A Cowboy to Remember
REBEKAH WEATHERSPOON
Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Epilogue
DAFINA BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2020 by Rebekah Weatherspoon
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
Dafina and the Dafina logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN: 978-1-4967-2540-0
First Kensington Mass Market Edition: March 2020
ISBN-13: 978-1-4967-2543-1 (ebook)
ISBN-10: 1-4967-2543-3 (ebook)
For Russell and Jackie,
who have always welcomed me home.
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank the following Black Women:
Beverly Jenkins
Brenda Jackson
for showing me the way.
Patti LaBelle
Aretha Franklin
for the soundtracks and the legendary shade.
Lizzo
for the Juice.
Leona
Alyssa
for the incantations.
Edna
Olive
Jackie
Miss Kim
for the blue print to my own body and soul.
And Esi
for understanding the importance of a puppy
on the page and all my Beyoncé references.
I’d also like to thank my agent Holly Root for giving me the time I needed to try again.
You are one heck of a cheerleader.
Chapter 1
Evie blinked, then discreetly cleared her throat before letting a natural smile settle on her face. She could do this. All she had to do was listen. Smile and nod and listen. For the first time in months, she wasn’t being asked to perform, with bright lights and no less than four cameras covering her and her co-hosts from different points along a hundred-and-eighty-degree arc. She couldn’t say she wasn’t on. Any time she left her apartment, she was Chef Evie Buchanan, the culinary princess of New York and star of the hot new morning show The Dish.
And at the moment, she was standing in the middle of the famed Holiman Library, elbow to elbow with well-respected food critics Elester Morger and Peter Hector. She was definitely on. Her agent, Nicole, and Nicole’s girlfriend, Jane, rounded out their current little cluster. Conversation and alcohol flowed freely. Evie was trying her best to embrace the former and avoid the latter. The last thing anyone needed to be when stepping back out onto New York’s slushy December streets was completely wasted.
No, the conversation wasn’t the issue at all. From the moment Evie walked through the doors, she’d been greeted warmly as the unofficial guest of honor. It wasn’t the conversation or the company. It was the music. The best holiday hits from oldies to today’s covered classics. Evie loved the concept of Christmas until the music started playing in the hours following Thanksgiving, when an unmistakable lump lodged itself at the top of her throat. That same lump usually made an appearance twice more throughout the year. During the first few hours of her birthday and on the anniversary of her grandmother’s passing.
Evie was grown now, established, accomplished, starring on a freaking TV show, but the first notes of any rendition of “This Christmas” always left her struggling to keep the tears at bay. Which would be fine if she could take a minute to hide and regroup in the ladies’ fitting rooms in the middle of a crowded Macy’s, but right now? She was on. If she could only find this mysterious, hidden DJ booth or the person holding the aux cord and ask them to maybe switch to the latest pop hits or some smooth jazz. Or maybe if she could find Blaire. Her best friend and roommate said she was taking a quick trip to the restroom, but that was over twenty minutes ago. Evie could excuse herself to go find her, but ditching two of the most respected men in her profession so she could cry in the bathroom with her friend about how much she missed her nan was a bit excessive.
Evie swallowed again. She could do this.
“I understand trends. I really do. But sometimes a grilled cheese is just a fucking grilled cheese, and I’m not schlepping out to Brooklyn more than once to pay seventeen dollars for something my seven-year-old mastered last week,” Peter said. They all laughed, Evie included. She’d been to T_G and tried one of their grilled cheeses, on the house. It was not worth the trek.
“I have to agree with you there. A little steep, but Donia is delightful,” Evie added.
Peter swallowed a swig of his Pinot, nodding deeply. “That’s why I gave them a B-plus with an asterisk. Donia is easily the sweetest woman in New York. Present company excluded.”
The light burst of laughter that came out of Evie was a little more genuine this time. “Thank you, Peter.”
“I get such a kick out of your asterisks,” Elester said.
Peter shrugged and finished off the last of his wine. “Hey, it helps me to be a little more diplomatic. Some people ride that asterisk. I saw Michael Lowell last week—”
“From Montin. Newish place down in Alphabet City,” Evie added for Nicole and Jane’s sake.
“Right. I gave their shrimp carpaccio a D with an asterisk. He said they were booked up for weeks after the review dropped.”
“What was the asterisk for?” Jane asked.
“They only play Springsteen, Joel, and anyone with an association to Clapton. I mean, there’s a lot I’ll put up with if you’re pumping the room full of the Boss.”
“Season two, Evie. Start every segment with ‘Dancing in the Dark,’” Jane teased.
“Yeah, they like me in production, but they don’t like me that much.”
After being crowned the first Black winner in Supreme Chef history, Evie had returned to the city, prize money and a copy of Fine Dining Magazine with her face splashed across the cover in hand, only to discover she no longer had a job. Yeah, she’d been gone for over two months, but her former bosses at Nighly had told her that her skills were unmatched. With her running the kitchen, another reality-show win would only drive more customers through Nighly’s overpriced doors. She’d seen proof of it after she’d won on the less involved, but equally popular Food Channel show, The Chopping Block.
But even though her presence alone had been enough to boost business, they weren’t looking for an executive chef who was more interested in a chance at fifteen-minute increments of reality TV fame than the food. Evi
e would never forget the way Alexander, one half of the team who’d gotten the Manhattan hot spot off the ground, had leaned on that idea—that she didn’t care about the food, which was especially absurd, since food was the only reason she’d moved her whole life to the city. Luckily friends of a friend had hot yoga’d with Nicole, who had some hot intel about a new daytime cooking show being shopped to the networks. Former NFL star Troy Smith-Wilson, the driving force behind the concept, was eager to get himself back into the spotlight. Soon, Evie had found herself doing camera tests with Troy and a rotation of two other hopefuls before they settled on interior designer Ashley Simms and one of Evie’s long-time idols Chef Mitchell White.
With season one only halfway complete, they had already received word that they had been renewed for two more seasons. And though she wasn’t exactly sure she believed it, the producers had told Evie in no uncertain terms that she had been the key ratings draw. Evie liked to attribute it to the chemistry that the four hosts shared in front of the camera, but she couldn’t deny how much her social media following had exploded. She was definitely popular, though maybe not enough to tell the producers what music they needed to play.
“If you ladies will excuse us, I see my darling friend Laurence,” Elester said, nodding toward the far side of the room. Peter lightly kissed Evie on her cheeks and disappeared behind Elester through the crowd. When they were a safe distance away, Evie let her shoulders sag just a little.
“They love you,” Nicole said.
“I know. They are both great,” Evie replied before she nearly reconsidered her night’s ban on alcohol. “Can I tell you something?”
“Yeah, of course.” Nicole edged a little closer. Jane followed. She was so chill, Evie didn’t mind her being in the inner circle.
“I’m having fun. Really, I’m having a good time.”
“I get it. A work party is still a work party and you’re a little zonked.”
“You don’t think I’m totally ungrateful?”
“No. I think you’ve been working nonstop for months and I know those shoes are uncomfortable as hell.” Nicole glanced at her phone, forever clutched in her hand, before she looked up and gave the open mezzanines above a quick glance. “There are plenty of places to hide in here. Take a breather. Come back. Give me one more hour and then we’ll all flee into the night.”
“You’re a saint. I’ll be back.”
As another of her grandmother’s favorite Christmas classics ramped up, Evie took off for what looked like a side exit. She wasn’t sure she was going to make the whole night without crying. She was too overwhelmed and too overstimulated by the music, the crowd, the tightness of her dress and, yes, the sexy but painful-as-hell high-heeled boots she was wearing. The little green sign came into clear view as she gently made her way past clusters of people. She could almost taste the sweet freedom of the freezing-cold night when a hand gripped her wrist. Evie stopped, and just as she was about to call on all her PR training to prevent herself from telling whoever it was to let the fuck go, she realized she was face-to-face with Blaire.
“Girl,” her roommate said, drama dripping off the word.
Evie answered right back. “Girl.”
“Okay. Once again, thank you for being a really good cook and thank you for being on TV and thank you for being my roommate and not kicking me out after you could afford to live alone and thank you again for bringing me to this party. Tops every faculty holiday party ever. I just ran into Kata and Rina in the restroom and they both said I look amazing.”
Evie laughed, picturing Blaire and the pop duo gushing over each other’s outfits. She reached up and tucked the end of one of Blaire’s faux locks back into the massive bun piled atop her head. “You do look amazing.”
“Thank you.” Evie smiled at her friend as Blaire tipped her chin skyward with the tip of her freshly painted fingernail. The smile didn’t hold, though, and Blaire immediately noticed. “Hey, you okay? I know what Stevie’s Christmas hits do to you. I can ask them to switch it up. I’m sure they’ll do it for the princess.”
Blaire’s display of fierce friendship only made matters worse. If they had been in the comfort of their own apartment, Evie would have allowed herself a brief but good cry on Blaire’s shoulder, but now was not the time and definitely not the place. Not to mention she’d spent nearly an hour in the makeup chair. Her makeup artist’s go-to brand of mascara was waterproof, but she doubted her whole face could stand the rainstorm brewing inside of her.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little stuffy in here. I’m just going to pop out into the hallway and get some fresh air.”
“Okay. Text me if you need to fly the coop. I will go and see if I can find Raquelle.” Evie had lost track of her assistant shortly after they walked through the door, which Evie didn’t mind. Raquelle knew how to balance professionalism and play just fine. Still, one of them should check on her.
“Oh yeah. Please see if you spot her. Chef Pool is here and he’s grabby.”
“Eww. Okay, yeah, I’ll find her.” Evie squeezed her friend’s hand, then turned and made her way back toward the side exits. Before anyone could stop her for even the smallest of small talk, Evie pushed her way through the fire door, into an empty stairwell. She checked the door to make sure it wasn’t about to lock behind her and then started to make her way up to the top floor. She got about halfway there before her feet started to protest. Five floors up would have to do. She took a deep breath and looked down at the nearly full champagne glass and the small cocktail napkin she still had in her hand. Rushing without spilling, a skill she’d learned in her first kitchen.
She took another deep breath and tilted her head back. She’d use gravity to hold her tears at bay if she had to. This was what she wanted. She’d leveled up, from baby prep cook, eager to prove herself, to reality-show star, and now she was on one of the most popular shows on television. This was what she wanted. She’d given up everything she had to get this far. She just didn’t think this place would feel so lonely. She regretted the thought as soon as it flitted through her mind. One would think after more than ten years she’d have come to terms with the fact that she had no family. And that she had processed the even harsher truth that certain members of her family of choice had pushed her away.
Ten years, and still, on the heels of almost every thought about Nana Buchanan, there was his face. Zachariah Pleasant. Evie knew childhood crushes stayed with you, but this one refused to fade the slightest bit, even with thousands of miles and years of silence between them. She hadn’t forgiven Zach for pretending he was breaking her heart for her own good, but there were times when she wished things had gone differently. Especially when she needed a break from work and the city. What she wouldn’t give to be back on the Pleasant family ranch, enjoying the holidays under the warm California sun. Even if she could go back, it wouldn’t be the same. Nana was gone, and Zach and his brothers had moved on with their lives. Still, for a split second Evie daydreamed about what it might be like to join them for one more Christmas brunch and ride up to the canyon.
One tear managed to escape and Evie knew she had to pull it together. Delicately she dabbed under her eye, careful not to smudge her eyeliner. “You’ll be in Barbados in three days. Pull it together,” she said to herself. “Ten days of sun and relaxation. And nothing close to the smell of horses.” Okay, she was able to make herself laugh. The one thing she didn’t miss about home was those damn horses. Evie blew out another breath and gave herself a good shake before she started to make her way back down the stairs. She’d made it just a half flight down when she heard the door at the bottom open and close. She moved a little faster, gripping the banister so she didn’t eat shit in her heels and go ass-over-Spanx down the stairs.
Evie hated being spooked in quiet places so she called down, announcing her presence as a courtesy. “I’m on my way out. Stairs are all yours.” But there was no response. She moved a little faster.
When she reached the third floor
, she came face-to-face with the absolute last person she wanted to see, especially on a night like this. Chef Melanie Burns stood there, leaning against the railing, an unlit cigarette between her lips. Evie could just picture her grandmother shaking her head, telling her that now was not the time to finally strangle her former castmate. In the shadows, toying with her lighter, she looked like a damn Disney villain.
Evie was too familiar with this type of behavior from Melanie. After all, they’d been together for six weeks before Melanie had been eliminated from Supreme Chef. It only took Evie a few hours to realize that her former castmate was a terrible person. There was a four-step process to dealing with Chef Melanie Burns. Step one: Listen. Step two: Simply say “okay.” Step three: Walk away. Step four: Get on with your day.
“Melanie. Hi.”
“Yvonne! Hello. What are you doing up here? Dark and dank stairwells are no place for a girl like you.”
Evie let a faint smile cover her grimace. She wanted to ask Melanie what in the hell she was doing in the building, let alone the same dark staircase. Melanie was a thorn in so many sides. Evie had no clue how she’d managed to get an invite. Evie had submitted her own short list of friends and colleagues she wanted there. She couldn’t imagine anyone wanting Melanie on their list. She was so damn unpleasant.
“Great party,” Melanie went on. “But you knew that. Only the best for you, right?”
“For me? No. I think the season is the reason for this little soirée. It’s a holiday party. Nothing else.”
“Oh please. I came with Tim Malick. He told me how you are just killing it up in Studio F. This is definitely all for you.”
Evie was going to have to have a chat with their production accountant. He clearly had no clue how disliked Melanie was.
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