Bearly Cooking (Pacific Northwest Werebears #1) (2 page)

It wasn’t more than ten minutes when a large black four-door pickup truck pulled up to the curb. Sophie had seen trucks like this on TV, but it was not something one would see tooling around the streets of London. These massive vehicles were quintessential American. She was excited to take a ride in the beast.

The windows were tinted dark so Sophie couldn’t see the driver. When the door swung open a mountain of a man stepped out. She couldn’t for the life of her see how she had missed him.

Tall, as in really tall, at least six foot four and broad with large muscles straining through a plaid shirt and dark brown hair that was peeking out of a black knit cap. Sophie was unaware that her mouth had dropped open as she’d ogled this hunk of man.

Stopping in front of her, Wyatt Rochon looked down and smiled, “Someone is going to hook you like a sweet little fish, you leave your mouth open like that.”

Snapping her mouth shut, Sophie looked up at Wyatt with big eyes, “Mr. Rochon?” she said in a stammer.

“That would be me, but no one calls me Mister anything. I’m Wyatt, Cage said I’d be picking up our new cookie but he didn’t tell me I was picking up a sugar cookie,” he said with a wink.

“Pardon? A what?” she stammered. Still shell shocked by the beauty of this man, she couldn’t help but wonder if all the Rochon brothers looked like this.

“Cookie, name for the camp cook. Taken from what they use to call the cooks on wagon trains. And sugar, well that should be self explanatory,” he said laughing and picking up one of her suitcases. He carried it to the back door on the passenger side of the truck and shoved it in. He came back to grab the other one and her carryon bag and placed both of those inside the truck,

leaving Sophie standing on the curb with just her purse and a dazed expression. With a confused look, Sophie gave Wyatt a raised eyebrow too. Maybe she was tired or just clueless about American banter, but her brain was not processing what Wyatt was saying.

“My brother said to pick up our new cook. Nowhere did he mention that our new cook was a gorgeous curvy little British hottie. Information he probably should have relayed to me before I picked you up,” he explained.

“Wouldn’t you have picked me up if he had told you about me? And I think the American definition of gorgeous and hottie, might differ a bit from the British ideal. Or you’ve been in the forest too long,” she said wondering if he was just playing with her.

“No ma’am, I’m sure our definitions are the same. And yes I would still have picked you up. I would have put on my fancy flannel though, just to show off a bit,” he said giving her a cheeky grin.

“You are what we would call ‘too much’ Mr. Rochon,” she said laughing at his playful grin.

“Well, I bet that is probably true. Your chariot awaits, sugar,” he said with a flourish, swinging open the passenger side door and giving a small bow.

Climbing into the massive vehicle, Sophie took a moment once the door was closed to refocus. Wyatt Rochon was a tornado of cuteness and flirtiness. She’d have to keep an eye on him.

Hoping into the cab, Wyatt started the engine and pulled out into the lane. They drove quietly for a while, Sophie soaking in the lights twinkling in the soft blue of the twilight. The sun had set but the spring sky was clear and the light was holding on for as long as it could.

Wyatt was a chatterbox, talking about the forest, their company, and trees. Always about the trees, his family was trees it seemed. They farmed them, logged them, and milled them. For generations they had been managing their forests and were very proud of their work. He tried asking Sophie questions about herself, but she was too tired to offer much. Finally his voice faded into the distance as she fell asleep against the cool glass of the window.

“Ms. Carlton, hey sugar cookie, it’s time to wake up.”

The low baritone of Wyatt Rochon was tugging at her consciousness. Peeling her eyes open, Sophia looked around to get her bearings.

“Call me Sophie,” she managed with a mumble as she peered out into the darkness surrounding. A few faint lights glinted off long rectangle shaped buildings, highlighting the entrances, bugs buzzing around the incandescent glow.

“Anything you want sugar, hop on out, I’ll grab your bags,” Wyatt offered, jumping out of the cab.

Climbing out of the truck, the scent of tree’s overwhelmed her. It was like pine needles, sap, dirt, and sawdust all mingling together in an aroma that actually played across her tongue. It made her think of sage and rosemary coating a roast chicken. Her brain working up a comparison to understand the complex smells she was surrounded by.

“How long was I asleep?” she managed, realizing they were in the city and it was just dusk when she nodded off.

“Just shy of three hours, sugar,” he replied pulling her suitcases out of the truck.

Sophie raised her eyebrow in a manner which she hoped showed her ire at his continued use of that nickname.

“Fine, Ms. Sophie,” he acquiesced.

“Sorry I crashed out on you. I slept the whole plane ride, you would think I was more than done sleeping today. Must be the jet lag,” she offered.

“Well, I’ve never left the Pacific Northwest so I don’t know much about jet lag myself.”

“You’ve never travelled?” she asked.

“Nope, my family likes to stay close to home. The forest has been our home for generations. From Northern Oregon up through Canada is where we like to hunker down. We go where the trees are,” he said with a prideful smile.

“So what do you do once you’ve cut all the tree’s down? Just move to a new patch?”

“No ma’am, once we are done harvesting we come back through and replant. Two trees for every one we harvest. All we need then is time to wait for our timber to grow and be logged again. No need to keep looking for new forests,” he replied.

“Wow, I didn’t know that. That’s very progressive and smart. You will always have your base resource to keep your business running,” she offered with a smile.

Wyatt gave her a nod back. Picking up her two heaviest suitcases without even straining he walked her to the far end of the lot they had parked in. The rectangle buildings formed a U shape around the parking area. They passed one that had a clear hand painted sign that said, ‘Office’ on it, another one that said ‘Lav’ and the next two that said ‘Bunk’. The final building they came up to said ‘Mess’ above the door.

Turning to Wyatt, Sophie asked, “Mess?”

“Short for Mess Hall, old army term. Don’t take offense, it’s not intended that way,” he said laughing.

“I’m too exhausted to take offense, Wyatt,” she replied pulling open the door.

Walking in, she saw small four person tables lining the walls. Down the middle were long steamer trays the type you would see set up at a buffet. Well at least she wasn’t expected to be a short order cook for fifty men at once. Buffet style she could handle.

Halfway through the building was a swinging door that led into a fair sized industrial kitchen. The appliances were used but looked fairly clean. And they were all jumbo sized. She’d imagined she wasn’t going to be cooking for a bunch of skinny minnies.

The small door at the end of the galley was where Wyatt walked ahead of her to and pushed it open. A miniscule room with a single bed, nightstand, and wardrobe occupied most of the space. A desk and chair were pushed up against a window that looked out of the parking lot. A narrow pocket door led to a tiny bathroom, with sink, toilet and the world’s smallest shower. At least it was private, she thought.

“It’s not much, but it’s yours and safe. The mess hall door locks as well as your room. We hire the best men we can find, but I don’t suggest you take your safety lightly. Lock up every night before bed, no exceptions,” he warned, “Also, don’t go roaming around at night, we are in the wilderness and wild animals like to hunt at night.”

“Oh, I’m not about to go off being frivolous with my safety, Wyatt. I appreciate your concern,” she said, glad that at least one of the bosses was looking out for her.

“A couple of the boys will be in early to throw some cereal out for the guys, so if you hear them banging around don’t get worried. We keep all the food locked up outside in a refrigerated trailer. I’ll show that to you tomorrow. You’ll probably want to do inventory and get comfortable before taking over,” he said giving her a wink.

Nodding, Sophie kept spinning around looking, trying to get her bearings.

“Thank you, Wyatt, you’ve been really kind. I’m sure this is all going to work out great,” she said hoping she sounded optimistic.

Nodding, he started toward the door, “Make sure you lock up, I’ll lock the mess hall door myself on the way out. We’ll see you in the morning Sophie,” he offered tipping an imaginary hat.

Sophie couldn’t sleep, the jet lag had reared its ugly inevitable head. All that sleep on the plane had thrown her body out of whack and now she was lying wide awake in the quiet of the forest. Except it wasn’t that quiet. She heard frogs and owls, and things skittering around the dark.

Realizing that she wasn’t going to get any sleep, she decided to get up and investigate her new kitchen. She had worked with top of the line equipment in England, but she wasn’t scared off by this rough and tumble challenge. She was like an Old West pioneer, making do with what she had.

Flipping on the kitchen lights, she wandered around opening drawers and cupboards, finding all the usual suspects. She checked the burners on the stove, all in working order. She came across a clipboard hanging with a meal menu from the previous cook.

Yuck, it all looked like canned or packaged meals. Obviously fresh wasn’t in the previous cook’s repertoire. She also discovered a key behind the clipboard that had a tag that said ‘storage’ on it. Looking out the window, she could see a trailer like you’d see behind a lorry sitting behind the building.

Grabbing a flashlight by the door, she headed out to investigate what she was now going to affectionately call her refrigerator. Fitting the key into the lock, she pulled open the door and saw a power cord hanging down the side of the container. She ran her hand along it until she found a toggle and flicked it. Three rows of lights flicked on exposing shelf after shelf of food. Some of it didn’t need to be refrigerated but was clearly here as part of storage.

The rest was a bounty of fresh food. Vegetables lined up in wood bins, meat in huge slabs bundled together. There was a wall of dairy products and near the back and an entire rack devoted to fruit. Every berry you could imagine, all local and all clearly picked recently. There were a few exotic fruits, papayas and some mangos, but mostly it was huckleberries, and red currants and the like. There were also chest freezers full of more perishable items like ice cream and frozen cakes.

The last person might have liked frozen cakes, but that was not something Sophie was comfortable with. Looking around she remembered Wyatt saying that they were going to put out cereal for the staff in the morning. Morning was still a few hours away, she had time to at least whip them up something hot to keep them going for the day.

Grabbing an armful of supplies, and knowing she was going to be making a few trips she left the light on, and headed into the kitchen.

Sophie had to put on her serious planning cap to figure out how to make up enough food for fifty men. She got some venison sausages she saw in the fridge going in the oven. She whipped up pancake batter in the industrial mixer. Once that was setting to rest, she put together three different berries, including some frozen blackberries she found into a big pot. She added sugar, vanilla, and honey and put it on a slow simmer.

She decided to whip up a little honey butter too, to go with the pancakes and berry compote. She noticed there were huge gallon jars of honey stashed not only in the fridge but the kitchen as well. She discovered them when she was taking inventory. Someone must really like honey.

Luckily in her planning for being a logging company cook, she had come across a popular American cook. She ran out and bought her cook book. She lived in a state called Oklahoma and lived on a ranch. Sophie figured feeding cowboys had to be the same as feeding lumberjacks. She wasn’t trained in traditional American meat and potato meals at Le Cordon Bleu, so she hoped her cowboy recipes worked out.

Hearing some sounds start up outside, doors opening and closing she figured it was around time for the men to be getting up. Glancing at the clock she saw it was quarter to six. Good to know how early she was going to be starting around here.

Turning on the flat top griddle, she got to work making her pancakes. For her first real attempt she thought they turned out pretty good, they looked like the picture in the cook book at least. She tossed them into a steamer tray as they were done. She figured she could put out the first batch and keep making them as long as they were needed.

Walking out to the hall, she set out the pancakes and the sausages. She’d transferred the now thick and sticky compote into another tray. The door to the mess flew open and a large burly man with a long beard down to his chest stepped in.

Looking around, he boomed out, “Are you an angel from heaven? What is that I smell? Smells like my momma’s kitchen when I was a boy!”

Smiling sheepishly Sophie blushed and introduced herself, “I’m Sophie, the new cook.”

“Amos, nice to meet ya young lady. I was coming in to get the cereal out before the savages start howling their stomachs are rubbing against their spines,” he chortled, “I also grab one or two of the guys on limited work duty from injuries to help me make up sandwiches for the men’s lunch boxes. They come in and grab what they want, no need to fuss with them. They usually take chips and cookies and go.”

“Well I couldn’t sleep, the jetlag had me knackered, so I figured might as well try to get something warm into the men before they head off to work. Can you think of anything I missed?” she asked looking around at the steam trays.

“Coffee,” he boomed. “Men won’t do anything until they’ve had their coffee.”

Looking a little lost, Sophie spun around. “I didn’t even think of that! I don’t drink coffee, I’m English, we drink tea. You don’t think they’d want tea do you?” she said in a panic.

“Settle down there missy, I’ll get the coffee brewing. You go grab those big jugs of milk and orange juice from the cooler. That will keep ‘em happy for now,” he assured her.

Running back outside she found the milk and orange juice, brought them out to a table and found some buckets to fill with ice to keep them chilled.

Sophie really hoped this first breakfast wasn’t a disaster. She would hate to crawl home so soon.