Lead Me Home
Vicki Lewis Thompson
Do you need a cowboy fix?
New York Times bestselling author Vicki Lewis Thompson returns to Mills & Boon
Blaze
in 2012 with more
Sons of Chance
Chance isn’t just the last name of these rugged
Wyoming cowboys—it’s their motto, too!
Saddle up with
Long Road Home
Lead Me Home
Feels Like Home
Take a chance … on a Chance!
Dear Reader,
I’m no gourmet cook. In fact, not long ago while cooking for friends, I attempted to make green beans with almonds in a baking dish with a glass lid. As I lifted the lid to check the doneness (that’s a technical term known only to experienced chefs), I dropped the lid, which shattered into the beans. My dear guests ate the beans while picking out bits of glass.
Therefore, when I wrote about Aurelia Imogene Smith working away in the Last Chance Ranch kitchen preparing fancy French dishes with ingredients I couldn’t pronounce, you know I was living in a fantasy world. But what’s a fantasy without a cowboy, I ask you? So I brought Matthew Tredway, master horse trainer, right into that ranch kitchen to meet Aurelia.
We’ve all been told that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Must be true, because in no time Aurelia finds her way into Matthew’s heart, but she also manages to lure the rest of him, too. And I have to say, in the interest of full disclosure, that food isn’t the only thing Matthew is interested in.
If you’ve been a faithful reader of the SONS OF CHANCE series—and I hope you have!—you may wonder what Aurelia’s doing in a kitchen normally dominated by ranch cook Mary Lou Simms. Turns out that Mary Lou and Watkins, the ranch hand who was sweet on her, finally decided to tie the knot and are off on their honeymoon.
If that’s news to you, you need to come on out to the Last Chance, sip a cup of coffee on the porch, and catch up on the doings there. I know you wouldn’t want to miss a single thing!
Lipsmackingly yours,
Vicki
About the Author
New York Times bestselling author VICKI LEWIS THOMPSON’S love affair with cowboys started with the Lone Ranger, continued through Maverick and took a turn south of the border with Zorro. She views cowboys as the Western version of knights in shining armor—rugged men who value honor, honesty and hard work. Fortunately for her, she lives in the Arizona desert, where broad-shouldered, lean-hipped cowboys abound. Blessed with such an abundance of inspiration, she only hopes that she can do them justice. Visit her website at www.vickilewisthompson.com.
Lead Me Home
Vicki Lewis Thompson
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To all the fabulous cooks I’ve known who have fed me terrific food that had the perfect mix of spices, wasn’t either burned or raw, and never had bits of glass in it. I have committed all those sins and more, and suspect it may be time to hang up my potholders and abandon the field.
Prologue
July 14, 1980, Last Chance Ranch
AFTER FORTY-FIVE YEARS of marriage to Nelsie, Archie Chance knew timing was everything, especially when dealing with a touchy subject like food preparation. Nelsie was possessive about her kitchen, always had been. She’d rejected every suggestion to hire some help, but this time, Archie was determined to convince her.
He waited until they’d settled on the front porch for their usual after-dinner cup of coffee accompanied by a look-see at the mountains. Then he pretended his next move was an afterthought. “You know what? I’m gonna get that bottle of Bailey’s and add a little to my coffee.” Setting his mug on the small wooden table between their rockers, he stood.
Nelsie glanced up at him with a smile. “What are you plotting now, Archibald?”
He should have known she’d suspect him of having ulterior motives, but he pretended innocence. “Not a thing. I just like a little taste of Bailey’s in my coffee now and again.”
She didn’t look convinced. “If you say so.”
“Be right back.” He walked inside and grabbed the bottle out of a cabinet he’d built years ago. From upstairs came the familiar sound of his son Jonathan and his daughter-in-law Diana having a row. Little Jack was crying, which any toddler would do if his parents yelled at each other like they had no sense.
Archie considered going up there and fetching Jack, but about that time the arguing stopped and Jonathan headed down the curved staircase holding his son.
“Taking Jack for a little ride.” Jonathan avoided his father’s gaze. “Won’t be gone long.”
“Okay.” Archie watched Jonathan stride out of the house, his back rigid with anger. The marriage was not going well, but Archie wasn’t surprised. Although Jonathan had made an effort because of the baby, he’d never been in love with that woman, and Diana wasn’t easy to love, anyhow. Archie didn’t know how to fix a problem like that.
So he decided to concentrate on the problem he could fix, or at least try to. Carrying the Bailey’s, he walked back out to the porch, unscrewed the cap and held the bottle toward Nelsie. “Want some?”
“Think I will, after all.” She held up her mug and he poured about a jigger’s worth into it. She sighed heavily. “I hate it when they fight.”
“Me, too.” Archie doctored his coffee and put the cap back on before reclaiming his rocker. “But they’re the ones who have to figure it out.”
“I know. I just wish …”
She didn’t have to finish the sentence for Archie to know what she wished—that Jonathan and Diana had been in love when they’d made that baby, so that getting married would have been a joy instead of an obligation. He took a sip of his coffee and was glad he’d added the Bailey’s to soften the sharp edges of reality.
Pretty soon Jonathan came out of the barn leading Scout. He put Jack on first before mounting up and riding slowly across the meadow, holding Jack on the saddle in front of him. In spite of everything, Archie couldn’t help smiling. That kid loved being on a horse as much as his daddy had at that age. Jonathan had tried teaching Diana to ride, but the effort had been doomed from the start.
“The mountains are pretty tonight,” Nelsie said. “I love it when they get that pinkish glow.”
“Yeah, it’s nice.” Gradually Archie’s spirits began to lift, as they always did when he took time to appreciate his surroundings. The view from the porch was spectacular, and he could see it whenever he took the time. Besides that, he had a wife he cherished beyond belief, a devoted son, and the most amazing grandbaby in the world. All in all, he was one lucky SOB.
He’d finished about half his coffee when he decided to broach the kitchen-help idea. At least Nelsie had some Bailey’s in her, which tended to mellow her out a bit.
“I can hear the wheels grinding over there,” Nelsie said. “You might as well spit it out.”
Archie looked over at her and grinned. She always could read him like a book. “All right. You’ve been against this in the past, but we’re feeding quite a few cowhands at lunch these days, and—”
“Archie, you know I hate the idea of a stranger in my kitchen, not to mention the expense.”
“But you’re working yourself to a frazzle.”
“If only Diana would—”
“Well, she’s not going to, and we might as well accept the fact that she’s not domestic.” Archie hadn’t figured out what Diana was good at besides shopping for clothes in Jackson.
She and Jonathan fought about her spending habits, but whenever Jonathan refused to give her money, she threatened to divorce him and take Jack. She would get that baby, too. Courts usually found in favor of the mother unless she was a drunk or a drug addict, and Diana was neither.
Archie peeked over at Nelsie to gauge her mood. He’d bet she was thinking about those shopping trips, too, judging from the way her mouth was set in a ruler-straight line.
But wishing for a different kind of daughter-in-law wouldn’t get them anywhere. He pressed on. “I heard about someone who’s looking for work. She came here from Nebraska with some guy who left her high and dry. She’s been helping Edgar and Madge Perkins at the diner and they love her, but they can’t give her enough hours because they already have a cook.”
Nelsie turned to him. “Why doesn’t she just go home to Nebraska?”
“Apparently she’d catch grief for her decision to leave in the first place. Besides that, she’s become fond of our little town. Edgar and Madge said working for us would be the answer to her prayers.”
Nelsie’s expression softened. “So you’ve come up with a young woman who needs a helping hand.”
He sensed victory. “It seems like we should at least try her out since we need a cook and she needs a job.”
“You always did know how to get around me, Archibald Chance.” She met his gaze. “I guess you’d better ask this girl to come out and talk with us. What’s her name?”
“Her last name is Simms.” Archie paused, trying to remember. “Her first name has two parts, like Mary Jane, or … no, wait, it’s Mary Lou. Mary Lou Simms.”
“Mary Lou Simms.” Nelsie seemed to be trying out the name on her tongue. “You know, it might be nice to have another woman around the place.”
Archie didn’t miss the note of longing. Nelsie had dreamed of a daughter-in-law who was also a friend, but that hadn’t happened. Maybe she’d find that female friend in Mary Lou Simms.
1
Present Day
FOOD WAS IMPORTANT to Matthew Tredway. He loved the taste, texture and smell of good food, and at six foot five and 220 pounds, he required a lot of it. But due to a series of air-travel snafus between Richmond, Virginia, and Jackson Hole, Wyoming, he hadn’t had a decent meal all day.
Jeb Branford, a lanky, red-haired cowboy, had picked him up at the Jackson airport for the hour’s drive to the Last Chance Ranch, where Matthew was scheduled to train a problem horse named Houdini. The potentially valuable stallion had never been ridden, let alone used as a stud. Matthew had been hired in a last-ditch effort to salvage the ranch’s investment.
As a bonus, he looked forward to some down-home ranch cooking during the week or so he’d be at the Last Chance. Jeb had offered to stop somewhere for a bite to eat, but Matthew didn’t want to look at another restaurant menu if he could help it.
“I’ll just wait until we get to the ranch,” Matthew said. “I’m ready to kick back with a cold beer and some home-cooked eats.”
“I really think we should stop somewhere.” Jeb scanned the area as they headed out of Jackson. “About a mile down this road there’s a burger joint that serves really—”
“No, thanks.” A burger would do in a pinch, but Matthew longed for something that hadn’t been part of an assembly-line operation. “I’m sure leftovers from the ranch kitchen will beat your burger joint, hands down.”
“I wouldn’t bet on it, Mr. Tredway.”
“Matthew.”
“Okay, Matthew, although it feels funny calling you that.”
“Because I’m so old?” Matthew pegged the cowhand as early to mid twenties, and at that age, a thirty-five-year-old like Matthew probably seemed ancient.
“Heck, no!” The kid’s blush nearly obliterated his freckles. “Because you’re famous, Mr. Tred—I mean Matthew. You’ve been on TV and everything! I have your book, Think Like a Horse, and I’ve about worn it out. I lobbied for the chance to pick you up at the airport.”
“Well, thank you.” The concept of having fans always made him uncomfortable. Fame was a byproduct he hadn’t counted on when he’d set out to do the work he loved. “I’m glad the book has been useful.”
“Oh, definitely. Although we finally had to give up on Houdini, which is kind of cool since he’s the reason you’re here. I’m actually grateful to that horse for being a pain in the ass if he brought you here.”
Matthew laughed. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. Ultimately, if my program is a success, I’ll work myself out of a job.”
“I doubt that will ever happen. There’ll always be people who mess up a horse one way or another and need you to straighten things out. But listen, I really think you should eat before we get back to the ranch. We’ve passed up everything in Jackson, but Shoshone will be coming up in forty minutes or so. We could stop at the Spirits and Spurs or the Shoshone Diner.”
“Why are you so dead set on feeding me before we get to the ranch?”
“Because the food there is terrible.”
“Terrible? I find that hard to believe on a ranch the size of the Last Chance.”
“It didn’t used to be terrible. Mary Lou fixed great spreads.” Jeb spoke in a worshipful tone. “Fried chicken with her special batter, amazing ribs, potato salad seasoned just right, stew with lip-smacking gravy, biscuits that would melt in your mouth … man, what I wouldn’t give for some of that grub right now.”
Matthew had a bad feeling about how this story would end. “Don’t tell me Mary Lou up and died.”
“No, not that bad. She got married.”
“And left you high and dry?”
“For a little while, yeah. Mary Lou and Watkins, one of our top hands, are on a three-week honeymoon cruise, and nobody saw that coming because first of all she said she’d never marry him and second of all she’s not much of a traveler. But the upshot is we’re stuck with Aurelia Imogene Smith for the duration.”
“That’s quite a handle.” Matthew pictured a sour-faced woman who insisted everyone address her with the whole blessed thing.
“Yeah, well, she told us that her mother gave her two fancy names to offset the boring last one. I don’t know if those fancy names went to her head or what, but she claims to be a gourmet cook.”
“Oh.” Matthew smoothed a hand over his mouth to hide a smile. Most cowhands weren’t big on gourmet vittles.
“The hands might be able to tough it out, but I feel especially sorry for the kids. Did anybody tell you about that program?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact. You’ve got, what, eight teenaged boys for the summer?”
“That’s right. This philanthropist named Pete Beckett came up with the idea of using the ranch for a residential summer program for teenage boys. They’ve been labeled troublemakers, but I guess they like being on the ranch, because they haven’t caused a single problem. I worry about this food thing, though. Teenagers need regular food. They don’t want to complain, but I can see it in their faces that they don’t like it.”
“So what does she serve that’s so bad?”
“Escargot.” Jeb said it with a groan.
“Hmm. Pricey.” Matthew wondered what sort of bills Aurelia Imogene was running up.
“It’s snails, man! You don’t eat something that crawls on the ground with slime coming out its ass! But she served a plate of those varmints and expected us to eat ’em. I don’t think so.”
“So you left them on the plate?” Matthew happened to love escargots and hated to think of that delicacy going to waste.
“Hell, no. That would have been rude. We scooped ’em out of the shells like we planned to eat them. By now we know to bring plastic bags in our pockets when we come up to the main house for lunch, which is the only meal we eat there. Mornings and evenings we fend for ourselves down at the bunkhouse with stuff like canned chili. We always used to fill up at lunch. But now we’re starving to death.”
“What’d you do with the snails?”
“Gave ’em to the dogs.”
Matthew winced at the travesty of that. Of course, maybe the snails weren’t any good. Just because someone claimed to be a gourmet cook didn’t mean they were.
“Some stuff’s so bad even the dogs won’t eat it.”
Matthew was hardwired to solve problems, and this was one he had a stake in because he did love his food. “Can’t you talk to somebody? Either her, or whoever hired her?”
“That’s just it. She’s Mary Lou’s niece, and Mary Lou invited her to come and fill in. Nobody wants to offend Mary Lou because she’s been good to us, and to be honest, I don’t know what the Chance family thinks about the food because they’ve never said anything.”
“So maybe they like it.”
“I’d be surprised. I think they’re just trying to ride it out like the rest of us. Plus, Aurelia’s sweet as can be, and I’m sure she doesn’t mean to make us gag. Nobody has the heart to hurt her feelings. In fact …” He glanced over at Matthew before sighing and turning his attention to the road again. “No, I can’t do it. It’s not fair to you.”
“What’s not fair?”
“One of the guys came up with the idea that you could pretend you were on a special diet or something, which she’d have to accommodate because you’re an honored guest, and we’d all climb on board and say we’d eat the same thing to make life easier for her.”
“I’m not going to lie to her about some bogus special diet.”
“No, I don’t think you should, either,” Jeb said quickly. “I told the boys that. Bad idea.”
“But I’d like to help. I’ve had some experience with fine dining, so maybe if I show that I appreciate what she’s trying to do, I can make some subtle suggestions that would turn things around.”
“Now that’s more like it! But I still think we should stop for food before we get to the ranch.”
Matthew shook his head. “That makes no sense. Before I can discuss food with her, I have to eat something she’s made.” He glanced at the clock on the truck’s dashboard. They wouldn’t arrive at the ranch until around seven, which was nine his time. By then he might not care what he ate.
“You’re a brave man.”
Matthew laughed. “That bad, huh?”
“I have two words for you. Goat cheese.” Jeb made a face. “Find out if she’s made something with goat cheese, and if she has, don’t eat it. I guarantee you’ll want to puke your guts out.”
Matthew decided not to admit he was fond of goat cheese, too. Demand for his training skills now brought him offers from around the world. He’d learned to appreciate all sorts of food, assuming it was prepared well.
“So I should drop you at the main house?” Jeb asked.
“Right. I need to check in with Sarah Chance, anyway. If you’ll take my duffel to the bunkhouse, you can put it on whatever bed you want me to use. I’ll unpack after I’ve had something to eat.”
“I hope you don’t mind being down with us, but it’s that or sleep in the main house with eight teenagers. I hear they’re behaving themselves, but still.”
“No worries. Bunkhouses are amongst my favorite places to sleep.” Matthew gazed out at the majestic Tetons in the distance and the grassy meadows bordering the road. After spending the past few weeks in the manicured pastures of Virginia, he relished the rugged landscape of Jackson Hole especially on a warm July day. Born not far from here in Billings, Montana, he was a Westerner at heart.
At sixteen, he’d hired on at a working ranch outside Billings. There he’d discovered his gift for working with difficult horses when he’d befriended a mare that previously had trusted no one. His boss had been a talkative man, and soon Matthew had been in demand throughout the state.
When he’d transformed a Montana senator’s unruly horse into a mount children could ride, he’d earned a national reputation for being a miracle worker. Many people had encouraged him to write a book about his methods, and that book had brought international attention to his training ability. He enjoyed the travel opportunities, but he welcomed a return to more familiar surroundings.
Jeb seemed happy about Matthew’s fondness for bunkhouses. He glanced over with a smile. “We have a card game going most nights, in case you’re interested.”
“Deal me in. Once I assess the food situation, I’ll be headed down there ready to play.” He looked forward to spending a week at a place where Stetsons and hand-stitched boots were the norm. Jackson Hole felt a lot like coming home.
SPINACH SOUFFLÉ. Aurelia had spent the past hour sitting at the kitchen table going through her cookbooks in search of something spectacular for tomorrow’s midday meal. The house was quiet for a change, because Pete Beckett had taken the teenagers to the Shoshone Diner to give Aurelia a break.
Aurelia appreciated the gesture. She enjoyed the kids, but they did make a racket, so the peaceful interlude was a good time to concentrate on her menu-planning. Going the soufflé route would be tricky with a crowd, but how gratifying if she could pull it off!
The big dining room sat thirty-two, but she wouldn’t be feeding quite that many. The eight teens took up one of the round tables. The hands and whichever members of the Chance family showed up would occupy two more tables. She didn’t have the baking dishes to make twenty-four individual soufflés, but since she didn’t have an exact head count, several bigger ones everyone could share would work better, anyway.
Or maybe she should make ratatouille, instead. She leafed through another cookbook and found the recipe for that. She’d need eggplant, but she could run into town tomorrow and pick some up. Reading through the list of ingredients, she lifted her thick hair off the back of her neck to catch the evening breeze coming in the kitchen window. The ranch didn’t have air-conditioning because it wasn’t needed often in Jackson Hole, but they could have used some AC today.
Aurelia’s boss, Sarah Chance, had apologized for the lack of cooling and had brought a fan into the kitchen while Aurelia was fixing brochettes aux rognons, de foie et lardons for lunch. Apparently this July had been warmer than usual, although it didn’t seem bad to Aurelia, who was used to Nebraska’s summers.
This was her first trip out of Nebraska, and although she was enjoying the chance to try recipes and cook for a crowd, she couldn’t imagine doing it on a regular basis. She’d happily go back to her stress-free routine of working at the bank and cooking for herself and her friends on her days off.
As she puzzled over whether to serve the ratatouille or the spinach soufflé the next day, she heard voices coming from the hallway that led into the large dining room. One she recognized as Sarah’s, but the deep baritone didn’t sound like any of Sarah’s three adult sons or Pete, who had recently become Sarah’s fiancé.
As the voices drew closer and Aurelia heard Houdini’s name mentioned, she figured out the horse trainer had arrived. And he’d probably arrived hungry if Sarah was bringing him back to the kitchen. Happy anticipation made Aurelia smile. She loved feeding people.
A moment later Sarah walked into the kitchen followed by a very tall man with shoulders a mile wide and eyes bluer than the center of a gas flame. Aurelia caught her breath as she stood to greet the most imposing cowboy she’d seen since setting foot on the Last Chance. And that was saying something, because the ranch was chock-full of good-looking cowboys.
The horse trainer held his tan Stetson in one hand. He’d obviously been wearing it all day because his wavy brown hair bore the crease of it, along with a faint pink mark on his forehead, which she found endearing. His face and throat were bronzed by the sun, which presented a nice contrast to the blue denim Western shirt he wore. She didn’t allow her gaze to travel lower in case he’d think she was giving him the once-over. She’d save that for when he wasn’t looking right at her.
Aurelia’s boss wasn’t small at five foot nine, but this man made Sarah Chance look dainty. Sarah tucked her sleek bob, which she’d allowed to turn its natural white, behind her ears as she smiled at Aurelia. “Here’s the magician who’s going to solve our problems with Houdini. Matthew Tredway, may I present our cook, Aurelia Smith.”
“Pleased to meet you.” She held out her hand, which was engulfed by his much larger one.
His handshake was warm, and so was his smile. “Same here. I asked Sarah if you might have some leftovers for me. I haven’t eaten much all day.”
She’d seldom taken such an instant liking to someone, but Matthew had the square-jawed look of a man a girl could count on. “I’ll be happy to fix you something.” She couldn’t seem to wipe the smile off her face, either. Her girlfriends had talked about instant sexual chemistry, but she’d thought they were imagining things because she’d never felt it before. In less than sixty seconds, Matthew Tredway had made a believer out of her.
Too bad she and Matthew were both only temporarily in the same place, but at least now she understood what her friends back home had been talking about. It really was like being struck by lightning, as evidenced by her pounding heart.
Before she’d fully processed her feelings, a commotion erupted in the main part of the house. Young male laughter and good-natured taunts, coupled with the sound of feet thumping on the stairs to the second floor, indicated the teenagers had returned from town.
Sarah glanced at Matthew and Aurelia. “If you two will excuse me, I’d better go check on the kids.”
And Pete. Aurelia got such a kick out of watching the sixty-something couple. Anyone would think they were teenagers themselves as they held hands and shared a brief kiss now and then. Sarah had been widowed nearly three years ago, and her sons seemed happy that she’d found someone like Pete.
As Sarah headed out of the kitchen, Aurelia remembered her duties as the ranch cook. “Do you think the boys will want an evening snack? I have some roasted figs left.”
Sarah turned back to her. “If I know Pete, he bought them all a slice of homemade pie at the diner, so I think they’re set for the night. Thanks, though.”
“Just wanted to make sure.”
“I’d take some of those roasted figs,” Matthew said.
Aurelia glanced at him. “Not until you’ve had a proper meal.” When Matthew laughed, she realized how anal that had sounded. “Sorry, I’ve been dealing with teenagers for a week. If you want dessert first, you certainly can have it.”
“That’s okay.” His smile creased his tanned cheeks. “I’ll wait on the figs.”
She had the insane urge to stand on tiptoe, clutch that smiling face, and plant one right on his gorgeous mouth. He was way too handsome for his own good.
But kissing him after knowing him for five minutes wasn’t a great idea. Instead she walked over and clicked the oven knob before opening the industrial-sized refrigerator. “Then I’ll warm up the leftover brochettes aux rognons, de foie et lardons we had for lunch.”
“My French is pretty sparse, but I think I’ve had that before.”
She turned, the foil-covered platter in her hand, and stared at him. “You have? I’ve never met anyone who’s eaten it before.”
“Tell me what’s in it and I’ll know for sure.”
“Kidneys, liver and bacon on a skewer.”
Matthew nodded. “That was my guess. Sounds great.”
“Where did you have it?” Now she was nervous. Maybe the version he’d eaten had been better than what she’d fixed today.
“A restaurant on the Left Bank.”
“In Paris?” Now she was really nervous.
“Yes. Ever been to France?”
“No. I’m not really into travel.”
“You’re not? Why?”
She shrugged. “I like the comforts of home too much, I guess. Traveling just doesn’t appeal to me.”
“But you could sample the food cooked by natives.”
“I’d rather try making it at home myself.” She wished she’d offered him something else, but too late for that now. Transferring several skewers to a baking dish, she flicked on the oven and slid the dish inside to heat. “But since I’ve never tasted the real thing like you have, my version may not be what you’re used to.”
“I’m sure it’ll be terrific.”
“I hope so. Reheated won’t be quite the same as when they were first broiled.” She gathered up her cookbooks so he’d have a place to eat. “Go ahead and sit.” Then she had an inspiration. “Would you like some wine? It’s not French, but Sarah always keeps some good California reds on hand.”
“Only if you’ll have a glass with me.”
“Well … okay.” She knew Sarah wouldn’t mind. She’d have a little, to be hospitable. “Be right back.” She opened the door to the walk-in pantry and ducked inside. Once there, she dithered over the wine selection, trying to imagine what a man who’d been to Paris would prefer.
“Want me to pick one?” Matthew walked into the pantry and the space instantly shrank.
“Um, sure. That makes sense.” She stepped away from the wine rack, but there really wasn’t anywhere to go. Once he moved in front of it, they were practically touching. The small space filled with his scent—a crisp, manly aroma that jacked up her pulse rate.
She became aware of his steady breathing as he pulled out a couple of bottles, checked the labels and moved on. She was afraid they weren’t to his liking. “I know it’s not a huge selection.”
“No, it’s great! I just don’t want to drink up the pricey stuff.”
“But you should! Take the most expensive bottle! From the way everyone’s talked about you, they’d be honored for you to have it.”
“I don’t know what they’ve said, but the truth of the matter is that I’m an ordinary guy who can drink six-dollar wine and be perfectly happy. Here we go.” He pulled out a bottle and showed it to her. “This will do fine.”
She took a shaky breath and hoped he couldn’t tell how his nearness affected her. “If you’re sure.”
“I am.” He gestured toward the pantry door. “After you, mademoiselle.”
Dear God, he even said it with a French accent. She brushed past him, aware of every point of contact with his solid body. She couldn’t tell if he was attracted to her, too, but it really didn’t matter.
He was here to train a horse and he’d spend his evenings at the bunkhouse, according to what Sarah had said. Tonight might be the only time she’d be alone with him for the rest of his stay. Considering they were from completely different worlds, that was probably for the best.
2
SHE WAS DYNAMITE, the ultimate definition of the word hot. Matthew wasn’t sure what he’d expected when he’d walked into the kitchen to meet Aurelia Imogene Smith, but it certainly hadn’t been a blonde with a drop-dead figure and eyes that sparkled like dew on spring leaves.
He understood immediately why nobody had criticized her food. Besides being great to look at, she was earnest about her job and achingly vulnerable in her need for validation. Telling her that most everyone hated her food would be mean.
He uncorked the wine and poured them each a glass.
“How about a salad?” she asked.
“Sounds good. Want help?”
“No, thanks. Go ahead and sit down. It’ll only take a few minutes.”
He took a seat at the table while she put together greens of various types with efficient motions that told him she was no novice in the kitchen. She didn’t ask him the ranch-or-thousand-island question, either. Instead she mixed up some vinegar, olive oil and spices before tossing it with the greens.
So far he was inclined to think she was the real deal and the cowboys didn’t have the kind of educated palate to appreciate her efforts. Still, he mentally crossed his fingers.
If the food was good, he’d have an easier task correcting the situation. If it was bad, he’d have to get creative. But that wasn’t his only issue and probably not his biggest hurdle. Aurelia Imogene Smith turned him on.
His intense physical reaction to her defied logic. He’d dated a string of international beauties, skinny supermodels and jet-setters whose lifestyles mirrored his and who thought a man who trained horses was sexy. He didn’t get that, although one girlfriend had taken great pains to explain that a man astride a horse evoked knights in armor and good guys in white hats, which appealed to women who craved romance.
Fortunately not all women who craved romance wanted permanence. Matthew had focused on a certain kind of woman—rootless, well-traveled, sophisticated and definitely tall because he liked that attribute. He was at the height of his career and had no intention of changing anything about his life.
Maybe someday, when he was tired of traveling or the offers stopped coming, he’d use the money he’d stashed away to buy a ranch and settle down. But until that time, he sought women who had the same rolling-stone philosophy as his own. Less chance of a broken heart that way.
Aurelia didn’t fit the profile. He could tell from the way she’d reacted to his comment about Paris that she’d never been there. He’d be willing to bet she hadn’t traveled much at all.
Her outfit—a white cotton peasant blouse over jeans and athletic shoes on her feet—suggested she wasn’t particularly sophisticated, either. As for her height, he’d be amazed if she was much over five foot five. She was nothing like his usual girlfriends, and the total opposite of Elsa, the Swedish supermodel he’d broken up with a month ago.
And yet, from the moment he’d walked into the kitchen, he’d been assaulted by images of rolling naked with her on a mattress. The intensity of his reaction embarrassed him. He considered himself an evolved man who appreciated women for their minds as well as their bodies.
But if he were honest with himself, he didn’t much care what was going on in Aurelia’s mind. He just wanted to get his hands on her. That was unacceptable and he wouldn’t follow through on the urge, but it was there, a humbling reminder that he wasn’t quite as evolved as he liked to think.
Taking the baking dish from the oven, she transferred the meat from the skewers to a plate that already held a mound of salad. As she handed him the plate, he got a brief glimpse of cleavage. His johnson stirred, seeking Aurelia the way a divining rod seeks water. He ignored that unmannerly response and breathed in the aroma of the food, which smelled promising.
She pointed a finger at him. “Napkin. You need a napkin.” Hurrying to one of the drawers in the array of oak cabinets, she pulled out a hunter-green cloth napkin and handed it to him.
“Thanks, but I can use paper.”
“Not in this house. Sarah believes paper napkins have eroded the elegance of the dining experience, not to mention cluttering up the landfill, so it’s a rare occasion when she allows them.”
“I respect that view.” Matthew spread the napkin across his thighs. “This looks and smells delicious.”
“Like I said, I’m not a trained chef. I just like to cook.” She sat across from him, her expression anxious.
He raised his wineglass, which he hadn’t touched because he’d been waiting for her to sit down. “Here’s to your passion for cooking.”
“I guess I can drink to that. It has brought me pleasure over the years.” She touched the rim of her glass to his and took a sip of her wine.
He followed suit before setting the glass down and picking up his fork. He could feel her apprehension from across the table and knew that even if the food tasted like swill, he’d praise it to the skies.
It didn’t taste like swill. Closing his eyes, he savored the first bite of gourmet food he’d eaten in some time. Then he looked at her. “This is awesome.”
The tension went out of her shoulders and her smile lit up the room. “Really? You’re not just saying that to be nice?”
“Hell, no. You have a gift, and I plan to enjoy it, so pardon me if I don’t make conversation for a few minutes.” He tucked back into the meal.
Her sigh was audible. “I’m so relieved. You know, I’m probably too sensitive, but I’ve had the feeling since I got here that not everyone loves my cooking. But, like I said, I’m probably imagining it.”
No, you’re not. But he said nothing. He had a mouthful of food, and besides, he hadn’t quite decided on his approach.
“I did see one of the kids smuggling his lunch into a plastic bag once, and I heard another one saying something about the dogs.”
“Mmm.” He couldn’t eat and talk, but he could eat and admire the way her shoulder-length blond hair caught the light from the lamp hanging over the kitchen table. That glorious hair would look terrific spread out on a pillow.
“I’ll bet the boys think it’s fun to give the ranch dogs a treat,” she said. “We’re not allowed to feed table scraps to Sarah’s bassett hound because he’s a couch potato. The other two, though, Butch and Sundance, get tons of exercise so a few handouts are okay. The kids are always playing with them.”
Matthew was beginning to come up with a strategy. He took another bite, partly because he liked the food immensely and partly because he’d read somewhere that chewing helped a person think.
But he took a moment between mouthfuls to get in a comment. “It seems a shame for wonderful food like this to be given to a dog.”
“They’re kids, and disadvantaged kids at that. They don’t know it’s special.”
“I’m not sure the cowboys do, either.” He forked up another portion.
“Maybe not, although they seem appreciative that I’m cooking for them, and the food all disappears, so they must like it okay.” She took a swallow of her wine.
He watched the movement of her lovely throat and imagined brushing it with his mouth, then nuzzling…. Hell. Just like that, he’d drifted from his charted course. He finished chewing and pulled his focus back to the problem. “If the ranch hands were better educated about food, they’d be raving.”
“Would they? I thought cowboys were the strong, silent type.”
“Not when it comes to food.”
She gazed at him, her green eyes serious. “Are you saying they really don’t like what I’m fixing?”
“I’m not saying that.” And he wouldn’t say it even if somebody shoved slivers under his fingernails. “I only have Jeb to go by, because he’s the one I talked to on the drive from the airport, but since he didn’t brag about the food here, I think it might be a little too sophisticated for his taste buds.”
“Hmm.” She took another sip of wine. “You could have a point.”
“But maybe it’s just Jeb.” He returned his attention to his plate.
“I don’t think so. Mary Lou left some recipes for me, but they were all so boring that I put them away. I know what you mean about the lack of enthusiasm from the cowboys, but I thought maybe they just didn’t care that much about what they ate.”
He thought of Jeb’s rant about how much he missed Mary Lou’s cooking. “I can understand why you’d get bored fixing the kind of food Mary Lou made. I’m guessing her recipes are for ordinary things like fried chicken, ribs, potato salad, stuff like that.”
“Exactly! From what I could tell, she’s been making the same kind of meals for years, and I thought everyone would like a change of pace.”
“That’s a good idea, but maybe it was too sharp a turn for them, considering they’ve probably never eaten gourmet food before.”
She nodded. “I can see that might be a possibility.”
“I have an idea for an experiment, if you’d like to hear it.” And boy, did he like this idea. He hoped she would.
“Sure. Go ahead.”
“I know plain food and I know gourmet food, so I could be your consultant and taste-tester while I’m here. We could look for recipes that are fun for you, but give a nod to the sort of food the cowboys are more used to. And then we could see what happens.”
“That would be great, but I can’t believe you have time to spare. You’re here to work with Houdini, not help in the kitchen. I don’t think Sarah or the Chance men would go for it.”
He’d anticipated that argument. “I won’t be training Houdini at night. After several hours of work, we’ll need a break from each other.”
“Yes, and you’ll probably be exhausted.”
He smiled. If she only knew how much the prospect of spending time with her would revitalize him. “I might be physically tired at the end of the day, but all we’d be doing is going over recipes and planning menus.” He could imagine other activities, too, but he wouldn’t count on it. She might not be the least bit interested in him.
“I’d want you to clear it with Sarah, and make sure she knows it wasn’t something I asked for. They’ve been really good to me, and I don’t want them to think I asked for extra help.”
“I’ll check with Sarah, but I really doubt she’ll object.” He had a hunch she’d be overjoyed if he stepped in and made some menu adjustments. Pete Beckett might have taken the kids to the diner tonight to stave off a revolt.
Aurelia gazed at him. “You’re a very nice man, Matthew, to offer this when you probably should be relaxing down at the bunkhouse instead of coming up here to work.”
He felt a pang of guilt. Although his original intent had been to help the cowhands out of a jam, now the plan was mostly an excuse to hang around Aurelia and get to know her better. He wasn’t sure where that might lead, and he might be making a huge mistake.
She had home and hearth written all over her, and he couldn’t offer her anything along those lines right now. But maybe, despite outward appearances, she wasn’t looking for permanence. He’d never know unless he asked.
His plate was empty, and so was his wineglass. He should probably leave now. The boys in the bunkhouse expected him for a game of cards and he’d had a long day.
On the other hand, Aurelia had indicated a willingness to go along with his plan, and her cookbooks were still on the table. He glanced at them. “We could start tonight, if you want.”
“Tonight? Oh, no. You must be jet-lagged. Besides, I’ve already narrowed it down to either spinach soufflés or ratatouille for tomorrow, so I’m okay for the time being. If Sarah agrees, we can start tomorrow night.”
“I’m really not that tired.” Adrenaline had kicked in the moment he’d walked into the kitchen and caught sight of her. He hesitated. “Can I say something about your two options?”
She waved a hand. “Be my guest.”
“I’ve had many spinach soufflés, and I’m sure with your talent you’d turn out something amazing. But I’d argue against making that for tomorrow.”
“Why?”
“The color. To these guys, it’ll look like you baked a frog.”
She burst out laughing. “Okay, I can see you think like a cowboy. Apparently I don’t because I never would have thought of that.”
Her laughter charmed him. He was also impressed by her willingness to be flexible. “If you haven’t been around cowboys before, I don’t know how you could be expected to understand them.”
“But I need to, obviously.”
“That’s where I come in.”
“How about the ratatouille? I suppose that’s out because of the name. I doubt cowboys are fond of rats.”
“So don’t call it that. Call it vegetable stew.”
“And make it the authentic way?”
“Maybe not quite.” He shoved back his chair and picked up his plate. “Let’s have some more wine while we talk about how you can modify the recipe to make it more cowboy-friendly.”
“I’ll admit I’m intrigued.” She stood, too. “Are you sure you’re up to this?”
“I am if you are.”
“Okay, then. That book on the top of the pile has the ratatouille recipe in it. If you want to take a look, I’ll tidy up and bring out the baked figs.”
“Great.” Someone in his travels had told him that figs were beneficial to a man’s family jewels. Considering his state of mind, he couldn’t think of a more appropriate dessert for her to serve.
AURELIA COULDN’T TELL whether Matthew had offered his services because he was a good guy or because he found her attractive. A couple of times she’d noticed what could be a gleam of interest in his eyes, but it could also have been appreciation for her cooking. At least he liked that about her.
She quickly refrigerated the remaining food and put his plate in the commercial-sized dishwasher. When she glanced at the table, he was intently studying the ratatouille recipe. “I can warm up the figs or serve them cold with whipped cream. How would you like them?”
He glanced up. “Cold with whipped cream sounds good.”
“All right.” When he focused those blue eyes on her, she lost track of everything else.
She’d never licked whipped cream off a man’s body, but she wouldn’t mind licking it off his. She could imagine popping open the snaps on that blue denim shirt and squirting a trail of whipped cream down the middle of his chest toward an even more interesting part of his anatomy … oh, yeah. They could have fun times with a can of whipped cream.
He glanced down at his shirt. “Did I spill food on myself?”
Whoops. “No, no, I was just … wondering how you stay so fit.” Way to go, girl. Now he knows for sure that you were ogling his chest. Her cheeks grew hot. “I mean, it must be tough with all your traveling, and I know you love to eat, and …” Dear God, the more she explained, the worse it got.
Fortunately he looked more amused than offended. “The horses make sure I don’t get lazy and fat.”
“Well, that’s logical.” She struggled to remember what she’d been about to do that had started the whole whipped-cream fantasy. Oh, yes. Dessert.
“So go ahead and pile on the whipped cream. I’ll work it off.”
“Coming right up.” She turned quickly back to the counter and resisted the urge to fan herself. She’d just bet he could work it off, in any number of ways. Right now she was picturing how many calories they could burn if they got naked.
Taking a deep breath, she uncovered the leftover figs. Darned if those figs didn’t remind her of a certain part of the male anatomy. She hadn’t planned to have any, but she found herself dishing a couple for herself.
Normally she would have whipped the cream herself instead of using a commercial version, but making her own would take too long. For the sake of convenience, she grabbed the pressurized can that had been in the refrigerator when she’d arrived last week.
After a few quick shakes, she pressed her finger against the nozzle. She hadn’t used a can of whipped cream in years and she’d forgotten how much fun it was. She had to force herself to stop before she covered the figs completely.
Even then, she couldn’t resist spraying some on her finger and sucking it off before she put away the can. She had her finger in her mouth when she heard Matthew clear his throat. Turning, she met his gaze.
This time she had no doubt that the gleam in his eyes had nothing to do with her food and everything to do with her. Heat pooled low in her belly as his status changed from harmless crush to potential lover. Ah, but that was a bad idea, wasn’t it? She hadn’t been brought over from Nebraska to get horizontal with the horse trainer.
Perhaps he had the same thought, because he broke eye contact and looked down at the cookbook. “I think you should lose the eggplant.” His voice was husky.
She was so focused on the undertone of lust that it took her a couple of seconds to register what he’d said and muster a protest. “Eggplant is the whole point to ratatouille.” She returned the whipped cream to the refrigerator, pulled spoons out of the utensil drawer, and brought the two dishes of figs over to the table.
He cleared his throat again. “I realize that, but eggplant’s a tricky vegetable when it comes to cowboys. They might accept it breaded and fried in eggplant parmesan, but I’m not sure they’ll take to it in a stew.”
“So ratatouille without the eggplant.” She sat next to him because the idea had been to study the recipe together. “Maybe I should fix something else, instead.” His warmth and his scent reached out to her.
“No, I think this will work.” He pulled his dish of figs closer. “Thanks for fixing this.”
“You’re welcome.” She cut through the whipped cream with her spoon and scooped up a bite of fig and cream. Sitting within easy touching distance of him made her tremble, and she took another calming breath. She didn’t want to drop the mouthful of dessert in her lap.
But she was determined to eat and prove that she was in control of the situation. She put the spoon in her mouth, but not all the whipped cream made it. She had to lick away the excess.
She thought he hadn’t noticed until she realized his breathing had changed. When she peeked over at him, he was watching her with that same intensity that played havoc with her pulse rate.
Closing his eyes, he pushed back from the table. “You know, maybe I should turn in, after all.”
She had the distinct impression he was running away before he did something totally inappropriate. And how she wished he would. But he was acting like a responsible adult, so she would, too. “All right. But should I substitute something for the eggplant?”
“Yes.” He picked up his bowl of figs. “I’ll take these with me, if that’s okay.”
“That’s fine. What should I substitute?”
“Potatoes.” He headed out of the kitchen.
“Potatoes? Really?”
“Yes,” he called over his shoulder. “Cowboys love potatoes. See you tomorrow, and thanks for a great meal!”
She stared after him, not sure whether to feel rejected by his abrupt departure or immensely complimented because he’d almost lost control of himself. She settled on feeling complimented.
But knowing they wanted each other this much changed everything. She wondered if he’d abandon the evening meal planning he’d suggested. If they went ahead with it, something was bound to happen. He had to know that as well as she did.
Would that be a mistake? From what she’d gathered from Aunt Mary Lou, the Chance family didn’t interfere with their employees’ personal lives as long as they fulfilled the duties they were hired for. Yet Aurelia didn’t want to do anything that would reflect poorly on her aunt.
Being the aggressor in the relationship might look really bad, so no matter how much Matthew turned her on, she wouldn’t pursue him. If he decided to resist temptation, then she would admire him from afar. But if he decided not to resist … Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to imagine the possibilities.
3
WOUND TIGHT FROM his encounter with Aurelia, Matthew carried his dessert down to the bunkhouse. He hoped the card game was still in progress. He desperately needed a distraction.
He’d been here less than an hour. Seducing the ranch cook within the first sixty minutes of arriving was not his style, but he’d come damned close to doing exactly that. He was the kind of man who liked to take it easy and work up to things. That was one of the qualities that made him a good horse trainer. So he needed to dial it back several notches.
Pushing open the screen door, he took in the welcome sight of six cowhands playing poker on a battered wooden table positioned in the middle of what was obviously the bunkhouse kitchen. They’d fortified themselves with beer, soda and various kinds of chips. A couple had cigars going. They all looked up from their cards as Matthew walked in.
“Hey, Matthew!” Jeb folded his hand and laid it on the table. “Let me introduce you to everybody.” He pointed to a dark-haired cowboy on his left. “This joker is Tucker Rankin. He’s only here for a couple of nights while his fiancée is at some forestry conference in Spokane, but the rest of these bozos live here full-time, so I’m afraid you’re stuck with them and their snoring.”
“Speak for yourself, carrot-top,” a rugged blond guy said. “You’re a damned buzz-saw.”
“Am not, Shorty. That’s coming from Danny’s bunk.”
“Hey!” A guy with prominent ears pointed his cigar at Jeb. “I do not snore. And that’s a fact.” He stood and extended his hand to Matthew. “Nice to meet you, Tredway. I’m Danny Lancaster. I admire your work.”
“Thanks.” Matthew transferred his dessert to his left hand so he could accept the handshakes of the rest of the poker players as they introduced themselves. Besides Shorty LaBeff and Danny Lancaster, the two cigar smokers, the table included Bob Gilbert, who wore wire-rimmed glasses, and Frank Delaney, who had a neatly trimmed mustache.
Danny glanced at Matthew’s bowl of figs. “Those things look familiar. The trash is over yonder.” He gestured with his thumb.
“Thanks, but I’m going to eat them.”
“Don’t put yourself through it. She’ll never know the difference.” Danny reached for the bowl. “Here, let me get rid of—”
“No!” Matthew jerked it back. “I want these! If the figs are half as good as the meal she fed me, they’ll be great.”
Danny stared at him, and then he broke into a wide grin that eventually turned to a chuckle and wound up as a belly laugh. Soon all the other cowhands were laughing, too.
“That’s a good one, Tredway!” Danny clapped him on the back. “For a second there, I thought you were serious.”
“He couldn’t have been serious.” Bob pulled out his shirttail and began polishing his glasses. “But it was good for a laugh.”
“I am serious.”
That set everyone off again.
“Yeah, right.” Shorty grinned before sticking his cigar in the corner of his mouth. “Okay, joke’s over. Pull up a chair, Tredway. Let’s play some cards.”
Matthew dragged a chair over and sat at the table. “I’m not kidding, guys. I enjoyed the meal Aurelia fed me.”
Tucker, the guy who was only staying overnight, stared at him. “Then she must not have given you the lunch leftovers, because that stuff was awful.”
“You can say that again.” Frank picked up his cards. “What’d she call it?”
“Something French-sounding.” Bob looked at his cards and put them face-down on the table. “Shetty fou lardy, or something like that. And I’m here to tell you it was definitely shetty.”
“She gave me what you all had,” Matthew said.
Frank wrinkled his nose, which made his mustache twitch. “Then you must possess different taste buds from the rest of us, because I don’t know a single person besides you who liked it.”
Matthew was walking a fine line if he wanted to avoid insulting these men, so he spoke with care. “I admit it was unusual, but as much traveling as I do, I’m used to eating what’s put in front of me. I guess it’s possible that along the way my tastes have changed.”
Jeb groaned. “And here I thought you’d be the perfect guy to fix the situation. But if you actually like her food, then you probably don’t want her to change how she cooks.”
“She doesn’t have to change completely,” Matthew said. “Just modify some. I already gave her a suggestion for tomorrow.”
Everybody looked up from their cards.
“I don’t suppose you suggested fried chicken and potato salad like Mary Lou makes.” Shorty took a pull on his cigar and blew out the smoke. “I’m starting to have wet dreams about Mary Lou’s cooking.”
“I’m afraid it won’t be fried chicken and potato salad, but I think you’ll like it okay.”
Jeb narrowed his eyes. “What is it?”
“It’s a sort of vegetable stew.”
Bob frowned. “No meat?”
“Hey,” Tucker said, “don’t be complaining about the lack of meat. She’s liable to throw some kidneys in there left over from that shetty fou lardy.”
“That wasn’t meat,” Bob said. “That was innards. I don’t eat innards.”
“And those things in the bowl you have there,” Shorty added, “look like something a grown man should not be putting in his mouth, if you get my meaning.”
Danny laughed. “Oh, you made your meaning clear all afternoon, Shorty. You want Tredway to take his dessert into the other room?”
“I just won’t watch.”
“They’re perfectly good.” Matthew dug into his dish of figs, but couldn’t resist needling Shorty a little before taking a bite. “Some folks say they keep you from being sterile.”
Shorty puffed on his cigar. “My boys do just fine, thank you. Tucker, there, might want to eat some, seeing as how he’s going to be a bridegroom in a few months.”
“No, thanks,” Tucker said. “I’ve made it this far without figs, so I think I’ll take my chances.”
“Suit yourselves.” As Matthew had expected, the figs were great. He enjoyed them while the six men finished their current hand, and when they were done, so was he. He set the bowl on the floor by his chair. “Deal me in.”
Frank shuffled. “Seven card stud.” As he passed out the cards, he glanced over at Matthew. “Liked that dessert, did you?”
“Yep. Aurelia has skills in the kitchen. They just need to be channeled in a slightly different direction.”
“I hope you can do it,” Jeb said.
“I think I can.” His big challenge would be slow-playing the sexual attraction between them. “All I ask is that you give tomorrow’s lunch a fair chance. If you like it even a little bit, then you should probably tell her it’s good. That’ll make it easier for me to make other suggestions if this one goes over.”
“Could she maybe bake some corn bread to go with it?” Tucker asked. “You can put up with a so-so meal if you have a good hunk of corn bread.”
“I’ll see what she says.” He’d have to find an opportunity to talk with her in the morning in order to make that request. The thought jacked up his heart rate. “But she can’t know that we’ve discussed all this.”
“Right,” Jeb said. “Matthew is like our go-between, but we have to make sure Aurelia doesn’t figure that out.”
Danny clamped down on his cigar as he fanned out his cards. “He’s like a hostage negotiator, and we’re the hostages.” He threw a chip in the middle of the table. “Ante up, suckers. I’ve got me a powerhouse here.”
As the poker game progressed, Matthew lost more than he won, which wasn’t surprising. His thoughts kept drifting back to Aurelia Imogene Smith, which didn’t make for good poker-playing. The cowhands chalked it up to jet-lag, and he willingly agreed.
If he and Aurelia became lovers, and he thought it was likely they would eventually, he’d rather not have the whole ranch know about it. However, he wasn’t sure if he could avoid that. His comings and goings from the bunkhouse would be noted.
No matter what, he couldn’t let his interest in Aurelia overshadow his purpose in being here. While a new hand was being dealt, he brought up the subject of Houdini. “Any tips on the horse I’m here to train before I get started tomorrow?”
Jeb laughed. “Tucker, anything you want to say on the subject of Houdini?”
“Yeah. He’s a pain-in-the-ass, but I love that horse. If it hadn’t been for him escaping on Christmas Eve, I might never have met Lacey, the love of my life.”
Matthew glanced at him. “That sounds like a good story.”
“Don’t get him started,” Danny said. “The boy’s got it bad.”
“Lacey’s a nice girl.” Bob picked up his cards and adjusted his glasses. “Probably too good for you, Tuck, but she seems as blinded by love as you are.”
“Thanks for that vote of confidence, Bob.” Tucker fanned his cards. “The point is, Matthew, that Houdini’s gift for opening stall doors and escaping every chance he gets turned out good for me because I chased him over to the cabin where Lacey was staying, which led to us getting together. But the horse is too smart for his own good. He’ll keep you on your toes.”
Matthew consulted his cards. “I’d rather have him be smart than dumb as a box of rocks. A smart horse can be trained.”
“In theory, that’s true.” Danny chewed on his cigar. “But we have some fine horse trainers on this ranch, including those at this table, and we haven’t made a dent in that horse’s behavior. If he had a middle finger, he’d be giving us the Italian salute.”
“That’s okay. I like a challenge.”
Shorty glanced across the table at him. “If you can fix Houdini and our food problem, then drinks are on me at the Spirits and Spurs before you leave.”
“Whoa.” Danny reared back in his chair. “That’s big medicine, there, Shorty. I can’t remember the last time you bought a round of drinks.”
“Bite me, Lancaster.”
Matthew grinned. It was good to be back in the bunkhouse of a working ranch. Add in an excellent ranch cook who looked like Aurelia, and he couldn’t think of anywhere he’d rather be, at least for the next couple of weeks.
ALTHOUGH AURELIA WOULD have happily fixed breakfast for Sarah every morning, Sarah insisted on making breakfast for both of them each day. Sarah was a good cook, though not particularly imaginative. Aurelia didn’t mind since the shared meals gave her a chance to know the woman who had been Aunt Mary Lou’s employer and friend all these years.
While Sarah scrambled eggs, fried bacon and toasted bread, Aurelia sat at the table with her coffee and the ratatouille recipe.
“You and Matthew must have bonded over the subject of gourmet cooking last night.” Sarah glanced over her shoulder at Aurelia.
That wasn’t all they’d bonded over, but Aurelia wasn’t about to mention the sizzling chemistry between them. “Have you talked to him?” After a week, she still wasn’t used to the ungodly hour everyone got out of bed on a working ranch.
“He called an hour ago, before he headed down to the barn to get started with Houdini. He praised your cooking to the skies.”
That got Aurelia’s heart pumping. “That’s nice to hear, since he’s eaten in restaurants all over the world, including Paris, the food capital of the world.”
“I know.” Sarah turned off the stove and pulled two plates from the cupboard. “He’s an interesting combination of down-home cowboy and jet-setter.”
And gorgeous, super-sexy, male. “I was a little worried that my brochettes aux rognons, de foie et lardons wouldn’t be up to his standards, but he liked it.”
“He told me he did.” Sarah filled their plates and brought them over to the table. “He also said that he’d get a kick out of consulting with you on future menus.”
“Did he?” Aurelia did her best to act mildly interested while her heart thumped so fast she worried that Sarah would hear it. If he’d mentioned that possibility to Sarah, then the menu-planning sessions were still on. And if the menu-planning sessions were still on, then so was the possibility that they’d become lovers.
But she didn’t want Sarah to suspect any of that. “How do you feel about Matthew helping me with my job?” she said as casually as possible.
“Whatever he wants works for me.” Sarah sat down and spread her napkin in her lap. “It was a coup getting him here in the first place. He’s in demand all over the world, and we’re fortunate he took us up on our offer.”
Aurelia had figured out that Matthew was a rock star among horse people. If she thought for even one second that Matthew was the sort of man who took advantage of his position to get women, her infatuation with him would end.
But he wasn’t like that. When the heat between them had threatened to consume them both, he’d left, because it was too soon, too fast. Obviously from his actions, he’d proved that he had standards and scruples. That made him even more irresistible to her.
Sarah buttered her toast. “The more relevant question is, what do you think of the idea? For the time you’re at the Last Chance, this is your kitchen, and you may not want some six-foot-five cowboy invading your space and making suggestions.”
Oh, but she did. And the suggestions could range far beyond the subject of food preparation. She wasn’t an idiot, though. Whatever they shared would be brief, an interlude in both of their lives that would never be more than a memory to savor. But she wanted that memory.
Until she’d accepted Mary Lou’s offer, she’d never left Nebraska. Her family didn’t travel, and Mary Lou was the only relative who lived more than a hundred miles away from Aurelia’s home town. Her aunt’s honeymoon cruise, which included a trip through the Panama Canal, was unimaginable and frightening to the rest of the family.
Aurelia had inherited that same reluctance to travel, so the trip to Jackson Hole might be the biggest adventure she’d have in her entire life. Matthew Tredway might be as close to a rock star as she’d ever get. If he wanted to invade her kitchen—or her bedroom—then she would fling open the door and let him in.
None of that, however, would be part of her answer to Sarah. “If getting involved with the menus interests him, then it’s fine with me,” she said. “With his background, I trust him to give good advice.”
“Great. That’s settled, then. As he mentioned to me, he won’t be training Houdini at night, so that would be a good time to come up to the house and consult with you about the food for the next day.”
“That’s fine.” More than fine. They’d have the kitchen to themselves.
Sarah gazed at Aurelia over the rim of her coffee cup. “I want to make sure you don’t have a problem with Matthew doing this. I promised Mary Lou I’d watch out for you, so if this makes you uncomfortable, tell me and I’ll shut him down. I want to make him happy, but not at the expense of my staff’s morale.”
And that, Aurelia thought, was why Aunt Mary Lou idolized Sarah Chance. She was loyal to those she’d committed to, and even a big-deal horse trainer celebrity didn’t take precedence over the welfare of her staff, including someone like Aurelia, who would be here such a short time.
Sarah couldn’t know that Aurelia lusted after Matthew Tredway. If Aurelia had her way, Sarah would never know, but that was probably unrealistic. Even though Aurelia had been on the ranch a relatively short time, she’d figured out that Sarah was tuned in to almost every aspect of ranch life. Hardly anything got past her.
Right now, Sarah was waiting for an answer to her question. Would Aurelia object to having Matthew, aka muscular hero, show up every evening to discuss the next day’s menu? Hardly. But she didn’t want to appear too eager, either.
“Let’s try it for a night or two and see how it goes,” Aurelia said. “If it’s not working out, I’ll let you know.”
“Perfect.” Sarah tackled her breakfast in earnest. “My main concern is Houdini, of course. I hope Matthew’s able to turn that horse around. If it relaxes him to think about food and menus every evening, so much the better. But he’s here to train Houdini, and that’s the primary goal. Houdini’s a valuable stud, and we’re not getting the income out of him that we need to. We also hope to train him as a cutting horse eventually. Matthew’s supposed to make him a joy to deal with.”
“I’m sure he will.” What Aurelia knew about training horses could fit on the head of a pin, but she could feel Sarah’s frustration with a horse that wasn’t earning his keep. Matthew had been hired to cure what ailed Houdini, and as the new kid on the block, Aurelia wasn’t about to mess with that.
4
A COUPLE OF HOURS LATER, as Aurelia had begun gathering her ingredients and spices for the ratatouille, Matthew appeared in the kitchen. He was a very different Matthew from the one she’d seen the night before. This one wore an old T-shirt that was splotched with sweat and dirt, a T-shirt that strained at the seams over spectacular biceps, pecs and deltoids.
Yesterday’s shirt had somewhat disguised his physique, but this one left nothing to the imagination. He’d been wearing his hat when he’d come through the door, but he took it off to reveal hair that had a tendency to curl when he was hot and sweaty. Two damp tendrils lay across his forehead.
Caught up in the glory that was Matthew, she could barely remember her name. But she sure as hell remembered his, and imagined the joy with which she’d call that name in the midst of a spectacular orgasm. It was quite a vivid picture for ten-thirty in the morning.
“I could use some carrots,” he said, seeming distracted. “Or if you don’t have those, apples will work.”
“I have both, and good morning to you, too.”
His smile was sheepish. “Sorry. When I’m working, I have a bad habit of getting tunnel vision. And speaking of that, there was something else I wanted to ask you about. What was it?” Frowning, he gazed at the floor and tapped his hat against his denim-covered thigh. His jeans were more worn and formfitting than the ones he’d had on the night before, too.
“Did you want to discuss what time you’ll be coming to the house tonight?”
He glanced up, his gaze now focused and intent. “Sarah talked to you about that?”
“Yes.” She couldn’t stop looking at him. She wanted to walk over, peel the shirt from his body and lick the sweat from his powerful chest. Who needed whipped cream with a guy like Matthew?
“You’re okay with that plan?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
He held her gaze for a long, hot moment. “Just checking.”
Her toes curled inside her running shoes. She knew exactly what he was checking. He wanted to find out if she’d had a change of heart following their mutual admiration society the night before. He wanted to know whether she was willing to see where this sexual chemistry might lead them.
“I think it’s a fine idea,” she said, in case he had any doubts about her feelings. “I’m ready for whatever suggestions you want to make.” That was a little bolder in the double-meaning department than she’d intended, but she let the statement stand.
The effect on him was instantaneous. A flame leaped in his blue eyes and he took an involuntary step forward. Then he paused as if he’d belatedly realized this wasn’t the time or the place.
He nodded. “Good. I’m glad.”
“Do you want the carrots and apples cut up or whole?”
He blinked as if he had no clue what she was talking about. Then the fog cleared. “Cut up, if you don’t mind. And if you could put them in a plastic bag, that would be great.”
“Sure thing.” She pulled the carrots out of the refrigerator and took a couple of apples from a bowl on the counter.
“Or I can cut them up,” he said. “I’m sure you’re busy getting lunch ready.”
“That’s okay.” She got out a cutting board and set to work. “I’m the cook, which probably extends to making treats for the horses. This is for Houdini, right?”
“It is.”
“How’s everything going with him?”
“If we can stay on schedule, I’ll ride him around the corral this afternoon.”
She turned to him, knife poised in midair. “Ride him already? Sarah told me he’s never been ridden.”
“Well, today’s the day.”
His quiet confidence registered on her lust-o-meter. So would his competence if he pulled this off. She continued slicing up the apples and carrots. “You should probably sell tickets.”
“I doubt anybody would buy them.”
“I would.”
“Then I hereby offer you a complimentary ticket to the official riding demonstration featuring Houdini and yours truly.”
“How will I know when it is?”
“You might want to come out around four. I’m shooting for that.”
She scooped the pieces of carrot and apple into a plastic bag, zipped it closed and walked over so she could hand it to him. “It’s only the first day. I’m sure nobody expects you to ride him on the first day.”
“But I do.”
She admired his attitude even more than she admired his body, and that was saying a lot. “Understood.”
“Thanks for the horse treats.” His hand brushed hers as he took the bag.
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