Cowboy in the Kitchen (17 page)

He nodded.

“But why? You were angry with me over the well, and hurt that I hadn’t trusted you about my plans. Why would you do this for me?”

“Because that’s what you do for the person you love.”

He hesitated for a moment, giving her time to return the confession. But she only stared wide-eyed at him, so he continued.

“My daddy worked long hours, but he always managed to bring home flowers for Mama. And even when she was upset with him for putting his duty to the hospital before his family, she always made sure his needs were met, and she taught us to tell him how much we appreciated him. I lost my folks far too soon, but their quiet witness of love for one another was a seed they sowed in us very early.”

“That’s the way it should be between married people because they’re committed to the relationship, Hunt. They’re obligated to support each other. But it’s not your responsibility to get me out of a tight spot, and I don’t want you to feel bound in any way to take advantage of your personal contacts to help me out.”

“Did you understand what I just said? Did you hear the part about duty and turn a deaf ear to the part about love?”

He sounded frustrated, and she feared she’d screwed up any chance they had for a future together.

Gillian held out her hand, her eyes pleading with words she wasn’t sure how to say. He didn’t hesitate. Hunt got on one knee beside her again, but this time there was no humor in his voice when he spoke.

“What do you want, Gillian? If it’s not me, I can deal with that, but I need to know if I’m even on your short list.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“M
Y
SHORT
LIST
?”
A spurt of laughter erupted. “As if there’s a gaggle of suitors lined up for my attention.”

“There might as well be with Moore House as my competition.”

“Hunt, why does a relationship have to become a competition?”

“It doesn’t! That’s what I’m trying to tell you, darlin’. You don’t have to choose, but you do have to ease back on the intensity of your focus. It just so happens that in this case you can have your cake and eat it, too, but you’ve got to find the time to take a bite.”

“And I intend to do just that as soon as I—”

“As soon as you what?” he snapped. “Complete every detail of the hotel? Work so many hours that it threatens your health? Get the rug yanked out from under you so you’re forced to stop and smell the honeysuckle?”

She could hear his exasperation growing.

“Talk to your parents, for crying out loud. I bet they’ll say they wish they’d been forced out years ago, because now they’re doing the things in life that are important to them.”

“But I
am
doing what’s important,” she insisted.

“Okay, do whatever you want. You will anyway.” Hunt stood but hesitated to move toward the door.

“Are you on your way to the airport right now?”

“No, I’m headed out to Mac’s house for dinner. I have a nine o’clock flight tomorrow morning for New York to visit one of my friends who’s made it big on TV. He’s invited me to have Christmas Eve dinner with his family. Then I’ll spend Christmas Day flying cross-country to spend some time with a chef I met on the show, who’s got several restaurants in L.A.”

“Do you really believe they’ll do this for you?”

He smiled.

“I’ve known them to do crazier things for an expensive bottle of wine. They’re both great chefs, but mostly they’re cool guys who love a challenge, and this is just the sort of opportunity that gives their lives the unpredictability they love.”

“You’ll have to tell them about Rachel and Buzz, won’t you?”

“Yes, but they can be trusted. And they can come to town with a full staff and camera crew. They’re accustomed to being stealth, so nobody will even notice until the challenge is thrown down. I’m excited to see them again. It’s been a while.”

“But you’ll miss the holiday, Hunt. What about your brothers?”

“It won’t be the first Christmas we’ve spent apart. Alma’s agreed to take over in the kitchen and one less fork in the battle for the turkey’s tail means a lower risk of injury.”

Gillian closed her eyes and leaned her head against the chaise. The throbbing in her knee intensified, made worse by the fact that the injury was her own stupid fault. And instead of a holiday with his family, Hunt was going to spend the days before and after Christmas doing the one thing he dreaded: flying from Texas to New York to California and back again. If she’d left that blasted Caddo well alone for a few days longer, she’d be having the unforgettable Christmas Eve she’d envisioned. With the man she loved. But she’d gone full speed ahead, doing whatever she wanted, just as Hunt had accused her of doing. So lousing up Christmas was all her fault, too.

She should seize this very moment to tell Hunt what was in her heart. But then what? He’d race away, determined to save the day for her, even though she didn’t deserve his help, much less his love.

No, sending him off with a halfhearted declaration of love was unfair to both of them. What she had to say concerned their forever. It had waited this long, and it would wait a few more days.

“Hunt, before you leave, would you mind helping me to my feet? This brace strapped to my knee is about as accommodating as a two-by-four.”

“Sure. All you had to do was ask.”

When had this man become so agreeable? What had happened to the know-it-all cook she’d hired to give her guests that touch of arrogance and sophistication they craved? How was it that the Cowboy Chef had climbed down off his high horse to cater to the woman who’d come between him and the legacy of his grandfather?

As she posed these silent conundrums to herself, Hunt gently helped her to a standing position, placed a crutch beneath each arm and stepped back to give her room to navigate. She wobbled, dropped a crutch and risked pitching forward into his arms. He caught her easily, as she’d been certain he would, and then she shamelessly tipped her face to his.

“Kiss me, Hunt.” She was desperate. “Pretty please?”

“In that case...” His words trailed away as his mouth covered hers.

His kiss was an extension of the puzzle she’d been mulling over in her mind. One moment Hunt’s lips were light and tender against hers, the next demanding and possessive. Gillian pulled her body as close as she dared and reveled in the joy of Hunt’s embrace. She returned his kiss, matching the hungry emotion that grew as the moments passed with the two of them at the center of the universe. She was at home in his arms, and she never wanted the feeling to end.

* * *

H
UNT
BROKE
THE
SPELL
. He raised his head from the lips he hoped to kiss for the rest of his life. Instead of indulging again, he settled feather-soft kisses along her stubborn jaw, across the bridge of her perfect nose and beside the lids of Gillian’s stunning violet eyes.

He leaned his head back and took in the vision of his beloved. Her cheeks were flushed pink from their intimacy, but the nearly translucent skin beneath her eyes was dark with fatigue. Even after several days of rest she was still physically and mentally worn out. And he’d added to her worry by showing up and demanding answers he already knew.

She was a woman with a plan and she would not be deterred. Well, now he had a plan of his own and it was time to make tracks.

He traced the apple of her cheek lightly with a knuckle. She opened her eyes, an intensity in their depths he’d never before noticed there.

“I’m leaving town just in time.”

“How can you say that when tomorrow is Christmas Eve?”

“If I stayed, you wouldn’t get the rest you should have, and right now that’s critical to your knee mending, especially if you expect to wear some fancy high heels with your crutches for the wedding.”

“Hmm, that’s a good way to show off my Louboutin pumps. One red sole turned upward, begging to be admired. There’s merit in that idea.”

“Just promise me you’ll stick with the pain meds, let your mama take care of you and let your daddy take care of Moore House.”

When she didn’t nod in agreement, he gave her body a little shake. “Promise me, Gillian,” Hunt demanded.

“I promise. I suppose the least I can do is agree with you when you’re leaving town on my account just at the moment when everyone else is heading home for the holidays.”

“Let me ask you a question, and tell me the truth.”

She nodded but her forehead scrunched in doubt.

“Was that a pity kiss?”

Her head fell back, and she went nearly limp in his arms with laughter. He supported the weight of her body while she enjoyed his question.

“Well?” He waited with a smile on his face while she halfheartedly composed herself.

“If that was a pity kiss, then I’m the governor of Texas.”

“I’ve met our governor and the mental image of kissing him on the lips is quite revolting. So I’m going to interpret your response to mean you didn’t kiss me just to be nice.”

“I kiss my uncle Buck to be nice. I kissed you because I had to take advantage of the few moments we have before you leave. I hope that’s okay.”

“Darlin’, it would be okay if you took advantage of me like that every day for the rest of our lives.”

“Shh.” Gillian pressed her fingertips to his lips. “Let’s talk about that when you’re not checking your watch as if you have a bus to catch.”

He pressed her palm to his lips and then folded it close to his heart. “I’d take you with me this evening if you were up to it.”

“But I’m not, so you can’t. Go on and be with your family tonight, and I’ll see you in a few days.”

He reached for the crutches that had fallen to the floor and handed them to her.

“Thank you, Hunt.” She secured her balance on her support foot. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, my darlin’.” His voice clogged with pent up emotion.

Then he turned and slipped through the door, not daring to look back.

* * *

“S
URPRISE
!” C
ULLEN
SINGSONGED
AS
Hunt walked through Mac’s front door.

“He knew we’d be here, ya big dope.” The sofa creaked as Joiner leaned to frog Cullen’s arm with the deadly knuckle punch the brothers had perfected in their youth. “With your lack of common sense, you woulda made a good Aggie.”

Cullen rubbed his bicep. “Are you referring to that university down in College Station that regularly beat your team like a borrowed mule when you played for Texas?”

Joiner shook his head in disgust. “You can’t give it a rest for a single day, can you?”

“What was that game called again? The one where you chase a ball up and down the field? Was it football? No, you wouldn’t pick the game the whole state of Texas plays.” Cullen tapped his chin and pretended to be thinking. “Was it baseball? No, you wouldn’t pick a game your little brothers excelled in ’cause we’d kick your tail. What was that game called again?”

“Marco!” McCarthy called from the kitchen.

“Polo! That’s it! Polo! The game that left you a penniless sucker.”

“When are you boys going to grow up?” Alma shouted above the laughter. “The last time I checked, you were all thirtysomethings.”

Cullen and Mac hooted for the umpteenth time over the Marco Polo pun they’d been using on poor Joiner since the day he’d first picked up a mallet.

But Hunt understood his older brother’s passion.

He felt the same when he tied on an apron and took hold of a knife. It may not look natural on the outside but it was a perfect fit on the inside. The big difference was he’d made cooking work as a career. Joiner had gambled on a life in the high-stakes world of polo and lost just about everything.

Hunt made the rounds of the big lake house, hugging necks and exchanging slaps on the back. This was family. This was home. This was Christmas. And no matter how exotic the location or how high the salary he could find elsewhere in the world, he was always drawn here to these people in this small town.

“Alma, you didn’t have to cook tonight
and
Christmas Day.”

“La cocina para mis marcas familiares mí feliz,”
she said, reminding him she was happiest when she was cooking for her family.

“And we’re all grateful to be on the receiving end of your good cheer.”

He showed his appreciation by taking the carving knife from Mac and doing what he could to hide the damage his oldest brother had done turning a perfectly roasted bird into a sacrificial turkey.

“I would never pass up the chance to feed my boys. Someday,
si el Señor bueno lo hace tan,
you will have wives of your own, and you won’t need old Alma.”

“That could happen much sooner than you think, Alma.” Cullen draped an arm around his twin.

Hunt cut his eyes toward Cullen, a clear message to keep his mouth shut.

“It’s no use, little bro,” Mac drawled. “We were all watching you two at my party, and even though it took a few PhDs for Cullen to catch on, we could see for ourselves how smitten you are with the lovely Miss Moore.”

“
Smitten
won’t cover it. He looked at her as if he wanted to sop her up with a biscuit,” Joiner teased.

“Will you guys give it a rest, please? I didn’t drive out here for a dose of abuse, especially since I’m about to get a healthy ration from my friends on each coast.”

“Help Felix get the meal on the table, and while we eat, you can tell us all about your plans.” Alma gave orders, all five men did as they were told and nobody got hurt.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

“M
ERRY
C
HRISTMAS
,
BEAUTIFUL
.”

“Good morning!” Gillian’s pulse raced at the sound of Hunt’s voice on the phone. “Where are you?”

“I’m at JKF, sitting in a coffee shop out on the concourse, waiting for my 767 to show up.”

She glanced toward the mantel clock. Just before 9:00 a.m.

“When does your flight leave?”

“Half an hour ago.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” She grimaced at the idea of Hunt being stuck in an impersonal airport on the most important family holiday of all. “What a lousy way to spend Christmas morning.”

“It’s not so bad. Everybody’s in a pleasant mood, which is pretty unusual for an airport. There’s music and decorations, and people giving out samples of fruitcake and potato latkes. Not exactly gourmet fare, but they’re free and come with a smile, so I’ve accepted them and said, ‘Thank you very kindly,’ just like my mama taught me.”

“You have a great attitude for a guy who’s missing out on the festivities at home.”

“Well, I spent last evening in Manhattan with my friend Robby and his family. He was so gracious to invite me to join them for dinner. I should have realized it was a setup.”

“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.

* * *

H
UNT
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.