Cowboy in the Kitchen

by Nunn, Mae

  “Or handcuffs,” he teased. “I was afraid the city permit office might sic the law on you, after the way you harassed them. You’re lucky Mac was able to get his commissioner buddy to smooth things over with them.”

  “That was a valuable lesson in small-town living. Don’t go scratching in somebody else’s sandbox, and if you do, be sure you have a friend with a shovel at City Hall.”

  She shook her head at her own stubbornness. He’d been right to tell her to ease off, and she’d been foolish not to follow his guidance.

  “But, Gillian, the most important way you’ve shown your appreciation was by being open-minded about the history of Temple Territory. You’ve kept the most well-known points of interest in place, and not only is that important to the integrity of the property, it’s important to my family.”

  He turned into the winding drive and drove up the hill to the empty parking lot at the rear of the mansion.

  Gillian chose her words carefully, shifting in her seat. “Hunt, I haven’t agreed with you on all those points of interest. But when something makes sense, adds to the allure of the hotel and doesn’t stray too far from my vision, I’ve tried to be flexible. Just look how well your Pap’s saloon bar cleaned up.”

  “I couldn’t believe you had that scarred piece of junk refinished, and moved front and center.”

  “That piece of junk is a fabulous example of Western Americana, and I recognized its value the moment I laid eyes on it out in the barn. If there hadn’t already been a good story to go with it, I’d have made one up!”

  “I doubt that Pap had many reasons for pride in the last years of his life. That beat-up old bar being transformed into a focal point for your hotel would make him very proud indeed.” Hunt nodded with a smile. “You warm my heart every time you rescue something of his, so don’t feel as if you have to do anything special to make the message official.”

  Gillian silently hoped that what she had up her sleeve would be enough to honor the old man who’d once called this place his home, and enough to make up for her deception. She was not a rule breaker. She’d lived her life asking permission in advance, but in this case, she’d have to ask for forgiveness after the fact.

  “Now that I’ve got this bum knee, how will I thank my parents? There won’t be any holiday gift shopping for me.”

  “You can always order something off the internet or from one of those cable shopping networks. There’s still time for UPS to get it here.”

  “That’s an option. But they deserve more than the cheesecake-of-the-month club.”

  “We’ll worry about gifts tomorrow. For now let’s get you upstairs to your rooms, where we can elevate and ice that knee.”

  “You don’t have to go to all that trouble. If you’ll dump me in the lobby, I’ll be fine until Mom and Dad get home from the lake.”

  “Just leave everything to me,” he insisted.

  Hunt scooped her out of the seat and carried her inside. He continued past the sofa she pointed to, easily mounted the staircase worthy of Scarlett O’Hara’s Atlanta home, and lowered Gillian onto the chaise longue in her sitting room. He put a pillow beneath her knees, grabbed the Sherpa throw from the foot of the four-poster bed and draped it over her lap.

  “I’ll be up in a few minutes,” he called from the door. She counted as his boots thumped down twenty-four steps and then fell silent, as he probably crossed the mesquite floor in the direction of the kitchen that was his domain.

  The spirit of Hunt Temple would forever be etched on her property and her heart. And she wanted it to remain that way. It was right. It was fitting. It was perfect.

  It was love.

  “Oh, my goodness,” Gillian muttered to herself, daring to say the words out loud.

  “I love him,” she whispered. Tears stung her eyes. “I love Hunt.”

  She pressed her fingertips to her lips as if to stop any further leaks of the admission that could never be recalled. Gillian shuddered over the revelation, even though it was a truth she’d known for weeks but had refused to recognize.

  She loved Hunt Temple.

  But the timing was all wrong. The throbbing in her head began to match the throbbing in her knee. Gillian leaned her forehead against the heels of both hands and closed her eyes. Nothing serious with Hunt could work out.

  They were star-crossed, doomed from the get-go. Weren’t they?

  She and Hunt wanted different things. She considered how often he’d paralleled their roles in the hospitality industry, the reasons why they were well matched, if only for the short term.

  Well, maybe they shared a passion for serving guests, but at this point, the logistics of their relationship were unstable at best. Her home was here in Kilgore, and would be for many years to come if she was blessed with success. As Hunt had proven over and over, his employment and his home could be anywhere. His talent was mobile and in demand. He had traveled half the world and didn’t seem inclined to settle for this small East Texas town again.

  But Kilgore was Hunt’s home.

  His family and friends were here. His roots were here. He always came back. Didn’t that mean this was where his heart wanted to be?

  Hope surged past the emotional roadblocks Gillian was putting up as fast as she could. Maybe there was a chance for the two of them to be together. Maybe.

  Gillian laid her head against the chaise, closed her eyes and let the medication do its work.

  * * *

  “HOW’D THE HOUSE hunting go?” Hunt asked James and Meredith when they arrived at Moore House just before sunset.

  “We found several rentals that we can afford, and Cooper was in hog heaven,” James reported.

  The big poodle raced gracefully from room to room on the main floor, as if he were running the bases in a ball park. The dog’s ability to turn on a dime without disturbing his surroundings was amazing. He definitely deserved a space to call his own, and the inside of a manor house was not the ideal location.

  Even so, being around Cooper made Hunt want a big dog of his own. But a big dog meant a big yard. Big yard meant big house. Big house meant big mortgage, and big mortgage naturally made Hunt consider Temple Territory and the commitment he’d shied away from all of his adult life.

  If he were honest, it didn’t bother him nearly as much as it once had to think of this place as Gillian’s. Hunt wasn’t just whistling Dixie when he’d told Gillian her gestures to maintain the history of the property honored his family, and day by day he realized that was enough.

  “We were able to reach the Realtor, and she agreed to meet us out there tomorrow,” James continued. “She said this is traditionally a slow time for lake rentals, and we can probably lock into a year’s lease at a good rate.”

  “Tomorrow, huh?” Hunt questioned.

  “Why? What’s going on?” Meredith’s mama-radar shot up. She glanced around. “Where’s Gillian?”

  “She’s going to be fine.” He held both palms out to assure Gillian’s parents. “She fell today when we were out shopping and banged up her knee pretty badly. We made a trip to the E.R., and she’ll be on crutches for a few weeks, but the orthopedic doesn’t believe she’ll even require physical therapy.”

  “Is she upstairs?” Meredith headed for the staircase with Cooper close behind.

  “Yes, ma’am. She’s probably asleep by now, but if not, she may be kinda goofy from the pain meds, so don’t be alarmed.”

  “Poor Gillian,” James breathed. “This is the last thing my daughter should have to deal with right now.”

  “Sir, that’s exactly what Gillian said, but I reassured her that, between the three of us and the staff, we’d get everything done.”

  “Under her close scrutiny, of course,” her father added with a smile.

  “Of course. She says she was mentored by the master o
f control.”

  “That would be her mother, all right.”

  “Sir, you do realize, when your daughter speaks of her mentor, she’s talking about you, right?”

  James opened his mouth and sucked in a breath as if preparing to argue. But he remained silent, mulling over what Hunt said. Could this be his first realization that he’d molded Gillian into a control freak? Or was it the thought of being his daughter’s mentor that stole his words? Father and daughter were so very much alike. Between the two of them, Moore House couldn’t help but be a success.

  “Hunt, would you mind excusing us for the evening? I’m going to go up and check on Gillian, and then I’ll take care of dinner for my girls.”

  “Of course, you should have some family time. Are you sure I can’t prepare a meal for you?” He’d already laid out the mise en place for chicken piccata.

  James shook his head. “You’ve done enough for one day, and we can’t thank you enough for getting her to the E.R. I’ll make us some grilled cheese sandwiches and open a can of tomato soup. That’s the only thing Gillian would eat as a child when she was sick.”

  “I’ve always associated grilled cheese and tomato soup with chicken pox, and now you’ve reminded me why that is.”

  The two men chuckled. “Thanks for taking care of Gillian today.”

  James gave Hunt a warm pat on the shoulder and steered him toward the door, as if he were a teenage date being dismissed for the evening. It was an odd-man-out sensation that shot sadness through Hunt’s heart. He wanted to stick around and be a part of their family. He could come clean about his feelings and ask to stay. But that would open a can of worms with James that Gillian might not appreciate.

  Nope, best to go on over to Cullen’s house and help decorate the miserable little Charlie Brown tree that Cullen had cut down for himself. In a few hours Hunt would call Gillian to check up on her, maybe even head over if she was up to company.

  “Drive careful,” James urged. “The temperatures are dropping, and there could be icy patches on the roads.”

  “Fortunately I don’t have far to go,” Hunt replied as he stepped into the freezing night air. “Call if you need anything at all. I’m only five minutes away.”

  But even the short drive to Cullen’s house seemed like a long road as it took him in the opposite direction from the woman he loved.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “WHAT DAY IS IT?” Gillian rubbed her temples, feeling like Wile E. Coyote after The Road Runner had dropped an anvil on his head.

  “Wednesday,” her mother broke the news.

  “Are you serious? I’ve been in this bed three days?”

  “For the better part of them, you sure have.”

  “Why did you let me keep taking those pills?”

  “Honey, after the way you cried Sunday morning when the medication had worn off, and you couldn’t even hobble to the bathroom, the orthopedist recommended we double your medication until the swelling subsided. Last night your knee seemed much better, so I took the dosage down again. Would you like to sit up and have some coffee and toast?”

  “What I’d like is to get into the shower and lose this three-day-old bed head.”

  Her mother didn’t attempt to hide a smile. “I’m sorry to laugh at your expense, but your hair has looked better.”

  “Please tell me Hunt didn’t catch me this way.”

  “No, of course not. He hasn’t been here since Saturday night.”

  Gillian’s heart crumbled like dried flowers. If he hadn’t bothered to check on her, how important could she really be in his life? Or maybe he was finally taking her words of rejection seriously.

  “Has he even called?”

  “You’ve spoken with him a half-dozen times.” Her mother smiled. “I’m not surprised you don’t remember. But he completely understood your stupor since he knows how hard you whacked that knee. I told him I’d inform him when you were in shape to receive visitors.”

  Gillian’s mother helped her to the shower where she sat in a plastic chair underneath the warm spray of water.

  “Sitting in a steam bath with a cold gel pack strapped to my knee makes me feel like an oxymoron in the flesh. Thanks for not letting Hunt visit me in this condition.”

  “All the thanks should go to your father. His quick thinking is the real reason we kept Hunt away from Moore House for a few days.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Karl Gates called Monday morning saying he’d received the permit to start work on the courtyard, and your dad instructed him to take care of the demolition that same day.”

  “So the well is gone?” She held her breath, suddenly fearing the response.

  Her mother nodded. “It’s been filled in and covered over as if it was never there. The odor is gone, too, so that space isn’t offensive anymore. Once a tile floor is laid, there won’t be a trace of the well left.”

  Even in the steamy shower Gillian felt a chill. The deed was done. Evil spirits hadn’t split the earth open or brought the roof down on their heads. Gillian shut off the water and eased to a standing position. Her mother wrapped her in a fluffy robe, helped her to a vanity bench and began to towel-dry her hair.

  “What about the stones?”

  “Karl’s men were able to chip away the mortar and save the rocks that were aboveground. They’re in the barn. Dad figured you might want to recycle them someplace else on the property.”

  “That’s a smart idea. I appreciate that Dad gave the go-ahead for me, and I’m glad I slept through it so I wouldn’t have regrets.”

  Meredith took the towel away from Gillian’s face so she could look into her eyes. “Did he make the right decision? You and I talked about it on several occasions, and you seemed certain. Karl said he got the same orders from you, or James would never have agreed.”

  Gillian hated the worry in her mother’s voice. She caught both of her hands and squeezed them tightly.

  “Mom, I absolutely believe it was the right thing to do. But Karl insisted Hunt would be upset when he found out.”

  “He’s already discovered it. It was probably best your dad handled that, too.”

  Gillian dropped her face into her hands. How much worse could this situation get?

  “Tell me everything,” she mumbled.

  “The two workmen who did the job on Monday filled in their wives about it, and by Tuesday morning it was Facebook fodder.”

  “So everybody in town has heard about it already?”

  “Basically, but let’s think this through. The property has been empty for decades, so it’s not as if there were guided tours pointing out the Caddo well. It was mostly legend, and once people get the word out that it’s gone, that’ll be the end of it.”

  “Have you spoken with Hunt?”

  “No, but your father has. He tried to mitigate the problem by taking responsibility for razing the well.”

  “Dad shouldn’t have done that, but I appreciate his intentions. This was my decision, and I’ll own the outcome with Hunt. Has there been any sort of local media coverage?”

  Her mother patted Gillian’s back, the only comfort a parent can offer in some situations.

  “Not so far. It wasn’t exactly a newsworthy event. The city granted the permit, so it’s a nonissue for the media. Even so, you have a Caddo sit-in at the gate, and they might be there for a while.”

  Gillian closed her eyes and let her chin drop to her chest. “Oh, Mom, what sort of chain reaction have I set in motion? When Rachel hears about this she might cancel the booking.”

  “There’s no reason to panic.” Meredith’s voice was soft and reassuring as she sat beside her daughter on the bench. “Rachel and Buzz have been the subject of gossip and paparazzi all their lives. A few protesters won’t make them change thei
r wedding plans, not when they’ve waited all these years to make it official.”

  “You’re probably right, but I have to do some damage control with them. And with Hunt, if he’ll listen to me.”

  “Why don’t you give Rachel a call and explain what’s happened? Remind her that you couldn’t take her out into the courtyard, because it smelled like a skunk crawled in a hole and died, which is probably true. She’s a businesswoman. She’ll understand.”

  “Rachel! I was supposed to talk to her about the menu two days ago!”

  “Hunt spoke to her and took care of everything.”

  He’d offered to take care of a lot of stuff for her before she’d destroyed that infernal well. Now she’d be lucky if he hadn’t sabotaged everything instead.

  “Since I’m lucid again, I’ve got to get into the game myself.”

  What should she do? The choices were limited. She could get in the bed and put her head under the covers, she could ignore the local fallout and hope for the best, or she could deal with the situation head-on like the hotelier she claimed she wanted to be.

  How would her father react in her situation? It was easy enough to ask him, but she knew instinctively by now. He’d make a call immediately, explain away the issue and offer the guest some unexpected perk to thank them for their continued loyalty.

  “I know what I need to do, Mom.”

  “How can I help?”

  “You can get me over to the chaise, find my cell phone and then make me a grilled cheese sandwich.”

  “With tomato soup?”

  “No, thanks. I’m not sick,” Gillian insisted.

  Unless worried sick counted.

  * * *

  “WHY DON’T YOU just tell Gillian you love her?” Cullen badgered Hunt.

  “It’s not that simple. Saying the words out loud won’t make our differences go away, and it’ll complicate things even more.”

  “You don’t know that for sure. Putting your feelings on the table—no pun intended—may be just what you should do to start moving forward again. Right now you’re hung in limbo, waiting for life to happen to you instead of taking the initiative like you’ve always done.”