Colt

by Duncan Leigh

  In the meantime, there were recipes to refine and guests to impress and a ranch to run. Still, he couldn’t help being pleased at the way her hand shook the tiniest bit when she ladled the stew into bowls. He grinned, knowing their desires were in sync.

  Taking a helping, he blew on his and tasted.

  “It’s good. Really good,” he pronounced, rolling the meaty sauce around on his tongue. He probed the bowl, noting corn and the Circle P’s signature snap beans. “I thought you didn’t have the recipe.”

  “I don’t.” Emma’s shoulders straightened ever so slightly. “From what Chris and Tim told me, I figured out the basics. The rest is all tinkering. Is it thick enough?”

  “That part’s fine.” Colt tried another spoonful. “There’s something missing, though.”

  He gave the matter considerable thought while he looked over the ingredients spread across the counter. In his role as guinea pig, he’d learned how minced onions gave a dish more flavor than chopped ones. To appreciate the subtle difference between Tabasco and hot sauce. He fought the urge to slap his forehead. That’s what this dish needed to make it perfect—more hot sauce. He picked up the bottle.

  Doubt filled the look Emma gave him as he added a few dashes to the pot and stirred.

  “Perfect!” he declared after taking another taste. The smell made him ravenous. He checked his stomach. As suspected, his hunger had nothing to do with food and everything to do with the cook.

  Spatula in hand, she said, “Now, about that dessert…”

  “Banana pudding?” He leaned in to kiss the tip of her nose.

  “You don’t think it’s too plain? It’s such a simple dish,” she said, as if that was a bad thing.

  “It’s tradition.” He shrugged. “The first night out, it’s always stew and corn bread. With banana pudding for dessert.”

  Emma drummed her fingers on the countertop. “Listen, I want you to try something. But to do it, you have to close your eyes. No peeking.”

  “That doesn’t sound like any fun.” He sent a lingering gaze up and down the length of her.

  Emma crossed her arms, her voice stern. “I mean it.”

  Dutifully, he did as he was told. He might have cheated just a little when he heard her open the refrigerator door. But he wasn’t interested in what she pulled from the shelves. No, he was more interested in watching Emma. She was grace personified and he knew that if he spent the rest of his days watching her, he’d be well and truly a happy man.

  The realization that he’d fallen in love with her struck him and he blinked, knowing he couldn’t imagine a future without her and Bree in it. He squeezed his eyes tight the instant she turned toward him.

  “Okay. Now, open wide,” she ordered after a clatter.

  “Wait a sec.” He clamped a hand over his mouth. “Give me a clue here. Salty or sweet?”

  “Sweet,” she said at last.

  He grinned then. “Nothing could be as sweet as you.”

  “Oh, you.” Her breath washed over him in a long sigh that stirred desires of a different sort entirely. “Hush now, and take a bite.”

  Cold. Wet. Sweet. The sensations landed in his mouth. He chewed, taking his time the way she’d taught him while the flavors separated into familiar tastes. Graham crackers. Bananas. Vanilla.

  “I don’t need to guess,” he declared. “Banana pudding.”

  “Good. Now, hold on a sec. I want you to try something else.”

  He licked his lips, hoping that what came next was a kiss. Emma’s were so sweet he was pretty sure he could survive on them and them alone.

  Sugary sweetness exploded on his taste buds. Banana, yes. Vanilla, yes. Something dense and chewy had replaced the graham crackers. He caught a hint of caramel, a nutty crunch. Whatever she’d laid on him wasn’t a kiss, but it was definitely the next best thing. His eyes popped open and took in Emma’s smiling face.

  “What was that?” He stole a quick glance at the containers she’d pulled from the refrigerator. Of course, he recognized his mom’s banana pudding. Simple. Wholesome. Beside it sat a pie of the sort he’d never seen before. He stroked a finger along the edge and licked. “Mmm.” Whipped cream from a can couldn’t hold a candle to Emma’s homemade.

  “Banoffee pie,” Emma pronounced. “My take on it anyway. I want to serve both on the trail ride this weekend.”

  Colt crossed his arms. He glanced from one dish to the other. A feeling much like disloyalty stirred within him. He fought it down. Really, he asked himself, what was the harm in serving both?

  Chapter Eleven

  The sun beat down from a cloudless blue sky. Despite the light breeze that rippled through the saw grass like waves, sweat seeped from beneath Colt’s cowboy hat. It dribbled down his neck as he studied the sea of green, searching for the anhinga Josh had pointed out to Dave. The photographer’s camera clicked furiously. Meanwhile the journalist, Mike, jotted notes astride Daisy.

  It wasn’t until Josh led the way onward, toward what he promised was an impressive site, that Colt managed to spot the dark gray snakebird sitting on the ground, its wings partially unfolded. The stance reminded him of the way Emma often propped her hands on her hips…and his focus swerved away from birds and trail rides to the one thing guaranteed to raise his temperature.

  Emma. When had he fallen in love with the woman? The day she stood toe-to-toe with him after Bree’s run-in with Three? The moment he spotted her bravely facing down alligators in order to protect her daughter? Or was it later yet, when she let her guard down long enough to let him glimpse the vulnerable woman underneath? No matter. He loved her and, the first chance he had to be alone with her, he intended to tell her how much.

  “You coming, Mr. Colt?”

  He looked up to see that Josh and the two men from Beaks and Wings had moved on without him. His musings over, he tipped his hat to the waiting bird, clucked to Star. With a jangle of tack, the big horse trotted through the brush to catch up with the others, who were nearing a stand of tall, skinny trees. There, saw grass gave way to patches of palmetto so dense the fronds rustled against Colt’s stirrups as he followed the others into the welcome shade.

  Once they stepped beneath the first trees, however, the undergrowth thinned. Pine needles carpeted the ground. They muffled the horses’ hooves, but from somewhere up ahead came a noisy squabble of what sounded for all the world like crying babies.

  Star’s head came up. His upper lip curled. In quick succession, the horse blew air and snorted. Seconds later, Colt caught a whiff of something foul.

  “We’ll go on foot from here.” Josh reined to a halt near the center of the grove. Among the dark green pines, he pointed to one coated in bird droppings. “How close do you need to get?” he asked Dave.

  “I’ll probably have to climb up for the best shot.”

  “Whew! You’re gonna get a might ripe,” the boy warned. “Remind me to stay upwind of you on the way back.”

  “All part of the sacrifices we make for art.” Leather creaked as the photographer dismounted. He dug in his knapsack, coming up with a second camera. “You want to snap a few?” he asked Josh.

  “Sure.” Apparently forgetting the smell, the kid turned to his boss. “Unless you’d like to do it, Mr. Colt.”

  Colt gave the air a surreptitious sniff. Why anyone wanted to climb the slick white limbs in order to peer into a nest while very large, very angry birds tried their best to change his mind was beyond him. But Josh’s earnest expression told him the boy was dying to do just that.

  “Josh is our resident ornithologist. I wouldn’t be near as much help,” Colt admitted. Settling in to wait, he had to give the kid credit. May wasn’t the best time for birding. Even he knew that was in winter, when huge migratory flocks flew down from the north.

  The season hadn’t stopped Josh. He’d led the team from Beaks and Wings to dozens of nests, including at least three that belonged to endangered species like the wood stork.

  “Join us, Mike?”
<
br />   “Up there?” The journalist glanced away from his notes with a wry grin. “I’ll help Colt take care of the horses. It’ll give us a chance to talk about the Circle P.” He twisted in his saddle. “You don’t mind, do you?”

  “Sounds good.” Before they’d left the ranch house, he and Josh had worked out a system. The boy would answer questions about birds and their habitats, leaving him to deal with everything else. He swung his gaze away from the two enthusiasts who trekked toward the tree. “What can I tell you?”

  “I’ve studied your website and brochures. No need to cover that ground again.” Mike flipped through pages in his notebook. “Any problems our readers should know about?”

  “We’re not trying to hide any secrets. The trip you’re taking is just a short version of the same experience we give all our other guests.” Colt shifted, trying to find a comfortable position on a saddle that grew prickly under the journalist’s intense stare. “Fire away. What do you want to know?”

  “I understand the ranch’s long-time manager passed away recently,” Mike said, diving straight into the interview. “How’s that going to affect things?”

  “My dad.” Colt’s chest tightened as a thousand memories came rushing back. So much for expecting the man to lob a few softball questions. Mike had gone straight for the jugular.

  “He taught me and my four brothers everything there is to know about ranching and raising cattle. The Judds have a long history on the Circle P. As do the Parkers. Our families aim to keep on doing things the way they’ve been done for four generations.”

  “That’s good to know.” Mike scribbled a few notes. “There’ve been other changes. I hear your cook turned the kitchen over to someone new.”

  “Emma. Emma Shane.” Colt bit back the smile that came to his lips whenever her name was mentioned. He gulped as jumbled bits of his life fell into place like pieces in a jigsaw puzzle. Emma had stolen his heart, made it hers forever. She made him want to settle down, to trade the traditions of the Circle P for ones they’d start on their own ranch.

  Could he make it happen?

  Between his winnings from the rodeo and his savings, he had enough set aside to buy some land. Someplace close by in case Emma wanted to continue on as the head cook at the Circle P. He wouldn’t give up the rodeo. Not entirely. But instead of always being on the road, he’d raise bucking bulls. Horses, too. He’d become a livestock supplier. Eventually, he’d supply rodeos throughout the South.

  “You were saying?”

  Colt blinked. “Emma. Yeah. She’s been with us for about a month now and—”

  “Is she available?”

  “You want to ask her out?” Colt met the reporter’s gaze head-on. “She’s a widow,” he said slowly, “with a four-year-old daughter.” He passed the reins from one hand to the other. Not many men would be interested in a ready-made family. He sure hadn’t been. Now, though, he couldn’t imagine a future without Emma and Bree in it.

  He smiled, thinking how Bree’s eyes would light up when she got her first pony. Or later, when she graduated to her first horse. If the child took after her mom, she was going to break a lot of hearts when she got a little older.

  Signing on as her dad would probably mean more nights than he could count pretending to clean his shotgun in the living room when some would-be Romeo showed up on the front porch. Was he up to the challenge? A new certainty in his chest said Yes. He and Emma would help the girl—their daughter—find her way, and they’d do it together.

  He paused when thoughts of Bree’s future happiness opened a door to other things the child wanted. Like a baby brother or a baby sister. Maybe a slew of them. The fun Emma and he would have trying to make that happen. His gut tightened and he resettled his belt to lessen the pressure of an ache he’d grown familiar with ever since Emma stepped into his life.

  “I didn’t see any children.”

  “Bree’s with a babysitter back at the ranch,” Colt practically growled. He eyed the journalist. The guy was in for a rude awakening. Emma was spoken for.

  Except she wasn’t. And with a gulp, he told himself he’d better get right on that.

  Beneath him, Star shifted nervously. Colt ran a soothing hand down the horse’s neck.

  “Relax, man.” A wide smile broke across the journalist’s face. “I don’t stand a chance. I saw how it was with you and her the minute you introduced her. You’re a lucky man.”

  “I aim to be.” The world lost its greenish tint as he reached a decision. Before the night was over, he’d square things between him and Emma. There were words that needed to be spoken, promises to give. Only, what if she didn’t feel the same way?

  He cast a look over his shoulder. The camp where countless Parkers and Judds had slept during every spring roundup was a little over a mile away. Having traveled in ATVs specially designed to look like covered wagons, Emma and her staff would be there already. Soon, she’d turn the supplies they’d brought down from the main house into a meal fit for their special guests.

  A meal that would have to wait a little, he told himself the moment he spotted Josh and the photographer traipsing toward them. Both men wore a generous layer of guano. He might not know much about birds, Colt acknowledged, but he knew the lay of the land. A short ride would take them to fresh water that bubbled up from an underground spring. Tapping Star’s sides, he led the way.

  He smiled, knowing the circuitous route they’d follow back to the bunkhouse would give Emma and her helpers extra time to prepare for their arrival. After a long day in the saddle, Colt could think of little else besides a shower and a good meal. That and seeing Emma again. He crossed his fingers, trusting that the preparations for dinner had gone smoothly.

  Once the horses were groomed and bedded down for the night, he headed for the bunkhouse, where kerosene lanterns glowed from windowsills. Accustomed to eating off paper plates at the rough-hewn tables, he blinked in surprise at the red-checked tablecloths and sturdy dinnerware Emma had hauled down from the main house. More surprises waited on the buffet. Though he spotted the stew and corn bread served on every trail ride, there were additions he didn’t expect.

  Hunger pangs shot straight through him when he noted a platter of pork chops—crispy and golden and just the way he liked them. He restrained an urge to dig in, focusing instead on the fancy edging along a bowl of mashed potatoes, the tomato roses in the salad. An enormous rib roast sat on a carving board surrounded by grilled vegetables.

  What happened to good, plain food and plenty of it? He held his breath as he searched the desserts at the far end of the table. Air seeped slowly between his teeth when he spied the bowl of banana pudding flanked by three kinds of pies.

  “It looks like our cook got a little carried away with dinner tonight,” he offered, eyeing a small mountain of butter balls for the corn bread.

  “Wow!” Dave quit rubbing his hands together and reached for the camera that was never far away. “If you put on a spread like this every night, you won’t have any trouble getting return business.”

  Mike grabbed a plate. “Where’d you find this new cook? I swear that looks like burgundy sauce.” He spooned some over his corn bread and sniffed. “Mmm,” he said, closing his eyes. “Smells like it, too. Will you ask the chef to join us?”

  Colt glanced longingly at the pork chops. “Sure thing.” He abandoned his own plate on the serving line while the crew of ranch hands they’d brought along on the trail ride filed in. Stepping around the divider and into the kitchen, he called to Emma. “Can you come out here for a minute?”

  A frown wrinkled her brow. She wiped her hands on a dish towel. “Problems?”

  “Just the opposite,” Colt said, overcoming his own misgivings. “I think you have some new fans.”

  Her chef’s whites hung on a nearby peg. She shrugged into the jacket he hadn’t seen her wear since she first arrived on the Circle P. The moment she slipped her arms into the sleeves, her demeanor changed. Gone was the laughter he loved seein
g in her eyes. A cool professionalism took its place, making her look for all the world like the few chefs he’d seen on TV. Buffeted by second thoughts, he gulped. Would she want to spend the rest of her life on a ranch? With him?

  He watched her walk slowly to the end of the serving line, where she greeted each of their guests by name before folding her hands at her waist. “What questions can I answer for you?”

  Mike sopped up the last of his burgundy sauce. He pulled a spiral pad and a pen from his pocket. “Where did you train, for one thing.”

  “Two years at the Culinary Institute in New York,” she said, naming a school so famous even Colt had heard of it. “Followed by two more working my way up to sous chef at Chez Larue.”

  “Those are impressive credentials.” Mike looked up from the notes he’d been taking. “Not to dabble in clichés or anything, but what’s a great chef like you doing in a place like this?” The man gestured to the walls of the log cabin. “Shouldn’t you be in Miami or Atlanta?”

  As anxious to hear the answer as the journalist, Colt dropped a hand over his own stomach lest its growling announced his hunger to anyone within hearing distance.

  “While working in the top kitchen in New York was a challenge and a thrill, it didn’t leave much time for family life,” Emma answered without missing a beat. “The Circle P offered peace, quiet and a chance to run my own kitchen.”

  “Well, you certainly got what you asked for.” Mike stabbed his pen toward the window. A day’s ride had taken them far from any sign of civilization.

  “Yes, well, we do have Internet and phone service at the main house.” A modest smile stole onto her lips. “Out here, not so much.”

  The answer drew a chuckle from the photographer, who’d finished snapping pictures and hunkered over his meal as though someone might steal it from him.

  “You gotta taste this beef, Mike. It’s like butta, it’s so tender.” Clearly savoring every morsel, he cast star-filled eyes at Emma. “Chef, your talents are wasted out here in the middle of nowhere. You move to the city, I guarantee every table in the house’ll be filled every night.”