by Nunn, Mae
“There will be plenty of time for that. I’d be forever grateful if you could run interference with my father when he starts in about the construction delays, at least for the first night.”
“I’ve got you covered.” He nodded with certainty. “And why don’t you let me take care of dinner tomorrow? You meet their flight in Dallas and when you get here, I’ll be available to help with the grand tour and their first meal, Texas-style.”
There was a dangerous glint in Hunt Temple’s eye. She hoped they wouldn’t arrive at Moore House to find a side of beef on a barbecue pit in the front yard.
* * *
CAR DOORS SLAMMING and loud barking announced the arrival of the newcomers. Hunt took one last glance at the work he’d done with Alma’s help, drew a curtain closed and made his way to the terrace. His curiosity about Gillian’s parents would have to wait, because he had eyes only for the stunning blonde escorting two strangers and a dog from the parking area.
A dog?
A huge black dog with a mop of curly hair loped up the steps. Its pink tongue was the only distinguishing feature in the twilight as it cut like a racehorse from one point of interest to another, investigating at will.
“Heel,” a gruff male voice commanded.
“He’s okay, Dad. Let him wander.”
“I believe it’s safe to presume you are Mrs. Moore.” Hunt extended his hand to the lovely woman who could only be Gillian’s mama. “But who is this guy?” The dog was sniffing his boots with great interest.
“That would be Cooper,” Gillian’s father answered, also shaking hands with Hunt.
Gillian made introductions and then explained that James and Meredith Moore had brought along their standard poodle that was perpetually in need of a haircut, making him resemble a Portuguese water dog.
“It seems we’re going to be a pet-friendly hotel.”
“Honey, I’m sorry, we should have asked.”
“It’s okay, Mom, really. Mi casa es su casa, which makes it Cooper’s casa, too.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Casa is Spanish for home.” Gillian smiled at Hunt, and he sent her a quick wink. “You’ll catch on fast, trust me,” she assured her mother.
“Well?” Gillian swept her hand toward the mansion. “What’s your first reaction to Moore House?”
“It’s spectacular,” Meredith complimented the structure, and then took in the view of the private lake. “I see why you fell in love with it at first sight.”
“I want more detail on why this place has been on the market without a buyer for so many years.” James sounded skeptical.
“Sir, I’m well acquainted with the details, and I’ll be happy to share them with you over dinner.” Hunt deferred to Gillian. “Ready to give them the grand tour?”
“Such as it is, yes,” she agreed and led the way.
Just inside the door Hunt had set up a table to serve cocktails.
“May I pour you a glass of wine?” He offered the label for the inspection of Gillian’s father, who nodded curt appreciation for the award-winning California vintage.
Hunt made a mental note to replace the bottles he’d taken from Cullen’s collection but probably with something easier on his wallet. He removed the cork and poured expertly, aware that Gillian was watching him closely.
“You did that like a pro.” She accepted the crystal stemware.
“I paid attention during sommelier class. It was more interesting than turning potatoes,” he said, reminding her of the day she’d poked fun at his Cordon Bleu credentials.
“We were relieved when Gillian said you’d accepted the executive chef’s position,” James shared as he sniffed his wine. “Having you on board will lend credibility to Moore House as we establish ourselves in the first few years.”
Hunt waited for Gillian to steer the conversation, unsure whether or not her parents were aware his contract was only short-term. It wasn’t his place to share the details, though, so he played along.
“Shall I show you the work that’s been done so far?” Gillian changed the subject and began her guided tour through the rooms on the main floor.
She pointed out architectural details Hunt had never noticed, even though he’d assumed he was the expert on Pap’s place. Her knowledge of the work that had already been done and the work that was still to be accomplished before the holidays was extraordinary. It wasn’t necessary for him to run interference with Gillian’s father; she was entirely capable on her own.
The realization caused heat to wash over Hunt, and he recognized the warm discomfort for what it was.
Shame.
While he’d slept peacefully at night, she’d been awake studying and analyzing every detail, and certainly every penny spent. She was a competent businesswoman, and here he’d believed he could run her off simply by shaking her confidence. He’d convinced himself that his support mattered to her, but she could do it all without him.
And without the approval of her father, if necessary.
As they moved toward the dining room, Gillian began to make excuses for the mess caused by the masonry work still in progress. Her flow of words ended when she noticed the curtain, which was really a couple of bedsheets, precariously strung across the entryway. The dog poked his head underneath and then settled on the floor as if waiting for the big reveal.
“Hunt? What’s this all about?” Gillian’s brows quirked at the surprise.
“Your daughter bravely left dinner up to me,” he explained to James and Meredith. “I figured the least I could do was serve you your first family meal right here at Moore House.”
With a little flourish he swept the curtain aside. Gillian followed her parents into the space that had still been filled with construction materials when she’d left hours before. If she hadn’t covered her mouth with her hand, the delighted gasp might have become an excited squeal.
Hunt’s heart melted.
“You made it sound as if it was a wreck in here,” Meredith commented to her daughter.
“Oh, Mom, it was an awful mess. There was rock and dust everywhere, and the wall above the fireplace was only half-completed.” She linked her arm with Hunt’s and gave him a smile that caused his insides to lurch. “This is all Hunt’s doing.”
“I had a lot of help from our stone masons, and my brothers did the cleanup. I finally found a use for those guys.”
Hunt placed his hand over Gillian’s and led her to the table covered with white linen and set with his own dear mother’s best china and silver. He seated Gillian as James seated his wife, and then Hunt took the empty chair for himself. The mismatched sheets that covered the entry to the kitchen were pushed aside by Cullen, dressed in makeshift waiter’s garb, as he stepped into the room holding a serving tray just as he’d been taught.
By his little brother, of course.
This was Gillian’s dream, and he could give it to her tonight. And tomorrow, he’d see about finding his own dream.
CHAPTER TEN
CANDLELIGHT FLICKERED.
Shadows danced on the unpainted walls and freshly grouted stonework.
To Gillian, the aroma of recently sanded wood floors was as heady as Hunt’s masculine cologne. The cozy and quiet atmosphere in the cavernous room was amazing, but she had come to expect amazing from Hunt.
After the endive salad, she excused herself and made a quick trip to the kitchen where she found Alma prepping plates for the main course. Cullen was still in the dining room regaling her parents with stories of growing up in a house full of boys, so she helped sauce the perfectly grilled veal chops.
“Shoo, Ms. Gillian.” Alma made sweeping motions with her hands. “Get into the dining room before Hunt catches you touching the plates and wrings both our necks.”
“He is a little funny about
people messing with his food, isn’t he?”
“He gives Mr. Cullen a hard time over the obsession with books, but each of my boys has his own brand of OCD. When Hunt was still in high school, he threatened to eviscerate his brother McCarthy for putting ketchup on a glazed duck breast. Now that was funny.”
Gillian snickered and gave Alma a quick hug. But before she rejoined the others, she whispered, “Alma, forgive me for underestimating you when Hunt first suggested I hire you to be my chef.”
Alma waved away the apology. “I am not a trained chef like Hunt. I am just a cook with a lot of years’ experience feeding the Temple family.”
“The experience you have can’t be taught in a fancy French school. Hunt cooks from talent, but you cook from love.”
“Thank you, Ms. Gillian,” Alma accepted the compliment, and then pointed toward the curtain. “Now, go!”
“Yeah, go on ahead,” Cullen agreed as he entered the kitchen, his tray filled with empty plates. “I left little bro on the hot seat, but he’s doin’ a fair job of holding his own.” He smiled and gave Gillian a thumbs-up.
“That’s quite a tale,” her father was saying to Hunt when she returned to the table.
“We wish it was just a tale, sir. Unfortunately the details I shared with you are true, but I grew up hearing a lot of embellishment from the folks of this town. So take my version to the bank and take the rest with a grain of salt.”
Cullen came out again, moving about the table with the main course.
“Were you embellishing that first day about when you said local Native Americans have tried to lay claim to the property?”
“Oh, no, that business about the Caddo Nation is a hundred percent accurate.” Cullen just had to put in his two cents’ worth. “Enough artifacts have turned up during excavations in the area to prove they were here centuries before the white men. Like most tribes, they don’t have any legal rights to the land they were driven away from, but that doesn’t stop them from staging a sit-in every now and again. You’ll see.” He winked at Gillian.
“I don’t care for the sound of that,” James said, concerned.
Gillian glared at Hunt over the linen napkin she used to dab her lips.
Hunt took the hint. “Sir, my brother’s yankin’ Gillian’s chain.”
“Am not,” Cullen protested. “Every square inch of Texas was inhabited by somebody else until the Spanish Conquistadors came onto the scene in the seventeenth century. At one time, France, Spain and Mexico all laid claim to this land before the Republic of Texas and the Confederate States were formed. It wasn’t until after the Alamo and the Battle of San Jacinto that it belonged to the settlers. And even then, they had a long row to hoe to hang on to it.”
“Are there legal ramifications that my daughter hasn’t considered?” James said to Hunt.
“Not any more than there are in your neck of the woods,” Cullen interrupted again. “The Virginia Indian Territories were inhabited for thousands of years before European colonization. You really can’t blame Native Americans if they kick up a fuss now and again. Protest just comes with the territory.”
“Thanks for the history lesson, professor. You’re excused,” Hunt muttered to his know-it-all sibling.
“This meal has been amazing.” Meredith changed the subject. “And I’m most certain there’s a wizard on the other side of that curtain whipping up dessert. But I’m going to have to take a rain check, or ask for a doggie bag. We’ve had a very long day, and it would be nice to settle in to the hotel where we’ll be staying.”
Gillian stood and both men rose, as well. “Come with me, Mom.”
“Hunt, will we see you tomorrow?”
“You’ll see me every day. I may be the executive chef, but I’m also part of your daughter’s crew. If she wants it done, I do it.”
“Well, then, good.” Meredith smiled, as lovely as Gillian.
The two ladies left the dining room with the unconventional-looking poodle in close pursuit. Hunt watched them take the grand staircase to the second floor, grinning because he knew what was waiting at the top of the landing.
“Something funny?”
Hunt wiped the grin off his face. “Not so much funny as happy. Your daughter’s gone to a lot of trouble so you and Mrs. Moore will be at home here. I’m sure you’ll both be pleased.”
“She’s always worked hard.” James scowled, brows drawn together as he stared in the direction the two women and the dog had gone. “Even with her head in the clouds, Gillian accomplishes more than most people I know. I just hope that, when it’s all said and done, she won’t bankrupt us over this decision to come to Texas. There were perfectly good properties closer to home, but no. It had to be her way or no way.”
Hunt studied Gillian’s father, searching for signs of his daughter beneath the hard exterior. She was definitely a chip off this old block, albeit a kinder, gentler chip.
“Mr. Moore, I’ve always staked my claim to this place because it belonged to my grandfather. But all those years I was all talk and no action. I planned and schemed, but I never did anything to make it happen. Then your daughter came along, smart and decisive, and she jumped on this property like a chicken on a June bug. And she made it happen. There’s a lot to be said for going after what you want.”
“This is more akin to going over Niagara Falls in a barrel. Maybe she should have started smaller, been less ambitious.” James gave a disapproving shake of his head.
“Sir, forgive my impertinence, but if you’re not confident in Gillian’s plans, why are you bankrolling her?”
“She’s my daughter,” he answered quietly. “And I love her.”
“I’m not sure she’s aware it’s that simple.”
“Of course she is.” James folded his napkin and placed it beside his empty plate. “I have to get our bags from the car. When Meredith calls it a day, she rarely changes her mind.”
“Sounds like her daughter.”
“Oh, yes. Gillian is her mother’s child. She didn’t get anything but the color of her eyes from me. We’re not the least bit similar, as you can probably tell.”
Hunt waited for James to smile, acknowledging that his comment was tongue-in-cheek. But he didn’t. The man seemed to have no idea that his daughter was opinionated, tenacious and driven, her father made over.
* * *
“HUNT, THANK YOU for everything you did last night. Mother was so impressed.” Gillian’s voice drifted from the cell phone speaker as she shared her parents’ reaction to the country-chic suite upstairs.
As he listened, Hunt stepped into a favorite old pair of Lucchese boots. He tugged the legs of his starched jeans down smartly, checked to see that his plaid dress shirt was tucked in neatly and then appreciated the effect in the full-length mirror. At the moment he seemed more like a cowboy than an executive chef, but that image had become part of his allure in the fine-dining business. The reason he’d been dubbed the Cowboy Chef.
Every famous chef had a signature. And while Hunt was building a reputation for his skill in the kitchen, his Texas drawl and boots had become his trump cards. Today he was dressed to play his ace in case that’s what it took to get an offer from the premier steak house in Manhattan. His agent had done the legwork by setting up the meeting, and now it was Hunt’s job to move the deal into negotiations.
“Hunt, did you hear me?”
“Yes, of course, sorry. I’m dressing and have to be out the door in a minute.”
“Is there any chance you could bring some of Alma’s sopaipillas with you?”
He picked up the cell and punched off the speaker feature. “I don’t have the time, but Alma will be glad to bring them over. As much as I hate to do it, I have to fly to New York for the day. I’ll be home very late this evening.”
“Oh.” There was disappointme
nt in the single word. “The walk-in is being delivered, and I just assumed you’d be here to oversee the installation.”
“I’d planned on it, but something’s come up. I’ll call Karl on the way to DFW and ask him to keep a close eye on the kitchen. And I can stop by on my way in from the airport tonight to check on how things went, though I don’t want to wake your folks.”
“Hunt? Is this trip about a job offer?”
“It’s too soon to say. I’m going up to talk to Rudy Owens about the direction he’s taking his steak house chain next year. The flagship store is in Manhattan, and I want to see for myself how it operates.”
“Sounds like the perfect opportunity for you. Good luck.” The encouraging words contrasted with her flat tone.
“You and I have a contract, Gillian. Moore House can count on me to stay the course no matter what comes out of today’s meeting.”
“Moore House appreciates the reassurance. Have a safe trip.” She ended the call.
The excitement he’d been enjoying since he had spoken with the Manhattan restaurateur wilted faster than spinach on a hot skillet. He’d let the prestige of the invitation overshadow his gut sense that going to New York would be wrong, akin to cheating on Gillian. But that simply wasn’t the case. There was nothing personal between them. Not yet, anyway.
And she should put the money she was wasting on an idle chef to better use getting ready for a holiday season opening at Moore House. Even the name had stopped creeping him out. Hunt had begun to accept the fact that Gillian’s vision and drive were transforming the old wildcatter’s mansion into a boutique hotel worthy of royalty. Pap would be proud. And one day the gossip might finally die down for good.
Maybe it would be best if he got out of Gillian’s way and let her succeed without his involvement. Because as long as he stayed in Kilgore and associated with Moore House, the local folks would assume it was all his doing, not Gillian’s. That might have appealed to him a few weeks before, but in this morning’s light, it seemed downright deceitful.
Hunt glanced at the bedside clock. He had to get started on the two-hour drive to DFW where he’d catch his flight, though he’d prefer getting a root canal to getting on a plane. The cell phone was still in his hand. It would be so easy to punch the redial key, get Rudy back on the line and say he’d reconsidered, wasn’t interested.