by Tessa Layne
He spun on his heel and headed for the shower.
CHAPTER 8
An hour later, he’d washed off the grime, but hadn’t been able to wash off the sensation of their kiss. He could have taken himself in hand in the shower. Hell, he’d desperately wanted to. But not while the object of his desire was less than fifty feet away. He wasn’t that desperate. He’d changed into clean jeans and a t-shirt, and the rest of his crew began to wander into the great room, also freshly clean.
It had been grueling work today, removing cedars from the river bottoms. Cedars were water hogs, and they squeezed out native vegetation that created ideal territory for hunting. They’d replanted with wildflower seeds and a dozen types of hardwood saplings. A century ago, the river bottoms had been full of hardwoods, but over time cedars had invaded. At Ben’s suggestion, they’d started working to restore the river bottoms to their previous glory.
Jamey flew through the kitchen door holding a tub filled with ice and longnecks. “Enjoy some beers, gents. Dinner will be along shortly.” She threw a glance Brodie’s way. “I apologize for the delay.”
One of his crew, a younger guy named Ernesto, spoke up. “Dang, Brodie. How come you never brought us cold ones after a hard day?”
“’Cause I’m not your mommy, you sissy. Get your own damned beer.”
Ernesto grabbed a beer from the tub where Jamey had placed it on the hearth. “Thanks, ma’am.”
Jamey laughed. A musical laugh for such a spitfire. He’d expected something harsher, rougher. Not the kind of sensual laugh you enjoyed after a thorough fucking. Hers was the kind of laugh that drove men to their knees.
Well damned if she would do that to him. No Sir-ee. He could ignore the fire blossoming in his balls.
“You can call me Jamey, or Chef.” She smiled at Ernesto.
A tongue of jealousy snaked through Brodie’s gut.
“You got it, Chef.” Ernesto smiled back at her.
Oh no. This would not do. She was off limits to his crew. “No flirting with the help, Cruz,” he growled, scowling at the younger man.
Jamey narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re gonna have to work harder to insult me, cowboy. I’ve gotten worse burns from an easy bake oven.” Then she smiled reassuringly at Ernesto. “Don’t mind grouchy over there.”
“Hey. I’m not grouchy.”
Big Mike, another crewmember, let out a laugh. “Like hell you aren’t, boss. You been actin’ like you drank rattlesnake venom for breakfast.”
“Maybe he did,” Jamey added, “Given the state of the kitchen when I arrived.”
Brodie narrowed his eyes at her. “My lodge. My rules.”
Her eyes glittered as she smiled back sweetly. “Unless you can taste the difference between taco seasoning and dried camel testicles, you might consider a different approach with the help.” She winked at the rest of the crew and spun on her heel, disappearing back into the kitchen.
Laughter erupted from his crew. “Looks like you’ve got a fireball there, boss,” called Darwin from behind Big Mike, saluting him with his beer. “Who wants to play a round of cornhole before dinner?”
His crew filed out after a few more good-natured comments at his expense. Brodie stayed in the big leather chair, contemplating his beer. Fireball wasn’t the half of it. She… did things to him. Made him want to thump his chest when other men were around. And after the kiss they’d shared, he wanted to toss her over his shoulder, take her back to his man cave, and kiss her senseless. How was he going to manage six weeks working next to her without going insane? Or having his balls explode?
Heavenly smells wafted from the kitchen. Aromas that transported him right back to childhood and sitting in the kitchen watching Mrs. Sanchez prepare a meal. He relaxed his head on the back of the chair and shut his eyes, concentrating on every detail…
A hand shook his shoulder. “Wake up boss, time to eat.”
His eyes flew open to see Big Mike laughing down at him. “You were catchin’ flies there.”
Shit. Why the hell hadn’t Jamey woken him up? Shaking the fog from his head, he rose to join his crew at the long table. Jamey stood at the head, tapping her foot impatiently.
“Thank you all for your patience. For the sake of time this evening, I went with a taco bar.” She gave Brodie a sly smile. “You’ll find seasoned ground bison in the hot chafing dish, hard taco shells, and a variety of toppings. The chafing dishes at the end contain pintos and cilantro rice.”
“No camel testicles?” piped up Darwin.
She flashed him a grin. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
Damn. She had more balls then most men he knew. Respect for her shot through him.
She gestured to the center of the table. “There’s also a large chef salad, which you can dress yourself.”
The men enthusiastically offered their thanks. How in the hell had she managed to charm all his men when she hadn’t said more than three words to them?
She continued. “You can bring your dishes to the kitchen when you’re finished.” After shooting a glare at him, she marched back to the kitchen.
Before he could stop himself, he opened his mouth. “Aren’t you going to eat with us?”
She paused at the door. “The help doesn’t dine with the guests.”
Damn.
He deserved that.
He glanced around the table at his crew. They were all looking expectantly at him.
“What are you waiting for? Eat.” He glared at them and kicked back from the table grabbing his plate.
Quietly, they followed, piling food on their plates and sitting back down one by one. The silence grew heavy. Gone was the banter from previous evenings. The laughter, the insults.
Now they shifted uncomfortably, stuffing food in their mouths.
Damned good food, too.
Downright heavenly. Better than what she’d prepared for Blake and Maddie’s wedding. The bison was savory and spicy. The toppings, fresh. He grudgingly admitted, to himself at least, this was supremely better than pizza and cold cereal.
His crew cast furtive glances to each other, but no one was looking at him.
Finally, he slammed down his fork. “What? What’s the problem?”
“Well I’ll say it, boss. Someone has to,” Big Mike spoke up, looking him square in the eye. “This is the first square meal we’ve had, and we’ve been here near a month. You been barkin’ orders like a drill sergeant today. We’ve worked our asses off for you without complaint, and I for one don’t like how you’re treatin’ the lady.”
There were a few mumbled agreements and nods. Hell and damnation. Now he had a full-fledged mutiny on his hands. He stared at his men in the tense silence, embarrassment prickling at the base of his neck.
Shit. Blake and Ben always hired the crew. He only came along for the ride. Or went off to work by himself. There was so much more to handling a crew than he’d realized. If word got out that he was a bad boss, he’d never be able to hire another crew for anything. If he failed to handle this the right way, he might as well pack his bags and leave on the midnight train.
He scrubbed his face. “Aw hell, guys.” He blew out a breath. “I rode you too hard today, and that wasn’t right.” He looked at each of them again, making sure he held each of their gazes. “I’ll make it right. With you. With Jamey.” He nodded toward the kitchen. “Stick with me, and I’ll make it worth your while. Bonuses if we wrap up early.”
He had no idea if he even had the money for that, but what else could he say? If they walked out tonight, his goose was cooked.
They all looked at each other, then back to Big Mike. So he was their de-facto leader. How had he not seen that before? Mike nodded a fraction, and the rest followed suit. The breath that he’d been holding whooshed out, relief flooding him.
“’Nesto, did I see you dancin’ with some new lady at the Trading Post the other night?” Big Mike took over the conversation, and just like that, the table was alive with chatter again.
&n
bsp; Brodie kept his head down and shoveled in a mouthful of salad. Maybe he could find Ben tomorrow and have a conversation. Ben always had the answer to everything. Maybe he just needed to stay the hell away from Jamey.
The conversation died down, and one by one the men took their plates to the kitchen and said their goodnights. Soon, he was alone at the table sitting in the fading light. He could hear Jamey cleaning in the kitchen.
Had she even eaten?
She was entirely too skinny.
Pushing back from the table, he grabbed a plate from under the sideboard, and filled it with two tacos and a salad. Taking his dirty plate, and the filled one, he hesitated in the doorway, watching her for a moment.
Her back was to him and she was humming something quietly as she scrubbed one of the pans. The dishwasher beeped, and with the grace of a dancer, she flowed from the sink to the washer, unclipping the door with flare and yanking the steaming dishes out.
Enchanting.
He leaned on the entryway and couldn’t help but smile as he watched. He wasn’t sure how long he stood transfixed, but on one pass, she caught sight of him and stopped short. The air changed from relaxed to charged in an instant.
“Don’t stop on my account,” he drawled lazily. He offered up the tacos. “Here. Best damn camel testicles I’ve ever had.”
“Not hungry.”
“You gotta eat, Jamey. You look like you could blow over in a stiff breeze.”
Her eyes flared. “Since when are you concerned about my well-being?”
He pushed off the doorframe, bringing both plates to the island. “Since I’m pretty well screwed if my chef drops over.”
He could have sworn he saw a flash of disappointment in her eyes. Whatever it was, though, disappeared to be replaced by cool assessment.
He cleared his throat, suddenly nervous. “I… ah… I’m sorry about earlier. I was out of line.”
She nodded her acknowledgement.
Aww shit. He hated this. He should just talk to her instead of hovering like a star-struck teenager. “Jamey…”
She looked down, digging into her pocket, and thrusting a set of papers at him. “Here. These are lists of vendors and suppliers I need you to set up accounts with ASAP. You can’t afford retail. And I need the name of a local egg supplier.”
Disappointment deflated him a notch. He reached out and took the papers. “Jamey, I–”
“Stop gawping. Either pitch in or get out of my kitchen. I still have work to do.”
“Will you let me speak?”
She opened her mouth, then snapped it shut, crossing her arms and raising her eyebrows at him.
God, this woman would drive him to insanity’s edge. A slow smile lifted his mouth as he focused on her sensual mouth. She sucked in the corners when her brain was going a mile a minute, forcing her bottom lip to jut out the tiniest bit. Her mouth invited kissing.
Taking her in, all prickly and ready for a fight, set a slow fire burning in his groin. He’d be dreaming about her again tonight, for sure.
“Spit it out, cowboy. I don’t have all night.”
“I just wanted to say, I don’t regret kissing you. Either time.”
He spun and left the kitchen. But not before he glimpsed her mouth drop open in surprise.
CHAPTER 9
The bleeping of the alarm at four a.m. pulled Jamey out of a restless sleep. Groaning, she rolled over and slapped it silent. “You can do this, girl.”
She lay with her eyes shut another delicious moment, then shook herself and sat up, throwing the covers off the bed. Within seconds, she was dressed in her usual chef’s attire and stumbling down the darkened hall through the great room and into the kitchen. She threw on the lights, taking a moment to adjust to the sudden brilliance, and moved to turn on the coffee pot. Grabbing her favorite knife and a bowl, she set them on the island, and started pulling ingredients from the cabinet for fresh granola.
Although it had been years since she’d interned as a pastry chef, and been up before the birds, she’d always enjoyed the stillness of early morning. In Paris, it had been the only time of day when the city exhaled. She found herself slipping into an old familiar rhythm of movement and thought.
As her hands moved, stirring and chopping, she dissected the events of the last twenty-four hours.
I don’t regret kissing you.
That had been a shocker. She didn’t know what to think. Brodie irritated the shit out her. Worse than any of her brothers. At the same time, when she was near him, her body went on high alert and the air charged with undeniable sexual tension. And he’d brought her a plate of food. His small gesture touched her deeply. In all the years she’d partnered with Jean Luc, even before they’d become lovers, he’d never once made sure she’d eaten. Not once. She shook her head, tossing off the sting of regret. She was a new woman now. She’d made changes.
The Jamey before Jean Luc would have stripped Brodie out of his ass-hugging denims and tasted that heavenly body without a second thought.
The Jamey after Jean Luc?
Not so much.
Jarrod had warned her repeatedly to keep business separate from love, and to date outside her profession. But had she listened? Of course not. Not only was it impossible to have a love life when you practically lived at a restaurant, but did she ever listen to anything her brothers said? Hell no. If she had, she’d still be in Boston living with her parents and slinging slop at the family pub. Not that she ever slung slop. She was an artist. Even when it came to pub food.
But that didn’t matter right now. Her lack of sound judgment in men had made her beyond broke and struggling to start over. No matter how easy Brodie might be on the eyes, no matter how much their banter made her salivate, he was strictly off limits.
The beep announcing the oven pulled her out of her moping. Grabbing the sheet pan filled with granola, she placed it in the oven and set the timer, leaning her hip on the counter.
Radio.
She needed a radio in the kitchen.
That would help keep her mind off her problems and Brodie’s hot-as-sin ass. Adding that to her mental supply list, she set back to her prep work, humming as she sliced fruit. At least singing all the tunes she’d learned around the pub kept her mind from wandering into dangerous territory.
Time flew as she bustled back and forth to the dining table, filling the sideboard with yogurt, fruit, fresh granola, juice, and coffee. She set a chafing dish filled with toast in the center of the table. It scared her to no end keeping sliced glutenbomb bread in the kitchen. But by meticulously cleaning her utensils, and by using an entire stick of melted butter, along with a parchment-lined sheet pan, she felt confident she wouldn’t hurt herself.
She’d ditch the dangerous bread in a heartbeat if she could find a tasty replacement, but the gluten-free bread she’d tasted so far was… like cardboard building material. As soon as Brodie set up her vendor accounts, she could start doing breakfasts worthy of her training.
“Mornin’.”
She glanced up to find Brodie leaning in the doorway, much like he had last night. His hair was sleep-mussed, and there was a hint of a shadow along his jaw. Just the kind of roughness she’d love to feel scraping along her flesh. Her body zinged to life at the thought. No doubt about it, one taste of him was definitely not enough to satisfy her.
She dipped her head, focusing on scrubbing an imaginary spot on the island. “Everything you need is out on the sideboard. Bring your dishes in when you’re done. I’ll have a couple of coolers ready for you to take when you head out.”
“What if what I need is in here?”
She eyed him sharply. The lazy smile on his face gave every indication what he meant.
Ignoring the delicious tingles running straight to her pussy, she pointed to the dining area. “Out. I’m trying to run a kitchen in here.”
Laughing, he pushed off the door and disappeared… only to reappear a few seconds later, frowning. “That’s sissy food out there.
Where’s real breakfast?”
Oooh.
The nerve.
In a flash, she stalked around the counter, hands on her hips. “Sissy food. That’s what you call a gourmet breakfast made with real ingredients? Sissy food?”
His eyes flashed and narrowed. “Yeah. I do. My men need food that will stick to their ribs, not fancy, pretty stuff that makes you feel good about yourself.”
“You think that’s why I’m doing this? For an ego trip? You have a lot of nerve, buddy.”
“You have a lot of nerve serving this frou-frou to my crew.”
“It’s a helluva lot better than Cocoa Puffs.”
He leaned in closer. Close enough, she could glimpse the different colors of blue that made up his eyes.
“Where’s the real food, Chef? Where are the bacon, eggs and biscuits?”
“Where are my chickens? Fresh eggs and bacon don’t just magically appear out of thin air. Do you think for a second I will ever serve factory eggs and meat? This is supposed to be a high-end lodge. If you want slop, go to Dottie’s. I will not serve crap.” She spun on her heel, striding around the counter to make more coffee.
“You calling Dottie’s food slop?” His voice held barely restrained laughter. “I doubt she’d take kindly to that.”
Spinning back, she glared at him. “Unless you’re here to offer help, or something constructive – Get. Out. Of. My. Kitchen.”
He opened his mouth like he was going to say something more, but then shut it, and leaving her with a look that was part triumph, part laughter, returned to the dining room.
She slammed her hand on the counter, focusing on the sting to bring her temper back into check. She wasn’t an idiot. She’d grown up with five bottomless pits for brothers. She knew what big men needed to eat. But she’d be damned if she made excuses to Brodie. This was her kitchen, her call. Frou-frou, her ass. He wouldn’t know frou-frou if it hit him upside the head.
She pulled three loaves of bread from the cupboard, and launched herself into gathering sandwich fixings. For the next half-hour while the men ate, she worked furiously, pulling together roast beef and horseradish, turkey tomato and pesto, and ham with spicy jack cheese sandwiches. She piled together bags of chips, oranges, and today only, store-bought cookies. She’d make some this afternoon for tomorrow, provided Millie Prescott at the organic grocery had any eggs today. Yesterday she’d been sold out.