She put her fists on her hips. “So if you have a ranch to go back to, why bother with all this?”
“I love cooking, and honestly, I could use the money.”
She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “For a newer hat?”
Shaking his head, he grinned. “One of my kin hit a rough patch. The extra cash sure would help him out.”
Guilt jabbed at her, and she diverted her gaze. On her tiptoes, she reached for a pot from the rack above her head, unable to get it unhooked.
Dylan reached up with one hand, took it, and held it out to her.
His closeness sent a rush of chills down her back. She gritted her teeth, willing the butterflies in her stomach to disappear. “Thank you.”
Her stepsister walked in, looking great in a pencil skirt and heels. Hopefully, she’d figured out this mess so Lucy could get back to her food. “This is my stepsister, Paige, the wedding planner.”
Paige had been the one who’d gotten her into this when she convinced her she would be perfect to cater the affair. Easy for Paige to say. Everything came naturally for her. Still in her mid-twenties, she’d gone straight from planning sorority events to orchestrating some of the biggest weddings in Dallas. Not to mention that her stepfather and mom worshipped the ground she walked on. As far as they were concerned, Paige Morgan could do no wrong.
He tipped his hat. “I’m Dylan.”
“Good to meet you, Dylan.” She turned to Lucy. “The bride explained the…situation. Her grandmother arrived and suggested, since you’re both here with food, that you should both present your menus.”
Her frustration built. Dylan’s array of fried meat didn’t fit into the tasting she’d been planning all week.
Paige peeked over at Dylan’s steak. “That smells amazing, by the way.”
Lucy shot her sister a glare and grabbed her elbow, leading her toward the door. “You’ve got to fix this,” she said in a low voice. “You can’t let him walk in here and take over. What about all the preparations you and Heather have made for a sophisticated wedding?”
Paige sighed. “I’ve tried, but the grandmother won’t budge, and she’s writing the checks.”
Dylan leaned away from the stove. “Lucy, I think something’s burning over here.”
Panic shot up her spine. She rushed over to the oven, following the scent of smoke, and threw open the oven door. Searing heat rushed out. Her eyes stung, and she coughed into her sleeve. She grabbed a dishtowel and pulled out a cookie sheet of portobellos resembling charred marshmallows.
Paige sucked in a breath and headed for the door. “I’m going to let you two finish up. We’ll be ready for you in ten.”
Heat seeped through the fabric of the dishtowel, and Lucy thrust the pan out of her burning hand and into the sink. It crashed louder than she’d intended. She pinched the bridge of her nose. What else could go wrong today?
He stood beside her. “Can I do anything to help?” His tone was gentle.
She looked up at him, surprised by the compassion in his eyes. He sure didn’t look like the same boy she’d known that summer. “I appreciate the offer, but you’re the competition.”
He gave her a curt nod. “All right.”
Ten minutes later, without another word from Dylan, Lucy slid a bowl of soup in front of the bride’s tiny grandmother. The woman in the designer track suit wore her short, blond—almost white—hair in wild curls. She didn’t look like the matriarch of the family Paige had described, but apparently, no decision was made until the grandmother okayed it.
“Thank you, dear,” she said to Lucy as she stared into the liquid.
Lucy stood at the end of the table with her hands behind her back, fighting off the nerves that threatened to make her shake.
Her stepsister sat between the couple and the grandmother. “This is Lucy Pickett, our chef today. After graduating from culinary school at the top of her class, she worked as a chef at the restaurant inside the Inven Hotel.”
The group nodded, impressed, but Lucy wished Paige hadn’t mentioned it. Most chefs in Dallas would give anything to cook in a prominent Dallas restaurant, and when she’d been fired, it had confirmed what everyone thought—that she couldn’t handle such an important job. Refusing to ask her mom and Kenneth for help, she’d been forced to start catering to make ends meet. She was ready to earn back her respect and prove to everyone, especially her stepfather, that she was more than a line cook. This chance to become executive chef of a fine dining restaurant was just what she needed.
Lucy smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Tornsten.”
The woman’s wrinkled lips puckered. “Please don’t call me Mrs. Tornsten. These days anyone younger than I am, which nearly everyone is, calls me Nana.”
Paige had been right. This spunky woman was going to be hard to handle. “Okay…Nana. In front of you is a butternut squash soup made with coconut milk and nutmeg.”
The bride took a spoonful and closed her eyes. “Mmm. This is good.”
“Delicious!” Paige said a little too enthusiastically, but Lucy appreciated the help.
The bride’s grandmother swallowed her bite and held her spoon into the air. “It’s fine, dear,” she said to her granddaughter. “But it reminds me of baby food, and I don’t think you particularly cared for the butternut squash variety when you were a child.”
Baby food? Lucy’s heartbeat thudded in her chest.
Heather’s eyes got as wide as the soup bowl. “Nana!”
Lucy gave the bride a forced smile, pretending she hadn’t been offended by the cutting remark. “It was always well received at the restaurant, and it would fit the season, since the wedding is in late September. But I could do a cream of spinach or an heirloom beet salad as the first course instead.”
The old woman crinkled her nose at Lucy like a toddler. “My options are spinach or beets?”
“Nana!” the bride scolded her again.
Her eyes widened. “Why invite me if you don’t want my opinion? This is the kind of thing they would feed me in that retirement home your father wants to send me to. I’m not dead yet. I want some real food.”
Heather turned to her groom for backup, but he only shrugged.
Nana opened the multicolored Louis Vuitton purse in her lap and made kissing noises at the bag.
Lucy was beginning to think Nana was a little batty.
Pointy ears and then the whole head of a tiny chihuahua poked out from the top of the purse.
Nana dipped the spoon back in the soup and held it out to the dog.
A dog! Lucy’s pulse pounded. This woman was feeding the food Lucy had worked on all day to a dog that lived in her purse?
Paige pressed her lips together in a silent plea for her not to show the insult all over her face. With Paige here there was no chance this wouldn’t get back to her mom and stepfather.
Behind her, approaching footfalls of cowboy boots against the cement floors were accompanied by the heavy scent of fried food. Dylan witnessing the debacle only made the humiliation worse.
The older woman looked up and smiled. “This must be the cowboy.” She gave him an unabashed look up and down. “I love a pair of tight Wranglers.”
The bride covered her face with her hands. “Nana, please!”
His jeans did fit just right. A flush of heat crept up Lucy’s neck and face. What was she thinking? He was trying to steal her job. Who cared what he looked like or what that deep voice sounded like?
Her grandmother shook her head. “I’m sorry, dear. Just because you’re my age doesn’t mean you can’t notice these things.”
Dylan gave a low chuckle and slid the plate onto the table. “Well, thank you, ma’am.”
Nana stabbed a fork into one of the pieces of meat and sunk her teeth into a rocky mountain oyster. “These are amazing. What are they and how did you get them so crispy?”
Pressure pulsed at Lucy’s temples. Before she heard his answer, Lucy retreated to the kitchen, forcing her
self not to huff on the way, to plate her next course. Her usually solid confidence was threatening to crumble in her chest. Keep it together, Pickett.
Baby food? No one had ever insulted her food like that. How could a woman who carried a dog that looked like a rodent around in her purse criticize her cooking?
In the kitchen, Lucy grabbed the edge of the kitchen counter and stared down at the charred, soggy mushrooms still scattered in the sink.
She’d been so certain this morning that the job was hers. Now it seemed very likely she’d fail. That and the noxious scent of charred portobellos churned her stomach.
“You okay?” Dylan asked, crashing her pity party.
Despite her surprise that he wasn’t still out there flirting with Nana, she didn’t turn around to look at him. “I’m fine. Sounds like your food is a big hit so far.”
Dylan leaned on the counter beside her and laughed. “The grandmother seems to like it, but I’m afraid she’s going to slip me her number after this is all said and done.”
At least he had the decency to lighten the mood with a joke. “Yeah, she’s a rare bird.”
He squeezed her shoulder, the pressure of his hand steadying her. “It was only one course,” he reassured her. “I’m sure things will get better from here.”
She glanced at the eggplants on the counter.
Easy for the man with the fried food and tight jeans to say.
He removed his hand from her shoulder, and she released the breath she’d been holding.
He pulled the tin foil from the top of a pan where ribs sizzled in their sauce. “I better get more food out there before Nana comes in here looking for us.”
The rich, sweet scent of the ribs had an unexpected touch of rosemary. This cowboy knew his way around the kitchen, sending up a pang of competitiveness in her.
Not even taking the time to put them on a plate, he carried the pan out to the dining room.
She turned back toward the sink. Lucy refused to watch her dreams of executive chef go down the drain.
#
Dylan headed back to the kitchen to prep his final dish. Other than a few off-color jokes by Nana, everything in the dining room had been great.
But in the kitchen, Lucy wouldn’t meet his gaze. What he’d thought was a friendly competition seemed a lot more serious for Lucy.
He pointed at the cake she was slicing. “That looks good.”
“It’s a lemon cake with lavender crème,” she said, her pretty face pinched as she concentrated.
He moved beside her. “The bride really seems to love your food.”
“Maybe, but we both know Nana is making this decision.”
Lucy was right. After every bite, the bride turned to her grandmother first.
Paige stuck her head into the kitchen. “Are you ready? They’re waiting for the final course.”
Lucy nodded. “We’ll be right out.”
Paige left the room, and Lucy stopped what she was doing and looked up at him. “This wedding could make or break my career. Some of the most powerful names in Dallas will be there. I can’t let this slip through my fingers.”
“What do you mean?”
She blew out a breath. “I’m being considered for a big job. The decision maker will be at the wedding. If I impress him with my food, it will change everything for me.”
If he didn’t need the extra income, Dylan might have handed the job over to her then and there. But Dad’s medical bills weren’t going to pay themselves.
Not to mention that he didn’t want to have to go back to being a ranch hand in Wyoming. He’d recently lectured his little sister, who’d had her own rodeo injury while barrel racing, on all the reasons she should go back to school to follow her dream of being a veterinarian. She’d conveniently pointed out that he wasn’t doing much toward his dream of becoming a legitimate, full-time chef. Giving up on this job would only give her more ammunition.
Minutes later, Dylan stood beside Lucy as he served his peach cobbler and homemade vanilla bean ice cream. He couldn’t help himself from wanting to protect her from Nana, who flirted with him every time he brought out a dish and made unfair comments whenever she tasted Lucy’s food. Lucy was a talented chef. She had great techniques. Her plates reminded him of the Lucy he used to know—petite but full of color and personality.
“Dylan,” Nana said. “This is outstanding. Where did you learn to make cobbler like this?”
He’d learned to cook right alongside Lucy with Mrs. Hooper on the ranch. It had been the first time he’d felt like he belonged. For a kid who had trouble making friends, those memories were some of his best. “I learned to cook one summer when I was a teenager. Then I got a lot of practice as a ranch hand. There weren’t many restaurants nearby when I was in the middle of nowhere in Wyoming. I became the unofficial cook.”
Nana ate up every word before turning to Lucy. “Isn’t that marvelous, Ms. Pickett?”
“Incredible.” Lucy put on a good face, but her jaw was clenched.
Nana took a tiny bite of Lucy’s cake. “It’s actually very good, dear, but we’ve already ordered a lovely white cake with butter cream frosting.”
Lucy nodded. “White cake is fine, but I could make something a little more unique for you. I love baking and decorating. I would be happy to make the wedding cake or the groom’s cake. I also have a coconut cake that my family loves.”
“That won’t be necessary, dear.” Nana pushed the slice away from her. “Your stepfather is a very influential man in this city. I heard he took you and your mother in when you were only a teenager.”
Lucy nodded. “They married when I was fifteen.”
“You know you’re very lucky,” Nana said. “Many men like your stepfather wouldn’t marry a woman with that kind of baggage.”
That was it. Dylan couldn’t take any more. He squared his shoulders and met Nana’s gaze. “Ma’am, while I reckon you’re entitled to your opinion about the food, there’s no need to get personal. Speaking about someone’s family is uncalled for, and I’d appreciate it if you’d show Lucy a little more respect.”
Every face turned to Dylan.
The lines around Nana’s eyes deepened, as if someone had stolen that little dog right out of her purse. “Excuse me?”
Dylan nodded at Lucy, whose eyes were wide in surprise. “Lucy is a great chef. You’d be lucky to have her cooking for your event. She deserves to be treated better than that.”
Nana’s shoulders thrust back. “Well, I’ve never—”
“Could I talk to you in the kitchen, Dylan?” Wyatt asked. He stood, a frown creasing his forehead.
Dylan rubbed his hands together. “Sure, but first I wanted to say that it has been great to cook for all of you. I appreciate the opportunity and hope you’ll consider me for the job.”
“We’ll be in touch,” Lucy’s stepsister said with uncertainty in her voice.
He slipped out of the dining room while Nana sulked at the other end of the table and Lucy talked to Paige and the bride about options that could replace the courses Nana had rejected.
Wyatt swung through the kitchen door. “What are you doing? You’re killin’ me out there, Dylan.”
Dylan dumped a plate of bones into the trashcan. He needed the job, but he didn’t regret standing up for Lucy. “What I said is true. Lucy is talented.” Maybe a little too big for her britches these days, but talented nonetheless. “No one should have to stand there and take that. Someone needed to say something.”
His friend paced in the small kitchen. “We even had Heather’s grandmother on our side. Her grandmother! Would it have killed you to make nice with her? You’re my one shot to have something I want in this wedding. From what I can tell, everything else is going to be a sea of pink.”
Dylan rinsed a plate in the sink. “It’s a wedding. It’s supposed to be a chick-thing, right?”
Wyatt held a finger in the air. “I traded in my old truck. I don’t hang out with any of our old friends anymor
e. I’ve started wearing a helmet when I’m on the back of a bull, but Heather is still terrified I’m going to get injured and wants me to give up rodeoing.” He ticked off each thing with his fingers. “I love Heather, but I’m clinging to anything I can here.”
It all sounded too familiar. Too much like his life with his ex. No matter what he’d done, it hadn’t been enough. Now she was with someone who could give her what she wanted.
Seeing the desperation in Wyatt’s eyes, Dylan stopped and leaned against the sink. “Why don’t you talk to Heather about it? Tell her that the relationship is a two-way street.”
Wyatt shook his head and walked toward the door. “That, my friend, is why you’re still single. I better get out there before Nana and Heather decide to stick me in a pink tuxedo.”
Needing to get back to the ranch, Dylan quickly cleaned up the kitchen and loaded his empty pans in his box. Dylan carried his ice chest out of the kitchen, through the foyer, and into the elevator.
“Dylan, wait!” Lucy called out.
His name sounded great on her lips. He turned and lunged for the button to open the elevator doors.
Lucy stood in front of him, her eyes full of questions.
Dylan froze.
Her brow was drawn together. She stepped onto the elevator, and the doors closed behind her. “Why did you stick up for me like that?”
His mind raced for the right words, but all that came to his mind was because I’ve missed you. He didn’t dare say that. “You didn’t deserve all the grief you were getting from that woman. Your food is great.”
She held his gaze. “Thank you. That means a lot.”
The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. “It was great to see you again. It’s been a pleasure to share the kitchen with you, Lucy Pickett.”
Her shoulders relaxed, and she looked more like the Lucy he used to know. “Likewise.”
The Art Of Falling Page 9