by Duncan Leigh
“It’s okay, baby,” she cooed. She smoothed long tresses and felt her daughter shudder.
“That man scared Mrs. Wickles.” Bree clung to her doll. “Why’s he mad, Mama? Did I do something wrong?”
Why, indeed.
“No, honey. He’s probably just having a bad day. Let me talk to him for a minute. We’ll get this straightened out.”
The cheery smile Emma forced to her lips didn’t fool Bree. Not for one second. Watching her daughter cringe, Emma felt white heat lace through her midsection. She spun toward the stranger, staring up at the man whose size dwarfed her own five feet three inches. He had the audacity to stare back at her, his arms folded across a massive chest.
Well, if he thought he could get away with that in her kitchen, he’d better think again. As a child, she hadn’t had a choice. She’d had to listen to her father rant and rave. Hoping to preserve her marriage, she’d tolerated her husband’s my-way-or-the-highway attitude far longer than she should have. And yes, in choosing to work in an upscale restaurant, she’d traded one hostile environment for another.
But those days were over.
For her daughter’s sake, for her own sanity, she was done with arrogant men. She’d go toe-to-toe with this one, and she’d do it on her terms. She sipped air.
“How dare you march in here full of vinegar and soda. Who do you think you are?” she demanded without raising her voice above a whisper.
“I’m the guy in charge. Now, pack your things and leave.” A five o’clock shadow graced the chin he lifted to emphasize his point.
“I. Don’t. Think. So.” Emma plunged her fisted hands into the pockets of her chef’s whites. She’d traveled twelve hundred miles to work here. To take over when Doris retired.
Beyond the doorway, footsteps hurried on the hall’s tiled floor. A tired voice floated into the room. “Colt? Is everything all right?”
The man’s blue eyes flashed a warning. Through clenched teeth he said, “We aren’t finished here, you and me.”
“Everything’s fine, Mom,” he called over one shoulder. His posture softening, he turned toward the door behind him as a woman dressed in black stepped into view. The harshness faded from his tone. “I thought you were lying down.”
Emma’s brow furrowed. While her mind connected the dots, she glanced from Doris to the man who’d barged into the kitchen. The day a son buried his father was as bad as they came.
“I wanted a cup of tea first,” Doris answered. Her watery blue eyes swept past Colt to land on Emma.
“Oh, my. Is it Friday already? Things have been a bit muddled since…” Doris stopped to take a breath. “These last few days.” She twisted the rings on her left hand. The ghost of a smile deepened the wrinkles of her lined face. “Is this your daughter?” Her smile widened though the pain in her eyes remained. “She’s adorable,” she added at Bree’s shy wave.
“She’s my world,” Emma acknowledged.
The faint tremble of age-spotted fingers summoned a rush of sympathy. Emma crossed to the newly bereaved widow.
“Doris, I only just heard the news. I’m so sorry about Seth. He was such a nice man. If there’s anything I can do—” She blinked when sturdy arms reached past her extended hand to draw her into a warm embrace.
“You’re already doing it by being here,” Doris whispered.
A lump rose in Emma’s throat. When Jack died, she’d have been lost without the friends who’d shown up bearing casseroles and sympathy. It was time to return the favor. She patted Doris’s shoulder, waiting until the woman’s firm grip eased before she slowly retreated.
After giving her eyes a quick swipe, Doris reached for her son’s forearm.
“Colt, you’ve met Emma Shane.”
“We haven’t been formally introduced.” His hands hung by his thumbs from the pockets of his Wranglers. “Colt Judd.” He nodded. Without waiting for a response, he turned to his mother. “What’s she doing here?”
“Don’t be rude, dear.” Doris tapped lightly on Colt’s shoulder. “It took a fair amount of arm twisting to get Emma to leave Chef Larue and come to the Circle P. She’s… She was going to learn how to take care of things here so your dad and I could retire.”
“Retire?” Colt’s blue eyes widened.
Doris nodded. “Time to pass the reins on to a new generation. We’d planned to talk to you and the rest of the boys about it one of these days.” She straightened her shoulders. “Well. No time like the present.”
Emma practically felt Colt’s glance scour her white coat as the tension in the room ratcheted tighter. “We don’t have much use for a fancy chef on the Circle P.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Doris sighed visibly. “But we have a lot of people to feed and, if memory serves me correctly, you’re not going to be the one putting meals on the table. Not unless you’ve learned how to boil water in the years you’ve been away.”
Beneath his deep tan, Colt blanched as if Doris had struck a mortal blow, but he didn’t back down.
“I caught her throwing away perfectly good food.”
“And I’m sure she had a reason.” One gray brow rose expectantly over Doris’s left eye.
Taking the hint, Emma found her voice. With more control than she’d been tempted to show seconds earlier, she explained. “The dishes in the dining room had been out since noon. At least. Without refrigeration or heat, none of it was safe to eat. I thought we’d start fresh. There are casseroles in the oven, salads in the cooler. As soon as you give the word, Tim and Chris can help me replenish.”
“That’s just what I would have done.” Doris turned to her son. “She knows what she’s doing.” When Colt still glowered, Doris’s voice dropped. “Besides, your father thought Emma was perfect for the ranch. Her daughter, too.”
Like a cake taken too early from the oven, Colt’s bravado collapsed. His shoulders rounded, though his mouth remained set in firm, no-nonsense lines.
“It seems I owe you an apology,” he began.
Emma waited a half beat before deciding that Colt’s remark was as close to an I’m sorry as he planned to deliver. She turned to Doris. “You wanted some tea, ma’am?”
“It can wait. We need to talk.” Doris scrubbed her hands on her skirt. “I know we promised you a lengthy internship while you learned the ropes here at the Circle P, but my husband’s death…” Her voice trailed off.
To his credit, Colt slung an arm around his mother’s shoulders. “My dad’s death has turned everything upside down. Mom’s leaving the day after tomorrow for an extended visit with my eldest brother, Garrett. While she’s gone, I’ll be taking over the day-to-day responsibilities on the Circle P.”
“And you’re…letting me go?” Emma’s stomach punched the down button on the express elevator to the basement. True, she hadn’t signed a contract, not yet, but Seth had sent a check to cover her travel expenses and promised to reimburse the cost of shipping the rest of her meager possessions.
She turned toward her daughter. How would she explain the sudden change in plans to Bree? Her child had been nearly as excited about horses and cowboys as Emma had been for the opportunity to work on the ranch that was rapidly making a name for itself as a vacation destination.
Doris’s eyes widened. “Oh, no,” she said hurriedly. “That’s not what I meant. Not at all.” She cleared her throat. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but I was wondering if you’d take over the kitchen right away. We’d all be grateful if you would.”
Stunned, Emma rocked back on her heels. She pictured herself standing at the sink where bright sunshine flooded through windows dressed in cheery prints. She imagined the dishes she’d create on the massive cook stove, the salads and cold soups she’d chill in the built-in refrigerators. Behind a door at the end of the kitchen stood a pantry any chef would give their eyeteeth to control. How could she say no?
She straightened. “Ms. Judd, I’m honored that you think so highly of me, but aren’t you rushing things a bit?” She cast
a look at Colt’s sullen expression. No doubt about it—the man did not want her here.
Her gaze swung to the widow whose grief was so new and raw. She ached to help Doris. But, for more reasons than she could count, working for Colt was a bad idea. Despite his striking good looks, from the moment he’d practically collided with her on the front porch, he hadn’t cared whose feelings he trampled.
“I was in here earlier. Believe me, it didn’t look like this.” Doris gestured toward the spotless kitchen. “It seems as if you already have everything well in hand.”
Emma hesitated. Warming up a few casseroles the neighbors had dropped off, that was one thing. Preparing meals for an army of hungry cowboys, that was something else again. She’d counted on learning the ins and outs of catering to paying guests and ranch hands alike from the woman who had held the job for a lifetime.
Colt stepped into the breach. “Let me make one thing perfectly clear. Don’t think you’re going to change things around here. Tradition is very important on the Circle P. We like everything just the way it is.”
Emma let her voice drop into its coolest register. “Exactly how am I supposed to follow the routine when I don’t even know what it is?”
“Now, don’t you worry about that,” Doris said soothingly. “Someone with your training and experience can probably cook rings around me.”
She crossed to a cabinet, where she withdrew a notebook so worn it was held together by rubber bands. Almost reverently, she held it out to Emma. “This has been handed down by generations of cooks on the Circle P. It holds all the recipes our guests and employees have come to associate with the ranch. Use it, and you’ll do fine. Why don’t you take a good look at it tonight. We can go over any questions you might have tomorrow.”
Emma traced her fingers over the worn leather cover. Every restaurant had its tried-and-true recipes. Most chefs guarded them religiously, never letting the secrets to their success out of their sight. She’d even heard rumors of cooks who slept with their recipe collections under their pillows. And yet, Doris had entrusted such a treasure to her?
“I’ll take very good care of it,” she promised. She tucked a loose slip of paper deeper into the book.
“I think we should have a trial period,” Colt broke in. “Three months to see if she’s up to the job or not.”
From the way he glared at her, Emma suspected the new boss would mark off every one of the next ninety days on the calendar, counting the hours until he got rid of her.
Doris peered up at her son. “I’m not sure I’ll be back that soon. Garrett’s baby is due in October. I’ll want to stay with them for a while afterward. Let’s say another month or more.” She turned pleading eyes on Emma. “Please say you’ll stay that long. I’m sure this will be a permanent position.”
Emma blinked, thinking of the plusses that had drawn her to accept the job—the relaxed atmosphere that was so different from Chef Larue’s nightly screaming matches, the excellent public schools nearby, free room and board and a chance to put down roots. Even if things didn’t work out on the Circle P, in a few months she’d build a solid nest egg. One that would see her and Bree through while she found another position.
She pressed the cookbook to her chest. “I’ll read through this tonight, as soon as Bree and I get settled in.”
“Oh!” Doris’s eyes filled with fresh tears. “We were supposed to clean out the little house for you. With all that’s gone on this week, the thought never crossed my mind.”
“Don’t worry, Mom.” Though Colt’s protective arm around his mom’s shoulders tightened, he sent Emma another dark look. “I’ll put Royce and Randy on it first thing in the morning. They’ll have it all sorted out by nightfall. In the meantime, she can stay in my room.”
No way. No how.
Emma’s whole body stiffened. Though Colt was handsome enough to make her back teeth ache, if sleeping with the boss was part of the deal, she’d take Bree and head for her car this minute.
At her sharp inhale, a smug expression crept over Colt’s face. “No need to get your dander up. I’ll bunk in with Garrett.”
Doris slipped the end of a messy braid over one shoulder. “If ya’ll don’t mind, I think I’d like to lie down for a while, after all.”
Emma waited until the tall cowboy steered his mother out the door before she drew in a thready breath. So far, nothing about her move to Florida had gone according to plan.
She’d come to the Circle P in the hopes of one day running her own kitchen, not having the job thrust upon her the moment she set foot on the ranch. She’d counted on learning whatever she needed to know about trail rides and hoedowns under Doris’s calm tutelage. She certainly hadn’t planned on working with Colt, but she wouldn’t let him keep her from doing her job. She ran her fingers down the front of her jacket, straightening the crisp white fabric.
“Come on, Bree,” she said, holding out her hand. “Let’s unload the car and find out where we’re staying tonight.”
Leather creaked as Colt flipped the stirrup over Star’s back. He tapped the gelding’s middle and waited for the horse to expel air before he cinched the front girth strap.
“I miss this.” Garrett’s voice drifted over the partition between the stalls. “Ridin’ out at first light. The smell of hay and horseflesh. The quiet. You don’t get this in Atlanta. Too many cars. Too many people.”
Colt grabbed the back strap and threaded it through the buckle. “Bet you don’t miss the skeeters and the snakes. Mucking out stalls.” He gave the saddle a final tug. Satisfied it was secure, he lowered the stirrup into place.
“You get up on the wrong side of the bed?”
“Not my bed,” Colt grunted. “Besides, you snore.”
He lifted a sweat-stained Stetson from a nearby nail, ran a hand through his hair and plopped the hat on his head.
The kitchen had been dark and vacant when he’d passed through on his way to the barn. He’d thought about rapping on his bedroom door, rousting the new cook and telling her she was already running late. But he’d lingered in the house only long enough to spoon grounds and pour water into a battered coffeemaker. He’d promised his mom he’d give Emma a chance. If nothing else, he was a man of his word.
Besides, the woman wouldn’t last. Certainly not six months. Heck, he bet she wouldn’t stick around long enough for the next cattle drive. Her slim frame wasn’t made for the heavy workload that came with life on a ranch. The hours she kept were better suited to the big city.
Not that he had checked up on her or anything.
It was only happenstance that he’d noticed how late she’d stayed up last night. It took an entire crew of men, working long days in the blazing heat or the pouring rain, to keep the Circle P in the black. He needed to know the status of every task, every chore, each of the ranch’s thousand head of cattle before Luke and Sarah took off on their vacation. So, after dinner, he and Luke had locked themselves in the office. Midnight had come and gone before they finished. Passing by his old room on his way to Garrett’s, he’d spotted a spill of light seeping under the door and wondered if he should check on their guest.
Had she settled in? Was the bed comfortable? Did she want him to join her in it?
Yeah, like that was gonna happen.
Considering the particular shade of red Emma had turned when he’d offered her his room, she’d more likely slap his face than invite him in. Which was fine by him. Though he wouldn’t pretend he hadn’t noticed the soft curves under her jeans and jacket.
She had the kind of wholesome good looks that started a guy thinking of white picket fences. But he had no room in his life for that. Or a kid. Even a cute one like Bree. Not when he spent nine months out of the year traveling from one rodeo venue to another.
Clucking to the big gelding, Colt stepped into the wide aisle between the rows of stalls. Metal jangled as Star tossed his head.
“Easy, boy.” He ran a hand down the horse’s neck.
“Where are
we headed today?” Garrett led a brown mare out of a stall.
Thankful for the chance to get his thoughts back on track, Colt resettled his hat. “Thought we’d follow the fence line along Ol’ Man Tompkins’s property. The boys patched one hole. There’re probably others. We need to be on the lookout for his Brahmans, too. They’ve been making a habit of crossing onto the Circle P.”
“Good work for a mornin’.”
In the stillness of the predawn light, horseshoes rang against cedar floorboards that had survived a hundred years, and would probably be around for another century. Leading Star into the yard, Colt sniffed the still air and frowned when he didn’t smell bacon. “I need coffee before we head out. You?”
“Now you’re talkin’. Pregnant women and caffeine don’t mix. I’ve been sneakin’ off to Starbucks ever since the stick turned blue,” Garrett said as they crossed the yard to a hitching post just off the back patio.
“It’ll be worth it when you hold that baby the first time.” Colt clapped a hand on his big brother’s shoulder. “I can’t believe you had it in you, Bro.”
“Yeah, well. We have a long way to go yet.”
Colt hiked an eyebrow at the odd remark, but he was too busy surveying the darkened kitchen to give Garrett’s problems much more than a passing thought.
Overhead fluorescents buzzed and lit the room when he flipped the switch by the door. The red light on the coffeepot was the only sign of life.
Garrett clapped his hands together. “Looks like we’re on our own this morning.”
While Colt filled a couple of to-go cups and a Thermos, his brother pried the lid off a plastic container he found on the counter. “There’s plenty of pound cake. Want a hunk or two?”
Colt rubbed his stomach. What he really wanted was bacon and eggs. Some of his mom’s biscuits. A side of grits. He shook his head. He might have promised to give the new cook a chance, but it wouldn’t be long before the rest of the crew wandered into the house expecting a hearty meal. What would happen then?