by Kim Redford
He opened his truck, pulled out the box, and locked up tight. He glanced around, but he didn’t see anything unusual, so he followed Ivy up the path toward her cabin. The night was still, with not a breath of a breeze, while bright stars twinkled overhead in the dark sky. He was pleased to see Claude had already installed security lights, so that each cabin’s porch blazed with yellow light as they followed the illuminated trail through the Park. Of course, night-lights wouldn’t stop an intruder bent on mischief and mayhem, but it’d be harder to enter, exit, and cause problems without the concealment of darkness.
When they reached Ivy’s home, she unlocked and opened the door, stepped inside, and waited for Slade to enter. As he set the box on the kitchen countertop, she locked up behind them.
“Home sweet home.” She moved up beside him, sniffing the air. “What do I smell? Did you bring chili?”
“I surely did. Have you had our locally famous Chuckwagon chili?”
“No, not yet.”
“Well, you’re in for a treat.” He pulled a tall, sealed container out of the box. “If you’ll set the table, I’ll spoon this up into bowls.”
“I’m on it.” She rubbed her stomach. “I haven’t eaten much today, so I’m starved, particularly for something this great smelling.”
“Perfect.”
As she set the table, he pulled out rancher bowls with cattle brands connected by barbwire around the edges, black on white. He served up two bowls of rich, red, steaming chili and set them on the table. He found a cloverleaf serving dish in the same rancher pattern and filled it with grated cheddar cheese, chopped onions, and corn chips. He set that on the table, too.
“It looks wonderful.” She gave him a warm smile. “I made sweet tea this morning and put it in the fridge.”
“Good. I brought a bottle of wine. We can have it later.” He quickly poured tea into green-frosted glasses and set them on the table. “Is there anything else we need?”
“I can’t think of a single thing.”
“Okay then. Let’s eat.” He pulled out a chair at the table and held it for her. When she was seated, he couldn’t resist placing a quick kiss on the top of her head before he sat down across from her.
He put his cloth napkin in his lap while she did the same, then he waited for her to take a bite of his chili.
She dipped in her spoon as she smiled at him. “I’m not adding any of the toppings yet. I want to get the full taste first.”
“Right choice.” And he waited, watching as she put her spoon in her mouth, closing her full lips over it, pulling it out, and then blinking as the impact of the chili hit her. “Oh my, it’s hot.”
“Yep.”
“And flavorful.”
“Yep.”
She spooned up another mouthful. “Real chunks of beef.”
“Sirloin.”
“Oh my, it’s wonderful.” She blinked back tears. “Jalapeños or habaneros?”
He grinned, knowing she felt the burning on her tongue and in the back of her throat. “Both.”
“You’re wicked.”
“Hope so.”
She licked her lips. “I think I’m going numb.” She took a quick drink of ice tea.
“Not permanently.” He realized he could watch her drink and eat all day. He wasn’t sure anything could be more sensuous. He was getting hot without taking a bite of his chili by just watching her.
“I bet you don’t share the recipe.”
“Never.”
She chuckled, looking mischievous. “Carolyn Brown did in The Red-Hot Chili Cook- Off.”
“Who? What?”
“She’s a terrific author, and that’s one of her novels.”
“She put a chili recipe in her book?”
“Yes. I always thought it’d be fun to try.” Ivy sprinkled cheese over the top of her chili.
“Just because she can write doesn’t mean she can cook.”
“What? You think she just made it up and stuck it in a book?”
“We’ll never know unless we try it, will we?”
“Okay. You’re on. We’ll give it a try.”
He’d been teasing her, but now he wouldn’t mind seeing what an author concocted for chili. “You know Texans are big on chili cook-offs. Wildcat Bluff sponsors one now and again as a fund-raiser.”
“Not a bad idea. We might try a different chili several weekends in a row leading up to Christmas and let folks vote on their favorite.”
“Wildcat Jack at KWCB is famous for his chili recipe.”
“Do you think he’d promote our chili cook-off on the radio?” she asked.
“No doubt about it, particularly since Jack will enter with every intention of winning.”
“We could give out a trophy.”
“I like it.”
“I can promote our chili event on the new website I’m developing for the Park.”
“You’re getting into the swing of things here fast, aren’t you?” He ate his own chili, noting that it was good as always. If they did the chili cook-off, it’d probably wind up coming down to a contest between Jack and him. Maybe he shouldn’t enter, since he was a professional, but the author’s recipe might be something interesting to enter.
“Well…let’s just say I want to build the business as quickly as possible.”
He hesitated with his spoon in the air, noticing that she suddenly looked away from him, almost as if she felt guilty about something. He couldn’t imagine what, since she was coming up with great ideas, and that helped the entire community.
“What else did you bring in the box?” She pointed toward it.
He almost felt like it was a distraction or a way to turn him from where their conversation had been going, but that made no sense. Surely she wasn’t hiding something from him. He shrugged off the thought, knowing he wouldn’t get anywhere with it. Ivy had been up front with him from the first, so he couldn’t imagine that she held any deep, dark secrets.
“Didn’t you say you were going to bake for me?”
For some reason, he suddenly didn’t feel so lighthearted or so much like baking cookies, and he didn’t know why, except now he had this little niggling worry in the back of his mind that she wasn’t being completely honest with him. He hated the idea.
“Cookies?” she prompted.
“Right. Texas tea cakes.”
“Great.”
“I brought what we need to cut them into holiday shapes and shake colorful sprinkles on top. You can see how festive they’ll be for Christmas, besides being delicious with coffee.”
“Sounds good.”
“Let’s start with the original recipe out of my great-granny’s cookbook, then go from there. It’s an easy recipe that allows lots of variations.”
“I’m all in.” She finished her chili, then leaned back in her chair. “Do you mind if I play some country music while you cook?”
“I’d like it.” He finished his chili, too, and stacked their bowls.
“I need to listen to demos from country music groups that want to appear at the honky-tonk. They emailed me links to their websites that include videos and contact information. At this point, I’m not sure what we can afford or if they’ll perform without charge for the promo opportunity. I guess it’s another learning curve. You could help me make decisions.”
“Didn’t Fern leave you a list?”
“Yes. It helps, but I still want to check out these bands.”
“I’m happy to assist, but Craig would be a good choice, too.”
“Do you think he’d mind?”
“I think he’d be offended if you didn’t ask him. Anyway, I’m sure he and his band are set to perform most weekends.”
“That’s good. I want local, but I want to attract up-and-comers from all over, too.”
�
�What about big names?”
“I’d love to get big names to play here. Many of them are from Texas and Oklahoma. But how would I pull it off?”
“I guess you’d begin with their agents or representatives. Lots of country groups started out in Texas honky-tonks, so they’re probably still supportive.”
“You’re right. I need to begin thinking about what is possible, not what I think is possible.”
“Right. But you can’t do it all in one day.”
“One step at a time.” She gave him a big, warm smile. “I really appreciate your help—and your support.”
“Anything I can do…and wait till you taste my sugar cookies.” He smiled as he said it, because he was really thinking about giving her a bit of his own personal sugar, as in lots of hot, hot kisses.
Chapter 15
Ivy picked up their empty bowls and stood up. “Let me clear the table and put these in the dishwasher while you start our cookies.”
“No rush. I’ll help.” He picked up the serving dish, then walked over to the counter and started transferring leftovers to glass containers with tight lids. “I’ll put these in the fridge, so you can have them tomorrow.”
“Thanks. It’s all delicious.” She filled the dishwasher, once more noticing how easily they worked side by side. He was quite the cook, along with every other wonderful thing about him. She honestly didn’t see how he could still be single. Fern said he was about thirty, perhaps a little older, but around their age. Maybe he just hadn’t had time to pursue a relationship along with his many other interests.
She set their glasses of tea on the countertop, out of the way, in case they wanted them later. She plugged in her laptop and opened the Wildcat Hall Park website. Sure enough, a couple more country band queries popped up. She started to click on a link, then stopped and looked at Slade. Truth of the matter, she’d much rather watch him, or even help him, than look at music videos, because that was too much like work. She’d prefer to have fun with her own personal chef.
He turned on the oven, then looked at her. “Are you going to watch me or country bands?”
“I was just thinking I’d be happier watching you or even helping you.”
“I’ll share the kitchen with you any day.” He grinned, blue eyes lighting up.
She joined him at the counter. “I should have brought aprons from the dance hall.”
“How messy do think we can get? This is a simple recipe.”
“If flour is involved…”
He chuckled as he set a glass mixing bowl in front of him. “You’ve got a point, but I think we can cook with little cleanup.”
“Great.” She watched as he pulled premeasured ingredients in glass containers out of the box and set them on the countertop. She quickly realized he didn’t need her help because he was so well organized, but she stayed close anyway, so she could watch him.
“Texas tea cakes are quick, easy, and fun.”
“I’m beginning to think you need your own TV show—something like Country Cooking with Slade Steele.”
He laughed, glancing over at her. “Just what I need. Something else to do.”
She joined his laughter. “You sound like me. I really needed to take over Wildcat Hall, as if I had nothing else to do either.”
She watched as he quickly filled the bowl with the premeasured ingredients, then neatly cracked an egg on the edge and added it to the mix. He gently stirred the dough with a long-handled wooden spoon, using smooth, even motions with his large hand.
“See?” he said. “No muss. No fuss.”
“You make it look easy.”
“Experience makes all the difference—plus a grandmother who believes everybody needs to know how to cook, particularly boys, so I learned at an early age.”
“She sounds wonderful.”
“She is that, but she’s tough as nails, too.”
“Just like a lot of sweet-faced Texas grannies.”
He nodded in agreement as he continued to stir the cookie dough. “You’ll get to meet her.”
“Really?”
“Sure. She still cooks and runs the Chuckwagon Café with an iron fist. Nothing gets past her.”
“I bet…if you were running around the café like a rascal when you were young.”
He laughed harder. “That’s pretty much it.”
“I look forward to meeting her.”
“I’ve no doubt she’ll like you. And you’ll like her.”
“I’d like to eat at the Chuckwagon sometime soon.”
“I’ll set up a time to make sure Granny’s there. She still works at the ranch and casts a long shadow over the cowboys.”
“I bet they mind their manners around her.”
He smiled at the idea. “They surely do—for that matter, we all do.”
“Thanks for the heads-up.”
“No problem for you.”
She felt warm deep inside at the fact that he wanted her to meet his grandmother, who had to be the head of his family. Again, he was forging ahead, drawing her deeper and deeper into his life…and at the moment, she hadn’t the heart or the will or even the desire to resist him.
As she watched him set the spoon aside, she realized she wouldn’t have thought it possible, just how sensual he made the entire process of putting together a batch of cookies. Maybe it was the fact that such a large, strong man was creating food that she would nibble, taste, swallow—so intimate, just like his searing kisses. She felt engulfed by heat. She glanced at the oven, thinking maybe the warmth was coming from there, but she knew better. Slade was the hot point of the entire room.
“All done.” He picked up the mixing bowl, walked over to the refrigerator, and set it inside. “I’ll let the dough chill next.” He turned back to her. “How about I open the bottle of wine I brought with me?”
“Sounds good. I’ll clean up.”
“No need. I’ll just take these containers back to the café.” He quickly put lids back on jars and returned them to his box.
“You did make this easy.”
“Only one item needs a little work.” He picked up the wooden spoon still coated with cream-colored batter. “With the ingredients I use, you can still eat cookie dough.”
“Really?”
“Do you want to clean the spoon for me?” He held it out to her.
“I’m not sure there’s anything that tastes better than cookie dough.” She accepted the spoon and took a big lick, savoring the sweet taste.
“I disagree with you.”
She looked at him in surprise. “Why?”
He moved in close, took the spoon from her hand, licked it clean, then smiled as he set it aside. “Want me to show you why I disagree?”
“I’m not sure… You look cagey.”
He smiled again and leaned toward her. “Kiss?”
“Cookie-dough kiss.” She chuckled at the idea, loving it. “Now that’s an irresistible offer.”
She turned her face up and felt the soft pressure of his mouth before he licked her lower lip, saying, “Yum,” and then delved deep as they shared the sweet taste of cookie dough. As their kiss turned hotter, she wrapped her hands around his neck and he pulled her closer, devouring her as if she were the sweetest of sugar cookies.
When he finally raised his head, he smiled. “I was right, wasn’t I?”
She smiled back. “Yeah.”
“Why don’t we take this someplace comfortable? I’ll get us wine.”
She simply nodded, still tasting him, feeling him, wanting him. She walked over to the sofa and sat down on one end, regretting being parted from him for even a single moment.
He opened the wine bottle, selected two long-stemmed wineglasses from the cabinet, poured crimson liquid into both, and carried them over to her. He held one out almost gallantly, as if prese
nting her with something that was very precious to him…something just for her alone.
And then she realized that she understood him in a way that was almost too intimate, too emotional—and placed too much responsibility for his happiness in her hands. He was a big, tough cowboy who connected to others with his cooking and his wine making, while at the same time allowing him to keep his deeper emotions safely locked away. If so—if she was right—why had he reached out to her from the first moment he saw her? And why had she responded in such a way that left her as vulnerable to him as he was to her?
She shivered as she took a glass from his hand, unwilling to meet his eyes for fear of what she’d see or what she’d reveal.
“It’s my latest.”
And she understood even more. He wanted her to like his wine, because it would also mean she liked and appreciated him. She took a sip, and it went down easy—too easy, just like him. “It’s delicious.” She cupped the bowl of the glass with both hands, avoiding his gaze as he stood before her because she didn’t want to reveal her thoughts.
“What is it?”
Had he already come to know her so well, as she was coming to know him? Were they already so attuned to each other that they hardly needed words to communicate? It was too quick. Everything was moving too fast with them. She didn’t get it. She’d never experienced anything like it. And yet, she was like him in one way. She connected with others through her website work. It allowed her to help others while keeping her deeper emotions safely hidden away, because she’d seen way too much of the heartache that flowed around her sister to ever want it for herself.
“You don’t like the wine?” Slade sat down beside her.
Too close. He was simply too close. He was making her see things and acknowledge things that she preferred to leave in the dark. Maybe that was part of the reason she’d been so desperate to get back to Houston that she’d called Peter for help. In the city, there were plenty of bright lights and superficial encounters to make one feel as if they were connected to the pulse of life. In the country, there was too much quiet, too many wide-open spaces, too much time to contemplate the reality of life.