Courting the Cowboy

by Liz Isaacson

  “Have you forgiven her?” May asked, her voice low and set on careful.

  “Yeah.” Kurt exhaled slowly and wiped his hand across his jaw. “It’s just like Pastor Clark said today. We have to be kind to everyone, whether they believe the way we do or not. We don’t have to participate with them, and we don’t have to agree. But we have to be kind.”

  “That can be so hard.”

  “It sure can.” Kurt got up and went into the living room while she stirred the hot sugar very slowly into the eggs. She finished off the pie, humming to herself in a way that made Kurt smile, and stuck the treat in the oven.

  She wiped her hands on her apron as she approached him. “I’m sorry about Alicia texting you right now.” She sat on the edge of the couch, her knees turned toward his, about an inch separating them.

  “Me too.” He lifted his arm, a clear invitation for her to curl into his side. He thrilled when she did, and he liked the feel of her beside him. “So what about you? Any tragic romantic ghosts from the past I need to know about?”

  “I’ve been out with every—” She cut off as if someone had clamped their hand around her vocal chords. She shook her head and snuggled deeper into his side. “No, no ghosts.”

  “I find that hard to believe.” A woman as beautiful as her, as talented, and she wasn’t married? Didn’t have a boyfriend? Had to join TexasFaithful to find a date?

  “I was…really focused on my career in my twenties,” she said. “And the one man I got serious with in my thirties wasn’t…all that interested in my lifestyle.”

  “You mean he wanted you at home in this kitchen instead of baking at Sotheby’s.”

  “About, yeah.”

  “Sometimes I work eighty hours a week,” he admitted. “Ranching is about as demanding as running a restaurant.”

  “So that’s not a problem for you?”

  He yawned, hoping there’d be time for a quick siesta while the pie baked. “I don’t really see it as a problem,” he said. “Maybe something that has to be discussed regularly. Decisions made together. That kind of thing.”

  “Mm.” She draped her arm across his stomach, and Kurt drifted, his attention scattering in the silence. He hadn’t felt this peaceful and this much like himself since his divorce. And it sure was nice.

  “I’m fixin’ to take a nap,” he whispered.

  “You go on and do that, cowboy,” she whispered back. So Kurt did.

  Chapter Nine

  May’s January disappeared into February before she knew it. With her busy schedule, her extra managerial sessions with her father, and preparing for Valentine’s Day, she only saw Kurt once a week for a few hours.

  He didn’t seem to mind. The chatted every morning and every night, though the times had to change depending on his schedule and hers. And today, because of her insanely busy schedule with pushing out chocolate strawberry orders, he was actually coming into Sotheby’s to help her dip fruit.

  She arrived at the restaurant first—or so she thought. “Daddy,” she said, the word dripping in surprise. “What are you doing here? It’s Sunday morning.” She’d never known her father to come in on the Sabbath, at least not until after worship services. Even then, he might just walk through to make sure his cooks and wait staff saw him. Sometimes he’d sit in the office and go over the budget, review weekly numbers for food costs, or something equally as boring.

  You’re going to have to do those boring things, she told herself as her father looked up from a list he’d been studying on the stainless steel table where she’d been planning to set out her berries.

  “Got a call about a strawberry delivery.”

  May glanced around but didn’t see any fruit. “They said they’d be here around nine,” she said, lifting her wrist to check her watch. “It’s eight-fifteen.” Another scan of the kitchen showed nothing out of place. Certainly not fourteen flats of strawberries. Her back ached already from the long day she had ahead of her. She liked the arranging of the berries into bouquets or other delicate pieces. But she did not like the backbreaking work of dipping them.

  “Well, they came early.”

  “Where are the berries, then?” May set her jacket and purse on the table beside him. “And what are you looking at?”

  “In the walk-in. This is the bill.” He lifted the single sheet. “We can afford this?”

  “Daddy.” She smiled and shook her head as she snatched the bill from him. “This is only a quarter of what I’m doing this week.” She moved away from him to get her fruit out of the cold temperatures. It dipped better when it was warm. “And yes,” she said over her shoulder. “We can afford this.”

  In fact, May marked up her holiday chocolate creations so they made a hundred percent profit. As she lifted three flats of berries and took them out to the table, she determined to tell her father that. Beth wouldn’t even know what a profit margin was.

  After she told her father, and illustrated with a pink pen from her purse, about the profit, he grinned at her. “You’re so innovative,” he said. “I love that about you.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means you’re not simply content with serving steak and seafood. You’ll always think of something new, something different, that will wow customers. It’s a good thing.”

  May supposed it was. “Thanks, Daddy. Now go on. I have a ton of work to do today, and I was expecting the kitchen to be empty.”

  “Do you want company? I can stay for a bit.”

  May had always enjoyed her father’s company. She’d shadowed him in the kitchen for years, learned the family recipes, and attributed her drive to do something better and different to him. But she hadn’t seen Kurt in six days, and she really wanted him to herself.

  “Um,” she said. “Kurt should be here any minute.”

  “Oh?” Her father stuck one arm into his jacket. “And how are things going with Kurt? You two have been dating for a few weeks now, haven’t you?”

  “Just over a month, actually.” May couldn’t help smiling when she said it. “And it’s going well.”

  “I thought you didn’t like cowboys.” He zipped his coat and cocked his eyebrow. “Said you’d never date another one.”

  Thankfully, she was saved by her phone ringing. “It’s Momma,” she said. “Where’s your phone, Daddy?” She lifted the phone to her ear. “Hey, Mom…yes, he’s standin’ right here. He has no idea where his phone is.” She gave him a smile and added, “He probably left it in the car.”

  “I walked over,” he said, which made sense, as May hadn’t seen any other vehicles in the lot when she’d arrived.

  “I’ll help him find it. Yes, he’s just leaving now.” May hung up and gave her father a warm smile. “You’re useless with that phone, you know. Momma was mad. This is her: ‘Why does he have that thing if he’s not going to answer when I call?’”

  They laughed together, and May walked him to the back door of the restaurant. “Retrace your steps, Daddy. And listen extra-hard in church, so you can tell me what the pastor says.” She closed and deadbolted the door behind her, glad she was alone in the kitchen.

  The peace lasted for four seconds, and then someone walked through the black plastic door from the front of the house, his cowboy boots making sounds against the floor that had never been heard in this kitchen.

  She giggled, squealed like a twenty-five-year-old, and skipped over to Kurt. “Hey, cowboy.” She leaned into his embrace, glad when he brought her closer and in absolute heaven when he kissed her.

  He pulled away much too soon, in her opinion, something he’d been doing since kissing her in her kitchen with so much desire and feeling in his touch. “So. Strawberries.” He stepped over to the flats she’d brought out.

  “There are more in the walk-in. Let’s get those out and then we’ll get the chocolate tempered.” She made her way toward the fridge, and Kurt went with her. He didn’t seem super chatty today, and May’s nerves amplified a little. When they’d gone long str
etches without seeing each other previously, he told story after story about the horses at the ranch, the people, all of it.

  “So I think I got the tea recipe finalized,” he said. “I used honey and agave, no sugar, like you suggested.”

  “And you like it?”

  He nodded and lifted several flats of strawberries. “Well enough.”

  With all the fruit warming in the kitchen, May set Kurt to work on a huge block of dark chocolate. “Small shards,” she instructed, sure he could get the job done. She switched on the flame and set a big pot in the sink. With a quick flick, she turned on the water and set the full pot on the burner.

  “We’ll work in batches,” she said, pulling out a metal bowl and setting it beside him. “So however much we can fit in there and reasonably dip before it cools will work. But only put in about two-thirds of that.”

  “What now?” He moved the knife through the solid block of chocolate much easier than May ever could, and she admired his strength.

  “We temper it by melting most of what we’re going to use, and then adding the rest and letting it cool.” She pulled a drawer open but only found tongs and spatulas. “I know there’s a candy thermometer around here somewhere….” She went on the hunt for the tool while Kurt continued shaving chocolate off the block.

  With steam rising from the pot and more chocolate than they could use for this first round of dipping, she finally found the thermometer.

  “Okay, berries,” she muttered to herself. “Let’s organize them by size.” Kurt abandoned his knife and joined her at the other end of the table.

  “So, did I hear your father say you didn’t like cowboys?”

  May flinched, a blip of panic turning into a full-fledged wave when she looked at him and found challenge in his eyes.

  “Well, I—no, I haven’t had great experiences dating cowboys.”

  “So it’s not like a blanket statement.” He continued to sort the berries, but she could tell the idea that she didn’t like cowboys, however innocent, had hurt him. “Like, ‘oh, he’s a cowboy. Steer clear.’”

  “Of course not. Obviously.”

  “Obviously?”

  “Kurt.” May didn’t know what to say to assure him that she liked him, cowboy hat notwithstanding. “You think I’m playing with you?”

  “I don’t know what to think. Your father said you didn’t like cowboys and you would never date another one.” His fingers stilled and he looked at her. “So I guess I’m wonderin’ what I’m doin’ here on a Sunday morning.”

  She knew he had to arrange his schedule to even be here. He’d probably gotten up and done four hours of chores just to come. That, or he’d do four hours of chores once he got back to the ranch.

  May forced a laugh through her throat. “Well, it’s not like you’re a rodeo cowboy or anything.”

  “Uh….” Kurt took a step back from the table.

  May gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. “You rode the rodeo circuit?”

  “For a few years.” He ducked his head, and not in a good way. “Look, May, I just gotta hear that I’m not wasting my time here. After all, I’m almost fifty, as you said.”

  May wanted to rush him, wrap her arms around him, and quietly assure him that he was definitely not wasting his time. She was the one who didn’t have time to waste.

  “You have to believe me when I say I would not be here if I didn’t like you.” A lot. A whole lot. “Probably too much.”

  “Probably too much?”

  May tried to order her thoughts into something that wouldn’t make her sound desperate or push Kurt further from her. “I probably like you too much,” she said.

  “I don’t understand that. How do you like something too much?”

  The sound of boiling water filled her ears. “You know, like I probably like cheesecake too much, because it’s not healthy.”

  His eyebrows furrowed and he exhaled heavily. “So I'm not healthy for you?”

  “No, no.” She couldn’t explain it, and she wished she’d never said she liked him too much. She did spend an unhealthy amount of time thinking about him, and planning when she could see him again, and maybe she’d walked down the men’s cologne aisle at the department store yesterday just to remind herself of what he smelled like.

  She took a breath and squared her shoulders. “I like you, Kurt. Cowboy hat or no cowboy hat. Foreman or not. Whether you rode bulls or not.”

  “Broncs,” he said. “I rode broncs. Bareback, too.”

  “Impressive,” she said, hoping her feelings for rodeo men stayed dormant. She really couldn’t apply her past experiences to him. Kurt had proven time and time again that he wasn’t like the other men she’d dated.

  And since she knew that, and felt it, she said it. “You’re not like other cowboys or rodeo stars I’ve dated.”

  “I’m not?”

  May took a step closer. “Not even close.”

  “I hope that’s a good thing.”

  “It’s a very good thing.” She approached him slowly, wrapped her arms around him, and gave him that quiet assurance in the form of a sweet kiss.

  “Is this cowboy hat why your father looked at me so strangely at church that first time we met?”

  One of the reasons, May thought. She had met Kurt quickly after her father’s mandate that she find a husband by the end of the year. That very evening, in fact. And brought him to church only a week later.

  “Yes,” she said. “But he’s a great man, I swear. He just wants me to be happy.”

  “I do, too,” he murmured. “You’ll tell me if I’m not making you happy, right?”

  “Kurt.” She didn’t know how to tell him that he had singlehandedly made her the happiest she’d been in months.

  “Let’s dip these strawberries,” he said. “They’re not going to dunk themselves.”

  “Kurt,” she said again, wondering if she could infuse enough reassurance and emotion into just the one syllable of his name.

  “I’m fine,” he said. “Honestly, May, I just wanted to make sure what I do and who I am is what you want.”

  “It is. You are.”

  “Then I’m going to sort these berries and enjoy my day with you.”

  May pulled back her emotions as they threatened to spill over, and she moved to the cutting board and scooped handfuls of chocolate into the bowl. The pot was boiling and ready and she turned the flame down so she wouldn’t scorch her chocolate.

  They worked in the industrial kitchen, but the space felt cozy, and after several minutes of silence, he started telling her about Felicity’s botched attempt to make a birthday cake for one of the cowboys out on the ranch.

  Chapter Ten

  Kurt pulled up to May’s house, a truckload of groceries with him. Literally. Dwayne had assured him that there was enough help on the ranch that Kurt could take off at noon, and while they’d discussed it, Kurt was grateful for his friend.

  “I’m taking off early in the evening too,” Dwayne had said, finally cinching Kurt’s decision and alleviating his guilt. “Shane is more than capable of holding down the fort, and he’d not datin’ anyone.”

  So Kurt had worked like a dog through the morning, showered, shopped, and now he stood at the electronic pad to enter May’s garage, the Valentine’s Day meal-in-the-making contained in the grocery sacks he tried to loop over his arms all at once. He hated making more than one trip to bring in all the groceries, but in the end, he had to. After all, it took a lot to make chili, cornbread, beans, spiced peach cider, and one of his all-time favorite desserts—black forest cake.

  He’d confirmed with May about the menu choices through chat. He wondered if brownies or cheesecake would be more luxurious, but May assured him she liked cherries and chocolate together, and Kurt wasn’t particularly adept with baking in water baths. So he went with the cake, because he knew how to make it and knew it would be delicious.

  With the last of the groceries in the house, he stood in her kitchen for a m
oment, absorbing her space without her in it. It felt intimate and yet huge at the same time. Because physically, her house dwarfed his. Easily the size of the homestead, Kurt wondered how she slept here all alone.

  Along with that, his mind wandered forward, as it was apt to do, and he wondered where they would live if they got married. Here? And he’d drive thirty minutes out to work every day? The idea didn’t appeal to him. But having May give up this grandeur to live a few steps from twenty other single men, and a hop, skip, and jump from three dozen horses simply wouldn’t do either.

  He hadn’t spoken to her about it. They rarely spoke as most of their communication was through chats or texts. He didn’t mind, as the easy-going nature of the relationship helped him get through the long hours on the ranch and brought a smile to his face whenever he saw her name on his screen.

  She didn’t seem to mind either, and he hoped that wouldn’t change.

  “All right.” He dug into the grocery sacks and started unpacking them. May was working the restaurant tonight, easily one of the busiest nights of the year. And he wanted to provide a relaxing and romantic dinner for her when she got home. Sure, it would be late, but late was better than never.

  The delicate click of canine nails on tile caused him to look up from his work. “Hey, Char.” The little poodle cocked her head as if to say How do you know who I am?

  He’d met the dog before, and after a moment, she wagged her tail. The right side of her face held smashed fur, and he knew he’d interrupted her nap.

  “Where do you sleep, huh?” He finished chopping onions and slid them into the hot pan. “Probably right in May’s bed.” Sometimes he let Patches on the bed, but usually the dog slept on the floor beside him or on a pad near the front door.

  Char came closer, probably interested in the beef Kurt unwrapped and dropped in the pan with the onions. He seasoned everything one step at a time, just the way his momma had taught him.