by Tessa Layne
By the time the men started bringing in their plates, she’d stacked two coolers by the back door with enough food and drink to last them until dinner.
Brodie was last in. “Jamey…”
She held up her hand, shooting him a glare. “You’ve got plenty of food to last the day. Dinner will be at six, and if you want manly food for breakfast, get those accounts set up.”
He stood across the island with his arms crossed over his chest, assessing her through hooded eyes. His biceps stretched the cotton of his shirt, bringing the outline of his hard muscles into bold relief. She forced her eyes away before he caught her drooling.
“It doesn’t have to be this way.”
Her eyes shot back to his face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You. Me. We could try being a team.”
“You don’t know the first thing about running a kitchen.”
He sighed, nodding. “You’re right, I don’t.” He opened his mouth to say something else, then snapped it shut, shaking his head. “Never mind.” He grabbed the coolers and left without a backward glance.
She’d won that round, but the victory somehow felt hollow.
She couldn’t team up with him, could she? How could she team up with someone who didn’t respect her skills as a chef? As an artist? She’d tolerated that more times than she’d cared to, over the years. She certainly wasn’t going to accept it in a kitchen where she was supposed to be calling the shots.
In the meantime, though, she had more important things to worry about. Like how in the name of all that was holy was she going to figure out how to make a decent gluten-free biscuit?
Three hours and six disasters later, she was no closer to answering the question. Hot tears of frustration pricked her eyes as she tossed yet another rock hard batch of drywall into the trash.
It rankled her to the core.
Not just the failure, but the reality that she could no longer work with flour. Make magic with it. She’d just have to keep at it. Learn how to make magic a different way. And the food waste pissed her off. An operation like this should have a few hogs. Although she wasn’t sure that what she’d just tossed was suitable even for hogs. But some of the finest green restaurants in California had achieved zero food waste through composting and raising their own meat. There was no reason with all the space on the ranch that the Sinclaires couldn’t be doing the same. The practice would make them a destination spot for foodies and locavores from all over.
As Jamey wiped down the counters, she added hogs to her list of items to bring up with Brodie. But in the short term, she’d have to solve her biscuit problem. If the men wanted biscuits, then by God, she’d give them the best damn biscuits they’d ever had. And until she figured out what she was doing, that meant going to Dottie.
She hated to admit it, but the woman made biscuits that rivaled her own. Flipping off the lights, she stepped out the back door to where she’d parked Brodie’s truck the previous afternoon.
CHAPTER 10
Fifteen minutes later, she pulled into the gravel parking lot next to Dottie’s Diner. Jamey understood the appeal. In many ways, the diner functioned like her family’s neighborhood pub back in Boston. Folks came in to share the news, have a bite, and get a lift to their day. The diner was no different.
Steeling herself for the triumphant look in Dottie’s eyes when the Cordon Bleu chef humbled herself to beg for biscuit batter, she pushed open the door. Fortunately, she’d timed her visit perfectly and the diner was quiet, with only a few men at the counter.
“Jamey?” The man in the cop’s uniform slid off the stool, approaching her.
She immediately smiled in recognition. She’d spoken with him at Maddie’s wedding. A tall man, about Brodie’s size but leaner, and with light brown hair and light hazel eyes.
“It’s Travis, right?”
He nodded, taking her offered hand and eyeing her quizzically. “What are you doing in town?”
“Always the officer, I see.”
He flashed her a grin. “I’m in the business of paying attention. You here for a visit?”
“More or less. I’m here for about six weeks, helping Blake and Maddie get their hunting lodge off the ground.”
His eyes lit up at the confession. “Great. That’s great. Maybe I’ll see you around then?”
“Of course. Take it easy, Travis.”
She gave him a smile and scanned the diner for Dottie. She must be in the office. Wiping her suddenly sweaty hands on her chef’s pants, she marched back to the door marked ‘Office’. Nothing about this conversation would be easy or pleasant. Knocking on the door, she turned the handle and leaned her head in. “Dottie?”
The older woman wheeled around, not disguising the look of surprise followed by suspicion that settled on her features. “Jamey O’Neill. I assume this isn’t a social call?”
Yep.
Not going to be easy at all. She plastered a bright smile on her face. “How’s it going, Dottie?”
“Just dandy. To what do I owe the honor of a visit from the great French chef? Come to critique my pie?”
“Now Dottie, you know I think your pie crust is great.”
The older woman flattened her lips and let out a little huff as she swiveled back to her desk, effectively dismissing her.
Gritting her teeth at what she knew she needed to say next, Jamey slipped into the office and shut the door behind her. “I… ah… was hoping you could help me with a problem I have.”
Dottie swiveled around in her chair. “You think I can help you with a problem?” She threw her hands up in the air. “Land sakes, the sky is about to fall.”
Jamey bit back the retort on the edge of her tongue. If Dottie turned her down, she was screwed. Gulping and smiling, she continued. “I don’t know if you know this, but I’ve agreed to come down for six weeks to help Blake and Maddie get the hunting lodge running.”
Dottie narrowed her eyes at her. “I thought that was Brodie’s set-up.”
She nodded. “Well, it is… but it’s been a bit rocky.”
Dottie’s featured softened a bit. “Don’t I know it? That boy is headed for a whole lotta trouble if he doesn’t get on the straight and narrow.” She shook her head, tutting. “But I tell you, underneath his bluster is a heart of gold. He’s had a tough time of it.” She looked up sharply. “And he’s by far the best looking of the bunch.”
“Riiiiight.” She’d just ignore that last comment. “So, I’m here to help get things running. But I think Brodie and I could use your help.” She wasn’t above playing on Dottie’s love of the Sinclaire men to get what she needed today.
Fighting the gall at what she was about to do, she plunged ahead. “The oven at the lodge is brand new and hasn’t been calibrated. I got it on a waiting list, but it’s going to take a few weeks. The men love your biscuits, and with the oven being wildly inconsistent, I don’t want to risk ruining their breakfast. If you’re willing, I’d like to arrange to purchase four dozen biscuits from you every day we have guests, until I can get the oven business sorted out.”
There.
She’d done it.
She hadn’t told a bald-faced lie like that since she was thirteen.
Dottie’s eyes lit up with glee, then immediately narrowed. “Are you going to try and pass my biscuits off as yours?”
Hell yes.
She let her eyes go wide and shook her head, putting her hand over her heart. “Heavens no, Dottie. Chef’s honor.” Maybe she was laying it on a bit thick, but she needed those damned biscuits.
Saints forgive her for what she was about to say next. She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “But that’s not all. You know how things can get between Blake and Brodie?”
Dottie nodded sympathetically, all ears at the hint of juicy gossip.
“Well, Blake told Brodie he had to figure all this out on his own. And he’s determined to do it. But if word got around you were supplying Brodie with biscuits… well… it mig
ht be a point of… conflict between them. And for Maddie and the baby’s sake…” Silently apologizing to Maddie, she let her voice drift off, letting Dottie’s imagination to fill in the blanks.
Dottie sat tut-tutting, a frown pulling at her mouth. “I would do just about anything for that child. But I just don’t underst–”
“It’s only for a few weeks, Dottie, and it would be a help to everyone.”
Dottie shook her head, a full-blown frown now present. “I don’t know… I smell somethin’ rotten. I didn’t raise four girls only to have the wool pulled over my eyes by a skinny hoity-toity chef from up north.”
Desperation churned through her gut. “Dottie… please. You’re right. There’s more to the story… but I’m not at liberty to say. Please? Help me?”
It gutted her to beg this way. Especially to Dottie.
The silence spun out between them and her breath caught anxiously in her throat as Dottie stared her down.
After what seemed an endless wait, Dottie blew out a breath. “Fine.” She speared her with a blistering glare. “I don’t know what you’re playing at young lady, but the truth always comes out. In the meantime, you’ll have your biscuits.”
Relief whooshed out of her. “Thank you, Dottie. This means a lot to me. I really appre–”
Dottie threw up her hand. “Don’t need your gushin’. Let’s talk brass tacks. Twenty dollars a dozen.”
Leave it to Dottie to stick it to her. “That’s highway robbery and you know it. Why should I pay more than what everyone else pays? Twelve.”
Dottie raised her eyebrows. “That’s not all you’re payin’ for sweetie pie, and you know it. Fifteen.”
Damn.
“Twelve-fifty.”
“Fourteen and that’s my final offer.”
Dottie had her over a barrel. “You drive a hard bargain. Fourteen then.” She stuck out her hand to shake. The triumphant smile on Dottie’s face was as distasteful as the one she’d imagined on the drive over.
A half-hour later, she pulled up to the back door of the lodge, hoping that Brodie was back. The lodge didn’t have an outdoor grill or smoker, and with the plans she’d conceived while wrapping up her errands, they’d need to be purchased right away. With the right certifications, they could start selling smoked meats online. She also wanted to check the calendar for the next full weekend. If she could smoke the meats in time, she could try them out on the next guests. Passing through the kitchen, she paused outside the office door.
“Brodie?” She rapped twice and the door swung open to reveal a small office in total chaos.
Papers were strewn everywhere, and a laptop balanced precariously on what looked to be a pile of bills.
“What on earth?” She stepped in to catch the handle and process what she was seeing. She’d seen messy offices before, but this… it–
“What in the hell are you doing in my office?”
She whipped around.
Brodie stood blocking the doorway, eyes on fire.
CHAPTER 11
“I’ll ask again,” Brodie grated, working to keep his temper in hand. “What in the hell are you doing in my office?” First she invaded his kitchen, now his office? What was she going to do next to drive him crazy?
Her eyes widened in startled surprise. “I came to talk to you about some equipment to purchase, and to see our events calendar.”
His heartbeat grew loud in his ears. “Events calendar?”
“Yes. So I can see what’s going on?”
“There’s nothing to see. I tell you what’s going on.”
Her eyebrows rose at his raised voice, then indignation flickered across her face as she rolled her shoulders back. Damn, the way her face wrinkled when she was pissed. He fisted his hand at his side to keep from rubbing the creases between her eyes.
“I need to see when guests are coming… how many, and who they are… so I can tailor my menus. We have to look ahead. You can’t just spring things on me and expect me to make magic.” She lifted a stack of paperwork. “I can help you get this all organized. It won’t take much. You need a calendar on the wall, a receipts file, delivery file, inventory, payroll on your laptop, banking…” her voice trailed off.
God he hated lists.
Drove him nuts when people gave him a list. “I’m not an idiot.”
“I didn’t say you were. But this kind of chaos can mean things fall through the cracks and important bills don’t get paid… or clients get double booked.” A look of determination shone in her eyes. “Trust me. I’ve made mistakes before. Serious mistakes. You don’t want to run a business this way.”
The telltale flush of humiliation began to prickle at the base of his neck, spreading forward and further agitating him. He didn’t need chastising. Especially from her. He’d endured enough of that everywhere else in his life.
“I can run a business just fine,” he barked. “What I don’t need is your bossy mouth telling me how to do it.”
Her head snapped back as if he’d slapped her. Pressing her lips together, she stepped forward into his space, poking him in the chest.
Jesus.
She smelled like cookies.
“Let me tell you something about my bossy mouth, bucko.”
That it’s perfect for kissing?
She narrowed her eyes at him. “I’ve run a multi-million dollar restaurant. Until recently, I was one of the top chefs in Chicago. I’ve had successes and failures. And an office like this is a red flag.” Her eyes softened. “Keep your bedroom chaotic, not the office. Mine is.” She gave him a wry smile. “Bad things will happen if we don’t stay on top of things. I can help–”
Something in him snapped. “I’m not going to fail.” His voice rose a notch.
“Yeah?” She stood glaring at him, eyes full of challenge. “Then show me. Because so far all you seem to be good for is posturing.”
“I’m good for a helluva lot more than that, lady,” he growled.
The air charged between them. She felt it, too. He could see it in the way her breathing subtly shifted, and the way her tongue darted out to wet her lips.
He didn’t care how mad she made him, what he wanted more than anything was to fist his hands through her curls and find out if her mouth tasted like cookies, too.
His belly tightened at the thought of tasting her again. He leaned forward, unable to help himself. Recognition dawned in her eyes and she stepped back, putting what little space there was in the office between them.
“Then if you are, you need to get this office under control or ask for help.” She waved at the laptop. “We just need to enter the bills, put a calendar someplace, and…”
There she went with another list.
How in the hell was he supposed to remember everything she was saying?
“Are you even listening to me?” She poked him again. Harder this time, eyes flashing fire. In that moment, he believed she could call down lightning if she wanted.
“Oww. Yes.” No.
“Then, please, address this,” she swept her hand over the sea of papers. “Or you’ll sink both of us.” She narrowed her eyes, piercing him. “And I don’t want to sink. Now let me pass. I’ve got dinner to prep.” She pushed past him, and her footsteps faded.
His stomach twisted as he surveyed the chaos. He’d never admit it to her, but she was right. Blake and Ben had sat with him, and tried to help him set up a system, but he couldn’t keep the piles straight. No matter how hard he tried. It irked the hell out of him that he was in this position. But he was in no mood to fix it right now. Right now he needed to check in with the crew and sweat off his anger. If it looked like they could finish clearing tomorrow, he’d spend the evening dealing with the office and prove to Jamey and everyone else that he was fit to run the lodge.
He spent most of dinner head down, hardly tasting the food. Jamey made chili using the leftover meat from the previous night and brought steaming plates of buttery, cheesy cornbread to the table. The men devoured i
t as if it was their last meal.
He’d avoided meeting Jamey’s eyes as she moved in and out of the dining room, drowning in a sea of memories. His father’s hand beating him at age nine, calling him an idiot for mixing up the bags of alfalfa and oats. An angry teacher’s sneer in high school, calling him stupid.
Did Jamey think he was stupid?
His heart twisted at the thought.
He wasn’t stupid.
He knew it.
He just didn’t do books. And why should he? He was a rancher, not a librarian. The kind of stuff he was good at didn’t count at school. He could tell which way a steer was going to turn, and have the rope ready to catch him. He could fix anything on the ranch, and better than anyone else. He could see structures in his mind, and build them with no plans. So what if the letters sometimes floated off the page? He could still take care of things. Hell, maybe his father had clocked him one too many times in the head as a kid.
“Boss?”
Big Mike stood at the end of the table, eyeing him intently. The others had already cleared their places, and disappeared.
“We’re turning in. You need anything?”
Besides another hit on the head?
He shook his head. “Nope. I’m good. See you early.”
Pushing back from the table, he made a bowl of chili for Jamey, stacked his dishes and brought everything to the kitchen. Again, he hesitated at the door, watching her. She’d taken off her chef’s coat, and was furiously scrubbing pots in a tank top, her curls sticking out every which way from underneath her bandana. Her muscles rippled as she lifted and scrubbed.
He frowned at the way her elbow bones stuck out when she bent her arms. She could use a little more meat on her bones. But not too much. He admired the strength in her body. It… intrigued him. Made him want to run his hands all over it the way he’d run his hands over a horse’s withers, just to feel the muscles bunch underneath his palm. Seeing her in her element fueled a slow burn deep inside. The kind of burn that wouldn’t be satisfied with just a roll in the hay.