by Tess Oliver
“I didn’t have anything to do. I unpacked last night, after you left. And, sadly, my belongings consisted of clothes, shoes and some stuff I managed to snatch from the medicine cabinet of the house I was sharing with—” She shook her head. “It’s not important, and I’m babbling again. Anyhow, I thought I could save you the trip and just pick up that gas can myself. You mentioned the station wasn’t too far.”
I stepped closer to her, and she tilted her head back to look at me. Her enticing bottom lip dropped a bit. “Did you grow?”
I shook my head. “Shit, I hope not. The station is too far, especially for a little thing like yourself trying to haul a gas can. I’ll drive you down there.”
“Are you sure? I hate to take up any of your morning.” She glanced around at the ranch. “Nice place. Are there horses in the barn? I love horses.” Rake nudged her hand with his big head, and she patted him. “And dogs.”
“That’s good. There are plenty of them around these parts. I’ll get my keys.”
Rake and Ranger climbed into the bed as we got into the truck. She glanced back through the window at them. “Do they like to travel with you?”
“They pretty much stick to my side whenever I’m home. A neighbor kid comes and house sits for me whenever I’m up in the mountains.”
Summer stared ahead as she spoke. “I’m sorry I made those disparaging remarks about your job. I’m sure it’s extremely hard and dangerous.”
“It’s a living.” I turned on the radio.
“So, there are stations up here? I didn’t know if it was just my crappy car or if radio signals didn’t reach this area.”
“There are plenty of stations.” I looked over at her. She had a small perfect nose, and it was pierced with a tiny diamond stud. “You might think about getting yourself a different car if you’re staying the winter.”
She turned her face, and her big brown eyes blinked at me. “What do you mean if?” The truck hit a rut in the road, and she grabbed the edge of the seat to keep from flying off. Discretely she reached back and pulled on her seatbelt. “I plan to stay here, Mr.—”
“Barringer.”
“That’s right. I knew it sounded like some kind of outlaw name.”
I considered her comment. “Hmm, outlaw name. I like that.”
“Anyhow, Mr. Barringer, I plan to be here indefinitely.”
“Uh huh,” I knew I was teasing her, but somehow I couldn’t stop myself. Something about her just stirred me up, and I couldn’t tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing yet.
She twisted in her seat and yanked at the seatbelt that nearly choked her now. “You don’t know anything about me. You don’t know what I can and can’t endure.”
“And you know nothing about the winter ahead.”
She waved her hand and faced forward again. “You act like Montana is located on Jupiter or something. I’m pretty sure the same sun that shines on California, shines here too.”
“Yep, it’s the same sun. You just won’t see much of it come November.”
“You also don’t know a damn thing about California. We have winter there too.”
“When I was a kid, our cousins lived near Los Angeles, and we used to visit them over winter break. I know that if it drops to sixty degrees there, people get out their long woolen underwear.”
She reached to find another station and stopped on some rock music. “That’s where you are wrong. We don’t have long woolen underwear there.”
“I know that if it rains half an inch, the freeway slows down to a crawl.”
She opened her mouth to protest and then sank back against the seat. “Well, that is true. The freeway can get kind of slippery.” She lifted her hand and moved it in a wavy motion like a snake. “It can be quite treacherous.”
“And I know that one good thunderstorm causes the local news to spend the entire evening talking excitedly about the storm of the decade.”
Again, she opened her mouth to speak and then twisted her lush lips shut. “Damn, I guess that’s true too. But it’s actually kind of cute, you know. They get all dressed up in their little ‘reporter on the go’ rain slickers and then stand bravely in the rain as the cameraman catches dramatic video of overflowing gutters. It’s a California thing. You have to be a native to get it.”
I pulled into the gas station, which was just two lonely pumps and a kiosk with hazy windows. “Hey, Pete,” I called to the owner. He spent most of his time between customers playing on-line poker.
“Gage, how’s it going?”
I lifted the gas can. “Just need to fill this.”
Summer climbed out of the cab with a twenty dollar bill. “Do I pay at the window?”
I looked around pointedly. “Probably a good place to start.”
She did the same little huff thing she’d done the night before, and for some damn reason, it was turning me on. Especially when she coupled it with a jut of her small, round chin.
I waited for her to pay and for Pete to turn on the pump. She leaned into the window of the kiosk, and suddenly, I was acutely aware of the fact that she had an amazing ass. I was still staring at her as she turned around. It seemed to fluster her knowing that I’d been watching her, and she tugged at her beanie and marched back toward me. I hadn’t seen her thighs naked, but something told me they wouldn’t disappoint, along with everything else tucked into the skin tight jeans and sweater.
“Maybe we have nice weather,” she said, signaling that our debate hadn’t ended yet. “But we have hardships in California too.” It was obvious she’d been trying to come up with some good ones on her stroll back to the truck. “Traffic,” she said abruptly. “That’s right, traffic. Just try to make it to a dentist appointment on time at three o’clock traveling eastbound on the ten. Talk about stress. And,” she said confidently, “we have smog.” She waved her thin arm in an arc. “Smog as far as the eye can see and the nose can smell. Some mornings, if you take too deep a breath, you cough. And not just one cough either.”
I finished filling the gas can and screwed on the cap. I straightened and something about me at full height always seemed to make her pull in a breath. “Ghastly stuff you Californians have to deal with.”
She laughed. “Ghastly? I wouldn’t have expected such a sophisticated word coming from you.”
I stared down at her. “Judge much?”
“Well, don’t forget, the first time I saw you, you had just finished boinking a girl in the restroom. And look who’s judging.”
I lifted the gas can into the bed of the truck and wedged it into the corner. We climbed inside.
“After my brothers and I were done tearing it up on our BMX bikes, my mom would make us read for an hour before bed.”
“Chalk one up for your mom then. Does she live up here?”
I started the truck. “She died when I was in the sixth grade.” It was a sentence I’d said many times before, and one that I always hated repeating.
“I’m sorry.”
We rode in silence back up to her house. I pulled into the driveway. Her sad little car sat where we’d left it in front of the house. The place had really gotten run down after sitting empty for so many months. And Russell’s age and health had deteriorated enough that he’d had a hard time keeping it up.
I climbed out of the truck and she followed. She moved gracefully, sensually like a dancer, and it was more than intoxicating to watch.
“Rita mentioned that I should hire some bands to play at the Raven’s Nest.”
“Can’t hurt.” I put the nozzle on the gas can and walked over to her car.
“I’ll make a success of this. In fact, you’ve made me more determined than ever to show you that I’m not just some flighty girl from Hollywood. I’ll show you that we don’t all wear sandals and burn incense and put sprouts on our sandwiches.” She stopped and that bottom lip rounded into a bow again. Without purposely thinking about it, I suddenly imagined that sultry mouth around my cock. I shook the vision from my
head.
“I guess those aren’t the best examples,” she admitted, “because I do wear sandals, and there’s this really good patchouli incense I like.” She sighed. “And sprouts really do add a nice kick to an otherwise dull sandwich. But—”
Her words trailed off as I stepped right in front of her. “Do you ever stop talking?”
She stepped back as if my nearness unsettled her. “You started it— you big bear-shaped, timber scented, mountain man.” She looked slightly hurt, and I wished I could have taken the question back.
“I’m sorry, Summer. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I like it when you talk, and that’s not something I say to many girls.” A tense heat seemed to have kicked up into a swirling mass around us. She fidgeted too, making me think that I wasn’t just imagining it on my own.
“Thank you for your help,” she blurted before pulling her keys out of her pocket. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a restaurant to run.” She got into the car and turned the key several times before the engine turned over. I stood and watched her turn her car in a circle and hobble up the long driveway. I knew it was flustering her, and I had no idea why I was doing it except that I couldn’t pull my eyes away. She was like no other girl I’d ever met, and while my mind insisted that it was because she was so damn annoying, there seemed to be something else behind my fascination. Could have been the great ass.
chapter 11
Summer
Kristina was waiting for me at the door, and the short man with a long, thin ponytail and sparse moustache had to be the chef, Maxwell. His dark eyes seemed to assess me, and he appeared somewhat irritated as I hurried toward the restaurant with my keys.
“I’m so sorry I’m late. I ran out of gas last night, and a neighbor from down the road helped me get some this morning.” I opened the door and then turned around. “I’m Summer. And you must be Maxwell. I’ll get you a set of keys from the office today. I want you to have a pair.” That offer and show of trust seemed to wipe the annoyed scowl off his face. He was an interesting looking older man with sharp cheekbones and a Roman style nose.
“I’m Maxwell.”
“Well, Maxwell, I’ve heard you make a smoked gouda and barbecue sauce burger that can bring tears to a lumberjack’s eyes.”
His thin lips cracked a grin. “I can. I’m going to whip up a few of my specialties, and then we can look at cost and see what you want to keep on the menu. If you’ll allow me some freedom, I can show you a few new culinary inventions as well.”
I placed my hand against his arm and his grin broadened. “You have carte blanche to do whatever you’d like. It is your kitchen.”
Maxwell walked to the back to make a list of what he needed. Kristina was leaning against the counter grinning at me. I’d offered to pay her to come in and help me do some much needed scrubbing.
“What?” I asked.
She shook her head. “You sure won him over fast. Maxwell usually has a pretty tough exterior.”
“Then he’s one man who I didn’t irritate completely this morning.” I was still feeling completely and inexplicably exasperated by my encounter with Gage Barringer. I had no idea why I’d let him get under my skin, but I was sure it mostly had to do with the ‘I dare you to succeed’ attitude I was getting from him.
Kristina followed me to the custodial room in the back of the restaurant. “What do you mean?” she asked. “Who did you irritate this morning?” She stopped at the doorway while I sorted through the buckets and cleaning supplies. “Wait, the neighbor who helped you— was it Gage Barringer?”
I huffed at the sound of his name. My huffing skills were certainly being honed these days. “That’s him. As annoying as he is big.”
“Nah, Gage isn’t annoying. He’s a real sweetheart once you get to know him. Although, he’s broken a number of hearts in this area.” She laughed. “And some of the surrounding areas as well.”
“I don’t understand women who fall for arrogant, overconfident, ignorant—”
“Uh, you did get a good look at him, right?” She stepped forward and took hold of the bottles of cleaning solution I held out to her.
“He’s the size of a damn grizzly. He would be impossible to miss.”
She raised a brow. Kristina had light hair and dark eyes like me. She was extremely pretty but didn’t seem to realize it. “Oh, come on, Summer. Gage Barringer is the finest example of a man in these parts. I’m sure that didn’t escape you.”
“Yes, he’s handsome, some might even say gloriously so, but there are plenty of pretty guys down in Los Angeles too. In fact, I was living with one who turned out to be the biggest asshole of all. I found him in bed with my best friend.”
We headed to the deep utility sink to fill buckets. The smell of ammonia and a citrus scent, the cleanser company’s pathetic attempt to mask the ammonia odor with what they considered to be lemon, filled the air.
“Just give Gage a chance. I think you’ll learn to like him, and remember, one bad egg doesn’t make the whole carton stink.”
I handed her a bucket that was overflowing with bubbles. “Actually, one bad egg does make the whole thing stink…and the refrigerator and the whole darn house for that matter. Trust me. I know.”
“Just the same,” Kristina continued, “don’t let what your boyfriend did to you ruin your opinion of all men.” She stopped. The lingering sadness I’d occasionally glimpsed in her expression returned. “Being alone sucks.”
I reached for her hand. “You won’t be alone forever, Kristina. There’s someone else out there just waiting for the right time to burst in and steal your heart.”
She nodded. “First, it has to be mended. Then maybe it will be up for grabs.”
We both stood with our rubber gloves and steaming buckets in the center of the restaurant. “It’s a bit dingy and dark in here,” I said. “But I’ve ordered some rustic looking metal pendants to hang over each table. The electrician is coming later to give me an estimate.” Along with his property, my grandfather had left me a small sum of money. I needed to invest most of it into bringing the restaurant back to life. “Later, I’ll show you the curtains I’ve ordered. They have a tartan pattern that picks up on the dark green seats in the booths, but there is some red and blue running through the fabric too. I think it will be the splash of color this room needs.”
“That sounds perfect,” Kristina said. “I’m really glad you decided to come up here and take on this restaurant. I think you’ll be just what the place needs.”
“Thanks, that means a lot to me. Especially after the absurd dire warning I got from Mr. Barringer about the horrors of a Montana winter.”
She looked at me. “Nothing absurd about it, I’m afraid. But if you make it through a winter then you can conquer anything.”
***
After a long morning of scrubbing every inch of the place, and a delightful lunch break tasting an incredible array of sliders with everything from pineapple and bacon to blue cheese and walnuts, my feet ached and my hands were raw. The rubber gloves had worked up until the moment that I’d plunged my hands too deeply into the soapy bucket. Ammonia laden water seeped up and over the edges, and it’d taken me a good hour to realize there was more water inside the gloves than outside.
Kristina flopped down on the small wobbly couch in the office to rest her feet. Meanwhile, I went through my grandfather’s archaic filing system, a rolodex with paperclips stuck on the ends of the important phone numbers, to find suppliers.
We’d settled on a few new additions to the otherwise pretty solid menu. The gourmet sliders had been Maxwell’s idea along with a macaroni and pepper jack cheese with jalapenos. A little something California for the new owner, Maxwell had said. Kristina and I both agreed that two sliders on a plate would fill us up, but as Maxwell rightly pointed out, there were some customers who could inhale two sliders in one bite. We agreed to have options in pairs of two so that a customer could order any even number they wanted. The food choices here w
ere much hardier than the cuisine in California, but it made sense for the area and the clientele.
“I think the ones with paperclips are the ones who’ll deliver during the winter months,” Maxwell said from the doorway.
“I guess the roads get pretty rough up here, huh?”
“You might say that,” Kristina said. “My husband, Carl, was driving through a blizzard when his truck ran off the road.”
I just nodded. There wasn’t anything to add to that, and the despair in her expression assured me she was still feeling the pain of her loss as if it had just happened.
“You look tired, Friday.” Maxwell called her by the nickname regular customers had come up with for the smiling, pretty waitress who always worked the Friday night shift.
“You take the day off. Rita and I can handle the lunch crowd,” I said. “If it’s anything like yesterday’s, it won’t be too hard.”
“No, I’m fine. I could use the money.”
“Then after I make some calls, I’ll make a run to the hardware store to buy those curtain rods.” I was feeling pretty good about the progress of the day. The restaurant was sparkling, and the new menu was going to shine along with it.
I glanced at the notepad on the desk. Rita had scribbled down some things yesterday. I picked it up and read it. “It says that Scott has quit his job as short order cook.” I looked back at Kristina who deferred the attention to Maxwell, who deferred the attention to the floor.
“I wonder why?”
Maxwell finally looked up. “Scott and I never got along. I think my return may have prompted it. But Hector is a great assistant. He’s all I need to help in the kitchen.”
“All right, but you’ll let me know if I need to hire anyone else.” I looked back at the notepad. “Who are the Rambling Rustlers?” I asked, trying to decipher Rita’s hasty scrawl.
