by Anya Summers
Even if Mason remained a surly jerk, she wanted to stay. At least until she determined whether this was the right place for her or not.
Since she’d driven half the day, she’d kept the dinner she’d cooked for the staff simple. A family style supper of lasagna, salad, and rolls, with a peach cobbler for dessert. Emily met the lodge staff, the registration clerks, the bartenders, her wait staff and bussers, the maids. They had all peered at her curiously but had been friendly, including Alexander Hunt, the owner of Hunt Trail Rides that operated out of the Black Elkhorn Lodge Stables. Alexander was just this side of gorgeous, ruggedly so, with a warm smile and broad shoulders. He’d called her ma’am with an easy smile and seemed to be a throwback to a different time.
Yet, as she had served the meal, between the three mouthwateringly hot cowboys, Mason still stood out. Even with Cole and Alexander teasingly proclaiming their undying love—for her cooking. Just like the rest of the staff she’d met that evening had. Except for Mason. He’d barely spoken to her. He had stared with his intense caramel gaze, studying her every move, and kept her on a razor’s edge.
It was no wonder she was tired and her nerves were shot.
Her tiny cabin was charming. The exterior was rustic, fashioned with logs that were a burnished cinnamon. There was a small porch with two wooden chairs and a small table off to one side.
She could envision herself curling up on the porch with a hot cup of tea after a long day, looking out over the valley.
She shut the door and locked it. In all honesty, the cabin was about the size of her apartment in Los Angeles. Only here, she didn’t have any neighbors she could hear through paper thin walls shouting at one another. Here, it was quiet. Blissfully so.
The interior was small, as Mason had pointed out earlier. But she liked it, the homey nature of it. Emily didn’t need a lot of room. Maybe, if she ended up staying, and this became a permanent situation, she’d move into a larger space and adopt a dog. One she could hike the trails with in her spare time.
She smiled at the thought. If she was here past the trial run, she’d decorate the cabin a bit as well. Although, until then, maybe she could find a vase in town and put some flowers on the mantel above the fireplace to spruce up the utilitarian decorating. Inside on her left was a small eat-in kitchen. It held a miniature stove, minimal countertop, refrigerator that was a decent size for one person, and small pantry. There was an oak kitchenette table and two chairs.
Over on the right was a sitting area with a loveseat and matching chair in a navy blue pattern that made her dizzy if she stared at it too long, as well as an oak coffee table in the same golden cedar shade as the kitchen table and chairs. In the corner, next to a window that looked over the valley, was a decent sized flat screen television mounted on the wall. Finishing the room off was a fireplace that she could imagine would be downright cozy come winter.
The floors were hardwood. But she’d want to add a throw rug or two to help keep her feet from freezing.
Back through a doorway was the bedroom, where Mason had deposited her luggage earlier. There was a king-sized bed with a wrought-iron frame, a pair of nightstands and a dresser, all with that rustic feel. There wasn’t much space to move around, but it was nice, clean, and the mattress looked inviting. She also had a closet that held extra pillows and was large enough to store her luggage and any clothing she needed to hang. The bathroom could be an issue. It was pint sized. Large enough for a commode, sink, and standup shower stall, but she would manage.
Emily unpacked her luggage and stored her suitcases away, then took a shower so she wouldn’t have to first thing in the morning. By the time she climbed into bed, she would have bet she would drift right off, she was so tired.
Instead, she tossed and turned. Her brain must have short-wired on the long drive. Every time she closed her eyes, she imagined Mason, the hard set of his jaw, and firm line of his lips, moving over her skin. She pressed her thighs together at the low swirl of arousal pumping in her veins.
The man had not been nice in the slightest. And yet, here she was, imagining doing things with him. Naked, naughty, wicked things.
Why couldn’t her body get all ooey gooey over his brother, Cole? He was hot and alpha too, and nice to boot. Or Alexander, whose easy smile should have made her feel something more than appreciation.
But no. Her ornery hormones chose the one not even remotely good for her.
Emily gave up the pretense of trying to sleep after an hour of envisioning her new boss screwing her brains out. She’d lost her mind. That was all she could surmise. It made no sense that she should want that one. Why couldn’t her body get all quivery about Cole? Or, hell, the fellow ginger, Alexander, with golden amber eyes that made her think of a lion? And she’d heard that there were other men who worked at the stables under Alexander’s employ. Perhaps there would be one or two of those cowboys who would get her motors running and she could stop this unholy obsession she had with Mason. Maybe that was what had happened to her. She’d crossed the Continental Divide and it had short-circuited her brain patterns. So now her wires-crossed brain was sending her body the wrong signals.
Instead of getting some much-needed shut eye, she sat on the couch, curled in a blanket, with sitcom reruns playing in the background while she made some minor adjustments to the menu. She liked what the Elkhorn had to offer already. But Emily planned to spice things up a bit. Bring some of her West Coast dishes to the ranch, so to speak.
Then she made a list of supplies she needed for her cabin, which meant she had to figure out where the nearest stores were located. She suspected they were in downtown Jackson Hole, but she’d ask the other staff. There might be a place the locals went where she wouldn’t have to drive the forty minutes into town.
Emily worked until her eyes crossed and she drifted off to sleep.
The following morning, Emily met her sous chef. Tibby was a tall, lanky blonde with goth inspired makeup surrounding her jade eyes and piercings in her nose and above one eyebrow. An inky tattoo made of vines and thorns circled her wrist, yet she wore blue jeans and a pair of cowboy boots. The woman was a study in contrasts. She had her own catering business on the side, as well as an eight-year-old daughter, Arianna, which was why she couldn’t be full-time. Her schedule didn’t bother Emily in the slightest because she was excellent in the kitchen. They hit it off well, with Tibby responding to her commands without question.
“There are a few items I want to change on the menu,” she explained to Tibby, gauging her response.
She raised a brow in her direction and replied, “Have you cleared it with Mason?”
“Nope. But I’m the chef, he’s not. If he wants to come in here and tell me how to run my kitchen, then he can go shove it as far as I’m concerned. My kitchen, my rules,” Emily replied, drawing her line in the sand. Her sous chef had been here long enough that her reaction would help her determine, she hoped, Mason’s response.
Tibby smile conspiratorially, rubbing her hands together. “I like the way you think.”
“I figured you would. If you could start on prepping the usual dinner courses, I will work on the special for tonight. But first, I need to go see Mason in his office briefly,” Emily said, not having any difficulty stepping into the command position in the kitchen. It was part of why she’d been forced to leave La Vida—well, that among other things. Like discovering that the head chef had stolen her recipes and slapped his name on them.
“Sure thing. Faith should be in shortly and I will get her working on chopping vegetables,” Tibby replied.
“Sounds good. Be back shortly,” Emily said and headed out of the restaurant. In her hands, she held the file with the menu changes she planned to make.
When she noticed her hands were trembling, she gripped the folder more tightly. Emily could not show weakness before Mason. Somehow she knew, even though he and his brother were partners in this place, it was Mason she needed approval from. And if she displayed fear or came acr
oss as wishy-washy, he would end up with the upper hand in their working relationship and would run roughshod over her dreams.
It was up to Emily to seize what she wanted for her life. A motto she’d adopted some years back from a pastry instructor: begin as you mean to go on. She’d done that all throughout her career.
Emily believed in the menu changes. This was her way of establishing a foothold and her position. It was her way of letting him know that she wouldn’t be a wallflower for Mason to order about. He and the lodge might be paying her, but at the end of the day, she was the one doing the cooking. It was her reputation on the line.
The oak door to his office was open and she studied him for a minute without him being aware of her presence. His hat was absent. His hair stood up in golden brown tufted spikes like he’d been running his hand through it. Whatever he was studying on his desk had his full attention. His office was a good size. Not overly large or fancy, but Mason dominated the space. All the furniture, the mahogany desk and brown leather chairs, the matching book shelves behind his desk to the leather office chair he currently occupied, were merely accessories. He suffused the space around him. Made the room seem alive just because he was in it.
Handsome didn’t begin to describe him. The man was like the land here. Rugged, stark, with the succinct ability to leave her breathless. All the fantasies she had about him last night came rushing back and a blush spread over her cheeks. She had to get a hold of herself.
She knocked on the door.
Mason’s head snapped up at her interruption. His gaze zeroed in on her. Their eyes met and held. Thunder rolled, and lightning bolts of electricity flashed between them. Heat blossomed in her cheeks. Emily kept herself from fanning her face with the file, but just barely. His caramel gaze roamed her body from head to toe. And Emily felt her nipples perk up beneath her chef’s jacket. She shouldn’t be this attracted to him. And yet her body didn’t seem to care one whit about her wishes.
“Emily, come in,” Mason said, the command inherent. The low bass of his voice scuttled along her spine like a caress and made her toes curl.
She blew out a breath and approached, hyper aware that his gaze missed nothing. She sat in one of the leather chairs with his desk between them. She moistened her bottom lip and said, “I wanted to make you aware of some changes I made to the menu.”
She held the file out for Mason to take. When he reached for the manila folder, his long fingers brushed against hers. Shockwaves sparked through her system. She released the folder and yanked her hand away. Cursing herself, and her damn fool response to him, she smoothed her hand over her jeans. She stared at him as if nothing had happened. Daring him to comment. Mason’s hard gaze studied her, dissecting her actions briefly before he flipped the file open.
The firm slash of his lips curved down as he perused the file. “Emily, I’m not sure these changes are going to fly with folks around here.”
“But that’s just the point. The folks who come here aren’t from around here. I studied the area after our phone call. Many of the people who visit this area hail from Los Angeles, Manhattan, Boston, Chicago, and are fairly well to do. This is a menu that would appeal to them while keeping some tried and true favorites,” Emily explained.
“I’m not sure it’s the time for changes of this magnitude,” Mason stated, his features set as he dug his heels in.
She knew he would be difficult to work with, but still. Exasperated and somewhat furious that he didn’t want to give her the chance to prove herself, she asked, “Then why hire me? Seriously, Mason. If you want the original menu in place, you’d be better off with a local line cook you could pay much less than me.”
“The terms of the contract I’m willing to offer is for thirty days, with the possibility of entering a long-term agreement. Making changes like this—”
“I realize this position might only be temporary. But you promised me autonomy on the phone. Or was that a lie? Because if it was, I’m out. If you won’t deal with me fairly and honestly, there’s no point to us continuing our verbal sparring matches.” She clenched her hands into fists in her lap, mainly to refrain from launching herself across the desk and fastening them around his throat. The stubborn, mule-headed man was pushing her toward violence. He’d promised her free rein in the kitchen. It was one of the reasons she’d said yes and had completely moved her life up here so quickly.
“I don’t lie,” Mason snapped, standing. His eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched so firmly she was surprised he didn’t break a molar. Then he planted his big palms on his desk and leaned forward. The domineering stance was meant to intimidate her.
Nice try, buddy, but your threatening glare won’t work on me.
Never one to cower, she stood and imitated his response. Emily slapped her palms on his desk, cocked an eyebrow and said, “Really? Because you’re doing it right now.”
This close, she could count the thick eyelashes framing his hard eyes. He’d forgotten to shave today, and there was a wealth of dark stubble on his jaw a shade or so deeper than his hair. It made him infinitely more dangerous, and more appealing. She caught his scent, a spicy, sensual male one that beckoned her closer and made her want to rub her face in his chest.
She swallowed a deep breath and licked her lips.
The light in Mason’s eyes shifted. They darkened, filled with hunger. Became inherently more potent and much more devastating to her composure. They warmed. Emily felt an echoing liquid pull erupt in her body. Her gaze dropped to his lips. Up this close, they appeared fuller, more enticing. His stubble shrouded them and the thought of sucking on his lower lip, feeling the abrasion of his shadow beard upon her chin, caused tingles to flare along her spine. Heat swirled in lacerating waves. It drew her closer as if she were in a trance. He leaned forward.
Right before his lips brushed hers, he backpedaled and retreated.
Air exploded from her lungs and she rocked back on her heels. They glared at each other. Emily’s skin felt tight and three sizes too small.
“Change the damn menu if you want, but I want numbers on the new dishes. What they are selling versus the items from the original menu. If I’m not seeing these new dishes catching guests’ eyes and stomachs, then I will have you revert to the old menu. Understood?” he chewed out, putting distance between them.
Another shuddery breath expelled from her lungs. He planned to pretend nothing had happened. That they hadn’t almost kissed. He’d tempered and extinguished every ounce of desire she’d witnessed moments before in his gaze.
Her nipples were still hard, beaded points and ached. Her pulse thrummed with need. But in this, Emily retreated. “Fine. Is that in the contract you drew up?”
It was the smart thing to do. Pretend like it never happened.
“No,” he muttered, his jaw clenched.
“I want you to include that you agreed to give me autonomy in it. I won’t sign the contract until then,” she said, drawing her line in the sand.
The winds of winter were blowing between them for all the warmth present in his eyes. This man blew hot and cold to the point where she was developing whiplash.
“I will have it by day’s end,” Mason bit out, looking like he wanted to throttle her.
Well, the feeling is mutual, buddy.
“Good. You can bring it to the restaurant when it’s ready. I have dinner to prepare,” she said and swiveled on her heel, making her exit before he changed his mind.
At the doorway, his deep bass said, “Emily.”
Not turning, she replied over her shoulder, “Yes?”
“Don’t make me regret hiring you,” he grumbled.
She stiffened and said, “Come have the special tonight and you will see that I’m right about the changes.”
Then she escaped his office. Regret hiring her? Was he kidding? This was day two.
Chapter 5
Two days and they were on the outs. It made her position precarious. Emily wasn’t sure why Mason disliked her so
immensely. It was odd. She hadn’t done anything, at least, nothing she could think of off the top of her head that was offensive. Yes, she could be sarcastic, but that wasn’t likely to change any time soon.
Yet she couldn’t discount their almost kiss.
He couldn’t think she was all that bad if he’d contemplated kissing her. The look in his eyes had been hungry, blazing with wicked heat. The most startling thing wasn’t that Mason had nearly kissed her, but how disappointed she’d been that he didn’t. In that split second, Emily had wanted him to override her common sense and close the remaining gap.
Perhaps this job wasn’t the right one for her after all. Maybe she should just get in her car and go. And drive where exactly? It wasn’t like she had another destination in mind. And sure, she had a little bit saved up but without a job, she’d go through that rather quickly. The last thing she would do, though, was return to Los Angeles a failure so that her father could gloat. Her siblings would look down their perfect noses at her and her mom would try to tempt her into becoming a realtor just like her.
No, the only way she would return home was victorious or not at all. She needed this job.
Rock, meet hard place. It was the story of Emily’s life. It was for this very reason she was in the middle of Wyoming instead of cooking at a Los Angeles hotspot.
Emily entered the kitchen and her chest ached. A part of her wanted this place, wanted the chance to prove she could run her own kitchen. Maybe this job wouldn’t be forever. She wanted, above all else, to find the place where she belonged. She loved her family, but they didn’t exactly fit one another.
And she wanted to prove—not to them, but to herself—that she had the tenacity to carve out what she wanted for her life. It may not be something her family understood, but that didn’t diminish that she needed to do this. Perhaps, if she succeeded here, she could make a comeback and re-enter the hotbed of culinary competition in Los Angeles.