by Tyla Walker
White Meat
A BWWM Romance
Tyla Walker
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Contents
Also by Tyla Walker
1. Hank
2. Cindy
3. Hank
4. Cindy
5. Hank
6. Cindy
7. Hank
8. Cindy
9. Hank
10. Cindy
11. Hank
12. Cindy
13. Hank
14. Cindy
15. Hank
16. Cindy
17. Hank
18. Cindy
19. Hank
20. Cindy
21. Hank
22. Cindy
23. Hank
24. Cindy
25. Hank
26. Cindy
27. Hank
28. Cindy
29. Hank
30. Cindy
31. Hank
32. Cindy
Also by Tyla Walker
Also by Tyla Walker
Honest Man
Million Dollar Fake Wife
Boy Friend
Up & Coming
Country Love
Rushed Love
The Promotion Proposal
The Texas Property Billionaire’s Nanny
The Oil Tycoon’s Surrogate
Fake Forever
Wife Arrangement
Fake Wedding
Not That White Boy
Hate To Love You
Fake Marriage
Love After A Cheater
Always Been You
The Billionaire Professor’s Curvy Student
The Billionaire President’s Love Bunny
The Texas Bad Boy Billionaire’s Forbidden Love
Starlet For the Single Dad
Having the Ex-Military Billionaire’s Baby
A Good Woman
Blending a New Family
Pretend Wife
A Single Mom’s True Love
Marriage of Convenience
The Texas CEO’s Nanny
Time For Family
My Crazy White Boy
One
Hank
The fire has been burning since 4:22 am.
I can feel flames licking the palms of my hands as a large cloud of smoke floats above my head and over the golden fields behind me. The morning light gleams through a tangle of overgrown wheat fields, glints off a rusted out red tractor and warms the back of my neck. Barbecue before breakfast. I am back in Texas, alright.
The morning is quiet, save for a group of field sparrows that are taking dirt baths in the driveway. The farm where I’m staying is tucked away from the road, down a long lane lined with oak trees. The farmhouse is gone but the barn still stands, the building has been converted into an open apartment with well-worn wood floors and large open windows. Wildflowers have taken over the front lawn of the property, and an old peach orchard flourishes behind the barn. I’ve crashed in worse places.
“Hang in there, Francis.” The heat blasts against the metal edges of my grill. My smoker, Francis, isn’t much to look at. The metal has long since rusted over, the wheels squeak and the chimney is dented to all hell, but she sure does the job.
There’s a loud pop, and sparks fly off one of the large pieces of wood on the fire. Sizzling on top of the grill are rows of pork ribs and a small, simmering pot of beans. Slow cooking in the corner lurks a steaming, 24 ounce marbled brisket. Everything is on the edge, in that perfect zone of tenderness and texture. Seared on the outside, falling apart at the seams, each piece of meat moist and perfectly balanced, ready to be devoured.
I whip each item off the grill and tuck them into a series of fresh tinfoil containers. Everything gets placed carefully in the bed of my pickup truck, except a small package that I bring with me to the front of the car. Two pork ribs, a small container of potato salad, and a slice of fresh corn bread. Dust kicks up as I swerve out onto the road.
“You don’t have to do this, Hank.” Ma’s voice sounds small and tinny. She twists an old handkerchief into knots on her lap, and the package of food I brought her sits on the kitchen counter, untouched.
“It’s not a worry, Ma.” She looks so different from the last time I was here. Her cheeks are pale, everything about her seems faded and worn away. She moved here from Kansas with Pa, but things haven’t been the same since he passed away. The last time I visited them the house was clean and bright; the air sparkled with their laughter as she whipped up corn fritters with sweet tomato jam.
The funeral for Pa was a whirlwind I can barely remember. I haven’t been back since.
Everything I know about cooking I learned from her. As a kid I spent my Sundays by her side, flipping meat over on the grill and listening to the juices hiss as they smacked against the orange logs of burning wood. Ma was the best barbecue cook in east Kansas, hell probably in the entire state.
“And you’ve got a place and everything?” Ma’s fingers twist the handkerchief, round and round. A pile of unwashed dishes is stacked beside the kitchen sink, next to them; a crumpled receipt for her diabetes medication. A small brown moth flutters by the edge of the window, butting against the glass.
“Yep, I’ve got a spot just past town. I’ll be staying for a while, I’d like to, you know. Help out a bit.” I reply. Ma shakes her head, stubborn as always. I’ve never had an easy time accepting help, and I can see exactly where I get it from. “I’ve even got a job interview.” Ma looks at me and her back straightens. A little flicker of light comes into her eyes.
“Cookin’?” She asks. I nod, and a smile creeps across her face.
“Yeah, I’m headed there now, the place just off Main Street. It’s- you know it’s got the strings of lights outside…”
“Burnet High Smokehouse.” Ma grins. “James’s place.” Ma is tough as railroad ties, a lifetime spent teaching Junior High would thicken anyone’s skin. So when she likes something, you know it. “What time are you due there?”
I look at the clock and my heart sinks.
“Ten minutes ago,” I reply. We are both still for a moment and then spring into action. I grab the keys to my truck from the table as she pushes herself up out of her chair. I give her a quick hug and can feel her spine through the thick flannel shirt she’s wearing. A lump rises in my throat, and I stride quickly towards the door.
“Hank,” she calls after me. I pause in the hallway and look back at her. “Thank you.”
There’s never any traffic in a town like Burnet, this morning is no exception. The streets whip by as I speed my way towards Main street, past a weathered gas station and small produce stand offering tomatoes for $2 a pint. Not bad. I flick my eyes back to the road and realize too late a deer has run into the street. She’s frightened, frozen still, staring the truck down as I barrel towards her.
I slam on the brakes and turn the wheel as quick as I can. The truck begins a dizzying spin, everything in the front seat flies into the air and smacks against the windshield. The car careens in a semi circle and comes to a shuddering halt.
The deer blinks at me once, then leaps away into a field of purple bluebells. And then I remember. The food. I look into the rearview mirror, and my heart drops. It’s a massacre. The rear window of my truck is smeared with barbecue sauce and cornbread crum
bs. A loose piece of tinfoil drifts across the truck bed. So much for my tasting menu.
The Burnet High Smokehouse. At night the place is a beacon, strings of lights soar out from the edges of the rooftop, groups of people sit at the sprawl of picnic tables below. In the daylight, the place looks a little rough around the edges. Some birds have nested in the eaves of the building, and there is a pane of glass missing from one of the windows.
“So you’re the hot shot from Kansas, huh?” The front door of the restaurant swings open and a tall, white haired man steps out. He’s got a large mustache and a lean look to him. He stands in the doorway, arms crossed. “You’re late.”
“Yes sir.” I can feel tingles creeping up my neck, I clench my jaw.
“Well kid, lets see this tasting menu of yours,” he says, not budging from the door frame. “I hope it’s worth the wait”.
“Actually sir…”
“I ain’t sir,” The man snorts to himself “M’name is James.” I rub my chin uncomfortably, and notice that I forgot to shave this morning.
“Well, sir… James. I don’t have it.” James stares at me, unmoved, through the wild shrubbery of his eyebrows. I think of the food strewn across the bed of my truck, and know there’s nothing to be done. James laughs to himself and shakes his head. A sharp sigh escapes my lungs and I turn back towards the parking lot. I envision the rest of the miserable afternoon, stopping by the grocery store, scanning the local bulletins for “help wanted” signs.
“I heard you won Houston.” He calls after me. “And the American Royal in Kansas City. Got honors at the Barbeque Festival in Lexington.” I stop. “What in the hell is a Pitmaster like you doing in Burnet?” I turn around to meet his eyes.
“Family.” James nods to himself, and I see a tiny shift in his stature.
“Well son, what kind of a damn chef shows up to a job interview with nothing to show for himself?”
“It’s in the truck, sir. But…” Before I can explain, James strides past me. For an old man he’s certainly got a lot of hustle. In the blink of an eye he’s hitched himself up onto the bed of my truck with a small grunt. He surveys the mess of brisket and beans below him, and begins to laugh. The chuckle grows into a guffaw, and then to a belly laugh that goes all the way down to his cowboy boots.
“You’ve made a mess, kid.” With some effort he leans down and plucks a small piece of brisket from the floor of the truck bed, and pops it into his mouth. He chews for a moment, swallows, and then stares out into the horizon. Everything is still, all I can hear is a quiet breeze that ruffles the grass along the road.
James climbs down off the truck and walks back towards the restaurant without meeting my eyes. He slams the door open and pauses in the doorway, looking a little more tired than he had a moment before.
“That damn mess,” he says, looking at a spot on the floor, “was the best meat I’ve ever had.” I can feel myself laugh nervously; I’ve never particularly enjoyed compliments.
“Thank you sir. James. Sir.”
“You’re hired. Noon. Tomorrow. Don’t be late this time.” The door swings closed, and I finally take a deep breath. Maybe things are going to be alright.
Two
Cindy
“Uncle James I’m going outside for a cigarette,” I say as I hustle out the back door. Seems like it’s going to be one of those days. I stubbed that big toe again trying to get out of the house this morning and it’s still throbbing. And Nathan’s school bus will be dropping him off here soon because he has a half-day again. Which means he will be up my butt if I can’t keep him busy.
Sure is challenging having an 11 year old who’s always mad at you and the world.
“Now at least I’ll have a few moments to myself,” I think, as I pull that first dose of nicotine into my lungs. Thankfully the mad lunchtime rush hasn’t started yet and I can sneak away. Being a single mom and managing a bustling smokehouse business doesn’t leave you much time to catch your breath.
I could’ve hid in the bathroom for a few minutes but at least out here on the back steps I can breathe some fresh air instead of having barbecue smoke up my nose. And maybe I’ll get a glimpse of that spotted deer that wanders out of the brush around this time occasionally. Never could understand why someone would want to hunt a beautiful creature like that. My ex loved to leave his kill strapped to his car as he drove around town. “What an asshole”.
“And what did Uncle James say about some new guy starting work today?” I shout to no-one in particular. And why does he have to come in at noon right when the lunchtime crush is about to get rolling? “Yeah, just what I need , another person to have to deal with.” I close my eyes and take a long drag on my cigarette.
Blam! Crash!
“Shit, what now?” I flick the cigarette away and rush inside. Ashley, my butterfingered waitress, is standing in the middle of a pile of broken dishes and steaming meat. She has that bewildered look on her face and seems on the verge of tears. Ashley and I go back to grade school together. I only brought her on because she can’t seem to keep a steady job, and I’m a soft touch when it comes to friends.
“Ashley, please don’t just stand there. Go find Miguel and get this mess cleaned up.” I love Ashley, and when we are out drinking together no one can crack me up like she can. But work is a different story. I try to bring her in as the hostess whenever possible, but today we’re shorthanded and I need her on the floor. Which means I have to fill in as hostess on top of everything else.
Just then I look up from the mess on the floor and see the school bus pull up, and my son jump off. As he comes in the door he’s greeted by some of the regulars who recognize him. I go over to give him a hug, but before I can reach him he stops me cold.
“Why do I have to come here? Can’t I hang out with Ronnie?“ I give him my sweetest motherly smile.
“You can stay here with me and do your homework. We’ll discuss all of that when you’re finished.”
“You’re mean!” He tells me. It’s his favorite expression now. He even uses it when I ask him to pick up his socks. Charming. I hustle him inside past the cleanup crew and sit him down at a corner table away from the action. “Are you going to fire Ashely?” he asks, when I tell him what happened.
“No, and you better not tease her if you know what’s good for you.” I tousle his hair and tell him, “start your homework and I’ll bring you something to eat.” He pushes my hand away.
“I just want a biscuit.” He says, and folds his arms. You have to pick your battles with kids and diet isn’t one of them right now. I quickly turn on my heels and head for the kitchen.
“How is Ashley doing?” Uncle James asks as I burst into the room. The kitchen is a beehive of activity and he’s giving orders and moving around the room like a general on the front lines. He may have a loud bark but he is a puppy dog when it comes to the feelings of his employees.
“She’ll be fine but what about me?” I’m definitely feeling weary, but he just laughs.
“You’re the toughest chick I know. That’s why I put you in charge”
This is the problem with being the responsible one. Everybody expects it and takes it for granted. My ex, Andrew, used to dump all the responsibility on me, and then blame me when it didn’t turn out the way he liked. Why is it that I haven’t seen him in four years and I still obsess about him all the time? And why is it that I expect the world to be fair?
“If I’m in charge, why did you hire this new guy without asking my opinion?” I ask, putting a plate of food together for Nathan.
“Because I’m getting old and I need someone doing the cooking that’s as good as I am. And only I can be the judge of that.”
“You are the youngest sixty four year old that I know.” I say, as I look him straight in the eye with my best grownup look.
“It ain’t the years, it’s the miles,” Uncle James says as he leans on the counter and gets that serious look on his face that scares me. He’s always been there for me,
and it saddens me to think of him getting older. Plus, he’s been like a father to Nathan since my ex took off with that bimbo. In fact, he’s the only one that Nathan seems to listen to these days.
“Is this a therapy session?” says Juan as he and the other cook Ernesto slap palms and laugh together.
“Pipe down and get back to work,” Uncle James says. “You’ll meet him soon enough. He’s an award-winning pit master and he’ll show you some skills you haven’t seen yet.” Juan looks at me and winks as if to say, “we’ll believe it when we see it”. I smile back in agreement as the two cooks get back to their stations.
“Don’t worry, you’re not getting rid of me anytime soon,” Uncle James says. He seems to realize that he’s opened up a subject that he doesn’t really need to delve into right now. “I’m sorta looking down the road a bit, and this young feller was just too good to pass up.”
“No one can ever replace you, you old bugger” I say as I pinch his cheek. Suddenly Nathan runs in, chased by Ashley.
“I tried to stop him,” she says,” but he’s too slippery for me.” “That’s okay, Ashley, you can get back. I’ll handle this.” Nathan’s managed to run up to Uncle James and hugs him around the waist, asking him if he can help out in the kitchen.
“You’re only trying to get out of doing your homework dude, I know that routine,” says Uncle James, and he scoots him back to me. I pick up the plate of food that I prepared, and grab Nathan by the hand.