Cowboy in the Kitchen (9 page)

CHAPTER TWELVE

G
ILLIAN
HADN
’
T
EXAGGERATED
about the social status of the couple who would be married at Moore House in a few weeks’ time. The aging but still stunning runway model and her former bad-boy rock star had been living together and raising a family in the public eye for as long as Hunt could remember. The fact that they were finally going to tie the knot would be huge news in the entertainment business.

The arrival of Gilly’s parents hadn’t been part of her plan, but they’d been a godsend. While Gillian and Hunt put their heads together around the myriad of details for the event, James dogged the renovation crews, as she’d warned he would, and Meredith took point on decorating the guest rooms. She loved the rustic theme that Gillian had used in a pinch, and the women had decided to carry it throughout the other ten suites upstairs.

“Bless your Pap for having the foresight to build bathrooms en suite,” Gillian commented as they toured the rooms and admired the updated plumbing fixtures.

Hunt laughed at the memory of a story his father had shared years before. “Pap took Dad to the old home place once. It was way out in the Piney Woods where there is no such thing as indoor plumbing. Pap grew up having to walk about fifty yards to use the outhouse in every possible kind of weather. He swore it would be different when he had his own home, and he made good on that oath.”

“How nice for me that your grandfather was scarred for life by his childhood experience!”

“I never fully appreciated that story until just now,” Hunt admitted as he passed his hand through a motion sensor that triggered the flushing mechanism.

“So may I use the outhouse story in the history-of-the-mansion brochure?”

“Brochure?”

She smiled shyly, as if she had a surprise up her sleeve.

Not so long ago Gillian had been clear that what Hunt had to share might be worth considering but wouldn’t necessarily sway her decisions. But these days his input seemed to matter. The realization warmed him against the chill in the house. To hold down preopening utility costs, they kept the thermostat low upstairs.

“I’ve been making notes of all the details you’ve shared with me about the property, and I’ve organized them into a storybook of sorts. It’s amateurish at the moment, and I want to see a prototype before I decide whether or not to continue, but it might be a nice take-away for guests.”

She definitely had his attention as they made their way to the next suite. He couldn’t help but appreciate the fit of her wool slacks as he followed close behind.

“It sounds intriguing.” He made an effort to keep his mind on the conversation.

“So, may I use the outhouse story?”

“Be my guest. Nothing I’ve shared is a family secret. In fact, all the Temple skeletons rattled out of the closet before I was born, so I’ll be interested to see what you consider interesting enough to put into print.”

“I’m glad you don’t object to me using some of your anecdotes.”

He shook his head. “Not at all. But I must admit I’m surprised you want to be so public with the history of the property. You’ve always seemed determined to let Moore House develop its own persona instead of resting on the dubious laurels of Temple Territory.”

“Don’t get a big head over this, but you’ve changed my mind about more than a few things.”

He let his eyes widen and threw his hands up in mock horror. “You don’t mean it. I said something of note and you paid attention?”

She smiled at his joke, the violet of her irises deepening.

“I’m always listening. Even when you’re yammering on about minor things just to distract me from my work. It may not be undivided, but you have my attention.”

“For instance?” he fished.

“For instance...” She pointed toward the large window. “That patch of bent grass on the south lawn that your grandfather planted to impress the snooty golfers who never invited him to the country club.”

“That was a corny little detail that I shared the first week you were here. I’m amazed you even caught the mention.”

“I try to take note of everything that might be useful.”

“Well, take note of this.”

Hunt scooped Gillian close and captured her mouth. Any concern he might have had that she’d resist melted as she leaned into his body, returning his ardor. He savored the long, slow kiss he’d been imagining for weeks.

“Smooching in an empty guest room has gotten more than one couple suspended from my housekeeping staff,” Meredith interrupted from the open doorway. Cooper’s feet bounded across the wood floor and he poked his nose between them, demanding a group hug.

Gillian responded to her mother’s voice as if she were a teenager caught kissing on the front steps in the dark. She spun around, running one hand through her hair while the other smoothed the front of her tailored blouse.

“You look fine.” Her mother smirked.

“Sorry about that, Mrs. Moore,” Hunt apologized, stroking the insistent dog.

“Sorry about what you were doing, or sorry you got interrupted?”

“Oh, definitely the latter,” he admitted with a smile.

“You’re both way over the age of consent, and it didn’t appear to me that anybody was in distress, so I suppose I’m the one who should apologize for barging in.”

“Mom, it’s okay. Did you need something?”

The unusual pink fluster in Gillian’s cheeks was charming. Hunt could imagine a dozen more ways he’d enjoy putting the blush there again.

“No, I was just making notes for my trip over to Canton tomorrow.”

“Oh, that’s right. The big trade market is this weekend.” Hunt had meant to suggest he and Gillian make the trip together, but Meredith had the jump on him.

“I’m driving the rental box truck over there and I hope to bring it home full of side tables and accent pieces. I’ve furnished lots of hotel rooms in my day, and this is so much more fun than purchasing mass-produced items from a catalog.”

“Canton is one of the best regional flea markets in the country. If you take cash, you’ll do well.”

“Why don’t you kids come with me?” Meredith slipped her arm around her daughter’s shoulders and gave her a reassuring squeeze. “Gillian, you’ve got impeccable taste, and I could use another pair of eyes. Hunt, your strong arms would be a huge help to haul purchases to the truck. What do you say? The forecast is for perfect weather, and I hear it’s a lovely drive.”

“Mom, there’s so much to get done. I can’t afford a day away.”

“Nonsense. Your father will make any decision that needs to be made, whether he’s asked to or not. And I suspect you haven’t taken a day off in all the weeks you’ve been here. Am I correct?”

He sensed Gillian hesitate.

“Yes, ma’am, you hit that nail right on the head,” Hunt answered for her. “Except for one afternoon ride out to the lake, she hasn’t seen much of the countryside.”

“Well, it’s high time you got out among the locals. When in Rome, as they say.”

* * *

G
ILLIAN
COULD
STILL
feel the heat in her neck and face from Hunt’s kiss, and it wasn’t entirely due to being caught by her mother. Spending a day with the two of them would be way too
normal.
And normal was a condition she couldn’t get used to, especially now that Hunt was bound to go his own way after the holidays. Best not to let her guard down so low that her heart got bruised. She’d take a pass on the outing, and that would be that.

“I’m in,” Hunt enthused. “What time do you want to be on the road?”

“I checked the GPS, and it’s a little over an hour from here. If we leave at seven, we can stop for breakfast on the way and be there when the gates open.”

“I don’t think...”

“I have a better idea,” Hunt talked over Gillian’s objection. “I’ll make breakfast to go and you ladies can eat while I drive. How’s that sound?”

“I’m not sure...”

“That’s an offer we can’t refuse. I can manage a truck when I have to, but I’d just as soon enjoy the scenery from the passenger seat.”

“Then it’s a plan,” Hunt agreed, an endearing smile on his face as he conspired with her mother.

The two seemed pleased with their decision, though Gillian hadn’t said she’d go along. She considered her options. She could be a martyr and refuse on the grounds she was too busy. She’d spend the day butting heads with her father and end up regretting her decision to stay behind. Or she could be swept into their enthusiasm. What would one day hurt?

They looked to her for agreement.

“Okay,” she gave in. “But only if you make breakfast burritos with Alma’s handmade tortillas. Extra chorizo for me, please.”

“Extra everything on my order,” her mother chimed in.

“Done. And I’ll bring plenty to feed your husband, so he won’t be left out of the fun.”

Meredith waved away the concern. “I asked James to go with me, but he turned the invitation down flat. That man would much rather watch paint dry than be trapped all day at an antiques market.”

“Then he should be a happy camper with all the paint drying at Moore House this week,” Hunt observed.

“Now that everybody’s on board with the arrangements, I’ll get busy building my shopping list and let you two get back to...whatever it was you were doing when I interrupted.” She gave an exaggerated wink and left with Cooper at her heels.

Hunt checked his watch. “I’m meeting with a prospective head waiter this afternoon. This guy has experience as a line cook so he can double as kitchen staff when we’re shorthanded. He might even make a good chef one day, if you appreciate his food.”

Her spirit sank at the reminder that Hunt was already searching for his own replacement. He was being practical, but it was too soon for her to consider the possibility of losing the man who had become an important person in her life.

And in her heart.

“Can you stay a bit longer, Hunt? We should talk about what just happened.”

“You mean with your mother?”

“Well, yes, and what we were doing when she showed up.”

“And what was that? I don’t recall,” he teased.

She narrowed menacing eyes his way.

“Oh, now I remember.” He moved close, pulled her into an embrace and bent his lips to hers.

“Hunt, I’m not sure this is such a good idea.” Even to her ears it lacked conviction.

“Because somebody else might see us, Gilly darlin’?” He crooned the question, his voice a low rumble.

“No, because somebody right here in this room might get emotionally involved.” She stared into his gray eyes, telling him with her gaze what she couldn’t admit with words.

“Somebody right here in this room might already be emotionally involved,” he confessed. Was it possible he felt as vulnerable in this situation as she did?

“Exactly. And the possibility already exists that your career will take you in another direction very soon. Is it wise to go down this dead-end road?”

“So what if it is a dead end? Can’t we enjoy the journey for as long as it lasts? Ours is a demanding business. We work when the rest of the world eats, parties and sleeps. Sharing free time, such as it is, with another person in hospitality makes sense, don’t you agree?”

“It makes sense in my head. I’m not so sure my heart will agree once you make up your mind to leave.”

“How about you let me worry about what’s up ahead, and you worry about what’s right here, right now?”

“That seems pretty shortsighted.”

“Maybe so, but the here and now is really all anyone can count on. I’m just suggesting that we enjoy the moments we have together today and that we let tomorrow take care of tomorrow. Can we do that?”

While Hunt’s philosophy was appealing, it was also frightening. But what choice did she honestly have in the matter? She could encourage Hunt to pursue an offer and move on with his life, or she could accept things as they were and hope he stayed.

But she’d been planning, making notes and completing checklists since she was old enough to hold a pencil. Could she turn the most critical moments of her life over to chance? Was it possible to let love happen willy-nilly? She didn’t even have a section for romance in her planner!

Hunt took her lack of argument as agreement and lowered his mouth to hers.

As Gillian savored the hint of peppermint in his luxurious kiss, she accepted the fact that she was about to let tomorrow take care of tomorrow, knowing she’d eventually have to deal with the fallout.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

H
UNT
HARDLY
SLEPT
that night.

The doubt in Gillian’s voice had played over and over in his mind, like a fast-food jingle that wouldn’t go away. Something was warning her to keep distance between them, and Hunt suspected she should listen to her intuition. But he was busy trying to convince her to live in the present and let the chips fall where they may on another day.

In all honesty, her way made good sense while his was an emotional roll of the dice. Even Cullen recognized the difference between tenderloin and baloney, and he’d called Hunt on it last night.

“You think it’s smart to continue whatever it is you’re doing with Gilly?”

“And what is it I’m doing?”

“Come on, little bro. You may be able to pull the wool over that lady’s pretty eyes, but I see right through you.”

Hunt dropped all pretenses with his twin and came clean.

“I’m falling in love, Cullen.”

Hunt closed his eyes, ground his teeth and braced himself for the lecture that was coming. Cullen would recite all the objections that he could come up with on short notice. But Cullen was biased. He’d never experienced head-over-heels-love. Except for Joiner, whose high school sweetheart had lost her battle with diabetes during their senior year, the Temple men had limited experience with matters of the heart. How could they possibly understand the turmoil Hunt was experiencing?

After several quiet moments with no outburst from Cullen, Hunt chanced a peek at the face that was a mirror of his own. And his brother did the strangest thing.

He smiled.

“That’s great, buddy.” Cullen was sincere.

He reached out a long arm, hooked his hand behind Hunt’s neck and pulled him into a brotherly hug. They thumped each other on the back and mumbled in husky voices.

“Thanks, man. That cuts my freak-out quotient by half.”

“Why would you be freaked out?” Cullen’s eyes locked with Hunt’s. “Isn’t it about time one of us had a serious relationship?”

“Sure,
one of us
should do that, but I didn’t expect it to be me. Everything about this is wrong.”

“Name one thing that’s wrong.”

“I’ll look like a big fat loser.” Hunt made an L shape with his thumb and forefinger, and held it to his forehead for a moment. “People are either gonna say I used Gillian to get Temple Territory, or they’re gonna say she gave me what I never could acquire on my own. Either way they’ll call me a loser. So much for shaking the stigma that goes with our name.”

“Are you going to pass up a special woman like Gilly just to rob the old biddies in Kilgore of a day’s gossip? The folks in this town have been talking about our family for fifty years, and we’ve never had any control over what they’ve said. It won’t matter if you settle down here or in Little Rabbit, Australia, you’re going to be a topic of discussion. Maybe for once you should capitalize on the notoriety instead of running from it.”

“I’ve never run from anything.”

“Haven’t you? Why’d you go to school in France when you could have learned everything that was important right here?”

“Le Cordon Bleu has the best reputation,” he insisted, well aware the school’s U.S. programs were equally well respected.

“Why’d you work all over Europe when the States have become such a great training ground?”

“Europe had better opportunities.” But he’d also passed up some great domestic affiliations.

“If that’s true, then why’d you take the executive chef job in the Caribbean when you could have been in Amsterdam, or better yet, Paris or Rome?”

“Seriously? You’d choose winter in any of those cities over the beach in Cancun?”

“So why did you quit after one season and come back to Kilgore?”

“Because even if my old friends don’t exactly welcome me with open arms, this is my home.”

“Exactly. This is your home and everybody knows you as Cullen Temple’s inferior twin, not the Cowboy Chef. Some of them feel like you left us in your dust, and you ought to spend some time mending fractured relationships. When you’re home, nobody expects or even wants you to live up to that exaggerated Texas persona. Home is where you blend in with the rest of the crazies in hats and boots.”

“But I enjoy being the Cowboy Chef and standing out in the culinary crowd. Is that wrong?”

“Nope. And every time you tie that white knee-length apron on over your Wranglers, you stand out among the cowboys and rednecks, too. Trust me. Nobody mistakes you for a forklift driver down at the Home Depot.” Cullen held his palms out as if to say
I rest my case.

“You have the answer for everything, don’t you?”

“Not quite, but I do have a few that might make life easier on my little brother. Don’t worry about what people think or say, because in a hundred years, none of that will matter. But in a couple of generations, if Pap’s place is still up on that hill, owned by your grandchildren, I’d say you and Gilly did well for yourselves.”

“This isn’t about Temple Territory anymore, Cullen.”

“Yes, I realize it’s not, and that’s what makes me happy for you. That’s what makes it right, especially given your weird attachment to the place.”

“What do you mean, weird?”

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” Cullen insisted. “You never did. You may have fooled everybody else when you took to camping with Karl every weekend after Daddy and Mama were killed, but I was certain you two were over at Pap’s place.”

Cullen was right. Hunt had spent lots of nights in a sleeping bag beside his friend, sheltered in the courtyard beside the Caddo well. He found comfort in imagining that the souls of his parents were somehow nearby, that he wasn’t an orphan after all, that the Caddo spirits inside the well were watching over him.

And yet what he’d said to his brother moments ago was true. It wasn’t about Temple Territory any longer.

It was about the woman that he loved.

That night, Hunt tossed in his bed as he revisited over and over his conversation with his brother and Cullen’s blessing. Finally, in the morning light, though his future was still foggy, his emotions were clear and perfect, like sunrise over a field of bluebonnets. It was too soon to tell Gillian what was in his heart. He needed time to absorb it, and she needed time to catch up. But hours were in short supply, and they were flying by like a whirlwind over West Texas.

He had to make the most of the weeks ahead, and he’d start today. Gillian might be slow to cooperate, but Hunt recognized an ally in Meredith Moore. It was possible the girl who was melting his heart would refuse outright overtures, but Hunt suspected her mama would help him out.

* * *

I
F
SHE
DIDN
’
T
know better, Gillian would swear Hunt was hitting on her mother. The two of them had been behaving like high school lovebirds all morning. Hunt was so solicitous that it was sickening. While Gillian hauled herself into the shotgun spot, Sir Galahad handed her mother up into the truck and asked if Meredith was comfortable in the backseat. Then he complimented her on everything from the bandanna she’d tied over her hair to her sensible old boots. Gillian gagged inwardly as Hunt laughed out loud at her mother’s stories during the ride over to Canton, as if she were a stand-up comic.

In return, her mother giggled at his stupid puns over the items for sale and asked his opinion of every stick of furniture before she made a purchase. Their egos fed on one another like parasites. If Gillian thought she’d have to fend off Hunt’s attention that day, she had another think coming. She might as well have stayed at Moore House for all he seemed to care.

“Are you getting hungry or can you wait a while longer to eat, sweetie?”

Gillian’s head snapped toward her mother. Who was she calling
sweetie?
Guilt warmed her cheeks as her mother addressed her again.

“I figured we’d treat Hunt to a nice lunch, but I’m not sure they have anything over at those food trucks to compare with the amazing breakfast he brought us.”

“You’re too kind.” He flashed a grin toward Meredith. “Those were just ordinary scrambled-egg burritos topped off with some of the secret jalapeño salsa I perfected in Cancun.”

“If I offer to help out in the kitchen sometime, is there any chance you’d teach me your secret?”

“I’m sure I can be persuaded to give a lesson to a beautiful woman,” he agreed. They smiled and bumped shoulders.

“Oh, would you two knock it off,” Gillian snapped. “Mom, you’re a married woman, and you’re carrying on with Hunt as if he’s cougar bait.”

“I beg your pardon, young lady,” her mother said. “Just because we haven’t let your sulking spoil our day, that’s no reason to be rude.”

“I haven’t been sulking,” Gillian insisted. Had she? She looked to Hunt for confirmation. “Have I?”

He exaggerated a grimace. “I have to side with your mama. You have been kinda cranky since we left the house.”

“Well, what did you expect? I warned you last night that I couldn’t spare the time for a silly shopping trip.”

“And I suppose we should have listened, but you seemed downright eager to join us this morning,” her mother reminded her. “But we’re here now, so how about if we make the best of this ‘silly shopping trip,’ as you called it? Let’s split up so we can cover more ground, and we’ll meet at those food trucks in an hour.”

“That’ll work.” Hunt was quick to agree. “You head that way, and I’ll stick with Grumpy.”

Gillian elbowed him hard in the side and scowled.

“See?” he pointed out.

“I just have a lot on my mind,” she insisted as her mother gave her a quick peck on the cheek and set off on her own.

“Then let’s distract you with all this great stuff.” He swept a palm outward where row upon row of bargains waited to be discovered.

Hunt hadn’t been kidding when he’d said the regional swap meet was a big event. There were acres of items. Everything from homemade wine to imported silver tea services to furnishings straight out of Martha Washington’s childhood home, if the hype could be believed. Within their allotted hour they bought two Shaker-style trunks that would double as side tables, and a set of Early American Windsor chairs for the dining room.

Gillian’s earlier irritation evaporated as they arranged to have their items delivered to the customer pickup area and then headed toward the aroma of grilled and deep-fried food.

“I can’t wait to find out what the food trucks have to offer,” she said.

There was a spring in Hunt’s step as they approached the lane of mobile restaurants. He caught Gillian’s hand and tugged her along.

“I must say I’m surprised. You actually seem excited to eat this stuff,” Gillian said.

“
This stuff
isn’t the prepackaged deviled eggs and chili dogs from the days of the roach coach. Now you can get gourmet cuisine made to order with all-organic ingredients. Most large cities have sanctioned areas specifically for this purpose now, and they’re doing big business. You’d be surprised how many chefs have opted for a truck over a brick-and-mortar operation.”

They approached a bright yellow panel-van with awnings raised over open sides and hungry people lined up three-deep at each serving station.

“Hey, I recognize this truck!” Hunt squeezed her hand tighter.

Large letters proclaimed the establishment Wings Across the World. The chalkboard menu offered deep-fried or grilled wings with a list of sauces that resembled the United Nations roster.

“It used to belong to a chef we called Jackpot. If he’s still the owner, I’ll take a half-dozen Thai and a half-dozen Creole with extra tabasco. Oh, and a jar of his pickled peppers to go. How about you?” Hunt asked Gillian.

She marveled at the childlike excitement that radiated from his face. He’d never been more handsome, and her belly quaked at the memory of their kisses the day before. What chances she might take with him right now, if only they weren’t in a crowd.

Gillian blinked to bring her mind into the moment—they were beside a yellow truck at an antiques fair, where her executive chef was actually excited about service from a deep fryer on wheels. But she had to admit, the smells emanating from inside were causing her mouth to water and her eyes to burn.

“Temple! Man, is that you?” A thick Hispanic accent called from the window above their heads. “I’ll be right out.”

Moments later the rear door of the truck burst open and the man who’d recognized Hunt jumped to the ground in a tie-dyed T-shirt, acid-washed jeans and rubber flip-flops. With his braided ponytail, he was an image straight out of the sixties.

“Jackpot! I was just telling my friend Gillian here about you.” He made introductions.

Friend?
The description stung for some reason. Well, what did she want him to say? She wasn’t officially his girlfriend, and she’d ordered him weeks ago to stop introducing her as the boss lady.

“If you’re friends with this character, you’re either armed and dangerous, or you should be,” Jackpot teased. He held Hunt at arm’s length, and the two men looked one another up and down. “You haven’t changed a bit, you ugly dog.”

“It’s so good to catch up with you, Jackpot. What are you doing in my old stomping grounds?”

“That’s right. I forgot the famous Cowboy Chef is from around here.” He nodded at Hunt. “These days I spend most of my time in Houston and Austin, but we make this Canton show whenever we can. It’s nice to get out of the city, and it’s a cash cow weekend. How about you? Except on TV, I haven’t seen you since Vegas, and that was nearly three years ago.”

“After that cooking competition, I went down to the Caribbean for a while. But at the moment I’m working with Gillian over in Kilgore to get her boutique hotel up and running.”

“If you’re in the business for something permanent, Rudy Owens is hiring for his new places.”

“Yeah, I heard all about his expansion.”

“I’m considering the Austin store myself.”

“Is that right?”

Gillian imagined the wheels grinding in Hunt’s head. This Jackpot person was not only an industry colleague, he was industry competition. Hunt would have to make a move soon if he wanted the steak house in Austin. Worse still, Denver or San Francisco.