by Hebby Roman
She jumped back and dropped the tongs. “Ouch! That hurt.” She wiped her chin with the back of her hand and retrieved the tongs. “You really should learn to microwave bacon, Gar. It’s not so greasy then. This can’t be good for the boys’ cholesterol.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “Cholesterol! What teenager cares about cholesterol? You should see what they order at the Burger Box in town when I take a few of them to get toiletries or extra underwear or…”
He glanced at her from the corners of his eyes.
She stood, hands on hips, glaring at him.
He held up both his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, you got me. I guess microwaving the bacon would be a healthier choice. Next time, we’ll do it your way.
“But right now, I better get these pancakes going or we’ll be eating breakfast for lunch.”
He lifted the huge bowl and poured some batter onto the griddle, trying to pour it evenly and let the batter spread out in a circle. But to his consternation, the floury-liquid spewed across the griddle, spreading out and resembling an ungainly octopus.
“What the hell?” He grabbed a spatula and scraped the mess to one side.
He felt a light touch on his arm and turned to face Sofia.
“You finish up the bacon. Let me do this.” She took the spatula from his hand and peered at the bowl of batter. “Your batter is too thin.” She flipped the half-burned mess of his first attempt into the sink.
“What do you mean too thin? I followed the directions to the letter—”
“Even with pancake mix, there’s a kind of art to the batter.” She took up his whisk and tested the creamy liquid. “It can’t be too thin or too thick. Do you have some plain flour?”
“Sure.” He moved to the other end of the counter and fetched a large canister. “Here’s the flour.”
“Good. Now where’s that measuring spoon you used for the oil?”
He grabbed it from the bottom of the sink, rinsed it off and handed it to her. There was the distinctive odor of something burning.
Jimmy called out, “Mr. McCulloch, I think the bacon is burning.”
Sofia nodded and handed Jimmy the tongs. “Can you watch the bacon for me? I think that batch is done. We need another batch, though.”
“Sure thing, Miss Rossi.”
She turned back to the bowl of batter.
Gar stepped aside and leaned against the kitchen island. He crossed his arms over his chest and felt suddenly superfluous. He watched as Sofia dropped one tablespoon of flour into the batter, whisked it, added another, and whisked it again.
She cocked her head, as if considering. He could see the beating of her heart in the hollow at her throat. His own heart leapt in his chest, beating double-time, and then slowing, as if keeping rhythm with hers.
She was wearing another one of her form-fitting, scoop-necked pullovers with her well-worn jeans. She’d found an old apron somewhere and had tied it around her waist.
As good as she looked, and that was good enough to eat, forget the pancakes. He suddenly wanted to see her in a dress, decked out as if she was going on a hot date. And he wished he would be the one to take her. There was only one problem—he didn’t have the time.
But Kyle, his foreman, who was single, could cover for one night or a part of a night. Couldn’t he? Plenty of time to take her out, probably in San Antonio, and then bring her home to his firepit and… bed.
She hefted the heavy bowl and managed to pour a dollop of batter onto the griddle. This time, the batter stayed together with only one side leaching out. She scraped up the small puddle and dumped it in the sink.
He was beginning to think pancakes were a bad idea. Who knew they could be such a pain in the ass? And to think he’d set out to impress her. Hah!
She grabbed the measuring spoon and dumped another rounded spoonful of flour into the batter, whisking it quickly, humming to herself.
Lordy, Lordy, he could watch her for hours.
To hell with the pancakes. Even better, he’d love to see her in his kitchen, fixing him breakfast. Something Argentinian, something exotic, like she was.
He shuffled his feet, only too aware of the familiar tightening in his jeans. He wished Jimmy was somewhere else, like in the next county, along with the rest of the boys who were probably ravenous by this time.
She lifted the bowl again and poured a perfect round flapjack.
His mouth dropped open.
“Got it!” she declared triumphantly.
“Good, I was beginning to think we should just make a batch of toast and be done with it.”
“Are two pancakes each enough?” she asked, pouring another ten or so round puddles on the now-sizzling griddle.”
How had she done that? She was a wonder.
“I think that’s plenty.”
“Have you got syrup and butter to put out?”
“Coming up.” He unfolded his arms and headed for the pantry, pulling out three large bottles of maple syrup. Then he got out the butter and put several sticks on each of three saucers.
“Jimmy, when you finish with the bacon, can you get someone to set the tables and pour the o.j. and milk?”
Aaron appeared at the doorway and asked, “Can I help?”
“Hey, just in time,” he said. “We need to get the tables set, twenty-five places. Silver wear is in that drawer.” He pointed to a drawer beneath the microwave. “Napkins are here.” He grabbed several full napkin holders from the island. “Plates are in the cupboard to the right of the fridge.”
Aaron took the napkin holders and balanced some of the butter dishes in his hands. “I’ll be back for the rest.”
Sofia, who had been busy flipping the pancakes, pushed a stray tendril of hair from her face and looked up.
“Morning, Mom.” Aaron nodded. “I told the guys you make the best pancakes.”
Gar watched as her neck and face reddened.
She smiled. “Why, thank you, Aaron. I appreciate it.”
“Ain’t nothing but the truth.”
Gar put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Your Mom mentioned you might want to go to an Ivy League school for college.”
The fifteen-year-old raised his shoulder in a half-shrug and looked away.
Gar could understand the boy’s embarrassment. If it wasn’t obvious before, it was obvious now, they’d been talking about him. But Aaron must realize that.
“Yeah, I might. What of it… sir?”
“Well, your mother hasn’t reprimanded you, but somehow, I think throwing ‘ain’ts’ around will sound pretty stupid at one of those highfaluting schools. Don’t you?”
“Probably,” Aaron mumbled.
“Just a thought.”
“Yeah, I’ll watch out, sir.”
“Okay. And thanks for your help.”
Fifteen minutes later, Aaron had the tables set. The bacon had been fried, the eggs reheated, and three towering stacks of pancakes waited on platters to be taken into the dining hall.
Sofia wiped her face with the back of her arm, leaving a smear of flour across her right cheek and a smudge of the sticky batter in her hair. She reached behind her back to undo her apron.
“Jimmy, please, take in the pancakes and get the boys from the rec room,” Gar said. “We’re ready to eat. I’m going to help our other cook. Okay.”
“No problem.” Jimmy grabbed the three platters, balancing one between his shoulder and elbow. He lit out through the doorway and shouted, “Okay, everyone, come and get it! Last one in, won’t get any pancakes.”
Gar turned to Sofia and put his hands on her waist, breathing in the subtle-but-sexy smell of her special perfume. “Ah, alone at last, but not for long,” he said ruefully. “Let me help you with that.” He unknotted the apron at her waist and crumpled it up, throwing it on top of the messy countertop.
Wrinkling his nose, he observed, “Looks like cleaning up will be as much of a chore as ma
king breakfast.”
She glanced at him and grinned. “Hope the boys can help out. I need to get back to San Antonio before—”
“I thought you said you didn’t have any plans for the weekend.” He licked his thumb and wiped the smear of flour from her cheek.
She trembled at his touch and tried to pull away.
He kept one hand firmly planted on her waist, holding her. “You’ve got pancake batter in your hair, too.”
“Oh, my gosh, I must look a mess. I need to go to the ladies’ room and—”
“You could never look messy, Sofia, not to me.” He kept hold of her waist, leaning around her to grab a dishtowel and wetting it in the sink. “No need to go to the bathroom. I can get the batter out with this.” He dabbed at her hair with the wet towel and then ran his hands through her hair, gently re-arranging it.
He smiled. “There. You look great, and the pancakes are getting cold.”
“Uh, thank you, I think.”
He widened his smile. “My pleasure, ma’am.” Then he leaned forward a fraction of an inch and touched his lips to hers.
Chapter Seven
Sofia closed her eyes, savoring the feel of his mouth on hers, wanting to kiss him, long and deep. But they were standing in the kitchen of his dining hall, and she could hear the scuffle of boots and stomping feet. Twenty-three boys were assembling in the dining room, right behind them. What if…?
A sudden awareness of someone watching tugged at her, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.
She broke off their kiss and looked up.
Aaron stood in the doorway, his eyes glued to them. He was wearing his gold cross, but his face was white.
She searched for words, but her tongue wasn’t functioning, it was as if her tongue was bolted into her mouth.
Her son’s white face, reddened, flushing from the neck up.
Behind him, wearing a cast-off cowboy hat in the house, stood Lucas. He was slouched against the hallway wall with his hands stuffed in his pockets, his hat pulled low, and he was chewing on a toothpick. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought they’d descended into a classic Hollywood film, and Lucas was doing his best imitation of a James Dean lookalike.
Shaking off the ridiculous thought, she finally found her voice. “Aaron, it’s not what you think.”
“Oh, yeah, well, I might be only fifteen and a druggie, but I know what I saw.”
He whirled around, and he must have seen Lucas standing there, observing them. “You, butthead! What are you doing, ‘tripping’ on me?”
“Nah, Mommy’s boy, but I see where this is going. Get some special ‘props’ with the old man. Huh, bro?”
“Shut up!” He pushed Lucas.
Lucas staggered, righted himself, and clipped Aaron on the jaw.
Her son’s head snapped back, but he brought his fists up. They circled each other. Aaron buried his fist into Lucas’ stomach.
Lucas cried out, “Ooof!” He doubled over.
Aaron stood over him, pounding at his head and shoulders with his fists.
Gar sprang into action, pulling Aaron off Lucas. He held the boys by their collars. “Aaron, detention room, you struck the first blow.”
“Did not, he did.” He thrust out his chin, a bruise already forming there.
“Okay, you’re right. I used the wrong word.” Gar shook him. “Who laid hands on who first?”
Aaron tried to squirm away, but Gar held him tight. Her son stared up at Gar and if looks could kill… But he managed to mumble, “Uh, me.”
“Yeah, right answer. Detention room.” He let go of Aaron’s collar.
Her son took off, running through the throngs of boys seating themselves at the dining room tables.
Gar turned his head and speared Lucas with his gaze. “But you hit him first, Lucas. Am I right?”
“So?”
“Enough, Lucas. You can go to your dorm. Later, you can get a sandwich for lunch.” He released the boy’s collar.
Lucas stared at him, his face flooded red. “You’re not so perfect, are you… sir? You and your ‘chickenhead’. Everyone’s got an angle—on the take.”
“Close your foul mouth, Lucas, and get out of my sight.”
Lucas shrugged and looked past Gar, staring at her as if she was a piece of slime.
Then he walked slowly through the dining hall.
Gar turned to her. “I think we should sit down with the boys and enjoy our breakfast. As if nothing happened. The more credence we give to—”
“But something happened, and my son saw it, and it was wrong.”
“How can you say that, Sofia? I—”
“I have to go to him. Where’s the detention room?”
“Alright.” He pointed to the hallway, leading off the dining hall. “Follow that hallway, third door on the right. It’s open, can’t be bolted from inside.”
“Thank you.”
“Will you be back to—?”
“We’ll see.” She hesitated. “I told you we were playing with fire.” She shook her head. “I can’t be… can’t be attracted to you and, at the same time, focus on Aaron and our relationship. I knew it wouldn’t work.”
“I’m sorry. I hate that we…”
She nodded and lowered her head, passing the murmuring boys at the tables. She hoped they enjoyed her pancakes, as her son once had. Today, because of her folly or yearning or desires or… Whatever. She’d ruined everything. The little bit of progress they’d made.
She found the third door on the right and knocked.
A long silence echoed through the hallway.
She leaned against the door. “Aaron, are you in there? I want to talk to you.”
The silence stretched out again… nothing.
“Aaron?” She opened the door and stood in the doorway.
“What do you want?”
“To explain.”
“Explain what, Mom? You’re not a nun. I don’t expect that. I just didn’t want it thrown in my face.”
“But the only reason I came to Texas was for you. Gar has been kind and I—”
“I get it. But as much as you say you’re here for me, you could have—”
“You’re right, son. I’m sorry. Gar and I are attracted to each other, but I should have—”
“I just wanted to know you were here for me. Ever since you got pulled in for drugs, it’s like, you’re not really there. You know?”
She gasped. “But Aaron, I’ve reached out to you, time after time.”
“Yeah, but doing drugs wasn’t smart.”
“What are you saying, Aaron? You’re here for smoking marijuana. I never—”
“Don’t start. I’m not a druggie, no matter what you might think.”
What did he mean by that?
“Well, if you didn’t smoke marijuana, you should understand. I haven’t done anything, either. I was acquitted because I’d been set up. By your—”
“Hey, don’t go blaming Dad. He blames you, you blame him. Around and around we go. It’s enough.”
Her heart wrenched in her chest, realizing what he said was true. “I’m so sorry for what happened today, and I never did drugs. I promise you that.”
“Okay, no big deal. But I’d like for you to leave me alone? I’m tired. Okay?”
She stepped back from the door. What could she say? At least, they’d talked, but it was obvious, he was being pulled in two. She needed to let well enough alone. For now.
“Okay. I understand, Aaron. I’ll be going now.”
* * *
Sofia sat in a back booth of a restaurant called, “The Old Forge” in Bandera. She’d arrived early this Tuesday morning on Kiki’s day off, to keep her promise of lunch.
When she’d phoned Kiki yesterday, she hadn’t wanted to come to Bandera, fearing she might be tempted to go to the ranch. But her new-found friend’s time off was limited, and she didn’t want to
force Kiki to drive all the way to San Antonio.
On Sunday, she’d left the ranch after speaking with her son, not bothering to say goodbye to Gar. At the time, she’d thought it was better that way. She’d made it through the remainder of Sunday and Monday by napping, reading, and watching TV. But it had been hard, because all she could think about was her son and Gar and what had happened.
Liana had been in and out of the condo, but mostly she’d spent her time at the university library, finishing up a term paper before her ultimate push to study for finals. Damian was still out of town on business.
She was hoping that seeing Kiki might give her some insight as to the “fallout” she’d left behind at Shady Oaks. For now, she was in self-imposed exile, not certain if she could face her son or Gar.
What had her son meant when he’d said he didn’t do drugs?
His cryptic remark nagged at her. Gar would know how to approach the situation, try to find the truth of the matter. Was Aaron being sarcastic, throwing her long-professed innocence back in her face? Or was there a grain of truth to what he’d said? But he’d been caught red-handed by the dorm monitor, and they’d found THC in his blood.
She sighed, her brain turning cartwheels. How much damage had she done on Sunday, kissing Gar? And how long would it take to get her son to come around again? It was what had plagued her for the past two days, not to mention what to do about Gar, her attraction for him, and his wanting to take their relationship to the next level.
She glanced around the restaurant Kiki had picked. Located in the center of Bandera’s downtown on Main Street, it had been easy to find. The place was done up with lots of rustic-looking wood and a cowboy chic motif, complete with several signs declaring Bandera to be the “Cowboy Capitol of the World.”
Looking over the menu, she found what she’d learned to be typical Texan fare, consisting of chicken fried steak, chicken fried chicken, burgers, some Tex-Mex items, and a variety of huge-looking sandwiches that would satisfy the most robust of appetites.
At least, there was a smattering of salads and a couple of soups, too. She’d make do with the southwestern chicken salad and maybe a cup of tortilla soup.
It was a whole lot harder to stay on her usual diet in Texas. In New York, healthy restaurants, many of them offering gluten free choices or vegan, abounded. But in Texas, everyone appeared to take hearty eating seriously.
