“You’re entering the chili cook-off?” He grinned like he’d just heard a joke. When he did, Hannah realized he had a small dimple in his right cheek.
She looked away and held her notebook close to her chest. “Yes. I am. Don’t sound so surprised. I do cook for a living.”
“Why didn’t you mention that you entered?”
“It wasn’t a secret.”
“Then why didn’t you mention it?”
“Dutch knew. Besides, it’s four weeks away. I wanted to wait until closer to the competition for more impact.”
Tripp chuckled. “You like competition. Admit it.”
“Maybe I do.” She smiled and met his gaze. “I heard that you’ve won the contest every year since it started.”
“That might be an exaggeration since this is only the third year they’ve held the contest.”
“Yes, but you did win. Correct?”
Tripp shrugged. “Yeah, okay, I won.”
“What kind of chili are you making this year?” she asked.
He stared her down. “I can’t tell you that.”
“Does it bother you that I’ve entered the competition?”
“Bother me?” He shook his head. “Nope.” Tripp opened the cupboard under the sink and put his bottle in the recycle bin. “Entry fee is pretty stiff, though. Fifty bucks.”
“I already paid.”
“Sounds like you’re getting serious about this,” he said.
“Fifty bucks is plenty to get serious about, but I don’t play unless I’m going to win.”
Tripp laughed. “A little full of yourself, aren’t you?”
“Not at all. Where’d your prize-winning recipe come from, anyhow?” she asked.
“When I was a kid I got a job bussing tables at a diner in Oklahoma City. The owner said he used to be a Michelin-star chef. Who knew if he really was?” Tripp shrugged. “But he could cook and the old guy taught me everything he knew. Passed many of his best recipes on to me.”
“That’s a cool story, but I can’t believe you were a kid when you started. How old were you?”
Tripp nodded. “Sixteen. I had just left home after...you know. I looked older than my age and I didn’t get paid or anything. He gave me all the food I could eat and a place to sleep. Didn’t ask questions, either.”
Hannah’s heart tightened at his words. “You and I have more in common than I would have thought,” she said.
“Because we both ran away from home?”
She studied the floor tile for a minute before meeting his gaze. “How did you figure that out?”
“Wasn’t all that difficult to connect the dots. You said that your grandmother put you through college, yet you showed up at Big Heart Ranch in a disreputable car that held the sum total of your life in a cardboard box, and your last job was in a diner in—”
She raised a hand to stop him. “It’s Dripping Falls.”
“Yeah, that’s it.” He met her gaze. “Why have you been running, Hannah?”
Sucking in a breath, she swallowed. All this time, and she hadn’t talked to anyone about her grandmother’s betrayal. Maybe it was time. Time to at least release a little of the pain of the past. After all, her grandmother couldn’t hurt her anymore.
“My grandmother disowned me and started making noises about taking Clementine.”
“Why?”
“Because I broke her rules.” Hannah took a deep breath. “She had an inordinate number of rules. I ran off and got married after college. My grandmother said he was no-good. She was right. And the sad part is—” Hannah ran a hand over her blossoming abdomen “—I gave him a second chance and she was still right.”
“Guess you won’t make that mistake again.”
She narrowed her gaze, offended at the cavalier comment. “This happens to be my life. It isn’t funny.”
“Didn’t say it was, but the fact is, we either laugh or cry. The choice is yours. I’ve made plenty of mistakes. Some two or three times.”
“Are you saying I’m in good company?”
“I’ll let you figure that out for yourself. But there’s no use bemoaning our past or the people in our past that did us a disservice. It’s all about what you do today.” He glanced around, noting the cake flour and mixing bowls on the counter. “So what are you doing?”
“Prep work for Sunday’s cakes. You know. The cakewalk at the church.”
“Cakes. Plural?”
“I’ve picked up a few custom orders.”
“From who?”
“It’s a secret.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m sort of known for keeping my mouth shut.”
“Okay, but you cannot tell anyone. I’m baking for Lucy because she claims she can’t bake. And for Rue, because she says she’s retired and absolutely refuses to bake.” Hannah smiled. “It’s a little surprising what a woman will pay for a cake.”
“Does that mean you’re making three cakes? Which one is Hannah Vincent entering in the cakewalk?”
“You’ll have to try to figure that out yourself.”
“I will.”
She smiled. “No, you won’t.”
“We’ll see.” He glanced at the clock. “I gotta go. There are a few hours of daylight left. Jane is waiting for a ride and I promised her we’d work on our special routine.”
“You have a special routine?”
“Yeah. Didn’t you read the judging criteria?”
Hannah didn’t bother to resist the urge to roll her eyes. “I guess I forgot since I wasn’t actually training her.”
“You’re like a dog with a bone, aren’t you?” he observed.
She crossed her arms and tossed him a few daggers.
“As far as I can tell, we’ll nail full points for the handling portion. Jane is cooperative as a kitten. The judges come around with clipboards to evaluate the horse’s demeanor and responsiveness with the trainer.”
“Maneuvers, leading and riding. I saw that on the list.”
“Uh-huh, and if we make it to the top ten finalists, then we start from scratch in the finals competition with more compulsory maneuvers and a freestyle performance.”
“I can’t see Tripp Walker doing a hotshot performance in an arena wearing a silk fringed shirt and chaps.”
He laughed. “That makes two of us. For the record, I’m riding bareback without a bridle.”
Her jaw sagged. “Jane’s going to tolerate that?”
“Yep. You can stop by the corral sometime and watch. But stay back. Jane’s partial to you and she’ll want to cozy up to her favorite trainer instead of doing her job if she sees you.” He chuckled at the admission. “You’ve spoiled that horse with your daily visits to love on her.”
Hannah smiled at his admission. Was Jane really partial to her?
Her gaze met Tripp’s and held for a moment. A warmth crept up her neck at the tiny spark of tenderness she saw in his eyes. It was like that night outside Jane’s pen. A memory she cherished, in spite of herself.
As if he was thinking the same thing, Tripp’s pupils rounded with concern before he broke the connection and quickly turned to the door.
“I’ll be by early to pick up you and Clementine. Bring water and your patriotic spirit,” he said in a no-nonsense tone as he pushed open the screen door.
“Yes, sir,” she called after him. And I won’t even think about waxing sentimental about Tripp Walker.
* * *
“Mr. Tripp, you won my momma’s cake!” Clementine announced. She stood on the picnic table bench in a pretty red, white and blue dress with her orange hair pulled into a ponytail, blowing on a stars-and-stripes pinwheel.
“Yes, I did, Pumpkin,” Tripp said with a smile for his favorite five-year-old.
Hannah eyed him as he held the cake in one hand
and plastic cutlery and paper plates in the other. He placed everything on the picnic table.
“How did you know that was mine?” she asked.
“A brilliant deduction.”
He stared down at her, struck by how downright irresistible she was in a blue patterned cotton sundress, with her dark hair pulled back from her face into a high ponytail. Hannah Vincent was the complete package: smart, pretty and she didn’t hesitate to speak her mind. She’d be a handful for most men.
He blinked, surprised at the thought.
“Momma, look. Miss Rue is coming. May I go in the church for face painting now? She’ll watch me.”
“Miss Rue may be busy eating cake,” Hannah said as she helped her daughter jump down to the grassy ground beneath the beech tree.
“Dutch refuses to cut the cake right now,” Rue said as she stepped up to the table. “He’s already put it in a cooler in his truck before anyone can ask for a sample.”
Hannah chuckled. “Are you serious?”
“Totally. He’s flummoxed and proud as can be about that cake.” She winked at Hannah.
“What kind of cake did you bake, Rue?” Tripp asked.
“Well, um, I...” She turned to Hannah.
“That’s hummingbird cake, isn’t it, Rue?” Hannah said.
“Why, yes. That’s right, dear. That is definitely a hummingbird cake.”
“Do you use coconut in yours?” he asked.
When Rue shot Hannah another panicked look, he burst out laughing.
“Very funny,” Rue replied. “To be perfectly clear, since we are at a church gathering, I never once said I baked it. I said I’d entered a cake. That’s all.”
Tripp offered a slow nod of acknowledgment, doing his very best not to laugh again.
“May I go with Miss Rue, Momma?” Clementine’s brown eyes pleaded with her mother.
“I’m delighted to watch Clementine for a bit. You two enjoy your dessert.”
The older woman offered him a bemused smile with a twinkle in her eye that said she had the inside track on something. Tripp didn’t want to go there. Not today. Things were going too well.
“Thank you, Rue,” Hannah said.
“Mind if I sit down?” Tripp asked as Clementine skipped away.
“Oh, yes. Sure.” Hannah quickly scooted clear to the other end of the table.
“Think you moved far enough down there?” he asked as he straddled the picnic bench.
Hannah opened her mouth and then closed it. “I was being polite.”
“Ah. Right. Polite.”
“So how did you know this was my cake?” she asked.
“I saw the one you made for Dutch when he was recovering. You used the same cake plate.”
“Oh, very clever.”
“I have my moments.” Tripp eyed the pristine white double-layer cake. “That cake looks professional.”
Hannah’s brows shot up. “Is that a compliment?”
“Sure is. I’m wondering how you got that fancy decorating on the frosting.”
“I used an offset spatula to make the striped pattern on the sides and top.”
“Nice. Who taught you how to do that?” he asked.
“A friend of my grandmother’s. Kind of like your chef friend.”
When he opened his mouth to ask another question, she held up a hand and nodded toward the table. “Could we cut the cake? Or do you want to take yours home, too?”
“I’m all for sharing.” He inspected the plate in front of him. “What kind is it?”
Hannah’s mouth dropped open. “Didn’t you read the description before you picked it?”
“Nope. I got here late because one of the chickens got out. Barely had time to enter. I slapped down my money and when I found myself on a winning number, I picked the cake that I knew was safe. Yours.”
Hannah’s eyes rounded. “Safe?”
He crossed his arms. “Let me tell you a story.”
“Okay.”
“Last year I entered the picnic basket auction and mine was won by Estelle, Pastor Parr’s mother-in-law.” He glanced around. “Nice lady, but the woman is a gabber. Talked nonstop for two hours and asked me so many questions that I had hives by the time we were done with lunch.”
Hannah smiled. “I’m not sure if I should be flattered or insulted.”
“Don’t read too much into it.” He met her gaze. “Why weren’t you at the cakewalk?”
She looked away. “I was a little nervous about the whole thing. To tell you the truth, I nearly pulled my cake from the fund-raiser.”
“Why?”
“Oh, you know.”
He stared at her for a moment as she twisted her hands and looked anywhere but at him. Then he understood. “Not excited about sharing cake and chatting with a stranger?”
“Correct,” she murmured.
“Another reason I picked your cake.”
She smiled. “Thank you, Tripp.”
“Win-win for both of us.” He paused. “By the way, I ran into Chief Daniels’s wife as I was leaving the church hall and she congratulated me.”
“What for?”
“She didn’t say, but I think she was talking about you and me and our supposed relationship.”
“Well, we do have a relationship. With a mustang and a 100-Day Challenge.”
He nodded a greeting to the couple that walked past the picnic bench and offered Tripp and Hannah a smile. “I guess that means you haven’t noticed folks walking by our table and grinning.”
“This is a church picnic. There is nothing unusual about smiling people here.”
“If you say so.”
She stared at him for a minute before her eyes widened and a pained expression crossed her face. “Oh, I didn’t even think. Is this whole situation putting a damper on your social calendar?”
“My what?”
“You know, dating.”
Tripp nearly burst out laughing at the idea that he had a social calendar.
“Maybe you should let me worry about my social calendar.” He shook his head. “Are we going to have cake or what?” He slid the paper plates and forks across the table. “What kind of cake did you say that is?”
“Lemon with lemon curd filling.”
Tripp slowly turned the cake plate, inspecting from all angles. “Cream cheese frosting?”
Hannah made a face and scoffed. “Hardly. It’s whipped mascarpone.”
“Impressive.”
“Thanks. I hope the cake was worth the price of the ticket.”
“More than worth it.”
“Exactly how much did you pay for that ticket?” she asked.
“You don’t want to know. Needless to say, I won’t be eating pancakes at the Timber Diner anytime soon.”
“All for a good cause. Dutch says you have a few pet projects of your own for the orphanage.”
“Dutch talks too much.”
She pulled a cake knife and server, two fancy dessert plates, cutlery and cloth napkins from her tote bag.
“You came prepared. Is that china?” he asked.
“Yes. They’re flea market finds. My one weakness. But I keep moving around, so I can’t collect more than fits in the trunk of my car.”
“How’d you get from Missouri to Colorado anyhow?”
“I drove an old Subaru wagon whose engine caught on fire outside of Denver.”
“Not real good with vehicles, are you?”
Hannah sigh. “I have other talents.”
He raised the dish and turned it over. “Excellent taste.”
“A cowboy with discriminating china opinions?”
“I like a nice plate as much as the next cowboy.”
“Good to know.” Hannah cut the cake and slid a piece onto a dish, then
pushed it across the table to Tripp. “Oh, I brought lemonade.” She pulled out a thermos and plastic glasses.
“You thought of everything.” He brought a forkful of cake to his mouth and paused midtaste, stunned at the flavors on his tongue. “Hannah,” he said.
“Is anything wrong?”
“Are you kidding? This tastes like more.”
“Excuse me?”
“More. That means that your cake tastes like second helpings will be in order.”
“Oh, I’m so glad.”
He scooped up another piece, savoring it before slowly swallowing. When he looked up, Hannah was watching him.
“You really like it?” she asked.
“Hannah, I know horses and I know cooking. This is a masterpiece.”
“A masterpiece?” She blinked and stared at him.
The way she beamed at his compliment and hesitantly smiled beneath his gaze caused a jolt of awareness to hit him. On the outside, Hannah was in your face, but inside, she was as insecure and shy as he was.
He took another bite. “Sour cream?”
Hannah blinked. “Um, what?”
“Sour cream. That’s what makes the cake so moist.”
“Yes.” She grinned. “Yes. That’s right.”
“Would you consider sharing recipes?” Tripp asked.
“What do you have to offer?” She cocked her head and frowned. “I heard you don’t bake.”
“Not true. Baking is personal. I don’t share my baking with just anyone.” He picked up the last crumb of lemon curd from his plate and popped it in his mouth.
“Yet, you offered to share recipes with me?” Hannah asked.
“You’re clearly a discriminating baker. I’d consider it an honor.”
“Oh?” She cocked her head as if assessing his words. “So you’d share your best cake recipe if I shared mine?”
“I’ll have to give that some thought,” Tripp said.
“Seriously? You said my cake was a masterpiece.”
“Hey, all of my cakes are my best, though I think this lemon cake might beat me in competition.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, but I do have a secret carrot cake recipe that makes folks swoon. I hardly ever make it because it makes women get crazy ideas. Like I might be getting serious or something. Carrot cake doesn’t say love, it says friendship.”
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