Cowboy in the Kitchen (7 page)

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. That’s clever when it’s embroidered on a pot holder but not so useful for me right now.”

He took closer note of the dark smudges beneath her eyes.

Gillian was miserable. Off balance. Not the pretty powerhouse who kept everyone else on their toes.

His heart raced as he decided what his next move should be. One wrong step and he could put his foot in it for good. But would she be the one to pay the consequences? And could he live with himself if she got hurt?

CHAPTER NINE

“G
ILLY
,
DARLIN
’
,
TELL
me what you want from me so I can help. Shoot straight, ’cause I don’t wanna make the situation worse.”

She sat up taller in her chair, did a first-rate job of appearing pulled together and in control, but he’d already seen the weakening in her tough exterior. As many hours as Gillian spent with that infernal cell phone to her ear, it was never for anything other than business or to argue with her daddy. Right now the woman needed a friend. A close friend.

“How can I help you?”

“Why would you even ask that question?” She sniffed. “I’m just fine on my own.”

“Oh, come on. Give me some credit here.” He indulged in the exaggerated eye roll she’d been leveling at him for weeks. “I made the conscious decision to partner with you instead of treating this situation as if it were a hostile takeover. And as difficult as it’s been, I’ve kept my hands to myself, for the most part, when what I’d really want to do is...” He stopped, refusing to give her the pleasure of hearing him say more.

If she wanted to hear how he felt about her, she’d have to work for it.

She paused. Taking the bait, no longer on the verge of tears and once again sassy, she asked, “What you’d really want to do is what?”

“To put you over my knee. Your daddy obviously didn’t do that often enough, no matter how tough you say he was on you.”

“That’s not what you were about to say,” Gillian challenged. She left her chair, moved in front of him and leaned down with her hands on his shoulders as he’d done to her minutes before.

“That is exactly what I meant to say. When you are frustrated, you behave a little like a child. And while I, personally, think it’s somewhat charming—”

Gillian leaned closer, and he felt her warm breath on his cheek. He finished, “—the rest of the people who come in contact with you find it to be shrewish.”

She snapped to attention, and her posture became finishing-school perfect. “Shrewish?”

He nodded, dipped his chin and kept a grin to himself.

“Why didn’t you say so before now?”

“Oh, right. You’ve already shared your irritation with my unsolicited advice. It would have been about as popular as a roach in your grandma’s potato salad if I’d mentioned it might be a good idea for you to sweeten up your method of dealing with people.”

She slumped down in her chair, folding her arms in a defensive posture. “Sounds as if you’ve thought this over.”

“Yes, ma’am, I surely have,” he drawled in his best Texas accent. “You’ve got the skill to be a charmer—you’ve used it on me, though not nearly enough. If you’d flex your charm muscles more often, you’d have everybody you come in contact with eating out of your hand.”

“That’s not my style,” she insisted, stubborn as always.

He considered for a moment, then looked her up and down.

“Have you worn your hair that way all your life?”

“Of course not.” Gillian grimaced before adding, “I hate to admit it, but ten years ago I had a curly perm.”

He couldn’t hold back a smile at the image of Gillian with corkscrews. “Why don’t you have those curls today?”

“Because styles change, and you have to change with them or be labeled a fashion dork.”

He pretended to aim an imaginary pistol and pull the trigger. “Bull’s-eye! You change with the circumstances. That is, if you’re smart.”

“Okay, I get the point,” she conceded.

“There you go, darlin’. I was sure there was a savvy woman deep inside that sizzlin’ hot body.”

It was easy to admit but harder every day to remember that the oh-so-appealing exterior belonged to his boss lady.

* * *

G
ILLIAN
LOOKED
AROUND
at the changes, unable to believe her eyes. What a difference three days and countless man-hours made! With a few kind words and some expensive overtime, she’d been able to convince the local electricians and plumbers to work around the clock to ready several suites.

She moved from the hotel to the upstairs area she’d been using as her office space and powder room, enjoying the creative distraction of cobbling together country-chic accommodations for herself and her parents.

“I couldn’t have done all this without you, Hunt.” Each day her gratitude toward him increased, though he always brushed off her words of appreciation.

“Kindly keep that sentiment in mind when a paying guest sends her overcooked and underseasoned snapper back to the kitchen,” he challenged.

“Ah, you remembered,” she crooned, as if he’d recalled something endearing. “How sweet.”

“No, it’s just good business to pay attention to what people say about your work.”

“And what do you expect my father will say about the place so far?”

Hunt glanced around the suite her folks would occupy.

“Be honest,” she insisted. She was satisfied with what they’d accomplished in a few days, but she wanted a man’s perspective.

“What you’ve done with these rooms is pretty impressive.”

Gillian had been aching for his reassurance. Without fear that Hunt would judge her actions, she moved close, and his strong arms instinctively encircled her body. He cradled her head in his hand and pressed her cheek to his chest. She heard his heartbeat, a thumping as strong as her own. She boldly tilted her face upward expecting to find his lips. Instead, Hunt sought the skin at her temple where he pressed a lingering but tender kiss.

“Thank you,” he murmured into her ear. “I haven’t had a hug in a long time.”

“Me, either.” She squeezed him harder for covering her awkward neediness and then ended the embrace.

“So you don’t believe this room is too rustic?”

“Maybe for some parts of the country, but not for Texas. And the fact that you found most of the furnishings at local salvage and resale shops makes it extra special. I suspect you’re planning to go French country up here with the rest of the guest suites, but you ought to model some of the rooms after this one.”

“I hadn’t even considered spinning a local thread, but you make a good point. People don’t expect to find Danish modern in Lincoln’s bedroom when they visit the White House.”

“And when they come to Texas, they want a taste of the Lone Star State in their accommodations, because they’re gonna get European in the restaurant.”

She gouged him in the ribs with her elbow.

“Ouch!” He rubbed the spot. “Cullen’s been goosing me that way all my life.”

“Where do you think I got the idea?”

“That’s it. No more meals for you at his house.”

“Speaking of meals, I’ve got my parents’ suite covered, but there won’t be a working kitchen for a while yet.”

“That occurred to me, as well. The walk-in cooler will be installed next week, and that’ll help with breakfast and lunch, but until then you’ll have to eat out.”

“Where shall we take them tomorrow night?”

“We? Don’t you want to spend the first evening alone with your folks?”

“There will be plenty of time for that. I’d be forever grateful if you could run interference with my father when he starts in about the construction delays, at least for the first night.”

“I’ve got you covered.” He nodded with certainty. “And why don’t you let me take care of dinner tomorrow? You meet their flight in Dallas and when you get here, I’ll be available to help with the grand tour and their first meal, Texas-style.”

There was a dangerous glint in Hunt Temple’s eye. She hoped they wouldn’t arrive at Moore House to find a side of beef on a barbecue pit in the front yard.

* * *

C
AR
DOORS
SLAMMING
and loud barking announced the arrival of the newcomers. Hunt took one last glance at the work he’d done with Alma’s help, drew a curtain closed and made his way to the terrace. His curiosity about Gillian’s parents would have to wait, because he had eyes only for the stunning blonde escorting two strangers and a dog from the parking area.

A dog?

A huge black dog with a mop of curly hair loped up the steps. Its pink tongue was the only distinguishing feature in the twilight as it cut like a racehorse from one point of interest to another, investigating at will.

“Heel,” a gruff male voice commanded.

“He’s okay, Dad. Let him wander.”

“I believe it’s safe to presume you are Mrs. Moore.” Hunt extended his hand to the lovely woman who could only be Gillian’s mama. “But who is this guy?” The dog was sniffing his boots with great interest.

“That would be Cooper,” Gillian’s father answered, also shaking hands with Hunt.

Gillian made introductions and then explained that James and Meredith Moore had brought along their standard poodle that was perpetually in need of a haircut, making him resemble a Portuguese water dog.

“It seems we’re going to be a pet-friendly hotel.”

“Honey, I’m sorry, we should have asked.”

“It’s okay, Mom, really.
Mi casa es su casa,
which makes it Cooper’s
casa,
too.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“
Casa
is Spanish for home.” Gillian smiled at Hunt, and he sent her a quick wink. “You’ll catch on fast, trust me,” she assured her mother.

“Well?” Gillian swept her hand toward the mansion. “What’s your first reaction to Moore House?”

“It’s spectacular,” Meredith complimented the structure, and then took in the view of the private lake. “I see why you fell in love with it at first sight.”

“I want more detail on why this place has been on the market without a buyer for so many years.” James sounded skeptical.

“Sir, I’m well acquainted with the details, and I’ll be happy to share them with you over dinner.” Hunt deferred to Gillian. “Ready to give them the grand tour?”

“Such as it is, yes,” she agreed and led the way.

Just inside the door Hunt had set up a table to serve cocktails.

“May I pour you a glass of wine?” He offered the label for the inspection of Gillian’s father, who nodded curt appreciation for the award-winning California vintage.

Hunt made a mental note to replace the bottles he’d taken from Cullen’s collection but probably with something easier on his wallet. He removed the cork and poured expertly, aware that Gillian was watching him closely.

“You did that like a pro.” She accepted the crystal stemware.

“I paid attention during sommelier class. It was more interesting than turning potatoes,” he said, reminding her of the day she’d poked fun at his Cordon Bleu credentials.

“We were relieved when Gillian said you’d accepted the executive chef’s position,” James shared as he sniffed his wine. “Having you on board will lend credibility to Moore House as we establish ourselves in the first few years.”

Hunt waited for Gillian to steer the conversation, unsure whether or not her parents were aware his contract was only short-term. It wasn’t his place to share the details, though, so he played along.

“Shall I show you the work that’s been done so far?” Gillian changed the subject and began her guided tour through the rooms on the main floor.

She pointed out architectural details Hunt had never noticed, even though he’d assumed he was the expert on Pap’s place. Her knowledge of the work that had already been done and the work that was still to be accomplished before the holidays was extraordinary. It wasn’t necessary for him to run interference with Gillian’s father; she was entirely capable on her own.

The realization caused heat to wash over Hunt, and he recognized the warm discomfort for what it was.

Shame.

While he’d slept peacefully at night, she’d been awake studying and analyzing every detail, and certainly every penny spent. She was a competent businesswoman, and here he’d believed he could run her off simply by shaking her confidence. He’d convinced himself that his support mattered to her, but she could do it all without him.

And without the approval of her father, if necessary.

As they moved toward the dining room, Gillian began to make excuses for the mess caused by the masonry work still in progress. Her flow of words ended when she noticed the curtain, which was really a couple of bedsheets, precariously strung across the entryway. The dog poked his head underneath and then settled on the floor as if waiting for the big reveal.

“Hunt? What’s this all about?” Gillian’s brows quirked at the surprise.

“Your daughter bravely left dinner up to me,” he explained to James and Meredith. “I figured the least I could do was serve you your first family meal right here at Moore House.”

With a little flourish he swept the curtain aside. Gillian followed her parents into the space that had still been filled with construction materials when she’d left hours before. If she hadn’t covered her mouth with her hand, the delighted gasp might have become an excited squeal.

Hunt’s heart melted.

“You made it sound as if it was a wreck in here,” Meredith commented to her daughter.

“Oh, Mom, it was an awful mess. There was rock and dust everywhere, and the wall above the fireplace was only half-completed.” She linked her arm with Hunt’s and gave him a smile that caused his insides to lurch. “This is all Hunt’s doing.”

“I had a lot of help from our stone masons, and my brothers did the cleanup. I finally found a use for those guys.”

Hunt placed his hand over Gillian’s and led her to the table covered with white linen and set with his own dear mother’s best china and silver. He seated Gillian as James seated his wife, and then Hunt took the empty chair for himself. The mismatched sheets that covered the entry to the kitchen were pushed aside by Cullen, dressed in makeshift waiter’s garb, as he stepped into the room holding a serving tray just as he’d been taught.

By his little brother, of course.

This was Gillian’s dream, and he could give it to her tonight. And tomorrow, he’d see about finding his own dream.