Not My First Rodeo 2 Boxed Set

by Donna Alward

  She squeezed the last sandwich into the basket, then tossed a kitchen towel over the top. “I meant what I said about April and the psychologist. Whether you want to admit it or not, she needs more help than you’re giving her.”

  “You done?” He stared at his coffee mug, his mood as dark as the strong brew. He’d walked in here on a Jules high, and now he was right back in the pit he lived in. He’d taken April to the damned psychologist four times already. He knew too much about language acquisition delays and behavioral inhibition. It wasn’t a developmental issue because she understood everything said to her, probably too well. She was shy, timid, afraid. And that was his fault.

  Which was why he’d spent the last year searching for someone who could love her back from it. Maybe he ought to change tactics and try to find a nanny instead of a babysitter, though the psychologist had warned that losing another female role model could be devastating to both children, and nanny’s moved on. Often.

  Carly sighed and undid the clip holding her long, dark hair off her face. “I’m finished with breakfast.”

  “And I’m finished discussing my kids with you. If I want your help, I’ll ask for it.”

  “But you don’t ask for help.”

  “Maybe I just don’t ask you. One of these days you’re going to marry someone else and no man is going to want his woman hanging around her ex’s family.”

  She opened her mouth to respond, but then snapped it shut. He knew she had more to say, but he was done listening. He filled the other thermos with coffee, then grabbed the basket and made his way out of the house and back to what he knew how to handle. Moving cattle. Cutting horses. Work that took his whole mind so there was no room to think about his emotional failures, about how hard life would be on his kids if he couldn’t get them what they needed most.

  …

  “Earth to Jules!”

  She jumped, slopping whipped cream on top of the Better than Sex Cake as she glanced up to see her sister peering down at her. She took out her ear buds and pressed a hand to her chest to calm her racing heart.

  “You were really grooving out.” Drea leaned against the stainless steel countertop and crossed her legs at the ankles. The wretched checkered pants she wore made Jules grimace.

  “Don’t sneak up on me like that.” She’d blared the music to drown out thoughts of sexy Slade Weston and how much she wanted to saddle him up for another ride. Because she didn’t have time or energy to get attached to a marriage-minded man like him. She smoothed the cream on the cake top with an offset spatula. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping? Or trying to sneak into your bedroom after a night of partying like a normal high school senior?”

  “I want to surprise Dad with an idea I have for a special.” She gave the lopsided grin that always made Jules smile.

  Drea had embraced Ben like a savior when he’d stepped up to raise them after their mother’s death. The ink wasn’t even dry on the adoption papers when she stopped calling him Uncle Ben and start calling him Dad. She’d been like a puppy, happy to be wherever he was and soaking up every ounce of attention he gave her. At nine she’d been thirsty for a father figure, and he’d fit that role perfectly. She’d become his mini-me, copying everything he did from her obsession with cooking to the tomboy way she dressed. Which was such a waste, because she was tall and willowy. Her long legs were made for skirts, not ugly unisex chef pants.

  Drea clung to him as hard as Jules had rebelled against being dragged to Podunk and forced to go to a school where the boys thought she was a novelty and the girls hated her for it. It was those mean girls who’d given her the slutty reputation, not anything she’d actually done. Sure, back then she’d lain down with too many boys looking for affection and understanding, but nowhere near the number who claimed to have taken her to bed. Not that she cared. Soon enough she’d be free of this town and the sideways looks of jealous twits.

  “I just have decoration left, then the kitchen is yours.” She lifted the cake plate with one hand, pressing mini chocolate chips and toffee bits along the side. “Have you looked at the itinerary I sent you for our drive to New York?”

  “I still have finals. If I don’t pass statistics I’ll have to do summer school.”

  “Bite your tongue, woman. We are weeks away from being free of Opal Creek for good.”

  Drea furrowed her forehead. “We’ll be back all the time. Holidays and birthdays and summers.”

  Jules shook her head. “You’re not going to want to come back here once you see what the world has to offer. And before you worry about Uncle Ben, he’ll come to us. And then we can convince him to open a restaurant in New York.”

  “He says New York is impersonal. That the pace of it grinds you to death.”

  Not this again. Ben had no qualms about sharing his hesitation over sending them back to New York, where they’d lived before their mother died. But Jules wasn’t hearing any of it. She’s stayed in this tiny town while Drea finished high school, because he’d asked her to. And though she’d never admit it to him, it was a smart decision. If she hadn’t been here to influence her baby sister, Drea would have chopped off her thick, dark hair, worn nothing but sports bras, and never learned how to put on makeup. Most days she was the girl version of Ben, but for school dances and senior pictures she’d let Jules have her way and been so beautiful, so like their mother, it made putting her dreams of being a designer on hold worth it.

  Drea traced an imaginary circle on the countertop. “I’ve been thinking about going to culinary school closer to home.”

  “We talked about this when we were deciding between New York and Los Angeles. You agreed the program is stronger in New York.” She decorated the sides of the second Better than Sex Cake.

  “And more competitive. I want a farm-to-table restaurant some day, and they’re more haut de cuisine.”

  “It’s best to have a classically trained background. Even Uncle Ben agreed.” Reluctantly. When Drea had tried to weasel out of going to school and instead stay on at Cattlemen’s and learn from Ben, he’d had to admit there were things she couldn’t learn at a steakhouse. While he was obviously uncomfortable with the idea of Drea going so far, he’d accepted it as long as the girls would be living together.

  “I could do that in Portland, and still come home on weekends.”

  Jules barely avoided dropping the damned cake. “Are you kidding me right now?”

  “It’s just something I’ve been thinking about. Portland is only an hour away, and they’re known for farm-to-table. Their internship program has options to work on actual farms and wineries and—”

  Jules held up her hand. “You’re going to be fine in New York. You won’t be alone. I’ll be there, and you’re going to experience cuisines you’ve never even imagined. It will broaden your horizons, expand your palate. And then if you want to come back and open a restaurant in Portland, you’ll have something different to offer. Some kind of multi-cultural fusion.”

  “Fusion is confusion,” Drea mumbled at the air above Jules head.

  “Listen, little Ben. You need to break away from him so you can form your own opinions instead of mimicking his.” She placed the cakes in their containers in the walk-in, then carried out the two crumb-coated Cream Pie Cakes and set to work on the last of her decorating.

  “I don’t have a single good memory of New York. I think I hated it as much as you loved it.”

  Jules glanced up, catching the sorrow in Drea’s blue eyes. No, their childhood hadn’t been the best. But New York offered more opportunities than Opal Creek ever could. “We’ll make good memories. The city has such potential. Not like here, where who we are is all we’ll ever be.”

  “I like who I am.” Drea pulled a head wrap from the pocket of her ugly pants and covered her beautiful hair with the flame print. A chef toque might have actually been more attractive.

  “You’re seventeen.” She smoothed the whipped cream over the cake. She’d hated herself and everything around her back t
hen. “You need to explore your options instead of settling for what is easily available. If you want to come back here, I’ll support that. But I can’t in good faith allow you to stagnate in this pit of a town.”

  “Bloom where you’re planted, sis.” Drea strode into the dark restaurant as if the conversation were over.

  Jules piled the whipped cream high on top of the cakes, her mind spinning. She couldn’t let Drea stay here and waste her talents at a steakhouse, no matter the accolades it had. There was something special about the meals she crafted, and it set her apart from everyone, even Ben. She needed to be given every opportunity to turn that talent into a marketable skill.

  Drea sauntered back into the kitchen, a bottle of top-shelf tequila in her hand.

  “See, you are my sister.” Jules said with a wink.

  “It’s for the crawdads.” She left the tequila on the bench, then ducked into the walk-in, returning with a giant cardboard box she’d obviously used to collect ingredients.

  “And you’re cooking bugs, why?” She finished the cakes, then put them away.

  “Because they’re delicious.” She unpacked oranges, avocados, scallions, and was that horseradish?

  “Gag.” Jules set about clearing the kitchen of any evidence she’d been baking.

  “Crawdads or horseradish?” Drea laughed. Cilantro, jalapenos, and tomatoes joined the pile.

  “You know I can’t stand either. Most people agree.”

  “Weren’t you the one telling me to expand my palate just moments ago?”

  “You, the chef, need to taste everything. Just like as a designer, I need to be exposed to fashion in a way magazines don’t provide. Maybe I’ll even discover a way to make chef pants attractive, because those are hideous.”

  “I feel the love.”

  “Well, you have to feel it from me. No one is going near your ass in those pants. The butt sags. And you have a nice butt.”

  “No one is going near my ass anyway.”

  “True.” Jules took pride in Drea’s discernment with the boys at school. At least someone had learned from her mistakes. “But in New York, you’ll meet men with dreams as big as yours. And you won’t have to run them past Ben.”

  “You’re a tougher sell than Dad.”

  She shrugged. “Anyone who’s worth being with won’t be intimidated by sweet, little me.”

  “Are you going to start dating again once we’re in New York?”

  “I don’t have a ban on dating. I’ve just exhausted the shallow dating pool here.” She’d snagged the biggest, best fish in the pond last night with Slade. Too bad he was catch and release. But she wouldn’t mind catching him again. And again.

  “I worry that once we get there, everything will change.”

  Jules stood on tiptoe and wrapped an arm around her sister’s shoulders. “That’s the whole point. Everything needs to change. We have dreams bigger than this town.”

  Chapter Four

  It was hard to know which made her crazier—wondering why Slade hadn’t come in for his usual Friday night dinner date, or hoping she was the reason. When he’d said that he wanted to see her again, she’d known better than to expect anything. Men got what they wanted and got out. Simple as that.

  The front of the house at Cattlemen’s had the hushed tones of cozy late-night diners, but the kitchen was a whole other world. She passed through the doors and into the chaos of clattering pans, sizzling grills and a forceful chorus of “Yes, Chef!”

  “Hey, Uncle Ben, could you make me some rice?” She couldn’t help the grin. That joke never got old because it made him flinch every damn time.

  Her uncle turned and peered at her through the pick-up window, his brown eyes dark with annoyance. “Hey Jules, why don’t you get started on the dishes?”

  “Not in this dress.” She placed her hand on her hip and cocked it to the side. The delicate, lacy layers of her black shift dress were not her usual, but it had come to her as soon as she’d opened the fabric delivery box. She preferred more structured dresses that highlighted her figure, but it was freeing to wear something so flowing for a change. She fluffed the bow of the silver scarf she’d used for one of the shoulder straps. “We’re down to eight tables, so I’ll send the waiters home early if you can spare Dom to help me with clearing tables.”

  “You should go and let the guys handle closing down.” He glanced back at his busting crew. “Three Westons and a special.”

  “Yes, Chef!” The team barked in unison.

  “It’s easier if I close out myself.”

  “I know it’s easier to do yourself, but you’re leaving soon. They need to learn while they have you as a safety net. You can double check them tomorrow when you cake, and then teach them on what they did wrong.”

  “They know what to do.” She’d spent the last six months cross training the staff so there wouldn’t be too much of a blip when she and Drea left.

  “Then go sew yourself something better to wear tomorrow. That is too damned short.”

  He said that about every dress she’d ever made. “Tell you what, Uncle Ben. You stick to cooking, and I’ll stick to fashion.”

  Ben set two plates of Dracula bread beneath the heat lamps. “Take these to the Westons, on us.”

  “The Westons are here?” She’d only been in the kitchen for a few minutes. Her tummy did a little tumble and she hoped Slade was one of them. And that he’d be having dessert at her place again.

  “According to the order.” He narrowed his eyes and shouted. “Four creamed spinach Portobellos and a double of chanterelles.”

  Yes, Chef!” hailed his minions.

  Jules took the plates and turned so Ben couldn’t catch her eye roll. The sharp aroma of the shaved garlic mixed with the roasted garlic butter on the bread hit her as she pushed through the doors.

  The Weston brothers had been seated front and center, beneath the largest of the wagon wheel chandeliers she’d been begging Ben to get rid of for years. She wore her standard hostess grin as she set the dishes on the table.

  “Since you boys are together on a Friday night, we thought you could enjoy some Dracula bread without any ramifications.” She raised a brow at Slade, hoping he’d rather partake in her than a garlic fest.

  “I think she’s calling us out,” Nate said, pulling off a slice. As the youngest of the family, he’d been the only one she’d gone to high school with. He resembled a younger, dirtier Slade with his sun-streaked light brown hair and light eyes. “Ace has us working too much to play any fields but our own. But I could make time to take you to dinner and catch up.”

  Slade’s gaze sliced through her like a dagger. Jealousy shouldn’t be attractive, but her body responded on a primal level. “That’s sweet, but I’m out of here in five weeks, so I need every moment I’m not working to get ready for that.”

  “Shoot and a miss,” Slade said with a laugh as he relaxed back into his chair.

  Nate shrugged. “Can’t blame a guy for a guy for trying. Why New York?”

  “I’m going to the Art Institute to study fashion design.”

  “Sounds expensive.” Ace muttered before taking a long draw from his beer. He looked nothing like Slade, with his dark hair and eyes. But when you put their two younger brothers between them, you could almost see a resemblance. Blake looked more like Ace, and Nate looked more like Slade, yet somehow Blake and Nate looked similar.

  “Lucky for me, Uncle Ben pays well.” She was not going to miss this part of the job at all. Some people needed to be told to go to hell, but she had to smile and take their fucking money. “Anything else I can get you guys? Another round?” Some manners?

  “That would be great, thanks.” Blake nodded, but was too busy with his phone to look up.

  “Let us know if you need anything else. Your entrees will be out shortly.” She caught Slade’s gaze and tilted her head toward the back of the restaurant. “Enjoy yourselves.”

  Jules made her way to the bar to put in their drink ord
er and let her staff know she was done for the evening. They really could close down on their own, and she did have better things to do. Like bridesmaids dresses to finish, dress-up aprons to package, and Slade Weston.

  She started toward the bathrooms and from the corner of her eye caught Slade standing up. Her pulse started to race. Her heels tapped on the wood floor as she quickened her pace, a plan blooming in her mind. She keyed in the code to unlock the cleaning closet and then stepped inside. She kept the door open while she scanned the tiny room. Sinks and shelving and mop buckets weren’t the kind of decor that screamed sexy, but it would do for the few minutes they’d be here.

  Just as her conscience was reminding her this was a dumb move, Slade turned the corner. A bright smile lit his handsome features as his long legs brought him to her. As soon as he was within touching distance, she grabbed him by the arm and pulled him inside. The florescent lights glared overhead, but she wouldn’t think about how she looked in this lighting.

  “Well hi there,” Slade said. He leaned down as if he were about to kiss her.

  She placed a finger on his lips to slow his roll. “Hi yourself. I wondered where you were when you missed date night, and then you came in here with the entire Weston crew.”

  “Nah, this is just me and the brothers. I figured since the kids are with my in-laws, and I keep having to play go-between for Blake and Nate with Ace, I’d be productive while waiting for you to get off work. I’m hoping once we get a few beers in them, they’ll man up and tell him what they want themselves. And maybe he’ll even be in the mood to listen.”

  “You’re waiting for me to get off so you can get off?” She hooked her fingers in the belt loops of his jeans and pulled him to her.

  “I told you I wanted to see you again.”

  “I didn’t believe you.”

  His blue eyes blazed like the center of a flame as he backed her against the brick wall. “I don’t say anything I don’t mean.”

  His nostrils flared as he lowered his head to hers and tilted her chin to receive his kiss. She moaned as she threaded her fingers in his hair, suddenly starving for him. Hunger so deep there was no doubt what was going to happen next. She undid his belt and started with the button of his jeans. Slade sucked in a sharp breath and stilled her hands.