by Erika Kelly
“Sure, Rubes. I’ll get you some more.”
At various stations around the kitchen, the chefs worked like there was one minute left on the clock, and they’d barely begun. Sweat gleamed on their foreheads, and one of them barked orders at her sous chef.
He didn’t know if the board had told the contestants that, when it came to hiring for the spa restaurant, the decision would be based on more than the menu, taste, and presentation. Personality mattered, too, since they’d have to work with the chef on a daily basis.
Bad behavior wouldn’t be tolerated. The Bowies and their friends didn’t like prima donnas or people in power who treated their staff like they were anything less than an equal.
“Wally!” Ruby pointed with such enthusiasm she practically fell out of his arms.
Delilah, in a white chef’s apron that covered her gorgeous body, stood by the walk-in pantry, arms loaded with a basket of some feathery green herb.
She chatted with the dishwasher like she’d just bumped into an old friend in the supermarket. Her free arm moved like a conductor’s, orchestrating the emotions that played across her face. She used her hands, her body, her voice to illustrate her words, and he found her utterly and completely captivating.
She lit him up. Flicked every damn switch inside him to On.
Gesticulating as she told her story, Delilah nearly dropped the basket, but the dishwasher stepped forward to help her. They both laughed, and it was at that moment she spied Will. Surprise turned to something softer when she saw Ruby. She gave the guy a smile before making her way over to them.
“Did you guys come to visit me?” She blew a raspberry on Ruby’s cheek. “Or my food?”
Ruby pressed a hand to the damp patch of skin and giggled. “She kissed me, Wheel.”
“I saw that. You’re a lucky girl.”
“Kiss Wheel.” Ruby cupped each of their cheeks and pushed their faces together.
Laughing, Delilah brushed her lips across the corner of his mouth, but he caught a whiff of her honey-vanilla scent, and desire roared to life inside him. Catching the back of her neck, he held her in place as he kissed her on the mouth—gently, softly—way too aware of the sexy plump of her bottom lip.
Oh, Jesus. Sensation flooded him, and when her lips parted and he got that hit of wet heat, he wanted to slide his tongue inside and claim her mouth.
“You kissy kiss.” Ruby’s voice rang like a chime.
Remembering he was in a kitchen and Delilah needed to get her hors d’oeuvres out, he pulled back, letting his gaze linger on her lush, raspberry mouth, still wet from his kissy kiss.
She gazed into his eyes, not backing down, not embarrassed, just smiling with a hot promise of more to come. “You sure know how to distract a girl.” But then she turned her attention to his sister. “You hungry, little one?”
Ruby nodded.
“Let’s see what I’ve got for you.”
“Shock-let!” Ruby shouted with glee.
“I wish I had some of that.” She led them to her station—just a small counter in a corner of the kitchen. Handing Ruby a curved bread crisp that looked like a lace basket, she pointed to the pewter tray. “What do you think?”
“What happened to the figs?” They’d bought dozens of them. Instead she’d piled onto the curved bread crisp some kind of beef with a crusty edge, a dollop of jam, and a sprig of a feathery herb—dill? The simple but artistic presentation didn’t look anything like what the other chefs had prepared. The ones he’d seen in passing looked far more elaborate and hearty.
“You sound disappointed.” She watched him with concern.
“I was expecting figs.” He didn’t want to let her down, but he respected her enough to tell her the truth. “But yours looks a little simple compared to the others.”
“Oh, I never compare myself to other chefs. I just have to go with my instincts.” She picked one up. “Try it.”
He popped a crisp into his mouth and bit down. The crunch of toast contrasted with the juicy, flavor-filled bite of the meat. The jam gave it a tart and sweet punch. “This is outstanding.”
“Yeah?” She eyed her dish with a furrowed brow. “I toasted the bread in this shape to reflect Jackson Hole, since you said the valley was shaped like a bowl. I wanted to do something with indigenous animals, and I really like how the bison roam free on the land—”
“This is bison?”
“Yes. They’re all over your property, so Lachlan took me to Wild Buffalo Ranch, and I bought some of their meat. It was a little out of my comfort zone, but I left there totally impressed with their sustainable ecosystem concept. Anyhow, I tried different crusts, but I went with espresso to make it look like their thick, wooly hides. Do you see?”
He liked to think of her as impulsive, changing her mind on a whim—from a fig dish to bison—but he’d mischaracterized her. She was incredibly thoughtful.
She was intuitive. Not impulsive.
And she impressed the hell out of him. “I do.”
“It’s a little early for the huckleberries, but I really wanted that chunky, moist hit of both sweet and tart. What do you think?”
“I think…it’s unlike anything I’ve ever tasted but, even more, I’m impressed with how much thought you put into it. It represents Wyoming. And our ranch.”
It struck Will that he’d never met anybody who paid such close attention. Who cared as much as she did. Delilah got completely invested in the things that mattered to her.
And for the first time in his life he wanted a woman—this woman—to care that much about him.
Which is ridiculous since she’s leaving in six weeks.
Not that he could have her anyhow. You don’t piss in your own pool. A mountain man down to his bones, his dad didn’t have many rules for his boys but, in a small town like Calamity, he’d wanted them to be on good terms with everyone. That meant he didn’t want his four sons messing around with the women. That applies to houseguests. Especially, when she’s Callie’s closest friend.
“There’s something missing, though, right? The presentation, it’s missing color.” She checked her watch. “Okay, come on. Think. The chutney’s dark like the meat and the crisp. I need…”
“Fowers.” Ruby pointed to a waiter carrying a tray of small glass vases filled with wildflowers.
A smile burst across Delilah’s face, and she cupped Ruby’s plump cheeks. “You, little girl, are a genius.” She swept across the room and yanked a handful of stems out of a giant stainless steel sink. Plucking off the bright yellow heads, she sprinkled a few on each piece. “Bingo.” She stepped back and took it all in. “Perfect.”
Her creamy complexion, her powerful confidence, all that hair tied up at the back of her neck…she was just so vibrant and sexy.
Perspiration broke out on his forehead, and the kitchen grew uncomfortably warm. “We’ll let you finish up. See you out there.”
“Toast, peeze.” Ruby held her hand out for another crisp, and Delilah kissed the little girl’s palm before placing the bread in it.
Will didn’t like the hammering of his heart, but he was a man who faced his fears. He turned back around. “Delilah?”
With a handful of brilliant yellow petals, she looked up from her platter.
“If your brother came to town tonight and offered you your own Da Nonna’s, would you take it?”
Her gaze shifted to Ruby, and her expression turned thoughtful.
He liked that about her. He could trust her to tell the truth.
“Yes.” Her determination wobbled for a moment. “It’s…my family. I’d have to.”
As the warm water rushed over her soapy hands, Delilah thought about her immediate reaction to Will’s question, the way her heart had seized. It would mean the world to have her brother show up and tell her he believed in her enough to support her franchise.
At the same time, though, she’d had a stab of fear. She didn’t want to leave Will and his sister, the competition, and this sprawling
ranch filled with ice-cold creeks and wild animals, cabins, trails, and teal-colored lakes.
These feelings for Will…she couldn’t explain it. He wasn’t her type, and yet she wanted to spend every damn minute with him. And that kiss in the hydroponic farm?
She’d never had a kiss like that. Something so electric, so erotic. It had uncorked this desperate need for more. It wasn’t just exciting to kiss in the hallway outside the tasting kitchen…it had called on something deep, primal. Him.
Mine.
She’d had this crazy feeling like, if she didn’t get closer to him, meld with him, she would combust.
Shutting off the faucet, she reached for a clean dish towel.
No question, Will was an intimidating man. His energy bristled with purpose, and he didn’t waste a single moment, word, or calorie. Everywhere he went, people stopped and watched him. It was almost comical when someone froze in the middle of licking an ice cream cone to take him in. Women eyed him with want and possession; men eyed him with awe and envy.
But nobody saw those moments when he held his sister and agonized over whether he was doing right by her. No one saw him curled up in her bed reading books, as she bounced Squawk in her lap.
And the way he looks at me? That carnal hunger—the promise of what he’d do to her body if they were alone—Glory be—it sent a direct hit to her heart, making her giddy.
She liked him, for sure. But that kiss made her realize she more than liked him.
God, she had to have him. Just had to.
“You coming?”
She turned to find Chef Alonso, the only one remaining in the kitchen, at the double doors. “Absolutely.”
Time to mingle, she set the towel down and followed him out. She couldn’t wait to take in everyone’s expressions as they tasted her food.
A crush of people filled the dining room with laughter and conversation. Some dressed casually in jeans and T-shirts, others more formally. Little kids darted through the crowd, and waiters carried silver trays.
Each chef had her own white-clothed table, and guests could read the placard to see the ingredients. Delilah had written a little story on her card, explaining why she’d chosen the elements.
An older man stood at her table with a glass of wine in one hand and her hors d’oeuvre in the other. She could only see him in profile, but he was eyeballing it carefully, as if deconstructing it. She hoped he liked what he saw, because it was really pretty. And it tasted great.
She still had the flavor on her tongue. The juicy, tender meat against the crunch of the espresso and salt crust, and the blast of the chutney profile just made a huge flavor party in her mouth.
She couldn’t wait to see his expression when he bit into it. A couple joined him, and he turned to acknowledge them.
Awareness snapped, jarring her and immersing her in a cold fog.
Harry Morgenstern.
No. It couldn’t be.
He wouldn’t come to Calamity.
What, were the judges getting a hundred grand, too? Why on earth would the New York Times Daily’s food critic judge this competition?
Fighting the crowd, she made her way across the room. Next to the hostess’s podium, she read the poster board resting on an easel. It welcomed family and friends to the pre-launch party, invited them to participate in the judging by filling out score cards, and then listed the guest travel writers and food critics.
And there it was. Harry Morgenstern, The New York Times Daily food critic.
Her initial shock—having that slice of New York infiltrate her little bubble—gave way to a slow tide of happiness. This man loves my food.
Maybe—just maybe—she had a shot here.
Delilah slammed the medicine cabinet closed and squeezed toothpaste onto her brush.
She could not get the image of tonight’s scoresheet out of her head.
Not complex enough?
Seriously, how was my hors d’oeuvre not complex enough?
The dishes were anonymous, so Harry hadn’t known it was hers, but come on. That bite was plenty complex. He was a New Yorker, born and raised, so maybe he wasn’t used to these uniquely western flavors.
Well, he’d have to get used to them, because she was using all locally sourced ingredients. She had a flash of the spa restaurant under her helm. She’d go all-out with the spirit of Calamity—she’d make it almost kitschy. In fact, she’d name her dishes after the outlaws who settled the west.
Oh, I like that.
Actually, that gave her a direction for the final event, a menu for the restaurant and samples of some of the dishes. Yes.
As she rinsed off her toothbrush, she thought about Chef Mathilda’s expression when she found out she’d won, all cool and confident. What must it feel like to have a starred Michelin restaurant? To be so good at what you do that you became used to the accolades?
If Delilah had won, she’d have been jumping up and down and smiling so hard her face would shatter like a dropped plate. Total newbie. She headed to bed but wondered how Ruby was doing. Was she sleeping? She’d just check real quick.
As quietly as possible, she opened her door and peered into the hallway. Please be asleep Ruby.
Not a sound—or a little girl—in the hallway.
However, she did see a shaft of yellow light spilling onto the hardwood floor from the bedroom across the hall.
Shouldn’t he be sleeping? She padded quietly to Will’s door and tapped lightly.
“Yeah?”
Oh, she loved his deep, raspy voice. Pushing the door wider, she peered into his room. “Everything okay?” She knew what eight hours of sleep meant to him.
He sat up in bed, pillows bunched behind his back, laptop propped on a mess of blue blanket, and wearing the sexiest tortoise shell glasses she’d ever seen.
His chin tilted down, as his gaze went from her red-tipped toes, up her bare legs, to her breasts stretching the tank top, to her mouth. “I didn’t hear you out there. How do you move so quietly?”
“Well, first, I’m not a wild boy who crashes through the house like what you’re probably used to but, secondly, you’re the oldest kid, so I’m guessing you did whatever you wanted and if anyone complained you knocked heads. I’m the youngest. Everyone was always shoving me out of the room or yelling at me to go back to bed.” She gestured to the laptop and stack of papers beside him. “What’s keeping you up so late?”
“I had video-conferences with three candidates today.”
Ah, the nanny search. She stepped further in the room. “How’d that go?”
“The first one was humorless. Ruby needs someone like you, someone who makes life fun, so that won’t work.”
A flush of joy spread through her. I’m fun? Well, yeah, I am fun, but I love that he thinks so.
“The second one didn’t think she could handle the isolation of the ranch, and the last one wanted to know if her boyfriend could move out here with her.”
On his long dresser, snow globes glittered in the light from his bedside lamp. She picked one up and tipped it over. Tiny snowflakes cascaded over the Taj Mahal. “What’d you tell her?” When he didn’t answer right away, she glanced over and found him staring at her all lazy-eyed. No lie, she loved the way he looked at her.
“I told her she’d be a live-in nanny and that her time would be spent with Ruby. Then, she asked if he could live in the house with us. He’s ‘really into boarding’ and would love to ‘talk shop’ with us.”
“Ah, okay.” Setting the Taj Mahal globe down, she picked up one with the Palazzo Vecchio in it. She shook it and watched the glitter slowly rain down. “You’ve got more interviews tomorrow, though, right?”
“Yeah.” His voice turned rougher, and he cleared his throat. “What’s up?”
“Nothing.” Bringing the snow globe with her, she sat on his mattress, tucking one leg under her. “Just restless after my crushing loss.” She smiled, as she turned the globe upside down again and gently shook it. “Thought for s
ure I had Harry in my pocket.”
I appreciated the way the chef incorporated local flavors, but it just wasn’t complex enough.
“He doesn’t know which chef made your dish.”
“No, I know. I don’t take it personally.”
His eyebrows shot up.
“Okay, fine.” She laughed. “I take it personally. But it’s the not complex enough part that gets me. I wanted to take a Sharpie and write, It is totally complex enough.” She watched the flakes drift and glitter. “My dish might’ve looked simple, but each element had so many layers.”
“He might just be one of those guys you can’t please.”
“Chef Mathilda pleased him just fine.”
“She’s the one who did that three-cheese thing?”
She nodded. “Gougères.”
“It was just bread stuffed with cheese.”
“Well, I tasted some nutmeg, some pepper, but yeah, it wasn’t hugely complex.”
“I’ve never tasted anything like your chutney before, and, believe me, when you grow up around here you’ve had every possible way to use a huckleberry. And that crust on your meat?”
When people liked her food, it lit a warm glow right in her very center. But when Will liked it…it gave her a shiver of delight.
“It was more than just espresso and salt, right?”
“Oh, yeah, it had chili powder, coriander, oregano and pepper. But, I mean, the thing is, when you say a chef’s food isn’t complex…it’s the highest insult. Because that’s literally what we do. That’s what sets us apart from someone who tosses a patty on the grill, flips it, and slaps it on a bun. We layer in flavor.”
“You definitely did that.”
“I did. I seared the meat, I toasted and ground my own coriander, I added fresh dill. I put in a splash of soy sauce to give it that umami punch, you know?” By his expression, she realized he had no idea what she was talking about. “I’m saying our whole objective is to give our dishes the kind of complexity that makes them stand out. I know my dish was complex, so I can only assume he meant it wasn’t as complex as the others.”
“I’m no food expert, but yours had more going on than any of the others. Hands down. It was like the flavors kept elbowing each other out of the way to get to my taste buds.”
