Cooking For Cowboy (Stampede Sizzlers)

by Brenda Sinclair

  “Six foot, three. But don’t worry about it. I’ll manage. Just knowing I’ll be nearby if you need me…for a medical emergency…will be worth any discomfort.” Chad tossed her that sexy smile again.

  Damn him! Sierra immediately felt aroused. Oh, she might need him all right. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had sex. Well, yeah, she could. December 20, after the company Christmas party at her previous job. One night of meaningless sex with a male co-worker she’d known for five years and considered nothing more than a friend. It had been a total disaster, a complete mistake. She’d vowed to never drink eggnog and rum again as long as she lived. Almost seven months had passed, but she still cringed when she thought about that night.

  “Well, I’ll let you get some sleep. The bathroom is down the hallway on the right. Just help yourself to anything you need. Good night, Chad. Come on, Barney,” she called as she headed toward her bedroom. The dog obediently trotted along behind her.

  “Good night, Sierra,” Chad returned the sentiment. “Sleep tight.”

  Sierra escaped to the safety of her bedroom. Darn it anyway. Why couldn’t she be the type of woman who believed in one-night stands with complete strangers? Instead, a four-footed farting machine would sleep at the foot of her bed, snoring, and whimpering in his sleep while he dreamt about who knew what. She closed the door with a little more force than she’d intended.

  “Face it, Sierra…your love life sucks,” she whispered into the dark room.

  Almost an hour later, Sierra still hadn’t fallen asleep, but Barney snored contentedly at the foot of her bed. She couldn’t hear any noise coming from the living room. Nothing at all, since she’d heard the toilet flush in the bathroom minutes after she’d entered her bedroom and turned on the light.

  Chad was probably sleeping as soundly as Barney. She lay in the dark, wide awake, wondering if Chad snored. God, he looked good in those Wranglers and that black cowboy hat. Deep tan and scuffed but clean cowboy boots that she would guess had seen the business end of a horse. He had to be a genuine cowboy. She felt a sudden need for intimacy with a man, just thinking about the handsome, virile guy stretched out on her living room sofa. And she’d kill for a cup of herbal tea, but she didn’t dare venture out to the kitchen. After another minute, she sat bolt upright in bed.

  Why the hell not? she asked herself.

  This was her home. Why shouldn’t she make herself a damn cup of tea if she wanted it? Chad wasn’t a houseguest she didn’t want to risk waking. He’d never hear a thing anyway.

  Sierra crept out of bed, padded across the carpeted floor, silently opened the door, and tip-toed down the dark hallway toward the kitchen. She shivered in a sleeveless pink silk nightie, and then rubbed her chilled arms. Even the carpeted hallway floor felt cold beneath her bare feet. Basement apartments were wonderful on stifling-hot summer nights, but on a rainy night in late June the house felt cool. She continued toward the end of the hallway illuminated by streetlight streaming through the window. The rain must have stopped.

  She was sorely tempted, but she couldn’t convince herself to peek into the living room to check on Chad. She imagined him stretched out on the sofa, the blanket barely covering his sexy parts, him wearing nothing at all. For some reason, she assumed cowboys slept naked as the day they were born. She smiled as a vision of long legs, muscular thighs, and a well-endowed package popped into her head. Her heartbeat quickened and she felt herself getting moist.

  Herbal tea, she reminded herself. Keep your mind on the purpose of this late-night reconnaissance mission. Sierra rounded the corner at the end of the hallway and strode into the kitchen. Spotting the outline of a man standing beside the counter, Sierra stopped in her tracks. She screamed at a decibel she wasn’t aware she was capable of.

  “Jesus, you scared the shit out of me.” Chad spilled beer onto the faded linoleum when he jumped a foot. “What the hell are you doing out of bed?”

  “What am I doing out of bed?” Sierra forced her heart rate to slow as she flicked on the light switch. “What are you doing standing in the kitchen in the dark?”

  Just then Barney bounded into the kitchen, barking up a storm.

  “Quiet,” ordered Sierra. “Some watch dog you are.”

  “I couldn’t sleep,” admitted Chad, chuckling as Barney slunk out of the kitchen, head down and tail between his legs. Chad grabbed a handful of paper towels, wiped up the spilled beer and tossed the mess into the garbage. “I didn’t hear any noise coming from your bedroom so I figured you were dead to the world. You said to help myself to whatever I needed, so I decided to check your fridge for a beer. Don’t tell anyone I drank one of these diet beers with only 67 calories. Desperate times called for desperate measures.”

  “I love that beer, and you’re welcome to one.” Sierra strode across the kitchen floor, grabbed the kettle, and filled it with water.

  “Thank you,” said Chad, tipping back the bottle and finishing the drink. “Could I talk you out of another one? It’s pretty good actually, but don’t repeat that. I’ll deny saying it.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “What are you doing? Making coffee?”

  “Herbal tea, chamomile. It helps me sleep.” Sierra dug a box of teabags and a coffee mug emblazoned with a variety of catchy sayings out of the cupboard.

  “Did you sleep at all?” he asked.

  Sierra shook her head. There was no way she’d admit the main reason for her insomnia was digging another beer out of her refrigerator. And then she realized she might as well be naked, wearing nothing but the extremely short, almost see-through pink nightgown that barely reached the top of her thighs.

  “Crap,” she uttered the expletive while streaking down the hallway.

  Chad shouted after her, “Are you okay? Are you sick? What can I do?”

  Chapter 3

  Chad halted in Sierra’s bedroom doorway. “Do I need to call for an ambulance?” he asked, slightly breathless from the fright and the adrenaline rush she’d given him.

  “I appreciate your concern, but I’m not sick. Just practically naked.” She grabbed her long cotton robe off the foot of the bed.

  “I thought you were going to throw up. I figured you had a concussion or something.” Chad leaned against the door jamb. “Now I see the reason why you raced out of the kitchen like that. Believe me. I noticed what you were wearing when you frightened the hell out of me awhile ago.”

  “If you noticed, why didn’t you say something?” she demanded.

  “I knew it would embarrass you, and I figured you’d been through enough tonight.” He shrugged with his answer. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I’ve told you a dozen times…I’m fine.” Sierra stuffed her arms into the robe’s sleeves and tied the sash around her waist.

  Chad gazed around her bedroom. Her unmade queen-sized bed occupied the center of the room. The rumpled covers suggested she’d been tossing and turning before she ventured out to the kitchen. He’d like to rumple the covers a little more while making love with Sierra, her long legs wrapped around his waist, his… Don’t go there, he warned himself. Not going to happen. Not tonight, at least.

  “Okay. I’m going to finish my beer.” Chad headed out the door.

  “All righty then. I’ll brew my tea.” Sierra followed him down the hallway.

  Neither of them uttered a word while Sierra poured boiling water into her mug and then sat across from Chad at the kitchen table. He tipped back his beer and drank deeply, attempting to get the picture of Sierra in the skimpy nightie out of his mind. Sitting across from her, he recalled what was hidden beneath that damn robe she was wearing. His body responded immediately. Thankfully, he’d slipped into the chair and hadn’t just stood at the kitchen counter.

  “Do you think the tea will help you sleep?” he asked, meeting her eyes.

  “Yeah, maybe.” She averted her gaze, sipped her tea.

  “You need to rest,” he said, almost tacking ‘sweetheart’ on the end, but
catching himself in time.

  Where had that come from? He’d never called a woman sweetheart in his entire life. That was an endearment he intended to reserve for his wife, if he ever found a woman that lived up to his expectations. Not that he was unreasonably particular, but he wouldn’t settle for anyone less than the perfect woman for him. A woman he loved more than life itself. Sounded pretty cliché, but he knew it was true. Some of his former girlfriends had mentioned looking for Mr. Right. Well, he wanted his Ms. Right.

  Sierra shifted in her chair.

  Chad considered the possibility she was as nervous and at a loss for words as he felt. “Okay, let’s play three questions,” he blurted.

  “What?” The word exploded from her mouth.

  “I ask you three questions that you have to answer, and then I have to answer three of yours.”

  “Why would we do that?” She shook her head.

  “I’d like to get to know you, and it will break the ice a bit. So, first question…”

  “Whoa. I haven’t agreed to this.” She straightened in her chair.

  “Don’t worry. It will be absolutely painless. First question…what do you do for a living?”

  Sierra stared at him for a moment and he figured she would refuse to answer. And then she sighed and rested her arms on the table. “Executive chef.”

  In a flash of clarity, Chad recalled Martin had mentioned his boss’ name was Sierra.

  “Are you the executive chef at Romeo’s?”

  “Was the executive chef. I quit a few minutes before our accident in the parking lot.”

  Chad smiled. “That explains why you were so distracted and didn’t see my truck.”

  “I don’t think… Um, maybe. Truthfully, I recall storming out of the restaurant and then the next thing I remember our vehicles were mashed together.” Sierra took a deep breath. “I probably shouldn’t have shared that admission. It certainly won’t work in my favor during the court case.”

  Chad reared back in his chair and shook his head. Had he just heard her right? “Who said anything about a court case? I don’t intend to sue. My truck is fine, and I’m fine.”

  “Let’s hope my insurance company sees it that way,” she replied, sounding doubtful.

  “They will. I’m sure of it.” Chad grabbed his beer, polished it off, and set the empty on the table. “Okay, we got side-tracked. Second question... what do you do for fun?”

  Sierra’s face lit up like someone had switched on a lamp. “Cooking, whether for work or entertaining friends. Stick me in a kitchen and I’m having a wonderful time.”

  “Third question… do you have a man in your life, and if not, would you consider going out to dinner with me?” Chad crossed his legs under the table, laced his fingers, and rested his hands on his stomach. Man, he wanted to run his fingers through those strands of golden hair tickling her shoulders.

  “That’s two questions. To answer question number three, there’s no man in my life.” Sierra shifted position in her chair. “My turn. Question number one. What do you do for a living?”

  “Garbage collector,” he answered with a stern expression on his face.

  “You are not!” She laughed. “You’ve got cowboy written all over you.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’d call me a cowboy. I own a ranch southwest of the city that I inherited from my father. My mom’s still alive and she lives with me on the ranch.”

  “Do you have cows and horses on this ranch?”

  “We raise Black Angus cattle and breed Thoroughbreds and we’re involved in pro chuckwagon racing.”

  “You are? Will you be racing at the Stampede?”

  “You bet.” He nodded.

  “Wow. I love watching the races every year, but I’ve never met any of the owners before.”

  “Well, now you know one. Horses are my greatest love. If I couldn’t spend my life working with horses, then I might as well not be here.”

  “I know what you mean. If I couldn’t cook, I’d die. The only way to keep me from creating food would be to chop my arms off.”

  “Isn’t it great when you find your passion in life, and just do it?”

  “Oh, my God, you’re one of the few people that I’ve met who gets it. Who gets me.” Sierra reached out and touched Chad’s arm.

  “What’s question number two?”

  She appeared deep in thought for a second or two. “I won’t ask what you do for fun. You’ll say something about horses. So, do you have a woman in your life?”

  “Yeah, I do. My mom. She’s got health issues and I worry about her constantly.” Chad shut his mouth. Why had he shared his concern for his mother with her? Now, this gorgeous woman might consider him just a mama’s boy.

  “Breast cancer?” Sierra tilted her head.

  “Who, Mom? No, she has MS.”

  Sierra’s mouth dropped open. “Multiple sclerosis?” she whispered, feeling her face pale.

  “Mom’s sixty-two. She was recently confined to a wheelchair after fighting the disease since first diagnosed at age forty-six. She’s the strongest woman I’ve ever known, but Mom’s losing the battle…” Chad felt his emotions rise much too close to the surface. If he didn’t shut up he would be bawling like a kid.

  “How’s she handling it?”

  Chad took a deep breath. “It’s hard for her. She has cooked for the ranch hands and her family for almost forty years. Up at dawn and working until eight or nine at night right beside my father until he died two years ago. I’ve tried to get Mom to take it easy, but it’s been a losing battle.” Chad wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. Just talking about his mother’s situation made him sweat. And then the proverbial light bulb snapped on over his head. “You’d be perfect.”

  Sierra gaped at him. “I’m almost afraid to ask. I’d be perfect for what?”

  “I need a cook for the ranch. You’re exactly what I need. And you’re unemployed at the moment.” Chad slid forward on his chair, a hopeful expression on his face.

  “Are you crazy? A ranch cook? I’m a cordon bleu chef. We don’t do beans and biscuits. Sorry, but I don’t think so,” scoffed Sierra, heading over to the counter and depositing her mug in the sink. She turned and glared at him.

  Chad grinned. “Have you been reading historical western novels? Ranch people don’t eat beans and biscuits anymore. Cook whatever you want, even fancy dishes with French names. Doesn’t matter if we can’t pronounce it, we’ll eat it. I promise.”

  Sierra laughed. “Your ranch hands won’t know the difference between bisque and brioche. They’ll detest everything I prepare and refuse to eat any of it.”

  Chad shook his head. “No. They will be thrilled that they don’t have to cook anything themselves. And Mom won’t be allowed in the kitchen to interfere with your creative processes.”

  “There’s no way…” She shook her head and headed toward the door.

  “I’m desperate. The Stampede starts next Friday, and we need a cook. Mom’s in the hospital, and she pissed off the last cook just hours before she was admitted. He quit and stormed off the ranch. I think one of the ranch hands is helping with the cooking or else they’re taking turns. My luck they’ll burn the place down.” Chad reached for her hand. “Please, just take the job until I’m able to find someone else. You’d be a life saver.”

  Sierra turned back, stood hands on hips.

  “Did I mention your assistant is named Celia? She has worked at the ranch for years, and although she’s slowing down with age, Celia’s totally reliable.”

  “I don’t think it would work out. I’d have an early morning commute, and I’ve got Barney to consider…”

  “Bring Barney with you. Room and board are included. Get your resume out there while you’re working for me. You can take time off and borrow the ranch minivan for job interviews, whatever you need. As soon as I find someone suitable, you can quit. Or if you prefer, stay on until you find a position with a restaurant or hotel. We can make this work, Sierra. Besi
des, the reason I was at the restaurant was to talk with my buddy Martin. I’d hoped he could point me in the direction of a cook.”

  “And now you think our vehicles collided for some cosmic reason? That it was meant to be?” suggested Sierra.

  “No. It was just dumb luck.”

  Sierra chewed on one fingernail while she paced the kitchen floor. Chad held his breath and hoped he wouldn’t pass out before she answered. What would he do if she said no? She can’t say no. If she did, he’d probably never see her again. That outcome concerned him more than the thought of losing a potential cook. And the fact that his mind even considered it so soon after meeting her surprised him.

  “I suppose I could move to the ranch and cook for a week or so until you find someone. With your mom in the hospital, you don’t need the extra stress and I hate to see anyone in a fix. I can send out a ton of resumes until I land another position.” She turned and met his eyes. “Okay, I’ll do it.”

  “Thank you,” he said, releasing his breath. If he was wearing his Stetson, he’d toss it in the air. But he was too dog-tired to do anything but grin.

  * * *

  The next morning, Sierra woke to the sound of the shower through the basement apartment’s paper-thin walls. She lay in bed, her eyes closed against the sunlight streaming in through the bi-level’s rectangular bedroom window. She imagined Chad’s naked body being pummeled by hot, steamy water while he lathered gorgeous flat abs. And then a little lower. Don’t go there.

  Soon, she heard Chad opening the bathroom door and heading down the hallway toward the living room.

  Sierra leapt out of bed and raced into the bathroom. The moment she stepped out of the shower, the welcome aroma of brewed coffee mingled with the steam that clouded the mirror above the small vanity. “Oh, no,” she squeaked, swiping the mirror with a hand towel. “Look at yourself.” Had that purple bruise on her forehead appeared that bad last night? Her cheeks were covered in tiny scratches and her left eye was slightly swollen. She resembled someone who’d gone a round with a prizefighter.

  She toweled dry and then slipped back into her bedroom. She stood in front of her closet for a minute before choosing a pair of dark jeans and a short-sleeved white v-neck top. She intended to look presentable, but she refused to dress up for him. And then she chastised herself for even contemplating it.