by Nina Crespo
After her father died, Zurie had stepped up to take Mathew’s place in actively running the stable with Jacob while Rina had chosen—and still did—to function as mainly a silent partner.
He’d promised Zurie he’d be there to help shoulder the responsibility of running the stable after his discharge from the military.
During those couple of years, he’d returned home on leave whenever possible, but there wasn’t much he could do other than pitch in where needed, usually in the stable, for the few days he was around. Remembering those visits and knowing he had family and a place waiting for him had gotten him through some of his toughest tours in the Middle East. Months before he was supposed to come home for good, his father had married Erica.
I will not let you come between us...
That statement from his father during an argument had opened a wide rift between them. Meanwhile, Erica had stood by playing the victim, not caring that her actions had wrecked his and his father’s relationship. He’d had to leave and break his promise to Zurie.
Tristan dropped his hand from the photo. A little over two years ago, he’d stood by his father’s bedside in the hospital. He’d suffered a stroke. Erica had recently left him. His father had looked so fragile, as if he’d lost the will to fight, but they’d reconciled, privately in his hospital room, before he’d died. But not in time to change the will back for him to inherit ownership in Tillbridge or even his father’s vintage collection of prize buckles. They also didn’t get a chance to settle things as an entire family with Zurie and Rina there, too.
Turning from his memories, Tristan continued down the hall. By the time he’d reached the end of it, he’d packed away the grief in a box reserved for it in his mind and shut the lid tight.
In his shared office, smart windows along the wall on the left had darkened to a smoky-blue gray keeping the beige-tiled white-walled space cool. Outside, many of the staff were eating lunch along with a handful of guests and locals in a fenced-in eating area.
Gloria, the office administrator sat at her wood-topped metal desk along the opposite wall. Nothing was out of place on or around her, from her silver-streaked dark hair secured into a neat bun to her pressed Tillbridge shirt to the evenly stacked files and pens lined up on her desk. As a longtime employee at the stable who’d assisted his uncle, father and now him running the office, she had the ability to keep everyone in line with a single, direct look.
As she peered at him over her electric-blue–framed glasses, she removed a clip from a stack of papers and dropped it into a desk organizer. “How’s Jett?”
“On the mend. We’re using the specialized hoof care protocol for him. Can you put that in his file and add what we need for him to the supplement and feed orders?”
“Sure can, and I’ll give his owner the update. Speaking of feeding—Philippa called about the Spring Fling cookout.”
“Is there a problem?”
“Possibly. Zurie wanted Philippa to keep expenses in line with last year. She can keep the barbecued chicken on the menu, but she’ll have to change the smoked prime rib that everyone loves to hamburgers. She also needs to know what the hours for Pasture Lane will be on that day. Is the restaurant closing at eleven right after breakfast or closing later after lunch?”
Last year, when they’d scheduled their annual Western-themed event for the staff, the guesthouse and the full-scale restaurant hadn’t existed so they’d just closed the entire place that Wednesday to clients. There had also been fewer staff to feed.
“Ask her if she can maintain costs and keep the prime rib by cutting back on the appetizers or side dishes. The restaurant can close at eleven, but put it on our website and post a sign now so the regulars will know about the change. Also confirm if the last future occupancy report I saw the day of the Fling is still accurate. If it is, and we don’t have anyone booked at the guesthouse that Wednesday, tell her to block it off from reservations. We’ll resume regular business hours for the entire property on Thursday.”
Gloria smiled her approval of his decisions as she handed him the feed report. “Will do.”
Zurie might not be pleased about closing things down once she heard about it, but the Wednesday Spring Fling event had been a tradition for over two decades at Tillbridge for all staff members who’d wanted to attend. It provided a break as well as needed team-bonding time. Not giving everyone a chance to enjoy the entire afternoon, or Philippa’s coveted prime rib, could dampen morale. As hard as everyone worked to make the operation a success, they deserved it.
Laughter drifting in from outside made him pause on the way to his desk at the back of the office. “When did lunch become so amusing?”
Gloria chuckled as she stacked papers on her desk. “My guess is it’s not the food, but who’s serving it.”
“Who’s out there?”
“I don’t know, but I heard she’s pretty.”
He walked over and glanced out the window at the wood-corralled seating area a short walk from the stable.
The restaurant’s lime green vehicle, taller and longer than the average van, sat parked under two large oak trees.
He couldn’t see who was inside.
A few of the staff, mostly guys, lingered at the service window or sat at the picnic tables closer to it. Usually, they just grabbed their lunch and sat at the outer tables.
Curiosity and a bothersome suspicion drove him to lay the report on Gloria’s desk, leave the office and walk out the side door.
He hadn’t seen Chloe since she’d arrived yesterday, and Philippa hadn’t called to complain about her so he’d assumed Chloe was into her research, and he didn’t have to worry about her until next week or maybe not at all. She wouldn’t risk sweating her makeup off working in a food van or messing up another pair of high heels. Would she?
As he got closer, the group hanging around the van scattered.
The lone woman framed by the side service window had her back to him. A green bandana held her dark curly ponytail in place.
That wasn’t Chloe. Philippa must have forgotten to mention she’d hired someone new.
She faced him.
Chapter Six
Chloe suppressed a laugh in seeing the shock on Tristan’s face. “Hi. What’ll it be today? Turkey or ham?”
His surprise morphed to a suspicion-filled expression as his gaze narrowed on her.
“Not interested in sandwiches? Huh, let’s see.” She looked away from him a moment, feigning deep concern over his lack of enthusiasm for the lunch selections. “Maybe the beef stew, then? Blake and Adam said it was wonderful.”
Upon hearing their names, at a nearby table, Blake, who she’d managed to coax a chuckle out of after telling the horse trainer he looked like Bradley Cooper, gave a semblance of a smile. Where he fell short, the ginger-haired, suntanned, just-a-minute-out-of-college Adam, who worked as a groom at the stable, made up for it with a full-on grin.
“We need to talk. Open the door.” Tristan stalked to the other side of the van.
What was he so irritated about? Probably the fact that they were simply breathing air in the same space.
A mischievous glee sparked in Chloe that just her presence needled him. Between growing up verbally sparring with an older brother, who she now loved, but who had been a terrorizing brat when they were younger, and having endured everything from pain-in-the-ass actors high on fame to directors losing it because Mother Nature had the nerve to rain down on their perfect scene, she was more than prepared for him. And Tristan deserved some pushback for ignoring her and being a pain in the butt about helping her out.
She wiped away her pleased smile, took a cleansing breath and slid open the door. Before she’d had a chance to say “Come on in,” he’d stepped inside, and the van that had once been stable slightly rocked under her feet.
Partway down the narrow aisle separating the freezer/fridge
combo from the food table warming the beef stew, he stopped and faced her. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Last time I checked, it was called working.”
“If your idea of research is practicing your acting skills on my staff while pretending to work, you can stop now.”
Pretending? Was she pretending when she’d burned her fingers putting food into the heating table? Or what about the stains that were never coming out of her favorite white Misha Nonoo tee she’d put on that morning for a lack of anything else to wear?
Calm gave way to irritation. “Last time I checked, the food I helped prepare and stock in this van was real, and the only skill I’ve practiced for the past half hour is making sure everyone is happy with lunch. In fact, we were all extremely happy until you showed up with your problem, whatever that may be.”
“Damn right I have a problem.”
“Oh, really? I can’t wait to hear it.”
He advanced. “Let’s start with you being impatient and not waiting until I got back to you with a plan about where you should be while you’re here.”
“You mean me being proactive.”
She took a step, putting mere inches between them, but something curiously appealing about the scowl on his face short-circuited the rest of her response.
He had the best brooding man pout ever. She’d worked with an actor who’d taken endless selfies trying to pull that look off, but he’d reached only the 101 level in that department. Tristan had it mastered naturally to the level of flat-out sexy. What would he do if she reenacted that scene from her television past and kissed his pout away?
As if he’d read her mind, Tristan’s gaze momentarily dropped to her mouth. When his eyes met hers, the challenge in his wasn’t scripted. It was real, filled with pure confidence, and devoid of arrogance.
Did he honestly think she wouldn’t do it? The prospect of answering his silent dare sparked excitement.
A knock echoed in the van.
Chloe and Tristan both stepped back.
Needing to focus on something other than Tristan, she looked over her shoulder.
A woman in a lavender T-shirt who resembled Zurie, except that she was taller and had thin braids gathered in a yellow hair band, stood at the door holding a metal tray of pies. She glanced down at the load in her hands, “A little help here, please.”
“Of course.” Chloe hurried over to her and took the rack. Philippa had mentioned someone from Brewed Haven, the café Zurie’s sister owned, was dropping off desserts.
Limited space required her to pass the tray to Tristan who slid it into a rack built into the back of the van.
“It’s time for the amateur to leave and make room for the professionals.” The Zurie look-alike who she assumed was Rina gestured for someone to get out.
Tristan looked to Chloe.
“Not her, you.” The woman pointed to him. “But before you go to your office, make yourself useful. I have two more trays in my car.”
Tristan shot her a look, but Zurie’s sister stared him down. Resignation replaced his annoyed expression. “Give me the keys.”
Chloe maneuvered partially between the driver and passenger seats to make room for him to get out. Tristan taking orders. Oh, she liked this woman a lot.
He took the keys and clomped away from the van.
The woman got in. “Men.” She exaggerated exasperation. “Hi, I’m Zurie’s sister, Rina. You must be Chloe.”
“Yes, I am. You really need to teach me how to do that thing you just did with Tristan.”
Rina laughed. “He knows better than to argue with me. I keep him supplied with his favorite dessert.”
Before Chloe could ask what that was, a woman and her young child came to the window. In the midst of serving the canned sodas and pretzel the woman ordered, a long line started to form.
It was the lunch rush Philippa had mentioned—guests and locals who wanted snacks and grab-and-go meals.
Chloe rubbed her damp palms down her apron. She’d been planning to go over the van checklist a few more times, but she’d been too busy arguing with Tristan.
Rina nudged her. “I’m sticking around. Philippa asked me to give you a hand.”
A breath of relief surged out of Chloe. “Thanks.” She might survive, after all, even if she hadn’t gotten a chance to memorize every step.
She and Rina worked in tandem, serving and ringing up orders. At some point, Tristan brought the other trays of desserts but she didn’t see him. Rina opening and slamming the door shut marked his arrival and departure.
A little over an hour later, the line diminished to a few intermittent stragglers.
“Whew!” Chloe stepped away from the window and fanned her face, trying to create a breeze. “That was intense. I’m so glad you were here.”
“You did well for your first time in the van.” Rina grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge and handed one to her. “A lot of people wimp out under the pressure.”
“Thanks.” Pride in accomplishing another major task on only her second day at Tillbridge welled inside of her. Chloe opened the bottle and took a long sip. Her throat was dry from talking to customers and communicating their orders to Rina. “I’m sure Tristan will be shocked to hear I could handle it.”
“What’s going on with you and him anyway? It looked like the two of you were in the midst of a face-off when I walked up.”
“Wish I knew.” Whatever had happened between her and Tristan earlier before Rina arrived, Chloe honestly couldn’t explain it. One minute, they were arguing and then... “Maybe it’s because Zurie told him he has to show me around while she’s gone. I’m an actress, and I’m here researching for an audition. I was supposed to shadow her.”
“I heard about that. She left, he got stuck with you and then he dropped you in Philippa’s lap.” Rina’s expression turned slightly sheepish. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound harsh.”
“But it’s the truth, and there’s nothing I can do to change it. He’s against me in every way.”
“Against you. Seriously?” Rina tilted her head to the side and studied her. “Maybe it’s not you but someone else.”
“No. I’m sure it’s me. He’s made it perfectly clear he thinks I shouldn’t be here, but that’s okay. I’ve handled worse, and I’m only here for a few weeks. After that, neither one of us will have to see each other again.”
Rina’s cell chimed and she took it from her back jeans pocket and checked the screen. “I’ve got to head back to the café soon. Did Tristan eat?”
“Not anything from here.”
“He never misses lunch, especially when there’s lemon meringue pie. I’ll take him something.” Rina grabbed the last wrapped ham sandwich from the fridge and a slice of apple pie on a small paper plate wrapped in plastic.
“Wait.” Chloe pointed. “There’s one more slice of lemon in the back.”
“I know, and I think you deserve it for working so hard.” Rina handed her the slice of lemon pie.
Laughing, Chloe accepted the plate of dessert. “If I must.”
“Yes, you must. Lunch is over. Take a break and eat it before you head back to the restaurant.”
While Rina delivered the food, Chloe stowed and secured a few remaining items in the van.
The pie beckoned.
She really should have something more than just pie, but Rina was right. She did deserve a treat.
Chloe stripped off her apron, grabbed a plastic fork and went outside.
In the vacant seating area, a few napkins, cans and bottles hadn’t found their way into the portable trash bins.
She’d get to them in a minute. Weariness and a lingering sense of achievement dropped down with Chloe on the bench at the table. She’d experienced a feeling of achievement after acing a scene in a show or movie, but this felt different. P
robably because she’d faced down Tristan.
The remembered image of him, staring down at her just as she’d thought about lifting on her toes and pressing her lips to his, bloomed in her mind. What would have happened if she’d boldly taken possession of his mouth or would he have won the sensual duel and taken ownership of hers instead?
Chloe took a bite of delicious pie and mulled over the question. She didn’t know the answer, but she wished she would have found out.
Chapter Seven
Tristan pecked and stabbed the computer keyboard, trying to stay focused on the expense report, but his internal clock kept counting down the minutes, reminding him that the food van was leaving soon. And then there was the issue of his growling stomach. Normally, there were snacks in the corner minifridge, but today there was only water. No food. He was surviving on just coffee.
He’d contemplated asking Gloria to grab him something before she left to run errands, but she would have looked at him as if he’d suddenly sprouted two heads. Getting lunch for him wasn’t in her job description. He could go to Pasture Lane or Brewed Haven Café. But then that would raise questions from Philippa or Rina about why he’d changed his usual pattern and not grabbed food from the van.
He’d made it through firefights in the army and taken on tough bulls in bull-riding competitions. He should have been able to walk outside and get a sandwich, but Chloe smiling at him as if she’d won the battle about being there would have gotten under his skin. She hadn’t. He just should have been more specific with Philippa about how to keep Chloe preoccupied until his schedule freed up. Having her in the vicinity of the stable, right now, with her discomfort around horses, and stirring up memories of Zurie’s ultimatum that he had to look after her, was a distraction he didn’t need...along with the problem of almost kissing her.
It didn’t make sense. Actually, it did. She had a mouth perfect for instigating an argument and even more perfect for kissing. At least that’s what his mind kept telling him along with prompting him to test that theory out.