"It doesn't have to be," Scarlett said, accepting the first aid kit the timid young waitress proffered. She selected gauze, covering the burn loosely.
"No one here can cook, hon," Jeanette said.
"I can." Ruby's gaze swiveled to hers, and Scarlett nodded. "I'm a chef, trained in Paris. I had my own—" Scarlett clamped her mouth shut before she ruined everything.
"So why would you want to be here and sully your fancy hands in this place?" Jeanette sneered.
"So I can help my grandmother," Scarlett snapped, but the very word made her heart flutter. She forced herself to calm down. "I can handle bacon and eggs, I promise."
Ian was frowning at her. Ruby was studying her carefully.
"Have it your way." She started to rise, then remembered that her flat wasn't yet fixed. Never mind—she'd get another spare along the way.
Then Arnie, of all people, spoke up. "It was my breakfast that went up in flames. I'm game."
Everyone chuckled. Except Ruby, the only one whose reaction mattered.
"Fine. I don't stay where I'm not wanted." Scarlett turned on her heel.
"Slow down, New York," Ian said.
"My name is Scarlett."
"All right. Don't get in a huff." He glanced at Jeannette. "She's offering to help Ruby. Anybody else here got a better offer?"
"Wouldn't kill folks for us to close for one day." The waitress folded her arms.
"Hush, girl," Ruby ordered. At last she nodded to Scarlett. "I appreciate your offer, I do. I'd be grateful for the help. I'll just stay and watch until I'm sure my customers will be taken care of."
Scarlett arched one eyebrow. "No, you won't. You'll be going to the doctor."
"In a pig's eye," Ruby said. She turned to the assemblage. "All right, everybody. Show's over." As everyone but Ian and Arnie scattered, she gave Scarlett a long perusal. "Well, now. Let's see what you can do."
Ian was still studying her, clearly not sold, either.
Scarlett took the challenge. "Give me your apron." She held out a hand.
"Not just yet. I'll keep mine on for now. Henry—" Ruby called out. "Get the girl her own apron."
Scarlett took a look around at all of them. "Somebody bring Ruby another chair to put her feet up on, then everyone out of the kitchen."
Ian took his sweet time before responding. He might be one fine-looking man, but his attitude could use some work. He practically bristled with protectiveness for Ruby.
But at last he nodded. "Come on, Arnie. Let's see what the city girl can do."
Arnie hesitated.
"Shoo now," Ruby said. "You all leave me alone and quit hovering. It's only a scorch."
Scarlett had her doubts that Ruby was as hale and hearty as she wanted to seem, but she would keep an eye on her. From the reactions of the others, it was clear she wouldn’t be the only one.
After the crowd cleared, she did a quick scan of the small kitchen. The setup was basic—grill with burners to one side, fryer to the other. Behind her, prep table and sink, dishwasher and another deep sink on the side wall. Beneath the pass-through in front of her was a shelf with plates and bowls, above it was a wheel with clips, orders attached, covering half the surface.
"That's not all the orders. If it's for a regular, I already know what they want. Like Ian. He'll need to be on his way. He's late already. He takes bacon, hash browns, biscuits and three eggs over easy."
Of course, it would be the White Knight she'd have to cook for first. "After Arnie." She accepted the apron Henry retrieved for her. "Thank you, Henry. I'm Scarlett."
He blushed to the roots of his hair. "Yes, ma'am."
Since he couldn't be much more than five years younger than her, the ma'am felt weird, but she didn't quibble. "So what do you do here, Henry?" Beginning to make the neat fold she preferred at her waist, she suddenly realized that she didn't need it, that the apron, unlike most, actually fit her without being tucked.
"I fetch things, mostly. Clean up the tables after folks leave. What do you need me to do?"
"What does Arnie eat?"
He rattled it off, and she scanned the supplies.
"Arnie doesn't do a blasted thing all day," Ruby complained. "Ian works harder than any ten men. He should go first. You sure you—"
Scarlett faced her. "I promise you I know what I'm doing. Give me a chance to help."
"Folks around here aren't used to waiting. I run a tight ship."
"So do I. Don't you dare get up."
"We're shorthanded. That's how I ran into trouble."
"I can manage. Sit."
"You are one bossy bit of goods, aren't you?" Pain chased over Ruby's features then.
"You ought to see the doctor."
"Maybe later."
"You could have sprained something."
"I've been worse."
Finally Scarlett stopped arguing. The likely way to settle Ruby down was to get to work. "Henry, would you please ask Arnie if he's okay with waiting until after I fix Ian's breakfast?"
"I am." Arnie appeared from around the doorway where he'd apparently been hovering.
"Get out of my kitchen!" Ruby snapped.
Scarlett met the older man's gaze and shrugged.
He smiled at her and winked. "The woman adores me. Can't keep her hands off me."
"Well, I never—" Ruby huffed.
Scarlett laughed as she laid bacon strips on the grill, added a helping of grated potatoes to brown—
"That's not enough," Ruby interrupted. "Ian's a hard-working man. He needs a good-sized batch. Double that. And give him six strips, not four. Three biscuits to start."
Wow. Amazing the man wasn't round as a barrel instead of lean and ripped and hot. Scarlett added the bacon, doubled the hash browns, then twirled the wheel to see what was on the upcoming orders while she waited to start his eggs. She watched the pace at which the bacon cooked and calculated when to start the eggs. As soon as she'd flipped first the potatoes, then the strips, she took three eggs and cracked them onto the grill one handed. She glanced around for paper towels to drain the bacon on.
"What are you looking for?"
She told Ruby, who pursed her lips. "I don't drain it extra. Folks who get enough exercise don't have to worry about cholesterol. Just put them on the plate."
O-o-kay. That threw off her timing, but Scarlett flipped the eggs, plated the hash browns and bacon, then retrieved the eggs and added biscuits with only a small shudder for Ian's arteries.
She dinged the bell and handed the plate to Jeanette, who eyed it suspiciously, then sniffed. "Hash browns could be more done, but no time now. People are waiting." She huffed off.
Behind her, Ruby snickered. "Don't mind her. She thinks nothing's good enough for Ian. Not that he notices."
Scarlett took a second to glance toward where the man in question was seated at the counter. He looked at his plate, then up at her with raised brows as if he were surprised.
Scarlett glared at him, then returned to work.
About twenty minutes and countless orders later, Ian finished his meal, rose and made his way into the kitchen. "I guess you were right, New York. Nobody's died yet."
She spared him only a jaundiced glance.
"Get out of the kitchen," she and Ruby said as one.
He glanced from one to the other. "I will, after I convince Ruby to go see a doctor with me."
Ruby harrumphed. "Just a little scorch mark, a few aches. I don't need someone poking and prodding at me. You go on now, Ian."
"I'll walk you out." There was an edge to Jeanette's voice when she turned back to Scarlett. "Then you and me got work to do."
Scarlett watched her go, her hand possessively on Ian's arm. She scanned the dining room and knew the waitress was right. The tables and booths continued to be filled with new arrivals. Farmers and ranchers had been replaced by a scattering of men in suits, clutches of women and what appeared to be truck drivers. "Where on earth do they all come from?" she muttered.
; "People drive for miles to eat here," Henry said from behind her. "All the way from San Antonio, even."
"Amazing."
"Ruby's a really good cook." He blushed again. "You're doing fine, though. Nobody's complaining except that you're slow."
Her eyes widened with insult. She'd never—never—been called slow. If she couldn't keep up with a woman in her seventies, then—
She plated two orders and slapped the bell.
Her competitive streak, never far from the surface, had her hands moving faster.
* * *
Ian pulled out his wallet to pay for a breakfast that wasn't Ruby's but was surprisingly good. He ate the same thing so often he already knew the total and left it, along with his tip, on the counter by the cash register.
Not exactly the breakfast he'd planned with New York, but it was just as well, he was certain.
Ruby's granddaughter? For real? He shook his head at the notion. Ruby had been alone forever. It was common knowledge around here that she had once had a child, but that daughter had left years ago, when he was a little kid.
"You have a good day, you hear?" Jeanette leaned in, continued under her breath. "You just gonna go and leave her here with Ruby?"
"Who? New York?"
"She could be anybody," Jeanette whispered furiously. "Maybe she's a con artist out to swindle Ruby of her life savings."
Ian glanced back toward the kitchen. He could just catch the top of New York's head and occasionally the eyes. "She's built just like Ruby, got black hair."
"Ruby's hair color comes straight from a bottle."
"So what am I supposed to do? Ruby seems fine with her."
"You brought her here. She would have been long gone."
"What does that mean?"
"She was here last night. Stayed for hours."
"Casing the joint?"
"Don't you dare grin, Ian McLaren. Ruby deserves better than to be taken advantage of by some big-city hustler."
"Her?" Ian frowned as he glanced once more at the petite woman who looked, well, not harmless exactly, but definitely not sinister. "What does Ruby have that anyone would want? She's like everyone else around here, just hanging on."
"Do I look like I know? But that woman is your responsibility."
"She is not—" Then he sighed. She was, though. Jeanette was right. The city girl had been on her way out of town when he'd taken pity on her and invited her to breakfast. Okay, maybe not pity. It wasn't as though Sweetgrass Springs was exactly overrun with beautiful women and yes, he'd yielded to the temptation of a new face with new stories. A glimpse of the outside world he'd never get to travel.
"All right." He exhaled. "No idea what I can do, but I'll have a word with her."
* * *
"You forget something, Ian? Because I know you're not going to try again to drag me off to some sawbones."
Scarlett glanced up at Ruby's voice, then quickly turned her attention back to the grill.
"I was just going to have a chat with New—with Scarlett."
She glanced over. "You'll have to make it quick. I'm a little busy, in case you hadn't noticed."
"Ian, you know I don't cotton to folks getting in the way in my kitchen," Ruby complained. "Don't you distract her. She's just now getting up to speed."
Scarlett glared. "I'll have you know I am right on top of these orders. Nobody's going hungry." She flipped pancakes and spoke without looking up. "What do you need?"
"What are your plans?"
"Excuse me?" That got her attention. "What do you mean?"
He shrugged and moved closer. Kept his voice low, so only she could hear over the sound of the grill vent. "It's nice of you to help out Ruby and all, but weren't you headed out of town earlier? Your car was pointed in the other direction, and Jeanette says you were already here last night."
Her hand stilled on the spatula. Just as quickly she realized one pancake was getting too dark. Swiftly she took care of it. "I'm simply helping out. Can we discuss this later?"
"I won't be around later. I'm behind enough as it is."
She cocked her head. "And my plans are your business because…?"
His eyes narrowed. "Because we take care of each other around here. Ruby's important to me and to everyone else in town."
Her jaw dropped. "And, what, you think I'm somehow here to take advantage of her?" She plated the pancakes and bacon and rang the bell. "Thanks a lot. What part of I think you're my grandmother did you not understand?"
"Look, you're a stranger here, and I'm just asking what your intentions are. Ruby is the heart and soul of this town."
For a second, the reality of her life crashed into the nice distraction she'd had going. Nothing soothed her like cooking, and she'd gotten lost in the comfort of focusing on food, of feeding people.
And she'd forgotten that she didn't belong.
Anywhere.
"Want to run me out of town on a rail, Marshall Dillon?"
"Of course not, I just—"
"Don't trust me with Ruby. My own grandmother."
"You said you think. You don't know that for sure, and neither do we. Nobody ever heard of you."
"Who died and made you God?"
"What's going on over there?" Ruby started to rise. "Ian, what is it?"
Their furious whispers had attracted her attention. Scarlett glared at him. Spoke to Ruby. "Nothing. Ian was just leaving." She jutted her chin at him and dared him to interfere. "Thank you again for changing my tire."
He glared right back. "You're welcome." He turned to Ruby. "I'll be back for supper and to see how you're doing. I still think you ought to go get checked. I could drive you over to Johnson City."
"Oh, pish." Ruby waved off his concern. "I'll be a little sore tomorrow, but that burn spray of hers works just dandy. Mine's better of course, but this will do in a pinch. Don't you worry one bit." She patted his cheek. "You go on now. I know you've got a full day ahead."
He glanced back at Scarlett while speaking to Ruby. "You give me a call if you need anything, you hear? And I will be back to check up. I'll bring her tire when I come."
"Ian McLaren, you cannot take care of every soul in this town. I'll be fine, and so will my granddaughter."
Scarlett tore her angry gaze from Ian's, yanked out of her fury over his clear threat by the words she never dreamed she'd hear in her entire life.
My granddaughter. So Ruby believed what Scarlett had found so astonishing. She smiled at the older woman. "My grandmother is right." She did an inner dance at being able to use those words right back. "We will be more than fine. No need to concern yourself at all."
He arched one eyebrow at her, making his skepticism clear.
Then he turned his attention back to Ruby. "Getting out would do Dad good. See you at supper. You get some rest, okay? Take advantage of having the help. Go take a nap."
"And leave someone else alone in my kitchen? You know better than that. Go on now. We'll see you this evening. Tell your daddy I'll make him a cobbler."
"You should be resting."
"You should be minding your own business." Ruby squeezed his arm and sent him off.
He glanced back at Scarlett.
She proffered a smug smile. Ha! Mind your own business indeed.
* * *
Ian's cell phone rang. He unsnapped the holster and retrieved it. "This is Ian."
"Boss? We got a problem." The Double Bar M's longtime foreman Billy.
"What is it?"
"Fence is down in the southwest pasture, a hundred-yard stretch."
The pasture the cattle were in right now as he let the others rest. "How many got out?"
"Twenty-four head, best I can tell."
Ian didn't groan, but he wanted to. "Twenty-four. On Tank's land."
"Yep. We're on it. Just thought you'd want to know."
"I promised Veronica I'd stop by first thing, and I'm already behind." The widow of one of his oldest friends would understand if he cancelled, but she was
struggling already, with three kids to raise and no insurance money after David's untimely death. "I'll get there as quick as I can."
He disconnected. As if the day hadn't already started off wrong, now he had to talk to the childhood foe who still bore a grudge. Tank Patton wasn't as bad as his old man had been, but the acorn didn't fall too far from the tree. Tank was a bully—worse, a bully who wore a badge. He had hated Ian and his buddies, David Butler and Jackson Gallagher, since they were kids. Then when Randall Mackey had moved to town in eighth grade and become the final member of what the town called The Four Horseman of the Apocalypse—first for the constant trouble they got into, then when they were an unbeatable combination on the football field and basketball court—Tank's hatred had only grown.
That Tank's sister Veronica had married David had never set well with him, though David had tried hard to extend the family ties. Ian didn't exactly blame Tank—it couldn't have been easy growing up with a mean drunk and a mother who wouldn't protect her kids from him. But along the way, Tank had come to resemble the old man who had made his own life hell.
He'd be ticked off at anybody's cattle trespassing on his land, but for them to be Ian's…well, he'd probably shoot them on sight.
Yet again, Ian wished their destinies hadn't been so closely linked at the formation of Sweetgrass Springs, but both his forebear and Tank's had fought together in the Texas Revolution and had been awarded land as compensation. Josiah Gallagher, Ronald McLaren, Benjamin Butler and Tobias Patton had each contributed a corner of their land to form what was now Sweetgrass Springs. That was a noble history, but it was the deed restriction they'd made—that none of the original town acreage could be sold without agreement of the majority of surviving founding family members residing in Sweetgrass Springs—that rankled Ian and complicated Ian's hopes for the future of Sweetgrass.
Jackson Gallagher was gone, banished by his father at eighteen. David Butler had died last year, leaving a son barely a teenager and two small girls. Veronica Butler had been a Patton and thus a founding family member, but she had her hands full after David's death. Jackson's sister Rissa was preoccupied with keeping the Gallagher ranch from going under.
So the fate of this town rested primarily in the hands of Ian and a man who was more resistant to change than Ian's dad and who hated Ian for reasons he'd never really understood.
Texas Roots: The Gallaghers of Sweetgrass Springs Page 5