Pony Up

by Colleen Charles

  “Kelsey, please get back to work,” I say, glaring at her.

  “I’m sorry, Ms. St. Claire,” Kelsey says, dipping her head. Her cheeks flame bright red as she scurries off and vanishes out of sight.

  “Cody, you can’t keep doing this,” I say, putting my hand on my brother’s massive bicep. “This is a really busy night for me, and you distracting my hostess doesn’t exactly make things easier. There are diners that still need to be seated. Diners who have reservations.”

  “Aw, I’m real sorry, sis,” Cody drawls. “You know how it is with my fans.”

  “But you’re not sorry,” I snap. “You’re grinning.”

  “What can I say?” Cody shrugs. “She’s a real looker. She gave me her number too. Says she gets off after the last reservation is seated at around ten.”

  “Well, don’t call her until eleven,” I say, angry enough to spit tacks. Why does everything always have to be so damn difficult? I just can’t catch a break. Between my farmer’s market run-in with hot mystery guy and now Cody, this day is rapidly climbing the suck meter.

  “Hey, calm down,” Cody says, narrowing his eyes. “Why you always gotta be so worked up, huh? Who put a honey bee in your bonnet?”

  I take a deep breath, trying to summon calming energy. It doesn’t work, and I feel like an idiot standing in front of Cody. Yoga breathing doesn’t help at all. Something snaps inside me.

  “Come with me,” I say through clenched teeth, grabbing Cody’s sleeve and tugging him into the coat room. “We have to talk.”

  “Darn right we do,” Cody says. He flashes me a big grin. “I got some real good news for you, sis.”

  “You’re going home?” I ask before I can bite my tongue.

  Cody’s not offended though. He throws his head back and guffaws like I just made the world’s funniest joke.

  “Aw, sis, when the heck are you gonna learn to relax?” Cody asks, still grinning. Emotion slides off him like water off a duck’s back. I don’t know whether to admire him or slap his smug face.

  I hate how he always makes me feel like an uptight little fool. It’s something that’s never failed to frustrate me. Back in Kansas, I was the lone introvert in a family of extroverts. My father even used to joke that I was probably the milkman’s baby, just because I never, ever fit in.

  “It’s hard to relax when you’re hanging around and causing trouble,” I say, hating myself for sounding like such a prig.

  Cody whistles then looks genuinely hurt. For a moment, I feel bad. Then he bursts out laughing. “Gotcha!” Cody yelps, rubbing his hands together. “And heck, I wasn’t causin’ no trouble. I only came to give you my bit of good news. Thought it might help unwind that stick you have shoved up your ass.”

  Somehow, Cody’s words make me feel even worse.

  “Oh?” I force a tight smile. “And just what is your good news, Cody?”

  “’Member I told you about goin’ into business?”

  “Yes.” I rub at the headache wanting to start in my temples. “Sauces, if I remember.”

  Cody nods and gives me a big thumbs up. “Well, I met this fella – he had a real good idea, he said we’d make us a killin’ if we went into sellin’ sauces and rubs and all kindsa barbecue stuff! Vegas meets the old west. It’s barbecue glam!”

  My heart sinks. “Oh, yeah?” I sigh. “Cody, look, I’m not trying to rain on your parade. But this guy – whoever he is – is probably trying to fuck with you. We’re in Vegas, there are con men by the dozen. Most of them are homeless and make their money panhandling.”

  “You really think he was pullin’ my leg?”

  “Probably,” I say, relieved that I don’t have to worry about anything, after all. “But don’t take it personally, Cody. Lots of people get scammed here, for much worse. It’s a way of life here in Vegas.”

  Cody’s face breaks into a wide grin. “Well, then I wonder why he sent me over this contract thing,” he says, pulling out his phone and showing me a picture. Sure enough, it’s a legal document with Cody’s name at the bottom.

  “Um, you should probably have a lawyer look at that,” I say, reaching for Cody’s phone and narrowing my eyes. Maybe I could borrow one of Dante’s for a quick review. The picture is a little blurry, and I have to squint to make out the small font of the agreeing parties. God, I think as I zoom in on the picture with two fingers. I need reading glasses or something.

  “Aw, sis, don’t you worry about me,” Cody says. He claps me on the back with one of his giant paws. “This guy – his name’s Carter – he’s even got a real hotshot lawyer brother, who lives right here in Vegas!”

  I narrow my eyes. The name is vaguely familiar, but I can’t figure out where I’ve heard it before. It’s just pretentious enough to make me really worried about Cody’s financial security. My brother’s a millionaire multiple times over. He’s won major awards for his bull riding, and like most conservative Midwesterners, he’s invested well.

  “Cody, you can’t use his lawyer,” I say in exasperation. “You’re going to have to find your own – someone who will really represent you faithfully, not one of those goons on the television.”

  Cody’s eyes widen. “I love how you think I’m so stupid,” he says, shaking his head. “Damn, sis! It’s like everyone with an accent is a real hayseed, huh? Money doesn’t grow on trees. I know I have to make hay while the sun shines.”

  “I don’t think you’re stupid,” I lie. “You just don’t live here. Tell me more about this guy. Do you have a picture?”

  I figure anyone with a Google profile has to be somewhat legit.

  “Aw, yeah. He’s a real solid dude. Heck, he’s even a fan of mine.” Cody takes his phone from my fingers, fumbling with it for a moment before handing it back. “And he owns this real hotshot restaurant, Steakhouse, right down the road from you.”

  When I glance down at the picture, my heart jumps into my throat. There, in full color, is my brother with his arm around an incredibly handsome man with bright white teeth and dark brown hair.

  The man I made out with at the benefit for Helping Hearts & Hands.

  The man who made fun of Sakana, when he thought I couldn’t hear him.

  And the man who harassed me at the farmer’s market, when I made it clear I wasn’t interested in having anything to do with him.

  “Cody,” I say, locking gazes with my trusting brother. “You can’t go into business with this guy. He’s a real prick.”

  Cody narrows his eyes, reaching for his phone. He plucks it from my fingers and slides it into his pockets. “Now you’re just gettin’ ornery,” Cody says, shaking his head. “Don’t be jealous, sis. You found your success here, now let the rest of us have a darn chance. What could go wrong with makin’ sauces with a famous chef.”

  Famous, my fucking ass. Maybe in his own mind.

  “It’s not that,” I say. “Remember I told you about the guy I met at the benefit?”

  Cody shrugs. “Yeah, what about him?”

  “This is the mystery guy I made out with…and then I heard him making fun of me, behind my back. He said all kinds of horrible things about my restaurant.”

  A lazy grin appears on Cody’s face. “Well, then you ain’t got nothin’ to worry about,” he says with a wicked wink like he’s giving me a present. “‘Cause we ain’t gonna be doin’ nothin’ with fish. This venture’s red meat all the way.”

  “You can’t go into business with him,” I say, narrowing my eyes in anger. “He’s a pig! He’ll take advantage of you, and probably try to steal all the profits from you!”

  “Not if I get me a big fancy lawyer like yer suggested,” Cody says, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

  Hot anger rises in me, and for a moment, I have to fight the urge to punch my brother right in his square jaw. The feeling is horrible – it’s a scorching mixture of jealousy and anger and betrayal and nausea, all at once, like I’m on some rollercoaster straight to the center of hell.

  “You really shou
ldn’t do anything big with someone you barely know,” I say, grasping desperately at every straw in the box. “I mean, you know nothing about this guy…he could totally fuck you over.”

  “He ain’t gonna do that.” Cody’s friendliness fades after my last verbal vomit of harshness. “Sis, what the heck? I thought yer’d be real happy for me.”

  “I’m happy you’ve decided to do something other than risk your life,” I say, gritting my teeth. “But I don’t think this is a good idea. Besides, the market is saturated with things like sauces and rubs. Tons of celebrities have done the same thing. What makes you think you’re going to succeed where other, more famous people, have failed?”

  Cody looks genuinely offended, and for a moment I wonder if I shouldn’t backtrack. But what he says next is enough to make my stomach drop out of my butt.

  “That may be,” Cody drawls, leaning against the wall and smirking at me. Suddenly, he seems like he’s twice my size. “But none of them got Nana Higginbottom’s recipe. I do.”

  My jaw drops. “You wouldn’t dare,” I snarl. “She guarded that until the day she died.”

  “I know,” Cody says, a smug expression lighting his face. “She gave it to me the day she died. Left it to me in her will and everythin’.”

  “Then you should know better than to release it to the world!” I snap. My voice escalates in volume and tone on every word, and I’m having a hard time managing my temper. “Nana would roll over in her grave if she knew you were set on selling her out.”

  “She left it to me,” Cody repeats, still smug as ever. “Because we were the real meat lovers, sis. Nana knew it, I know it, and you darn well know it, even if you won’t admit it.”

  “That’s not fair,” I cry. “You can’t do this. I’ll stop you.”

  Cody shakes his head and crosses his arms over his rock-solid chest. Somehow, seeing him so casual just makes me even angrier. I’m literally quaking with rage.

  “I can do whatever I darn well want,” Cody says. “You stick with fish, honey. Leave the red meat to the big dogs, me and Mr. Carter Caldwell.”

  Whirling on my heel, I stalk away from my brother. I’m hopping mad – I can’t believe my brother would betray me like this. Not to mention Nana.

  But deep down, I know I shouldn’t be surprised.

  Chapter Ten

  Carter

  To my surprise, Cody’s right on time. He rings the buzzer on the door to my condo at exactly eleven-thirty in the morning. Score another one in the positive column for this rugged cowboy.

  When I open the door, I see Cody leaning against the wall with his thumbs hooked in his belt loops.

  “Howdy pardner,” I say dryly, stepping back to allow Cody access to my condo. I’m proud of it – sure, it’s nothing like Nixon’s – but I’ve worked damn hard at Steakhouse, and part of me likes to show off the fruits of my labor. If Claude were here, he’d steal those fruits and rain them down like a watermelon infused shit show.

  “Nice place,” Cody says, strutting in. He’s wearing cowboy boots, faded jeans, and a plaid shirt. Even though we’re miles away from the wilderness, he smells like the inside of a barn.

  I shrug as I glance around and try to see it with fresh eyes. “So, what’s this about a secret recipe? I’m all ears.”

  Cody snickers. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a yellow-edged, faded piece of paper. It’s so worn that the paper looks furry.

  “The suspense is killing me,” I say, although I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t at least a little curious about what Cody’s bringing to the table.

  Cody nods and grins. “This is about the best darn sauce I’ve had. Nana Higginbottom’s famous recipe.”

  I scan the document. “Let me guess – there’s some kind of wacky ingredient that no one would think to add on their own?”

  “Sure enough,” Cody drawls. He hands the paper over to me with great reverence, as if he’s the Pope offering me communion.

  Frowning, I take the paper from his hands and unfold it. After reading through a couple of times, I nod.

  “This looks good.” The recipe isn’t too crazy – the standard stuff, plus crushed pineapple and plum jam instead of honey – but my years of expertise in the kitchen of Steakhouse tell me that it’s definitely going to be killer.

  Cody gives me a smug grin. “Heck yeah, it’s good,” he says, reaching forward and plucking the paper from my hands. “Now, let’s get started. The only way of really knowin’ is to do some tastin’.”

  I follow Cody into the kitchen and sit back, watching him gather ingredients from the fridge and cabinets, offering direction when he can’t readily find something.

  “Oh, yeah, one other thing,” Cody says, shooting me a sly look. “Nana always told me that sober people can’t cook worth a darn.”

  I smile and nod. I like Nana already. “I’m all over where this is headed.”

  Cody stands up on the tips of his toes and reaches into my liquor cabinet. He pulls out a bottle of bourbon, uncaps it, and swigs straight from the bottle before handing it to me. I roll my eyes but accept anyway. The last time I remember chugging liquor happened back at UNLV. We won’t talk about how long ago my college days were.

  “What?” Cody asks. “Like yer never tried cookin’ while drunk before? Bet yer afraid of how yer’ll look in that fancy-ass restaurant of yours.”

  I contemplate the thought of being drunk on Nixon Caldwell’s watch. At any angle, I think I’ll have to pass on that one. Now, here in my own kitchen, that’s another story entirely.

  “Some of my best creations I’ve come up with while a little in my cups,” I say. “If you’ve ever had my beef tips in spicy red cream sauce, I was blotto when I came up with that. There’s a no holds barred creativity that arrives in the face of a little brain freeze.”

  Cody holds up his spatula in salute. “You’re a hell of a guy. Why Vegas?”

  “My whole family lives here now.” I blow out a long breath. “I’m Vegas born and raised. A true local.”

  Cody nods, giving his concoction a hearty stir. “That counts for a lot,” he says in his long drawl. “Here, help me with this.”

  Getting to my feet, I take another long swig of bourbon and set the bottle down on the counter. Cody offers me a long knife, and I stand at the counter and dice a pineapple into chunks.

  “I think we should grill this,” I say, looking down at the hunks of sticky fruit. “It would add something – kind of a sugary glaze, yeah?”

  Cody nods approvingly. “Darn, you’re good!”

  “It’s nice to have someone say so.” I shrug like no one’s ever called me a brilliant cook before. It means more when it’s coming from someone who’s not trying to blow smoke up my ass or get in my pants. “Glad you approve.”

  Dumping the pineapple chunks into a bowl, I step out on my balcony and light the small grill set against the railing. I rarely use it – I actually can’t remember the last time I grilled on a gas grill – and it feels good, like I’m dusting off a book that I’ve always wanted to read but never got around to.

  Cody follows me outside, a beer resting in his hand. He hands me an unopened bottle, and I pop the lid off against the railing before taking a long swig. The sun shimmers high in the Vegas sky, and the heat from the grill and the desert air causes rivulets of perspiration to gather between my shoulder blades.

  When the grill sizzles, I add the pineapple, searing it until the outside turns caramelized and gooey. It smells heavenly, and by the time I take it back inside, I realize between the hard liquor and the beer, I’m halfway to being loaded.

  Cody and I work together like a well-oiled machine. For a hick, he’s surprisingly good in the kitchen. It takes a couple of hours for us to put the first batch of sauce together.

  “So, when are we launching this?” Cody asks, leaning against the counter. He takes the bottle of bourbon in his hands and tilts his head back, pouring the brown liquid down his throat.

  “As soon as we’
ve got a product worth selling. We should have a couple of options – a few sauces, maybe something with our dry rub on there.”

  “Wanna host it at your restaurant?” he asks, wrinkling his brow. “We could tell right quick if you let your diners decide.”

  “That’s a good idea.” I like it right out of the gate. “I can close things down for a few hours in the afternoon, invite some reporters and maybe some of my brothers.”

  Cody looks impressed. “Your family’s a real big deal around here, ain’t they?”

  I scoff, pushing away the compliment with a wave of my hand. “Not that big,” I lie, closing my eyes and immediately envisioning Nixon’s huge casino. “I mean, they work hard. We all do.”

  “Must be nice,” Cody says. He grabs a spoon and dips it into the barbecue sauce we’ve just put together. Besides the crushed pineapple and plum jam, I added some liquid smoke, cayenne pepper, ketchup, molasses, and a sprinkling of vinegar.

  I watch him closely. “How is it?”

  Cody stays silent for a moment, leaning over the kettle and inhaling. Then his rugged face nearly splits in two with a broad grin.

  “It’s dang good,” Cody says, licking his lips. “Maybe the best I’ve ever had.” For a moment, he looks guilty. He tilts his face to the ceiling. “Sorry, Nana.” He makes a sign of the cross. “I don’t mean no disrespect, but this here version’s even better than yers.”

  I roll my eyes, imagining a little old lady raising her cane toward the sky in anger. One of these days, I’m going to have to teach my new business partner about the sin of double negatives. But right now, I’ve got something more important at hand. Grabbing a fresh spoon from my silverware drawer, I dip it into the sauce and take a small taste.

  It’s good. It’s damn good.

  “Well?” Cody asks. “You like it?”

  The flavor is incredible. The smoky, rich timber melts across my tongue, then explodes in a burst of heat and tang on the back end.

  Perfection.

  “It’s amazing,” I say, going in for a second sip. “I think we’ve got something really incredible here.”