by Tessa Layne
Not to mention, she wouldn’t give that biddy the satisfaction. Dottie’s ego was enormous, and she didn’t need anyone else fawning all over her, especially when she couldn’t accept that there was a whole world of incredible cuisine beyond diner food. Why couldn’t you serve comfort food with a gourmet twist? And how was having more than one cook in a town a bad thing? It wasn’t like she was going to go into the diner business. Not now. Not ever.
“I know you two didn’t start off on the right foot at my wedding, but she really does mean well. She just doesn’t understand you, that’s all.”
Jamey scowled at her best friend as they headed across the parking lot. “I never asked her to understand me, just respect that I might do things differently. She can do things however she wants, just as long as she doesn’t tell me what to do.”
“But that’s the thing about Dottie. She’s a mother hen. She looks at everyone like they’re her daughters.”
She snorted. “Thank you, no. I already have five brothers and my parents trying to boss me. That’s seven people too many.”
The drive back to the ranch was lively, as Maddie brought Jamey up to speed on all the aspects of her new job and life.
“I hope you’re taking me straightway to the Trading Post. A feast of cowboys will be a sight for sore eyes.”
Maddie slid a grin her direction. “Is that like a murder of crows? A feast of cowboys?”
Jamey waggled her eyebrows. “I’m a free woman this time, remember?”
Maddie hit the signal to turn under the Sinclaire and Sons arch that marked the entrance to their property. “I’m sure Brodie will be thrilled at the news.”
“Pah. Don’t speak to me of him. He may have inherited the Sinclaire hotness gene, but he’s a gobshite.”
“Put the Irish away for half a sec, Jamey.” Maddie became serious. “So there’s something you should know before I drop you off at the lodge.”
Maddie’s tone of voice put her instantly on guard. “What Mads? Is there a problem?”
“Not a problem per se, more like a heads up.” She looked downright guilty.
“What is it Mads? What didn’t you tell me the other day?”
Maddie gave her an apologetic glance as they pulled up to the back entrance of lodge.
“Blake put Brodie in charge of the business side of the lodge.”
She threw her hands up. “What?”
“NOT the kitchen side. You’re in complete charge. But Blake told Brodie he had to get the guest side running in the black or leave the ranch.”
“Maddie Hansen Sinclaire. Are you out of your ever-loving mind?” Indignation roared to life with the same fire as her pussy. Damn her body. Always making its own decisions. She sat back in the cab crossing her hands across her chest. “I refuse. Absolutely refuse,” she sliced the air in front of her, “to work with that half-crazed lunatic. I’d rather go home to Boston.”
Not only did Brodie push every single one of her buttons, she couldn’t trust herself to work with someone she was violently attracted to. Her track record was too bad on that front. How could she concentrate on making food-porn if she was having lascivious thoughts about a cowboy she’d love to lick from head to toe?
Maddie blushed to her roots and cringed. “I know, I know. I told Blake you wouldn’t be happy about it. But he promised you don’t have to work together. You just need to give him your weekly balance sheets. That’s all.”
She flattened her lips. “Fine. I can manage that.”
“And one more thing.”
“Maddie, I swear by all that is holy…”
“Ooh don’t be mad at me, Jamey, please?”
“Just spit it out. What else is there?”
“Brodie’s been living down here at the lodge since it was finished. Blake said Brodie’d do a better job managing the lodge if he was living here too.
Jamey couldn’t think through the roaring in her ears. “So let me get this straight. I’ll be living and working with Brodie for the next six weeks?” She couldn’t do it. She’d explode. From complete and total irritation, or from suppressing her libido. Either way, it was a lose-lose situation.
Maddie flashed her a sympathetic smile. “Look, I don’t know what he did to piss you off so badly, but he’s really just a goof.”
She snorted. “A goof with no verbal filter.”
“Sounds like someone else I know.”
Jamey narrowed her eyes at her best friend. “What exactly are you saying, Mads?”
“I’m saying that both of you can be strong willed. That’s all.” Maddie rushed on. “But I think you’d make a great team.”
Damn it all to hell. If this didn’t pour cold water on all her fantasies of spending six weeks in cooking heaven trying to reignite her food mojo. Now she’d have to deal with Brodie and his needling, pokey ways.
And his big strong hands.
And his hard thighs.
She squirmed in her seat. She’d die a thousand deaths before she’d ever let on to Maddie what had transpired between the two of them at her wedding. She’d just have to keep her libido well in hand whenever she had to deal with Brodie. That was all there was to it.
She expelled an angry sigh. “Fine. What’s done is done. Let’s get this show on the road.”
“I’ve got to head back to the Big House, but everything’s open. Kitchen is right through there. I think Blake said there are six crew here working on clearing out the cedars, so eight including you for dinner tonight?”
Jamey nodded, putting her game face on. “Okay. I’ll check in with you two tomorrow?”
Maddie gave her a smile filled with gratitude. And leaned across the console to offer her a hug. “I’m so glad you’re here, Jamey. If anyone can make this work, you can.”
Jamey hopped out of the cab, grabbed her bags out of the back, and stood watching the truck barrel back onto the long drive and away to the Big House. Squaring her shoulders, she stepped through the door into the kitchen. At first glance, she took in the large refrigerator standing next to a tall vertical freezer.
Nice.
Everything was stainless steel and tile. The range was a six burner Viking coupled with a flat griddle. They’d purchased the food service grade dishwasher like she’d suggested earlier in the summer, and had the proper number of sinks. In all, a decent layout.
But as she passed over the space again, cold fury rose up like a volcano.
Grease and grime covered every surface. Dirt had collected in the corners, and there were dirty dishes in the sink. A quick glance at the floor showed dark spots from spills not cleaned. Food remains lay crusted on the prep island along with a tipped-over box of Cocoa Puffs that appeared to be mostly gone.
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.
What kind of slobs and derelicts had trashed this place? She prayed to the saints they hadn’t attracted vermin. Clenching her jaw and dragging her suitcase behind her, she marched through the kitchen in search of a bedroom, barely pausing to admire the vaulted ceiling and large stone fireplace in the great room. The bedroom nearest the kitchen was blessedly open.
Good enough for now. She quickly changed into her work attire and stomped back to the kitchen hoping against hope there was at least a mop.
Two and a half hours later, she’d channeled most of her righteous indignation into a sparkling clean kitchen worthy even of her mentors’ exacting standards. She’d have to shower again before starting dinner prep, but if she took stock now, she could menu plan while she was in the shower.
Jamey pulled open the cabinet she expected would have dry goods, and it was empty.
She tried the next.
Empty.
What on earth? Where in the hell was the food? Next cupboard. Empty. And the next and the next. She threw open the refrigerator. Empty, except for a half-used container of week old baloney. The fury she’d let go of while she’d been on her hands and knees scrubbing, came roaring back to life.
She glanced at the clock over the doo
r. Three-thirty. There was no way she’d have dinner for eight ready by six. What in the hell kind of joint was Brodie running here? Was he ordering pizza every night? Whatever the case, she would have more than a few choice words for him over the state of the kitchen when they finally crossed paths.
In the meantime, how in creation she was going to get the four miles into town? Walking was out of the question. She thought she’d seen a truck parked out front when Maddie had dropped her off. With any luck, the keys would be in the ignition like they were up at the Big House.
“Oooh. You better have on your running shoes when I get my hands on you, Brodie Sinclaire, or you will find yourself trussed like a turkey and hung out to dry.”
Spinning on her heel, she stalked out the front door. Sure enough, a big truck was parked cattywampus out front with the fob on the seat. Stepping on the running board and hauling herself up, she adjusted the seat and fired up the engine, gunning it so hard the tires spun. She barreled up the gravel and onto the long drive and turned the truck toward the ranch’s entrance. Cursing the whole way.
CHAPTER 7
Brodie entered the kitchen through the back door, pulling off his sweat-lined straw hat. Wiping his forehead, he paused, relishing the cool interior and letting his eyes adjust to the dimmer light. His head still hurt, and he was still pissed as hell at about the turn of events.
Kicking him off his home?
Hell no.
He’d succeed come hell or high water. There was no way he was leaving the ranch. And if he was honest with himself, he didn’t want to let Simon down either.
He scanned the kitchen through narrowed eyes. Someone had been in here. It was… sparkly. Hadn’t looked this good since he’d moved in. New chef must be here.
“Hello?”
After a moment he moved to the entryway of the great room. “Anyone here?”
He glanced at the front door, which stood open a crack, and moved to shut it. But the sunlight flooding through the opening struck him and he opened the door wider.
Where in the hell was his truck?
Who the fuck had taken his truck?
He leaned on the doorframe for a moment, running a mental checklist. All the hands were with him… unless Ben had ridden this way and needed it for something… but in that case his horse would be tied to the post out back.
Anger twisted in his belly.
If the new chef had taken his truck, he’d have a word or two to say about it. No one took his truck. Especially not a new employee. Without asking.
As if on cue, his truck came careening up the dirt driveway too fast and pulled around back.
They were going to ruin his brakes, too.
Great.
He pushed off the doorway and made his way back through the kitchen, ready to have an argument he could win for once. Best to put the chef in his place from the get-go. He was the boss around here.
He threw open the back door, charging out and bellowing like a bull. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing, stealing my truck?”
The body that popped around the front of the truck didn’t belong to the burly chef he’d assumed Blake hired.
No.
Blake had gone straight to the top of the chef’s chain.
Jamey O’Neill.
She gave him a scathing glance as she reached into the truck bed and started pulling out groceries. “Well don’t just stand there, you great lump.”
He stood there mesmerized by her muscled arms pulling out bags, trying to get his brain to register what he was seeing. Damn him for being this hungover. His brain couldn’t keep pace with what was happening.
She brushed past him, sending a shock up his arm. He tracked her through the door, still trying to process the redheaded whirlwind before him. She placed the groceries on the island, then spun around and marched back to the truck, her face a picture of fury.
He scowled at her. “You stole my truck.”
“Did you think dinner was going to be shat out by magic unicorns?” She reached back into the truck bed for more groceries.
That spurred his legs into action and he crossed the distance to her.
“Here.” She handed him a bag. “Make yourself useful.”
“I am useful.”
“Not when you’re standing there gawping like a cow.” She handed him several more bags, then grabbed more for herself. “Hop to it, cowboy. I can’t afford to have this food spoil. Not for the retail prices I had to shell out.”
She whipped around and hurried back into the kitchen. By the time he got to the island, she was halfway back out the door.
She called over her shoulder. “Put those on the island. There’s another load to bring in.”
“No need to be such a bossy mouth,” he muttered under his breath. God, he hated the way she irritated him. Like an itchy rash he wanted to keep scratching.
“I told you before, I didn’t get successful by letting other people call the shots.”
Apparently her hearing was sharp as a tack, too.
She rushed back in. “Go get the last bags.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“That’s yes, Chef.”
She was already bustling around the kitchen putting food into cupboards when he came back in with the final bags. He stood there, at a loss for what he should do next. “Should I be helping?”
Her head whipped around, copper curls flying. He was overcome with the urge to close the distance between them and wrap one corkscrew strand around his finger. But he was fairly certain in her current state that would earn him a slap. No thanks. He’d already experienced her wrath. Her glare kept his feet firmly glued to the floor.
“No. The help you could have provided but didn’t, was to have this kitchen properly set up.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “What do you mean? You’ve got everything you need to cook.”
She rolled her eyes. “And just what kind of leprechaun magic do you think I can concoct with half a container of baloney and a few cups of Cocoa Puffs? Even Jesus had more to work with than that.”
“You have a phone. Pizza?”
“I’m a chef, not a delivery girl.”
“Never trust a scrawny chef,” he shot back. Come to think of it, she looked downright gaunt. Like she’d been sick or something.
She rolled her eyes. “Oh puh-leeze. I’ve heard that line my whole life. Try something original if you want to poke at me.”
“I wasn’t poking,” he growled.
She snorted, unable to hide a hint of a grin. “Keep telling yourself that.” She grabbed more items out of another bag and swiveled to the cabinet. Even though her chef’s pants were baggy, the material stretched tight across her ass as she balanced an arm on the counter, reaching for the top shelf.
His balls tightened at the memory of that muscled ass under his palm.
“I’m serious about the kitchen, Brodie,” she shot back over her shoulder. “The state of the kitchen when I arrived violated at least a dozen health department regulations.”
“Aww come on. It wasn’t that bad.”
She spun back toward him. “Are you blind? Did you happen to notice the grease and grime on every surface? I wasted two and a half hours scrubbing this place from tip to toe. And then I wasted even more time in town paying full-price for groceries. This is a commercial kitchen, hotshot. Where are the wholesale vendors? Where are the daily deliveries?”
He shrugged. “Well it’s only me and the crew right now.”
She glowered at him, leaning over the island. “That’s still no way to run a kitchen. You set it up right from the start.”
A flush burned in his chest, spreading up his neck. What did she know about any of this? She was a city chef with no clue how things were done out here.
He threw up his hands. “Welcome to the boonies, darlin’. We don’t do things like you’re used to in the big city.”
She slapped her hands on the island. “Well get ready because there are kitchen rules t
o follow, big city or not, and one of them is making sure the chef has ingredients.”
He leaned forward, placing his hands on the island and putting his face inches from hers. Quite possibly a mistake, given the way his pulse ratcheted up.
“Now just a stinkin’ minute, lady. You want to talk rules? You stole my truck. Out here that’s a firing offense.”
She moved her face a fraction closer to his. “Then it’s a good thing I don’t work for you.”
“Wanna bet?”
Her eyes flashed fire. And this close, he noticed gold flecks in her irises.
“I’d never work for you. I work for Blake.”
He flexed his fingers on the stainless, every cell in his body going taut.
“My lodge. My rules.”
“My kitchen. My rules.”
She sounded breathless. Hell, was she as turned on as he was?
Only one way to find out.
Quick as a wink, he thrust a hand through her curls, tugging her head across the remaining few inches that separated their faces, bringing his mouth to hers.
Her lips were as soft and sensual as he remembered. Her mouth as hot. He flicked his tongue along her opening, demanding entry. With a soft noise in the back of her mouth that went straight to his cock, she opened, her tongue meeting his, continuing a physical battle where their verbal sparring left off.
He’d be damned if she bested him in this arena. Moving his other hand to her cheek, he caressed down her neck as his tongue slid along hers, tasting and sucking.
Goddamn.
Kissing her was so much hotter in person than in his dreams.
Like fire and lightning rolled into one. And as he deepened the kiss, she clutched his bicep, branding him with her touch. Need swirled in his groin, and if his crew wasn’t due back any second, he had half a mind to haul her up on the island and fuck her silly right here.
Before he was ready, she groaned, her lips from his, and leaned back, panting. She stood there, eyes flashing with a mixture of lust and anger, hair swirling around her head like a red demon halo.
“Get. Out. Of. My. Kitchen.”
He flashed her a crooked grin, still trying to get his dick under control. “Whatever you say, Chef.”
