by Nunn, Mae
“Who did the cooking?” She smiled, suspecting what he was about to say.
“Who do you think?” His warm laughter echoed across the miles and chased the chill from her room. “Robby had a feeling I was coming all this way to ask a favor, and he let me walk right into a trap. He had twenty people to feed, and his caterer had come down with the flu. I was happy to step in, but he sure enjoyed being the one to deliver the news that I had to sing for my supper.”
“Did he agree to come down to Kilgore next week?” She held her breath, certain the celebrity chef already had plans.
“Of course. He said he’d make the trip even before I told him who your guests would be. Once he found out it was Rachel and Buzz, he said he’d be there with sleigh bells on. There’s just one catch.”
“What’s that?” She hid her eyes behind her hand, afraid of what was coming.
“He wants to bring a small crew to film some footage for the next season of his show.”
She shook her head. “Rachel will never go along with that.”
“If she won’t agree, then she won’t be on camera with Robby. And as much as they claim to love their privacy, Rachel and Buzz are publicity hogs.”
“Excellent point,” Gillian agreed.
“Anything taped now won’t air for months. Their marriage will be old news by then, and they’ll be lucky to squeeze some more press coverage out of it. Especially on a food channel with an entirely different fan base.”
“It makes sense, they might go for it.”
“What about you?”
“I think it’s wonderful!”
“But will you agree to let Robby film at Moore House?”
She took a moment to consider what the photographs and videos of the property would look like in the winter. The miles of outdoor lights her father and Felix had strung through the trees would cast a surreal mask, drawing the eye away from brown grass and barren limbs. The interior would be stunning with ivory, silver and ocean-blue, the colors Rachel had chosen for her wedding theme. And the thousands of blooming flowers Gillian had purchased to carry out her vision would be a living rainbow before the camera lens. The hard work of so many to restore the home was fresh and unscarred and it would be on display for the world to see.
“I would be honored to have his film crew here with us. I only wish there was an empty suite to offer.”
“He’s got a tricked-out bus that he and his crew use to tour the country, so don’t worry about rooms.”
Gillian heard a rush of noisy activity at the other end of the line.
“Hunt, are you still there?”
“Yes, but the desk just called a gate change. Everybody around me jumped up, grabbed their kids and carry-on bags and took off down the concourse as if the checkered flag had been waved at a stock-car race.”
“I guess you have to go, too, huh?” Her spirits plunged. He’d be on a plane for hours, traveling across three time zones and thousands of miles farther away from her.
The moment the door had closed behind him the day before, she’d begun to experience a deep ache, and it had nothing to do with her banged-up knee.
Her heart was hurting. Missing Hunt. “Yeah, I guess I’d better get going. It won’t be much warmer when I land in San Francisco, but at least it won’t be blowing snow.”
“Will you bring me a bottle of Sonoma County merlot and some Ghirardelli chocolate?”
“As long as you’ve got me working the holiday clearance table at the San Francisco airport gift shop, would you also like a loaf of day-old sourdough bread?” he teased.
“Yes, please. Oh, and a 49ers cap if you can find one.”
“You’re really pressing your luck, darlin’.”
“Could I ask for one more thing?”
“Name it.”
“Would you call me tonight?”
“I’d already planned on it, figuring you’d be dying to hear about the crying baby or the old man with bad breath who’ll probably occupy the seat beside me for the next seven hours.”
“Thank you again for doing this for me, Hunt. You’re an amazing man with a giving heart.”
“Aw, shucks, ma’am.” He dragged out the words in his best Texas drawl. “My motives aren’t entirely altruistic. There’s a win in this for me if I play my cards right.”
“How’s that?”
“I’ll earn the favor of the woman I love.”
“You already have my favor.”
“I want more than thanks and gratitude, Gillian. I want you to love me right back, and more than anything.”
Her mind went into turmoil each time he spoke of love. She not only shared his feelings, she truly trusted him more than anyone in her life. So why was it impossible to put one word in front of the other and tell him that?
“I don’t know what to say,” she whispered honestly.
“Say you’ll keep an open mind. That’s worked out well so far.” There was more noise in the background. “Listen, I’ve gotta go. Call you later?”
“Please.”
“Merry Christmas, Gilly.”
“Merry Christmas, Hunt.” She pressed a key to end the call.
“I love you right back, and more than anything,” she told the empty room.
* * *
HUNT BOARDED THE crowded aircraft, shoved his carry-on bag overhead and climbed into the middle seat in economy class he’d been lucky to get at the last minute.
“Excuse me, sir. Are you Hunt Temple?”
He glanced to the aisle where the flight attendant had paused from her work of closing storage compartments and checking to ensure that seat belts were fastened. She smiled to encourage his response.
“Why, yes, ma’am, guilty as charged.”
“Would you collect your belongings and come with me, please?”
Without giving him the opportunity to question her instructions, she moved away. Hunt shrugged at the passengers around him and climbed back into the aisle.
“I’m already in trouble, and we haven’t even pushed away from the gate.”
To the sound of snickering, he grabbed his bag and headed toward the front of the plane, wondering what he’d done to be singled out like an errant schoolboy.
“Let me take that for you, Chef Temple.” The uniformed woman he’d been following reached for his canvas bag. “You’ll be much more comfortable up here.”
Another flight attendant invited him to take one of the empty first-class seats, then offered him a hot towel and a mimosa.
“Welcome aboard, Chef Temple.” She gave him a sunny smile. “I’m Dorothy. Molly and I recognized you when you passed through the cabin, but we wanted to check the manifest to be sure. We try to take care of our VIP guests when we can.”
“It’s awful nice of you ladies to look out for an old cowboy.” He exaggerated his drawl to make them smile. Women outside of the South especially enjoyed hearing his Texas accent.
“Chef, you’re neither old nor a cowboy, but we love the effort just the same.”
He relaxed into a seat without another passenger at his elbow. “Santa paid me a visit this year after all.” He stretched his long legs and sighed with relief.
“We’re sorry you’re not home with your family today, but Molly and I will do our best to give you a comfortable trip.”
The two attendants went about their business and left him to pull his favorite black Stetson down over his eyes, fold his hands across his belt buckle and doze off.
Suddenly, Hunt’s head snapped up, sending his hat flying to the floor. A child shrieked somewhere in the cabin, and he reflexively grabbed for the armrests as the 767 bounced hard against a rough sky.
“It’s okay,” a female beside him reassured, patting his arm to draw his attention from the turbulence. �
��You’ve slept through the worst part already. We’re almost past it now.”
“How long have we been in the air?” He was groggy from deep sleep.
“Over an hour. You were so hard gone that you missed breakfast, but I’m sure they’ll bring you a tray if you’re hungry.”
She retrieved his Stetson from the floor and passed it across the empty seat between them.
“Thank you kindly,” he said, and swiped at the brim with his sleeve.
Once the hat was safely back on his head, Hunt sat up straight, caught the attendant’s eye and signaled for something to drink. Then he cast a glance toward the Good Samaritan who just happened to be an attractive brunette. Based on her designer clothes, he’d bet she could afford the full price of her first-class ticket. A déjà vu moment pricked at his brain, until he realized that had been the same assumption he’d made about Gillian, and he’d been wrong. He mentally flogged himself for being judgmental.
“Happy holidays, ma’am.” He politely offered his hand, and she accepted it, her grip confident.
“Merry Christmas,” she responded.
“So we’re not being politically correct. Good.” He relaxed his spine again. “I get so tired of that nonsense.”
“It’s enough that we’re traveling today. It’d be silly to pretend it’s not Christmas,” she agreed.
Dorothy brought them each a cup of coffee and placed a basket of fresh muffins and a bowl of berries on Hunt’s tray.
“If you’d prefer something more, please get my attention. I kept a plate of eggs Benedict warm for you, just in case.”
“Anytime you want a job on terra firma you just holler, and I’ll find you a new home, Ms. Dorothy.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, Chef Temple.”
“Chef Hunt Temple? From that cooking show?” the brunette asked.
His eyes widened, amazed at the attention. “That’s twice in one day. I should travel more often. Folks back home don’t seem to understand that I’m a big celebrity.”
“Back home is Texas, right?”
He nodded, his mouth full of banana nut muffin.
“Temple.” The brunette seemed to be puzzling something as she squinted, checking him out more closely. “I’m Brenda Shaffer. I’m originally from San Francisco, but I got my master’s in marketing from UT a few years ago. I attended an unforgettable lecture on European history by a Dr. Temple. Any relation?”
“Good gravy.” Hunt rolled his eyes. “When I tell my brother—after all my efforts to build my own career—that my real claim to fame is being related to Cullen Temple, he’s gonna laugh out loud.”
“Dr. Cullen Temple. That’s him. Texas may be a big state, but it’s a small world.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Hunt agreed and raised his coffee cup in salute.
“So what’s taking you to San Francisco on Christmas, Chef?”
As much as he wanted to polish off another pastry and fall asleep again, it would be rude. She’d not only recognized him, she’d been a student of Cullen’s, so he’d have to behave like a gentleman. Or he’d be in the doghouse with Alma.
Hunt gave her the Reader’s Digest version of the reason for his trip, carefully avoiding all names.
“You must really love this woman, if you’re jetting across the lower forty-eight states to do her a favor.”
“I never said my friend was a woman,” he insisted.
“It wasn’t necessary to spell it out. The tone in your voice and the admiration on your face filled in the blanks for you.”
“Okay, I’m busted. She’s someone very special to me.”
“Is she aware of that? Have you told her?”
“In roundabout ways. I’m not sure she’ll be one hundred percent receptive, so I haven’t laid all my cards on the table.”
“In other words, you’re beating around the bush.”
“If I’d wanted to be badgered about my love life, I’d have stayed home with my brothers today,” Hunt said with a smile.
“I’m a believer in straight-shooting. Most women are, truthfully. We’re just afraid of running men off early in the deal by declaring ourselves too soon. We have to sit quietly and pretend we’re not dangling the bait.”
“That reminds me of something my daddy said years ago. He told me datin’ is like fishin’.” Hunt ticked the points off on his fingers. “You’ve gotta be patient, keep your tackle box full of lures, jiggle the line every now and then to keep things interesting, and never try to set the hook until you know it’s all the way in her mouth.”
Brenda’s brows shot up “Her mouth?”
“I meant it, in its mouth. The fish’s mouth.” His response was sheepish, apologetic.
“When you get around to telling your lady friend that you love her, don’t repeat the fishing metaphor.”
“Not very romantic, is it?”
“Not even a little bit.” Her dark eyes lit with a smile. “But funny.”
They spent the rest of the flight exchanging amusing stories. Hunt kept his tales impersonal in case someone listening posted what they’d overheard on some social media site.
On the other hand, Brenda was more than willing to offer up details about her home, family and career. By all accounts the lady was somebody important in the Madison Avenue world of advertising, a subject as foreign to Hunt as making mayonnaise from scratch was to Cullen. But Hunt was grateful for such an entertaining distraction. She kept his mind off the bumpy ride as they crossed the Rockies, and had him laughing when he’d normally be gripping the armrests with rigid white knuckles.
They’d just finished French vanilla frozen yogurt and freshly baked oatmeal cookies when Dorothy and Molly began to prepare the cabin for landing.
Hunt spun the hour hand of his watch back in time. “I can’t believe we’re here already.” His only plan for the evening was to take a cab to his hotel where he’d hang out until tomorrow morning when it was time to meet with Gabe.
“Thank you for making it a pleasant trip. I’d have been miserable sitting here alone with only the games on my cell phone for distraction from the turbulence.”
The pilot asked everyone to stay seated a few moments longer, until they’d come to a complete stop at the gate.
“I seriously doubt you’d have been either miserable or alone from the way those two flight attendants have kept watch over you.”
He craned his neck to see where they’d gone.
“Is that right? I didn’t notice.”
“That’s because they were sitting quietly, pretending not to be dangling the bait.”
They were next to deplane.
“May I offer you a ride, Hunt? My car is in the parking garage.”
“Thanks, but no. A friend is meeting me,” he lied.
Brenda stood and accepted the full-length silver fox fur coat that Dorothy brought from the closet. Hunt watched as Brenda slid her arms inside, pulled the silky pelts close and tossed her chestnut hair over the collar. She reached into the alligator handbag that matched her shoes and withdrew a small white card.
“If your lady friend is not a hundred percent receptive, as I believe she will be once you get up the nerve to speak your mind, you give me a call.”
He accepted the card and touched the brim of his hat as she turned away.
Hunt sat down, stared at Brenda Shaffer’s contact information and waited until the plane was empty before venturing through the exit and out onto the concourse. He glanced around, saw no familiar faces and tossed the card into a nearby trash can. Gillian Moore already had him hooked more permanently than an eighteen-pound bass on the last day of a fishing tournament.
And Gillian was all the woman—and all the trouble—he could handle.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“WHOA! SLOW DOW
N. Slow down.”
Hunt tried to calm Gillian over the phone, but she was as close to losing it as he figured she could be.
“Take a deep breath and then start over. I caught the part about the wedding being canceled but give me the details again at a lower decibel level.”
Gillian blew her nose and hiccupped before responding.
“Rachel and Buzz got into a fight during their Christmas open house. The party was one of those big deals they throw at their Hampton estate with their kids and neighbors and local celebrities coming and going all day. Anyway, Buzz consumed a little too much mulled cider and let it slip that they’ll be married before the week is out. The person he spilled the wassail to happens to write for Entertainment Magazine. When the guy cozied up to Rachel for the details, she threw what you’d call a wall-eyed hissy fit and told the guy hell would freeze over before she’d make it legal with that idiot Buzz.”
“Are you sure she wasn’t just saying that to throw the writer off the scent?”
“No, Rachel’s serious about canceling. She called me herself a couple hours ago with the news. They’ll pay the bill, of course, but we’ve gone to all this planning and work expecting this would be our publicity launch, and it’s all going to fall flat.”
“Maybe not, Gilly. I’m sure we can turn this situation around. I’ve got all night to brainstorm before I meet with Gabe in the morning.”
“Oh, Hunt!” She was in tears again. “I’ve been so selfish, I hadn’t even stopped to consider all the trouble I’ve put you through in the past forty-eight hours. I’m so sorry,” she blubbered.
“First, my darlin’, you didn’t put me through any trouble. This was all my idea, and I’ve done it voluntarily. We’ll consider it part of my Christmas gift to you, okay? No harm, no foul.
“And, second, you’ve got to get past the apologies and the panic, so we can make this work to your advantage. Remember the day the wrong trim was delivered, and we talked about turning lemons into lemon cheesecake? Well, this is the same thing on a grand scale. There’s got to be a way to salvage it. Maybe in the light of day Rachel will be more willing to listen to reason.”
“Even if she changes her mind, she’s lost the element of surprise that was so important to her. She’ll never have the ceremony here now that her secret is out.”