Cowboy in the Kitchen

by Nunn, Mae

  The despair that had invaded Gillian’s spirit on Christmas Day had been replaced with cautious optimism. If history was any indicator, a lot could still go wrong. But major-league talent was in charge of the recovery, and all she could do was hang on for dear life and enjoy the ride.

  * * *

  HUNT ARRIVED AT the mansion on Friday morning ready to rumble. He was in his element and in Pap’s place. It was a wish come true, just not in the way he’d imagined or planned. Though that was to be expected, since he’d never done any planning. This wouldn’t be happening if not for Gillian’s dreams, and all the hard work she and her folks had done to turn those dreams into reality.

  This day would be a one-of-a-kind experience that Hunt would never forget. And, if the opportunity presented itself, he had every intention of making it unforgettable for Gillian. But first he had to get through the challenge. The final show would be edited down to forty-eight minutes before airing, but the filming of the introduction, food prep, chef banter, judging and local color commentary would take up the better part of eight hours.

  He entered through the tent and quickly glanced around. Gillian had directed the housekeeping staff and the floral design team in reworking the ostentatious wedding arrangements into tablescapes more suitable for a wintertime dinner party. He made a mental note of one more talent she had up her sleeve and then made a beeline for the kitchen where the love of his life was laughing with the camera crew.

  “They won’t let me send out for a box of Krispy Kreme.”

  “Of course not, this is a food set.” Hunt nodded in understanding. “We’ll have retakes and leftovers all day long. They don’t want to spoil their appetites with doughnuts when there’s likely to be beef Wellington in the next hour.”

  Gillian handed him a cup of coffee that he didn’t have time to drink, but he deposited his knives on his workstation and took a sip to show his appreciation for her thoughtfulness.

  “I presume from that Cheshire Cat smile that you’re not even remotely nervous. The jitters have been gnawing at my insides since midnight,” she admitted.

  “Oh, no, I’m not worried about today. This is gonna be nothin’ but fun,” Hunt assured Gillian. He began the ritual of unpacking and laying out the knives he would need for the day’s competition. They were his secret weapons, his tools of the trade. Then he pulled a fresh chef’s coat from his bag, slipped it over the T-shirt he’d worn beneath his jacket and buttoned it up.

  “Chef, you look mighty handsome this morning.” Gillian’s eyes were shining.

  “That means a lot coming from the prettiest girl at the party.” While the others in the kitchen watched, he slipped his arms around Gillian’s waist, pulled her close and captured her mouth. To the tune of whistles and catcalls, he gave her a sample of what was to come when the day was done. When the kiss ended, he kept his face close to hers for a private moment. “I should have asked permission for that public display of affection in your workplace, boss lady.”

  “This is your kitchen, Chef. In here you call all the shots.”

  “You make it awful hard for a man to want to work elsewhere.”

  “That’s the plan. Now get busy and win one for Temple Territory.” With the help of her crutches, Gillian navigated past Robby’s crew and out of sight.

  “Temple Territory?” he mused under his breath. “I don’t know if that was a mental relapse or a good luck charm, but either way, winning this one in the honorable name of Temple is just what I plan to do.”

  The cooking was well underway when the crowd started to pour onto the property to be the local cast for the show. The impromptu party atmosphere could be felt everywhere. When filming moved outdoors among the townspeople, they took to the script like regulars. Puns about runaway brides and grooms with cold feet erupted spontaneously, making for great television.

  Robby was an expert at ad-libbing before the cameras, and he became the choir director leading the rowdy bunch of Texans in a chorus of jokes. Not to be outdone, Gabe came up with one funny story after another as he cooked, making it impossible to determine where the truth ended and the yarn-spinning began.

  Hunt kept his focus on the food and let the other chefs have the limelight. He’d gladly concede the popular vote as long as he took home the title for Temple Territory. Tonight, when the outdoor lights were turned up, Gillian would reveal her marquee and officially declare Moore House open for business. It was kind of her to let him have this last day in the kitchen while he could still think of it as Pap’s place.

  A ruckus outside announced newcomers. There was applause, laughter, chatter and then quiet as muffled voices spoke to the crowd. Then the loudest applause of the day so far broke out, and Hunt sensed the stakes had just been raised. Was there a chance Rachel and Buzz had shown up after all? Or had the governor in Austin heard about the goings-on over in Kilgore and decided to get some face time before the television cameras?

  A blond head bobbed in the doorway of the crowded kitchen, and then Hunt noticed James wearing a wide grin. Yep, there had been an important turn of events, and they were trying to share the news.

  “Entertainment News is here,” somebody announced.

  “It’s about time,” Robby and Gabe chorused without even looking up from their prep stations, never slowing from their work. “Who’d they send?”

  “Some young correspondent,” a familiar voice explained as the person edged through the overcrowded room. “Some fellow who was hanging out in New Orleans, and offered to drive over and give a little class to this story.”

  “Emilio, my friend!” Bobby called out. “I should have guessed it was you when the excitement outside didn’t last long.”

  “Grab an apron, and we’ll teach you how to make gumbo,” Gabe taunted Emilio, a world-renowned chef from Louisiana.

  Hunt hoped one day he’d earn the right to join in the irreverence that existed between these men. They were considered royalty, the “old-timers” in a television genre that had erupted in popularity during his adulthood.

  Emilio laughed at their jabs. “We’ll see if you two have more to offer than talk after I’ve tasted your cooking.”

  He examined a fingerling potato that Hunt had painstakingly turned. “Nice cuts,” Emilio complimented. “My money is on Team Temple.” He patted Hunt on the shoulder and the nerves he’d told Gillian he wasn’t feeling kicked into overdrive.

  “Keep working, my friends, time is running out. There’s a hungry mob under that tent waiting on the hors d’oeuvres course as we speak, and I’m about to join them. Don’t disappoint us.”

  Hunt remembered that the competition on the reality show had been stiff, but this was another level of stress entirely. What had he been thinking to bring these food megastars to East Texas to annihilate him before a home crowd that included his family and the woman he hoped to marry?

  * * *

  GILLIAN HAD BELIEVED a celebrity wedding would be the perfect vehicle to put her hotel in the social spotlight. But what was going on within the confines of the property today had caused a bigger fuss and had brought more attention to the hotel than she could ever have imagined. And it was all thanks to the man who felt he’d let his family down by not making Pap Temple’s mansion his own while he had the chance.

  Gillian sat at the head table with her parents and Hunt’s brothers to sample the meals the three incredible chefs had created. If it had been physically possible, she’d have kicked herself for not asking Hunt ahead of time about his menu, as the tasting was blind, the food served without the chefs in the room to present their meals. The diners would pick the winner without bias for their favorite celebrity chef.

  Bless his heart, Emilio stepped up to act as the master of ceremonies as if he’d been invited for that purpose. He regaled the diners with stories of coming of age in television along with Robby and Gabe. He added how
gratifying it was to welcome and mentor talented new chefs such as Hunt.

  As evening fell, the food kept coming, and coming, and coming. One amazing dish after another was presented for tasting. The noisy diners became silent as they sampled and filled out the scorecards that were collected after each course.

  “When those delivery trucks showed up, I figured we had enough food to feed Cox’s Army. But I never dreamed there was so much variety among the volume. Seafood, beef, pork, every vegetable known to mankind...” Meredith observed, her cheeks puffed out as if she might explode.

  “It drives home the point that you don’t have to travel to Maine to enjoy fresh lobster or to California for the perfect wine pairing,” James pointed out. “Gillian, your restaurant will have all the visibility you hoped for and should stay booked solid between Entertainment News’s immediate story and Robby’s show that will air sometime next year.”

  “I haven’t had time to tell you, but they’re going to rush this episode through production, so it’ll air in the summer to give brides-to-be some new ideas on what to serve at their receptions.”

  “And to give their fathers hope that the money won’t be all for naught if the couple changes their mind.” James raised a cheerful toast.

  As if his raised glass was a cue, the lights dimmed, and the ceiling of the tent as well as the trees outside glowed to life with hundreds of thousands of tiny white lights. The setting was a perfect companion for the Texas night sky sprinkled with too many stars to count.

  Emilio once again stepped to the microphone.

  “And now for the pièce de résistance, dessert. No canceled wedding would be complete without a canceled wedding cake.”

  He paused for laughter as three serving carts were wheeled out.

  “For the final portion of the competition, we’re going to bend the rules a bit and let each chef share a personal story behind how he chose to reconstruct a layer of the bride’s cake.”

  Robby told of the first trifle his mother had taught him to make, and how basic the ingredients had been but how he might never again eat anything as fulfilling as that arrangement of lady fingers made with his own hands. So he’d cut the wedding cake into bite-size pieces, soaked them in sherry, layered them over traditional English custard and topped them with berries and fresh whipping cream.

  Gabe shared the story of the birth of his first son, and how, after many hours of labor and then a C-section, his wife was craving chocolate cake with fudge icing. The doctor hadn’t wanted her to eat such heavy food right after having surgery, so Guy had gone home and made a dark chocolate mousse with whipped milk chocolate topping and crushed Oreo cookie sprinkles. So for his dessert he’d taken the chocolate layer of the wedding cake, crumbled it into the food processor with whipped cream to create a thick mousse and topped it with crushed peppermint bark intended as gifts for the wedding guests.

  Gillian’s hands were shaking for Hunt as he stood beside his cart waiting for his chance to speak. Instead of beginning when the spotlight was turned his way, he stepped out of the circle of attention and made his way toward the table where she sat with her parents.

  “Please come with me,” he instructed as he stepped behind her chair and helped her stand. He walked slowly beside Gillian, his hand cupped beneath one elbow as she navigated the packed room on her crutches, wondering why he hadn’t mentioned this beforehand. It must have been an idea that occurred to him at the last minute.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, may I present your hostess for this event and the owner of this incredible boutique hotel, Moore House, Ms. Gillian Moore.”

  When the applause died down, Emilio once again spoke into the microphone. “Cooking all day has fried your brain, my friend, and you misspoke. The name of this fine establishment is Temple Territory.”

  Hunt shook his head. Emilio was wrong. This would be terribly embarrassing for Gillian and disastrous for him at the exact moment he had something life-changing to ask. He’d correct the mistake immediately.

  “With all due respect to you, the name of this hotel is Moore House.”

  “Not according to the brochure.” Emilio held up a glossy pamphlet, and everyone else in the room did the same. “Or this.” Emilio held up the cocktail napkin from beneath his drink, and everyone else in the room did the same. “Or that.” Emilio nodded and a guest at a nearby table handed Hunt a freshly folded cloth napkin. Hunt shook it open and held it to the light. The white monogram against the white linen clearly read Temple Territory.

  The same guest handed Hunt a copy of the brochure and a cocktail napkin and both confirmed what Emilio had said: the name of the property remained Temple Territory.

  Hunt’s raised eyes were brimming with tears.

  Gillian held her breath, praying the timing of her surprise wasn’t more than he could publicly accept, because he still had work to do.

  And there was one last thing to be revealed.

  He exhaled the emotion that seemed about to overtake him, glanced one last time at the items that bore his family name, and then laid them on a nearby table. He reached both open palms toward Gillian, and she eagerly slipped her hands into his.

  “All day long I assumed I was the one with a secret.” He tipped his head toward the dessert on his cart. “I hate to throw a competition, but as you can see, my layer still looks like the top of a wedding cake. It was baked with the finest ingredients, iced with tender care and decorated with yellow roses, a symbol of strength, courage and enduring love in our great state. I couldn’t tear this cake apart when it should be used for the purpose it was intended, to celebrate timeless and unending love.”

  Hunt went down on one knee, and the room erupted. If Gillian hadn’t had crutches to lean on she’d have collapsed on the floor beside him.

  “I don’t have a ring to offer you right now, Gilly. But only because I know you and you’ll want to pick it out yourself.”

  The crowd broke into laughter when she nodded agreement. She couldn’t squeeze words past the lump in her throat.

  “And you don’t have to answer me on the spot, because we haven’t even discussed this, and you’ll want time to think it over. And you may not be too crazy about me asking you with the eyes of Texas watching.”

  Again he was right, and again she smiled and nodded, unable to speak.

  “But if you would consider being my bride and letting me be your executive chef for the rest of our lives, you would make me a very happy cowboy.”

  The first whoops came from Hunt’s brothers and Gillian’s parents. When Cooper added his bark of approval, the rest of the makeshift ballroom joined in the celebration.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  HUNT HELD GILLIAN close to shield her from the December wind. At the entrance to the property, the family gathered in the dark. His brothers, Gillian’s father and Felix tugged the cover loose and lifted it free from the Texas-size stone marquee. Spotlights hit the new landmark from every direction, and the small group caught their collective breath.

  TEMPLE TERRITORY was deeply etched into the finest Texas limestone, and the centuries-old rocks that had once been the exterior of the well were embedded in the base of the marquee and would forever remain part of Temple Territory.

  The Caddo Nation protesters erupted in applause.

  “I love you, Gillian Moore.”

  “Because of Temple Territory?”

  “In spite of it. You made me angry, and then you made me crazy, and then you made me see the light of day. You’re perfect for me. I adore you. I can’t wait to make you my wife.”

  “I love you, too, Hunt Temple.”

  “Because I want to stay?”

  “In spite of that. You fought with me, and then you mentored me, and then you showed me I can trust you with anything. Even my heart. Hunt, with you I can be who I am, only a better version. We’re good
together, and as long as your offer still stands, we’ll have the very first wedding at Temple Territory.”

  Hunt pulled Gillian closer and showed her with his kiss that he never intended to let her go again.

  “It’s strange, but this is not the way I pictured finding love. I always thought I’d work on my career and then later make the time for a relationship.”

  Gillian’s confession was almost an apology, but Hunt understood exactly how she felt.

  “I believe it was King Soloman who said, ‘In his heart a man plans his course, but the Lord determines his steps.’”

  “How true,” she agreed.

  “We’ll make our plans together from this day forward, Gillian. With divine help, our forever will go on between us and not around us.” Back up on the hill, beneath the huge tent, a country band struck up an Irish reel to celebrate Robby’s win.

  Hunt hardly noticed as he held Gillian close and hummed a Texas two-step in her ear.

  * * * * *

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  ISBN-13: 9781460322048

  COWBOY IN THE KITCHEN