Adrenaline had Logan set to run to her rescue, but he stopped short of charging like a freaking knight on a damned white horse. What the hell? She could handle this, he told himself, as he grabbed a fire extinguisher.
"Have no fear," Melody said, with barely a waver in her smile. "I know what to do." She donned oven mitts as if suiting up for battle, grabbed the skillet, and slipped the pan of fire into the sink. She took her wand in one hand, and a huge box of baking soda in the other. Pour the soda, flick the wand, pour and flick, until the flames disappeared.
Then she flashed that hundred-watt smile, pulled the soda-coated skillet from the sink, and raised it like the spoils of war.
While her audience cheered, she placed the pan on the counter, produced another sign, and set it down, smack, beside it. "Yikes!" it said, in bold blue and red crayon.
The audience roared. Everywhere Logan looked, somebody was smiling, nodding, applauding. The only sober-faced observer stood in the wings opposite: Gardner.
The Ice Man
returneth
.
During the fire fiasco, Melody had left the oven open, her dish of ham still sitting on the extended rack, so she completed the task of removing it. As she carried it to the flat-top stove, Logan could see that the ham in the glass casserole dish appeared hot and crusty, maybe a little too dark a crust, but not bad.
Fine, Logan thought. She'd gotten back on track.
Maybe.
Probably.
In any event, he made his way toward the back of the audience where he would remain standing, so she could focus on him, make eye contact. Perhaps he could send good vibes her way and help strengthen her wavering confidence—not that she appeared daunted, not quite.
She placed the dish of ham on the stovetop. "We'll give it a minute to cool," she said, turning back to her audience, a new glisten to her brow. Okay, so she was a bit frazzled, but she appeared in full control, and no less stunning, as she crossed the set to stand behind the island and face the cameras. "Let's make a glaze with some of the cider we used to marinate the ham, shall we?"
That's when she saw him, Logan knew, because she raised her chin and squared her shoulders the slightest bit, and he nodded, telling her without words that he had faith in her.
She thanked him with bright eyes and an easier smile as she took out a saucepan into which she poured half the cider. She'd put floured raisins in the brown bread earlier, and now she put the rest in the cider. "In the world of magic," she said, placing the pan on a burner and beginning to stir the glaze, "sauce is often used to solve a difficult situation. Focus on your challenge as you swirl your spoon in the mixture, and stir your problem away.
If your sauce turns out lumpy, you've still got a few bumps in the road, but you're on your way to settling the problem.
If it comes out smooth, your difficulty will be easily resolved."
Despite her trial by grease fire, Melody hadn't lost her audience. They hung on her every word, proving her assertion that when it came to the bottom line, showmanship was everything, even on a cooking show.
Logan caught the scent of frying ham at about the same time Melody's head came up. "Did you hear a crack?"
She whipped around. "Duck!" she yelled, diving for cover while audience and crew did the same.
Another crack, like ice on a winter pond, and the casserole dish shattered, sending glass shards in every direction, leaving the ham sizzling on a bare burner… and Gardner sizzling in the wings.
Chapter Eleven
"COAST clear?"
Melody asked as she rose to a mixed-bag reaction—a bit of grousing, but a bit more humor, from the audience, and Gardner's seething exit from the wings.
Logan watched with awe, his stomach clenched on her behalf, as she gathered her wits about her and turned the burner off under her sizzling, glass-peppered ham. She chose a wooden spatula to scrape the charred carcass into a pan then place it on the counter. "One fire was enough," she said. "Two, would be showing off."
She got a couple of chuckles, three would have been better.
Logan couldn't imagine the strength of character required to face a room of strangers, never mind the viewers at home, who had witnessed her fall. Damn, he was proud of her.
She wiped her hands on her apron in a slight gesture of insecurity. "Everybody, okay?" she asked, examining the faces of her audience as if speaking to each personally, another winning talent. "Do we need to call the EMTs?" She looked around again, caught the shrugs, waited. "No? Good?" She smiled with apparent relief and placed a hand on her heart. "Guess that was one
smokin
'
ham!"
Laughter came slowly, but it came and lasted for a few promising beats.
"You know what I did wrong, don't you?" she said. "I forgot to turn the burner off after the bacon caught fire. Hard to tell a burner's on with a stove like this, but that's no excuse." She wagged her finger at them. "Here are your two most important lessons of the day: One:
Never
place a glass casserole dish on a hot burner. Two: Turn the burners off when you finish cooking."
The sign she whipped out this time said, "Warning! Don't try this at home." The skull and crossbones, Shane's signature design, confirmed Logan's suspicion about the artist.
As the show progressed, only two more signs were necessary. Her
gloppy
baked beans got a, "Yuck," her soggy brown bread, an, "Oh no."
When the show ended, perhaps in more ways than one, Melody took off her hat and combed her wild, raven mane of black magic from her face. "Thank you for joining me for our first ever
Kitchen Witch
show, and thanks for being such great sports during my 'Don't Cook
Like
This' segment."
"In parting, I'd like to give you a centuries-old recipe for Happiness Cake that I promise can't go wrong. Take a handful of good deeds, a tablespoon of thoughtfulness, a cup of consideration, and blend with a flagon of forgiveness. Fold in seeds of faith, tears of joy, and a never-ending supply of love… and be happy."
She raised her wand and waved it over the audience with a bright parting smile. "Until we meet again, may your lives be filled with bright blessings and shining stars." Then she zapped the orchestra into a triumphant rendition of "Do You Believe in Magic?" and exited with the same flair and flamboyance with which she'd made her spellbinding entrance.
Logan shook his head in amazement and applauded as her audience gave her a standing ovation… as if she'd cast a spell on the lot of them. "Unbelievable," he said.
"Un-freaking-believable."
"I know," Tiffany said, suddenly beside him. "Daddy's not going to be happy."
That's true, Logan thought, searching for a bright side, which he'd need for his
postshow
meeting with Gardner anyway. "At least Melody knew where she went wrong and shared her lessons with the audience. Some of her more naive viewers might even have believed she planned the 'Don't Cook
Like
This' segment. She did produce the signs."
"Right."
Tiffany smiled knowingly. "Give me a call, why don't you, when you're looking to replace her?"
I
don't think so
, Logan thought, because he realized there could only be one Kitchen Witch—Melody
Seabright
. And at the end of the day, it didn't matter whether her audience believed her or not, they adored her. She even got a couple of wolf whistles as she left the stage. One guy hung around so long afterward, Logan went to see what he wanted. "Can I help you?" he asked.
"I was waiting to meet Miss
Seabright
. Do you think she'll come out to see her fans?"
"Not today," Logan said, grinning despite himself.
Fans?
"But I'd like to get her autograph," the oily character said. "I'd be happy to wait while you ask her."
You want more than her autograph, Bozo
, Logan thought, hackles rising. It was all he could do not to throw the jerk out like a bouncer in a strip joint. Good thing he usually drove Mel to and from work. She might need that kind of protection now. Maybe she should tone down the sex appeal on the next show—if there was another.
"Logan," Woody said, coming up beside him. "Gardner wants to see you in his office.
Pronto."
Logan glanced at the teleprompter to catch the final credits.
"Signs by Shane.
Wardrobe by
The
Immortal Classic." He shook his head, at a complete loss. He didn't know how to deal with a woman like Melody
Seabright
. Beat her, or kiss her, or get the hell away from her, while escape was still possible.
As he approached the office where Gardner paced like a lion ripe for the kill, Logan wondered how he was supposed to extract Melody from a mess of her own making, without any of her sexy tricks at his disposal.
"Do you want me to fire her?" Logan asked as he entered, hoping to deflect Gardner's ire by taking the teeth from his bite.
"You said she could cook, damn it!"
Logan didn't know why he should be surprised. No way would Gardner admit to being taken in by anyone, not even the sexiest witch in the East. "I said she couldn't, actually. I kept trying to warn you—"
"Don't give me that! You brought her in to interview for a cooking show. That pretty much implied that she could cook."
Damn, he had a point.
"Besides," Gardner said. "Everybody knows you two have the
hots
for each other. You wanted her around, and you intended to make it happen."
"Like hell, I—"
For each other
? "You think Melody is attracted to me?"
Gardner growled, and Logan backtracked, while his head remained attached. "If it's any consolation," he said, "the audience loved her. They could have cared less whether she could cook or not."
"You call eleven people an audience?"
"The phones are ringing nonstop," Logan said, "and most of the eleven bought tickets for next week's show before they left. As have thirty-two others, and that's only in the time it took me to walk up here. I checked with ticket sales on my way up. Want me to check again?"
Gardner growled.
Logan poured them each a scotch, and with a grunt, Gardner downed his in one gulp.
"I repeat," Logan said, after a thoughtful sip of his own. "Do you want me to fire her?"
"Yes, damn it!"
Not the answer he was going for. That was that, then, he thought with regret, as he punched a couple of numbers into his cell phone. "Nathan," he said. "Stop selling tickets to
The Kitchen Witch
show—
What
?
More than a hundred?
This fast?
Doesn't matter.
The boss wants to pull the
plu
—"
Gardner yanked the phone from Logan's hand.
"Never mind, Nathan.
Keep selling them." He slammed Logan's antenna down so hard, it snapped.
Logan slipped his broken phone into his breast pocket, while squelching an urge to make slush out of Ice
Not
, Logan wanted to hear, though he wasn't sure why it should matter so much, except, he had a feeling that Melody had finally found her calling.
"I'm warning you,
Kilgarven
, if that woman can't cook a decent meal on next week's show, I swear to God, you'll both be out of work."
Logan opened his mouth, thought better of telling the boss where he could shove his job, and regrouped. "Mel has such a compelling stage
presence,
she doesn't need to know how to cook. Why don't we just hire somebody to cook for her?"
"No! Positively, not!
You will not, I repeat, not, spend another dime on that woman.
She's already cost us too much in salary and residuals."
You're the one who cost us
, Logan thought, though he remained prudently silent.
Gardner slammed his empty glass on the bar. "Start using your brain where Melody is concerned, and see that she gets some cooking lessons."
Look who's talking
. "Cooking lessons?"
"Yes, and you'd damn well better manage it without spending any more of the station's money, or, I swear, you're finished."
"Right.
Free cooking lessons," Logan groused, as he walked away without looking back.
"Piece of cake."
LOGAN stopped in the doorway of their office when he saw Melody slumped on the sofa in dejection, her breasts overflowing her dynamite dress, her bare feet curled beneath her, half a bottle of champagne on the end table, and half a box of chocolates in her lap. Oh, brother. If both containers had been full when she started, she was in big trouble.
Logan stepped quietly into the room, shut the door, and turned the lock to give her some privacy.
Mel looked up when she heard the click, the dry tear trails in her makeup giving her away. She held up her champagne glass. "Join me."
Logan unbuttoned his suit coat, loosened his tie, and sat beside her, close beside her, because he thought she might need someone about now.
"I hope Daddy wasn't watching," she said, closing her eyes as if the notion exhausted her. "I hate when he's right."
Therein lay the root of the problem. "If Daddy thinks he was right," Logan said, "that's his interpretation, not mine."
Melody snorted in disdain. "He was. He always is." She poured herself another glass of champagne. "But when he has proof, like today, he's hell to live with, not that I've ever had to live with him long."
Logan poured himself a glass of champagne, if only to empty the bottle and stop her from finishing it, and handed her a ticket sales report.
"What's this?" she asked, setting the report aside and going for another chocolate.
"My walking papers?"