point it out. He wore the fitted button-up shirt well, the long sleeves rolled up his forearms revealing a dusting of hair lightened to gold by a ray of sunshine peeking through the leaves.

  “Hello.” He waited. Patiently? Folding his arms, legs in wide stance.

  It was her turn, and she had better make good her reasons for showing up unannounced.

  “So, Mr. Gardner, I see you’ve started a huge project here and I wondered if you could use my services for your workers?”

  He canted his head. “And your services are—” Uncrossing his arms, he studied her truck, then looked back at her. “Getting wrapped up and taken home?” he said each word slowly, as though reading her logo aloud. Had she detected a mocking tone?

  Obviously, her cutesy title had fallen flat for him, or he was purposely playing it dense. Dear Lord, please don’t let him think this is a mobile massage parlor! If he was teasing, that was mean, though perhaps deserved, for her having made a cold call. At first, she’d considered phoning before showing up. Then she’d talked herself out of that, thinking the huge truck would do a better job of convincing someone to give her a chance than a nervous voice over the phone. Her father had once told her, before she’d applied online for her first job, that it was harder for a potential boss to pass on an applicant while looking into their eyes. So, as tough as it’d been at the time, she’d taken her teenage self off to the smoothie store in town instead of simply submitting the application through the website. Yep, she’d gotten the job, which led to another job and another. And here she was today, making sure her baby blues didn’t blink under the scrutiny of the site manager’s sexy greens.

  Holding tight to her pride, she chose to ignore Gardner’s gibe about the name of her truck and take the higher road. She was looking for long-term work, after all. Not just the occasional wedding gigs that, thanks to the current trend in California of hiring food trucks instead of caterers, those outdoor marriages provided. A place like this, which clearly had a long way to go before completing the senior housing, could guarantee six months or more. That would be a great start. With references. But she was getting ahead of herself.

  “I make hearty wraps to order, and assorted hand pies. May I show you the menu?” She reached for one, since she hadn’t yet had time to post the big menu on the outside of the truck. She wouldn’t do that—overstep her bounds—until she was hired. Though maybe she’d already overstepped those bounds by showing up uninvited. “Perhaps I can give you a sample?”

  In all truth, she’d hoped she’d find Mr. Franks, like she’d planned, and he’d have a huge stomach hanging over his belt buckle, a man always eager to eat. She would’ve appealed to his appetite and secured the job with ease. So much for meditation and envisioning her future. Why did she even bother to listen to online self-help podcasts?

  The Not-Mr. Franks, the well-built man who obviously watched what he ate, stepped toward the window, so she leaned over to give him the also-neon-pink-flyer-styled menu. Maybe she should have rethought the color before targeting construction jobs. Her fingers touched his at the handoff. Zip, a tingle ran up her arm. Well, that hadn’t happened in a long time. Odd. Had he felt it, too?

  He removed his hard hat while he perused her face. Hair that was longer than she’d expected swept across his forehead and covered half of his ears. Nice waves. Nice suntan. Nice smile lines. Wait, he was smiling at her.

  She forced a tense, overwide smile. “See anything you like?”

  His eyebrow shot up as his gaze held firm with hers. Oh, crud, she hadn’t meant to say it like some old come-on line. Understandably, he could totally take it wrong, but she hadn’t meant it that way! His steady stare with the one raised brow said otherwise and made her wonder what was going on in his mind. Really, dude? Her thoughts quickly slipped to insecurity. “Food-wise,” she added hastily.

  His green eyes twinkled playfully for an instant before he gave her a benevolent smile and glanced back at the menu. “What do you recommend?” Thank goodness, he hadn’t taken the lowbrow tease route, because these days she wouldn’t work for a man who did.

  “If you allow me to fire up my grill, I’ll make you the Chicken Done Right wrap. Oh, and I’ve got all the permits to operate and the health department certificate, if you’d like to see them.” Being in construction, the man had to know all about the importance of pulling permits.

  He thought, his lower lip pushed out the tiniest bit, and, darn, that was a sexy look, which she had no business noticing. “Chicken sounds good. And I can see your permits from here.” They were posted in frames on the kitchen wall. All she’d needed to do was gesture to them, but no, she’d gone her usual route of explaining too much.

  “How much time do you need?” He broke into her self-doubt and chronic overthinking.

  “Since the grill needs to heat first, ten minutes?” Her index finger went up, thinking fast. “But if I was serving your guys, it’d only take five minutes.” She tightened the elastic on her ponytail, glad she’d put a word in for herself and her short-order-cook abilities. “Because the grill would already have been heated up.” There she went, repeating herself again, but only because she understood the importance of being redundant when necessary. Then, with his nod to go ahead, she turned on the grill and gave him another wide smile. “I pride myself in being fast.”

  Both of his brows shot up this time, accompanied by an amused expression. Yeah, she seemed to be on a roll. Thank goodness, she only had two feet to stick in her mouth. She blinked and took a tiny inhale, avoiding his tolerant gaze by getting busy.

  Why did she keep feeding him old lines, and why were his reactions pointing in all the wrong directions? Because he’d started it by not getting her puns in the truck logo? Wrap her up and take her home? Or because of him, and the fact he was total construction-god material and everything about him spelled S-E-X, and...

  No way was she in any mental o
r emotional state to think about such things. And yet he’d taken her there on a zip line. Not good.

  * * *

  Her hand flew to wipe a wisp of hair out of her eye, not having felt this nervous about cooking for someone in ages.

  “I’ll be back in ten,” he said, ignoring her jitteriness and thankfully not taking the usual route of many men. You pride yourself in being fast? Well, then, I’d really like to try that out. Duh and har-har-har.

  Not him. Maybe all the hoopla from recent sexual-harassment scandals had all men—and it was about time—on their best behavior. Even at construction sites, leaving her looking like an old-school ditz. Which she definitely wasn’t! She slid on the ponytail hairnet and put her bright pink toque in place. May as well complete the picture, because no way would she ever let one of her easily identifiable hairs land in her food.

  Seriously, though, he didn’t strike her as the type to not respect women. Just a hunch, but there was something kind about his demeanor beneath that hard hat. Something she recognized. Remembered?

  Zackery.

  An eerie chill tiptoed down her spine, suddenly transporting her back twenty years to when she used to accompany her dad to his work sites during summer vacations right here in Little River Valley. The first huge crush of her lifetime had been on a grown-up. Well, in reality, the guy was probably a teenager, but in her little-girl eyes, that was an adult. A handsome construction worker. She still remembered his name. Zack. Blond. Green eyes. Long wavy hair, back then, really long. Swoonworthy in a Thor kind of way. She and her immature heart had vowed to never forget him.

  Except she had until just now.

  A full body shiver nearly had her missing the sizzling grill with the marinated chicken concoction. It was him, had to be, except twenty years older and, in her opinion, sexier than ever. Because what had she known at eleven about sex appeal?

  She’d had the most amazing and superinnocent daydreams about him then. Simply because he’d been nice enough to smile at her and tease her about her copper-red hair. You look like a new penny. Maybe I should call you Penny instead of Lacy? In her little-girl fantasies, he’d held her hand and told her how beautiful she was. They’d walked through meadows of wildflowers, and, as dreams go with little girls, he’d delivered her first kiss. Her idea of what a kiss would be like, anyway. A chaste kiss, because again, what had she known about any of that back then?