Texas Roots: The Gallaghers of Sweetgrass Springs

by Jean Brashear

  His dad snorted. "You manage."

  "Hey—I'm not a bad cook now. A rough start, I will admit." When Ian had been about twelve and eating every ten seconds or so, plus bringing his buddies around all the time, Gordon had finally hired a housekeeper and cook because he couldn't keep up with the ranch and spend half the day in the kitchen trying to fill four sets of hollow legs.

  But six months ago, Mrs. Hall's mother had broken her hip, and she'd had to return to Waxahachie to care for her. Ian had tried to learn to cook, but his heart wasn't in it and the results showed. His dad had gotten desperate enough that he'd taken over the cooking as he'd done when Ian was little.

  "Good thing you're a better rancher than you are a cook. So this woman will be cooking tonight?"

  "Ruby's supervising. Said she'd make you a cobbler."

  "Ruby's a good woman. I sure like her cobbler." His dad glanced over. "I'd best get a look at this city girl if she's caught my boy's eye."

  Ian shrugged. "Just 'cause a man looks, doesn't mean he's interested in buying."

  "Lord have mercy, I have raised me a philosopher."

  Ian chuckled and pulled into Veronica's drive.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  "Hey, Ian. Mr. McLaren, Ben," greeted Jeanette as she led them to a table in the center of the room. "What brings you handsome fellows out tonight?"

  "Heard tell there might be cobbler," his dad responded.

  She was leaning over Ian's shoulder as she handed out menus and rearranged the condiments. "Might be is about right." She sniffed as though she'd smelled something unpleasant.

  Ian leaned away from her and looked up. "Something wrong?" He glanced back toward the kitchen. "What's New York up to?"

  Jeanette's eyes narrowed. "Trying to take over Ruby's kitchen and ruin everything is all."

  Ian looked around, but people were behaving normally, chatting to others or simply concentrating on their food. "I don't see anyone upset by what they're eating."

  "That's not the point." Jeanette slammed down his menu and flounced off.

  "Wow. Jeanette's snippier than usual," observed Ben. "Who's New York?"

  "You tell him, Dad. I'll just go check the kitchen." Ian rose and wove his way past the tables.

  Or tried to. At every table, it seemed, someone wanted to talk. Only being neighborly, of course, but he was on a mission. If Scarlett fouled up Ruby's reputation…

  He rounded the corner and approached the grill.

  "Jeanette, if you look over my shoulder one more time, I swear—" Scarlett glanced up and her eyes widened. "What are you doing back here?"

  "What's going on?"

  "I'm trying to cook, in case you can't tell."

  "Trying?"

  She slapped the spatula on the grill and faced him, eyes sparking. "Do you see anyone not enjoying their food out there?"

  "No."

  "I know how to cook. I've been doing it most of my life. I am a professional, and if that skinny witch doesn't get out of my hair—"

  "Whoa." He laid his hand on her arm. "You look tired. You probably didn't sleep very well last night, what with all the varmints outside, huh?" She was like a high-strung filly, a thoroughbred who'd been held back at the gate too long. "Then you show up and get put to work."

  "I work all the time. I've never been afraid of hard work."

  "Take a breath."

  "I don't have time. I won't have anyone saying I'm slow. I am not slow!" She jerked from his grasp.

  "Jeanette's just being territorial. Don't mind her."

  She glanced sideways at him. "What kind of law enforcement presence do you have here?"

  "County Sheriff's office responds to calls when we need them. Why?"

  "Would I have time to get a running start if I drove my knife through her skinny ribs?"

  He laughed. "I have a pretty good hideout on my place if you have to turn fugitive. Ignoring her is less trouble, though."

  "Easy for you to say," Scarlett muttered.

  "Want me to tell her to back off?"

  Her spine went ramrod straight. "Absolutely not. I'll never get the upper hand if you run interference for me." Then she did take that deep breath. "Thanks. I just needed to blow off a little steam. I know how to handle cranky waitresses. She just—"

  "She can be a handful, all right."

  "You would know, I guess."

  He frowned. "What do you mean?"

  "She's got the hots for you. I assumed you two…"

  He reared back. "Me? And Jeanette? No way. We were in grade school together, for Pete's sake."

  "You're not in grade school now."

  "There's nothing going on between us, New York." Then he grinned. "Would you be jealous?"

  "Pfft—you're kidding, right? I'm not in the market for a man. Life's easier without them," she retorted. "And my name is Scarlett."

  "That sounds like a challenge, Scarlett." He was surprised to feel one stir in his blood.

  "Men are pigs."

  He could swear he saw her lips curve, just a little. "Ooh, that is definitely a challenge." He rubbed his hands together.

  "You wish. Now get out of my kitchen. I've got work to do."

  "Speaking of that, my dad's all set for cobbler, but Jeanette's muttering about yours. Why is that?"

  "Because she lives to complain? Here—" She turned, grabbed a spoon and scooped up a bite. She blew on it with lush lips that puckered in a way a red-blooded man could not possibly ignore, then brought it to his mouth.

  "What are—"

  She pushed the spoon gently between his lips.

  The cobbler was very warm, so he had to suck air in and out over the bite a time or two before he dared eat. "You almost burned my tongue—oh, man." He swirled his tongue around in his mouth. "I can't tell enough from just one taste." He grinned. "Better give me another."

  She smirked. "Great, right?"

  "If you're through flirting with Ian and making a spectacle of yourself, the wheel's filling up," Jeanette snapped from the other side of the pass-through.

  "Jeanette, cut her some slack," he said.

  The waitress's eyes filled with hurt. "Not you, too. Men are such idiots." She whirled and flounced off.

  "What did I say?"

  Scarlett burst out laughing. "I told you. Giant crush."

  He winced. "Aw, come on now. Not Jeanette."

  "She's right, though. You're distracting the cook. Go away."

  But he didn't want to. He stalled for time. "Where's Ruby?"

  "She went home, believe it or not."

  "Before or after she tasted the cobbler?"

  "After. Why?"

  "She's probably packing to leave town. That's some fine cobbler, New—Scarlett."

  Her cheeks flushed rosy. "Thanks. The secret is a little finely-chopped nuts plus a dash of allspice in the crust. But don't you dare tell a soul."

  "Cross my heart and hope to die." Solemnly he performed the ritual over his heart. He knew he should leave, but he was liking the scenery.

  "Ian…go away. People are staring."

  He glanced out. She was right.

  And no one was staring more than his father, who winked at him. Ben gave him a thumbs-up.

  Oh for Pete's sake… "I'm going." At the corner he turned back. "So what would you recommend I order? Though I'm thinking a plateful of cobbler wouldn't be a bad start."

  "Order anything. It's all good. Just try me."

  Oh, I'd like to try you, all right. Starting with that delectable mouth and working my way down.

  And he was certifiable for even thinking it.

  "You're on, city girl." He saluted her with two fingers to his brow.

  She merely tossed her head and went back to work.

  But she was smiling, not frowning now.

  * * *

  Scarlett looked over the pass-through more than she wanted to as the evening wore on. She was watching to see how her food was received, yes.

  But her eyes landed on the Hot Cowboy too
often.

  The name made her smile, as much as anything because she suspected he'd hate it. His discomfiture over Jeanette's interest in him was…cute.

  Though he was far too physically imposing to be considered cute, plus she suspected he'd find the word offensive in its connotation of little, precious things.

  He was neither little nor precious. He was one hundred per cent prime Grade A U.S. Male. Overbearing, to be sure, but not cruel about it. From the way people kept stopping by his table and seeking his opinion, clearly he was not only trusted but relied upon. He hadn't waited for someone else to take action when Ruby had been hurt, he'd simply stepped up and taken charge.

  Was that his son with him? Was he…good grief, she'd never even considered that he might be married. She frowned and reconsidered what she'd taken as simple flirting. Maybe he liked to keep a number of women on his string. She was simply an oddity to be added to the number. Heaven knows every woman in the place watched. Found reasons to stop by the table and—

  "Jeanette is getting all riled up," murmured the timid waitress Brenda. "She's snapping at customers."

  "Why?" Scarlett glanced over and realized what it had taken from Brenda to speak up. "Isn't she always like this?" But then she recalled that last night Jeanette had actually been kind to her.

  When she thought Scarlett was simply a customer.

  Brenda shrank away. "I shouldn't—"

  Henry stepped up to Brenda's side. "She's mad because Ian came back to talk to you."

  Scarlett laughed, but at their solemn, worried expressions she sobered. "That's ridiculous." When Brenda hunched her shoulders, Scarlett touched her shoulder, which only made Brenda flinch.

  "I'm sorry."

  Brenda shook her head. "No, I'm the one who—"

  She was so quick to apologize, so afraid all the time. What was her story? "You're fine. And you're right. Ian McLaren means nothing to me, and I should be more careful."

  "Jeanette wants to marry him," Henry ventured.

  How could she pass up this opportunity to be sure? "He's not married?"

  Both heads shook in denial.

  "Was he? Is that his son?"

  Brenda opened her mouth but subsided. Henry spoke instead. "No, that's Ben Butler. His mom's a widow. His dad and Ian were good friends. Ben wishes his mom would marry Ian, though. She's having a hard time running their flower farm by herself."

  So he was single…but maybe not for long. Just as well. "Flower farm?"

  "It's the most beautiful place," Brenda gushed with an abandon Scarlett would never have imagined from her. "It's like heaven, all those flowers—" Abruptly she stopped.

  "Having recess?" Jeanette asked sourly. "In case no one has noticed, we still have a full house."

  Brenda and Henry scattered.

  Scarlett knew better, but she couldn't hold back. "I have no interest in Ian, if that's what's got your knickers in a twist."

  "Excuse me?" Jeanette towered over her, but Scarlett had long ago learned that nearly everyone but a child was taller. That didn't intimidate her at all. She leaned closer to keep the discussion private, however. "Ian is as protective of Ruby as you are, and that's why he came back here. He has no interest in me, and I feel the same. So will you please stop being such a bitch?"

  "You think I'm a bitch? Look, Miss Fancy Pants, we all know you think you're too good for us, and we can't wait for you to leave. Ruby will be better real soon, and no one will be sorry to see you go, so just get off your high horse and cook, why don't you, and quit talking about what you don't know."

  Scarlett watched her stalk off and turned her attention back to the meal she was plating. She was a little bit hurt, and a little bit chastened.

  But Jeanette was also right. Scarlett had been constantly comparing this town and this café unfavorably to what she'd known, imagining the mockery of her competitors, should they see her working in this humble dot on the map. In this very pedestrian restaurant.

  She wasn't in New York. Nor Paris. Sweetgrass Springs was a far cry from Atlanta or Denver or Boston. This food was a universe away from haute cuisine.

  But she had a grandmother here. Someone who could put her life in context. Someone with whom she shared blood.

  And that woman made her living feeding people, just as Scarlett had been doing for years.

  That wasn't nothing.

  She still didn't like Jeanette, but she understood her. Jeanette saw her as a threat on more levels than simply the one on which Jeanette wanted to be more to Ian than a childhood friend.

  Ruby is the heart and soul of this town.

  Everyone here knew where they stood in relation to the others, and she'd upset the balance. They adored Ruby, and they would protect her from any perceived threat.

  Scarlett had no idea where she stood in relation to anything, but that wasn't new. She'd been a fish out of water most of her life.

  Except when she was cooking.

  So she would cook. Period.

  And as soon as she was no longer needed, she would be gone.

  * * *

  "You want to trade seats with me, son?"

  "What?" Ian dragged his attention back to his father and noticed that both Gordon and Ben were grinning. "What are you looking at?"

  "Nothing." Ben stared down at his plate. "She's pretty, I guess."

  "She's a beauty, just like her ma," said Gordon. "Georgia could knock the breath right out of you."

  "Why would you think—"

  His dad snorted. "Son, I might be crippled, but it’s not my eyes that got injured. You ought to have a crick in your neck from glancing back at that kitchen so often."

  "I wasn't—"

  "My mom's just as pretty," said Ben. "And she already lives here."

  "What? Why— Look, I am not interested in Ruby's granddaughter. I was just making sure everything's going okay, since Ruby isn't here."

  "Uh-huh," replied his dad.

  "And why are you—" Belatedly Ian realized what Ben was aiming at. What was wrong with everyone? Jeanette could not seriously have a crush on him, and there was no way on this earth he could marry his lifelong buddy's wife.

  But Ben was at that age when his feelings were sticking out all over him like antennae and he was so mixed up, the slightest thing could set him off. Ian was supposed to making things easier on Veronica, not getting crosswise with her son.

  "Your mom is a very pretty lady," he began, then decided this might be his opening. "She's also worried about you. Should she be?"

  Ben flushed. "No."

  "Look, you know you can talk to me anytime, right? We all miss your dad like crazy, and I know things are hard for your family. Your mom depends on you a lot, but you'd rather be hanging out with your friends, I bet."

  Ben shrugged. "I'm okay."

  "It won't always be like this. She's just trying to figure out how much she can handle on her own."

  "She shouldn't have to." Ben kept his eyes locked on the table.

  "Folks have to handle lots of things they might not want to, son," said Gordon. "Life's awful hard sometimes, but that's just a farmer's lot."

  "I don't want to be a farmer," Ben muttered. "Rancher either. They're both stupid."

  Ian and his father traded glances. He needed to proceed carefully. David's dream had been to pass his land along to his kids, and he'd especially wanted a future working side by side with Ben.

  But David had died in a farming-related accident. "Well, you don't have to decide anything just yet. You might change your mind, but whether or not you do, right now your mother needs your help, and not only with the farm. How is school going?"

  "Okay."

  Which probably meant that his grades were suffering. "Your mom's not the only one who's got a lot on her shoulders. It has to be hard, helping her with the girls and the flowers and the stock, trying to play sports and still study enough to get the grades to give you options."

  Ben looked up at last, his eyes anguished. "I have to be the man of t
he house. There's no one else."

  Boy, did Ian understand that feeling. "Tell you what—there are a lot of people around here who would like to help. How about if we organize a work day at your place? You could make a list so we know what would be most helpful. I'd ask your mom, but—"

  "But she'll say she doesn't need help."

  "Exactly. I ask and ask, but finally I just have to jump in and do what seems to need work. I'd rather be taking care of whatever is critical, but I don't understand the flower business the way I understand ranching." He held Ben's gaze. "Can I count on you to be my spy? Help me keep your mother honest?"

  "She won't like it."

  Ian's dad spoke first. "But she'll be relieved as all get-out. And maybe even have a little time to ease up on herself."

  "She could sure use it," Ben admitted.

  And so could you, Ian thought. "I'm looking at it like an old-fashioned barn raising. Remember, Dad, years back, how everyone came together when old man Kinslow broke his leg right at harvest time? Everybody came over on a Saturday and got the crop in? Didn't even have church that Sunday, not at the various churches, but we had a nondenominational worship service in the pasture that Sunday morning, then everyone pitched in."

  "Used to happen a lot," his father said. "Back in the beginning of Sweetgrass, that's how everybody got their houses built and barns raised. Same thing when it was time for roundup or harvest."

  Ian was warming rapidly to the idea. Veronica always demurred, saying Ian was too busy, but she would remember the Kinslows, too, and know that there was precedent. Shoot, it went back all the way to their ancestors. He turned to Ben. "She'll go for this, don't you think?"

  The boy's eyes lit. "She sure might." Then his shoulders sagged. "But why would people help us? We're Pattons, too, not just Butlers. And my uncle Tank would hate it."

  Ian and his father traded glances. Dicey territory, given Tank's history as a bully and his father's as much worse. "People think a lot of your mom, and your dad and his family have always been favorites in this town."

  "Yeah." Ben's voice was dispirited. "But people don't forget."

  "Somebody giving you trouble at school?" Ian asked.