by Nunn, Mae
“Well, it’s high time you got out among the locals. When in Rome, as they say.”
* * *
GILLIAN COULD STILL feel the heat in her neck and face from Hunt’s kiss, and it wasn’t entirely due to being caught by her mother. Spending a day with the two of them would be way too normal. And normal was a condition she couldn’t get used to, especially now that Hunt was bound to go his own way after the holidays. Best not to let her guard down so low that her heart got bruised. She’d take a pass on the outing, and that would be that.
“I’m in,” Hunt enthused. “What time do you want to be on the road?”
“I checked the GPS, and it’s a little over an hour from here. If we leave at seven, we can stop for breakfast on the way and be there when the gates open.”
“I don’t think...”
“I have a better idea,” Hunt talked over Gillian’s objection. “I’ll make breakfast to go and you ladies can eat while I drive. How’s that sound?”
“I’m not sure...”
“That’s an offer we can’t refuse. I can manage a truck when I have to, but I’d just as soon enjoy the scenery from the passenger seat.”
“Then it’s a plan,” Hunt agreed, an endearing smile on his face as he conspired with her mother.
The two seemed pleased with their decision, though Gillian hadn’t said she’d go along. She considered her options. She could be a martyr and refuse on the grounds she was too busy. She’d spend the day butting heads with her father and end up regretting her decision to stay behind. Or she could be swept into their enthusiasm. What would one day hurt?
They looked to her for agreement.
“Okay,” she gave in. “But only if you make breakfast burritos with Alma’s handmade tortillas. Extra chorizo for me, please.”
“Extra everything on my order,” her mother chimed in.
“Done. And I’ll bring plenty to feed your husband, so he won’t be left out of the fun.”
Meredith waved away the concern. “I asked James to go with me, but he turned the invitation down flat. That man would much rather watch paint dry than be trapped all day at an antiques market.”
“Then he should be a happy camper with all the paint drying at Moore House this week,” Hunt observed.
“Now that everybody’s on board with the arrangements, I’ll get busy building my shopping list and let you two get back to...whatever it was you were doing when I interrupted.” She gave an exaggerated wink and left with Cooper at her heels.
Hunt checked his watch. “I’m meeting with a prospective head waiter this afternoon. This guy has experience as a line cook so he can double as kitchen staff when we’re shorthanded. He might even make a good chef one day, if you appreciate his food.”
Her spirit sank at the reminder that Hunt was already searching for his own replacement. He was being practical, but it was too soon for her to consider the possibility of losing the man who had become an important person in her life.
And in her heart.
“Can you stay a bit longer, Hunt? We should talk about what just happened.”
“You mean with your mother?”
“Well, yes, and what we were doing when she showed up.”
“And what was that? I don’t recall,” he teased.
She narrowed menacing eyes his way.
“Oh, now I remember.” He moved close, pulled her into an embrace and bent his lips to hers.
“Hunt, I’m not sure this is such a good idea.” Even to her ears it lacked conviction.
“Because somebody else might see us, Gilly darlin’?” He crooned the question, his voice a low rumble.
“No, because somebody right here in this room might get emotionally involved.” She stared into his gray eyes, telling him with her gaze what she couldn’t admit with words.
“Somebody right here in this room might already be emotionally involved,” he confessed. Was it possible he felt as vulnerable in this situation as she did?
“Exactly. And the possibility already exists that your career will take you in another direction very soon. Is it wise to go down this dead-end road?”
“So what if it is a dead end? Can’t we enjoy the journey for as long as it lasts? Ours is a demanding business. We work when the rest of the world eats, parties and sleeps. Sharing free time, such as it is, with another person in hospitality makes sense, don’t you agree?”
“It makes sense in my head. I’m not so sure my heart will agree once you make up your mind to leave.”
“How about you let me worry about what’s up ahead, and you worry about what’s right here, right now?”
“That seems pretty shortsighted.”
“Maybe so, but the here and now is really all anyone can count on. I’m just suggesting that we enjoy the moments we have together today and that we let tomorrow take care of tomorrow. Can we do that?”
While Hunt’s philosophy was appealing, it was also frightening. But what choice did she honestly have in the matter? She could encourage Hunt to pursue an offer and move on with his life, or she could accept things as they were and hope he stayed.
But she’d been planning, making notes and completing checklists since she was old enough to hold a pencil. Could she turn the most critical moments of her life over to chance? Was it possible to let love happen willy-nilly? She didn’t even have a section for romance in her planner!
Hunt took her lack of argument as agreement and lowered his mouth to hers.
As Gillian savored the hint of peppermint in his luxurious kiss, she accepted the fact that she was about to let tomorrow take care of tomorrow, knowing she’d eventually have to deal with the fallout.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
HUNT HARDLY SLEPT that night.
The doubt in Gillian’s voice had played over and over in his mind, like a fast-food jingle that wouldn’t go away. Something was warning her to keep distance between them, and Hunt suspected she should listen to her intuition. But he was busy trying to convince her to live in the present and let the chips fall where they may on another day.
In all honesty, her way made good sense while his was an emotional roll of the dice. Even Cullen recognized the difference between tenderloin and baloney, and he’d called Hunt on it last night.
“You think it’s smart to continue whatever it is you’re doing with Gilly?”
“And what is it I’m doing?”
“Come on, little bro. You may be able to pull the wool over that lady’s pretty eyes, but I see right through you.”
Hunt dropped all pretenses with his twin and came clean.
“I’m falling in love, Cullen.”
Hunt closed his eyes, ground his teeth and braced himself for the lecture that was coming. Cullen would recite all the objections that he could come up with on short notice. But Cullen was biased. He’d never experienced head-over-heels-love. Except for Joiner, whose high school sweetheart had lost her battle with diabetes during their senior year, the Temple men had limited experience with matters of the heart. How could they possibly understand the turmoil Hunt was experiencing?
After several quiet moments with no outburst from Cullen, Hunt chanced a peek at the face that was a mirror of his own. And his brother did the strangest thing.
He smiled.
“That’s great, buddy.” Cullen was sincere.
He reached out a long arm, hooked his hand behind Hunt’s neck and pulled him into a brotherly hug. They thumped each other on the back and mumbled in husky voices.
“Thanks, man. That cuts my freak-out quotient by half.”
“Why would you be freaked out?” Cullen’s eyes locked with Hunt’s. “Isn’t it about time one of us had a serious relationship?”
“Sure, one of us should do that, but I didn’t expect it to be me. Everything
about this is wrong.”
“Name one thing that’s wrong.”
“I’ll look like a big fat loser.” Hunt made an L shape with his thumb and forefinger, and held it to his forehead for a moment. “People are either gonna say I used Gillian to get Temple Territory, or they’re gonna say she gave me what I never could acquire on my own. Either way they’ll call me a loser. So much for shaking the stigma that goes with our name.”
“Are you going to pass up a special woman like Gilly just to rob the old biddies in Kilgore of a day’s gossip? The folks in this town have been talking about our family for fifty years, and we’ve never had any control over what they’ve said. It won’t matter if you settle down here or in Little Rabbit, Australia, you’re going to be a topic of discussion. Maybe for once you should capitalize on the notoriety instead of running from it.”
“I’ve never run from anything.”
“Haven’t you? Why’d you go to school in France when you could have learned everything that was important right here?”
“Le Cordon Bleu has the best reputation,” he insisted, well aware the school’s U.S. programs were equally well respected.
“Why’d you work all over Europe when the States have become such a great training ground?”
“Europe had better opportunities.” But he’d also passed up some great domestic affiliations.
“If that’s true, then why’d you take the executive chef job in the Caribbean when you could have been in Amsterdam, or better yet, Paris or Rome?”
“Seriously? You’d choose winter in any of those cities over the beach in Cancun?”
“So why did you quit after one season and come back to Kilgore?”
“Because even if my old friends don’t exactly welcome me with open arms, this is my home.”
“Exactly. This is your home and everybody knows you as Cullen Temple’s inferior twin, not the Cowboy Chef. Some of them feel like you left us in your dust, and you ought to spend some time mending fractured relationships. When you’re home, nobody expects or even wants you to live up to that exaggerated Texas persona. Home is where you blend in with the rest of the crazies in hats and boots.”
“But I enjoy being the Cowboy Chef and standing out in the culinary crowd. Is that wrong?”
“Nope. And every time you tie that white knee-length apron on over your Wranglers, you stand out among the cowboys and rednecks, too. Trust me. Nobody mistakes you for a forklift driver down at the Home Depot.” Cullen held his palms out as if to say I rest my case.
“You have the answer for everything, don’t you?”
“Not quite, but I do have a few that might make life easier on my little brother. Don’t worry about what people think or say, because in a hundred years, none of that will matter. But in a couple of generations, if Pap’s place is still up on that hill, owned by your grandchildren, I’d say you and Gilly did well for yourselves.”
“This isn’t about Temple Territory anymore, Cullen.”
“Yes, I realize it’s not, and that’s what makes me happy for you. That’s what makes it right, especially given your weird attachment to the place.”
“What do you mean, weird?”
“You don’t have to pretend with me,” Cullen insisted. “You never did. You may have fooled everybody else when you took to camping with Karl every weekend after Daddy and Mama were killed, but I was certain you two were over at Pap’s place.”
Cullen was right. Hunt had spent lots of nights in a sleeping bag beside his friend, sheltered in the courtyard beside the Caddo well. He found comfort in imagining that the souls of his parents were somehow nearby, that he wasn’t an orphan after all, that the Caddo spirits inside the well were watching over him.
And yet what he’d said to his brother moments ago was true. It wasn’t about Temple Territory any longer.
It was about the woman that he loved.
That night, Hunt tossed in his bed as he revisited over and over his conversation with his brother and Cullen’s blessing. Finally, in the morning light, though his future was still foggy, his emotions were clear and perfect, like sunrise over a field of bluebonnets. It was too soon to tell Gillian what was in his heart. He needed time to absorb it, and she needed time to catch up. But hours were in short supply, and they were flying by like a whirlwind over West Texas.
He had to make the most of the weeks ahead, and he’d start today. Gillian might be slow to cooperate, but Hunt recognized an ally in Meredith Moore. It was possible the girl who was melting his heart would refuse outright overtures, but Hunt suspected her mama would help him out.
* * *
IF SHE DIDN’T know better, Gillian would swear Hunt was hitting on her mother. The two of them had been behaving like high school lovebirds all morning. Hunt was so solicitous that it was sickening. While Gillian hauled herself into the shotgun spot, Sir Galahad handed her mother up into the truck and asked if Meredith was comfortable in the backseat. Then he complimented her on everything from the bandanna she’d tied over her hair to her sensible old boots. Gillian gagged inwardly as Hunt laughed out loud at her mother’s stories during the ride over to Canton, as if she were a stand-up comic.
In return, her mother giggled at his stupid puns over the items for sale and asked his opinion of every stick of furniture before she made a purchase. Their egos fed on one another like parasites. If Gillian thought she’d have to fend off Hunt’s attention that day, she had another think coming. She might as well have stayed at Moore House for all he seemed to care.
“Are you getting hungry or can you wait a while longer to eat, sweetie?”
Gillian’s head snapped toward her mother. Who was she calling sweetie? Guilt warmed her cheeks as her mother addressed her again.
“I figured we’d treat Hunt to a nice lunch, but I’m not sure they have anything over at those food trucks to compare with the amazing breakfast he brought us.”
“You’re too kind.” He flashed a grin toward Meredith. “Those were just ordinary scrambled-egg burritos topped off with some of the secret jalapeño salsa I perfected in Cancun.”
“If I offer to help out in the kitchen sometime, is there any chance you’d teach me your secret?”
“I’m sure I can be persuaded to give a lesson to a beautiful woman,” he agreed. They smiled and bumped shoulders.
“Oh, would you two knock it off,” Gillian snapped. “Mom, you’re a married woman, and you’re carrying on with Hunt as if he’s cougar bait.”
“I beg your pardon, young lady,” her mother said. “Just because we haven’t let your sulking spoil our day, that’s no reason to be rude.”
“I haven’t been sulking,” Gillian insisted. Had she? She looked to Hunt for confirmation. “Have I?”
He exaggerated a grimace. “I have to side with your mama. You have been kinda cranky since we left the house.”
“Well, what did you expect? I warned you last night that I couldn’t spare the time for a silly shopping trip.”
“And I suppose we should have listened, but you seemed downright eager to join us this morning,” her mother reminded her. “But we’re here now, so how about if we make the best of this ‘silly shopping trip,’ as you called it? Let’s split up so we can cover more ground, and we’ll meet at those food trucks in an hour.”
“That’ll work.” Hunt was quick to agree. “You head that way, and I’ll stick with Grumpy.”
Gillian elbowed him hard in the side and scowled.
“See?” he pointed out.
“I just have a lot on my mind,” she insisted as her mother gave her a quick peck on the cheek and set off on her own.
“Then let’s distract you with all this great stuff.” He swept a palm outward where row upon row of bargains waited to be discovered.
Hunt hadn’t been kidding when he’d said the reg
ional swap meet was a big event. There were acres of items. Everything from homemade wine to imported silver tea services to furnishings straight out of Martha Washington’s childhood home, if the hype could be believed. Within their allotted hour they bought two Shaker-style trunks that would double as side tables, and a set of Early American Windsor chairs for the dining room.
Gillian’s earlier irritation evaporated as they arranged to have their items delivered to the customer pickup area and then headed toward the aroma of grilled and deep-fried food.
“I can’t wait to find out what the food trucks have to offer,” she said.
There was a spring in Hunt’s step as they approached the lane of mobile restaurants. He caught Gillian’s hand and tugged her along.
“I must say I’m surprised. You actually seem excited to eat this stuff,” Gillian said.
“This stuff isn’t the prepackaged deviled eggs and chili dogs from the days of the roach coach. Now you can get gourmet cuisine made to order with all-organic ingredients. Most large cities have sanctioned areas specifically for this purpose now, and they’re doing big business. You’d be surprised how many chefs have opted for a truck over a brick-and-mortar operation.”
They approached a bright yellow panel-van with awnings raised over open sides and hungry people lined up three-deep at each serving station.
“Hey, I recognize this truck!” Hunt squeezed her hand tighter.
Large letters proclaimed the establishment Wings Across the World. The chalkboard menu offered deep-fried or grilled wings with a list of sauces that resembled the United Nations roster.
“It used to belong to a chef we called Jackpot. If he’s still the owner, I’ll take a half-dozen Thai and a half-dozen Creole with extra tabasco. Oh, and a jar of his pickled peppers to go. How about you?” Hunt asked Gillian.
She marveled at the childlike excitement that radiated from his face. He’d never been more handsome, and her belly quaked at the memory of their kisses the day before. What chances she might take with him right now, if only they weren’t in a crowd.
Gillian blinked to bring her mind into the moment—they were beside a yellow truck at an antiques fair, where her executive chef was actually excited about service from a deep fryer on wheels. But she had to admit, the smells emanating from inside were causing her mouth to water and her eyes to burn.