Kiss the Cowboy

by Julie Jarnagin

  Contents

  Title

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Epilogue

  Also in the TASTE OF TEXAS series

  Bonus chapters - Secondhand Cowboy

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Bonus chapters - Saving Justice

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Copyright

  Kiss the Cowboy

  By Julie Jarnagin

  Chapter One

  Lucy Pickett sliced the blade of the knife through the flesh with the precision of a surgeon with a scalpel. She stepped back to examine her work on the heirloom tomatoes, ready to stack them in perfect towers of basil and mozzarella.

  She glanced at the clock on the wall. Only half an hour until the bride and groom would finish their tour of the downtown loft venue and be ready for the tasting, and everything had to be flawless. She took a deep breath to calm her frazzled nerves. Everyone in Dallas was talking about this wedding between the debutante and the professional rodeo star. The event would be the perfect opportunity to impress the guests with her culinary skills—especially the real estate investor who still hadn't hired an executive chef for the restaurant he was opening. The wedding would be her shot to clinch the position.

  Lucy wiped her hands on the dishtowel hanging over her shoulder and leaned toward the pot of butternut squash soup that simmered on the stove. She breathed in the scent of nutmeg and coconut milk before dipping the edge of the spoon into the smooth mixture.

  The kitchen door swung open and slammed against the wall behind her. The spoon slipped from her fingers and hit the edge of the stove, and orange soup splattered across her crisp white chef's coat.

  Just great.

  She dabbed at the spot with the rag, but it smeared across the fabric. She clenched her jaw as she turned around.

  A tall cowboy in a Stetson stood in the doorway. His dusty boots were planted on the kitchen floor, and his mouth fell open. In Wranglers, wearing a plaid pearl-snap shirt, and sporting just enough stubble to remind her why so many women loved cowboys, he looked like he'd taken a wrong turn on the trail drive. He was the real deal, not a city boy in a western clothing store with a credit card. Whatever this cowboy was doing here, he seemed surprised someone had beaten him to the kitchen.

  "Sorry about that, ma'am." He stepped into the room with two grocery bags in one arm, a cardboard box in the other, and a galvanized bucket dangling from his fingers. "I didn't mean to charge in here like a bull out of the chute."

  Eager to get back to her food, she stepped forward. "Can I help you with something?"

  He walked past her, the sweet smell of grilled mesquite following behind him. "I appreciate the offer, but I only have one more thing to bring in from the truck."

  She groaned. "That's not exactly what I meant."

  He moved the load from his arms to the work table—right where she'd been planning to plate her dishes.

  She scrambled to position herself across the table from him. "I'm preparing for a private tasting. I should be out of here in a couple of hours."

  He looked around the room. "I'll do my best to stay out of your way. I think there's plenty of space in here for the two of us."

  While this kitchen on the top floor of the remodeled building wasn't technically Lucy's, the last thing she needed was a broad shouldered cowboy distracting her while she put the finishing touches on the meal. Even if he weren't so tall, his cowboy swagger and good looks seemed to crowd her right out of the room. The kitchen was Lucy's domain, and she wasn't going to let anyone make her feel small.

  The cowboy continued to unload foil-covered pans from the cardboard box.

  Her patience boiling over, Lucy scooped up a grocery bag and pushed it into his hands. Her portobello mushrooms needed to be roasted, and she couldn't do it with this cowboy taking up space. "Like I said, I really need to get ready for the tasting."

  A smile snuck from the corner of his lips as he set the bag back on the table. "For the Lawrence / Tornsten wedding, right?"

  Lucy stiffened. He knew the bride and groom? She couldn't afford to offend someone related to the wedding party.

  He cleared his throat and slipped his hat back on his head. "If you'll excuse me, ma'am, I'll be right back with the rest of my food."

  This man definitely didn't lack in persistence, and she wished he'd cut out all this ma'am business. From what she could see of him under that hat, he had to be about her age.

  She grabbed the bag of groceries and the bucket and scrambled to move in front of him. Craning her neck to look up at him, she held the food out to him. "Why don't you take these with you?" She glanced into the bucket and her stomach turned. "These..."

  He chuckled, his laugh only making her gut clinch tighter.

  "I'm going to make calf fries," he said.

  She was at a rare loss for words.

  His cheek twitched up. "Rocky mountain oysters. Bull calf testicles. I'm going to fry those up and serve them with a side of horseradish sauce."

  She flinched, fighting her upchuck reflex. "I know what calf fries are. Why are they here?"

  His mouth twisted as if he were impressed. "Because they're a delicacy."

  She cocked her head at him. "Seriously?"

  He crossed his brawny arms, leaving the bucket swinging on the tips of her fingers. "A cowboy delicacy." He stepped around her and marched out the door.

  "Hang on," she called out after him.

  He turned around with mischief in his eyes.

  She pointed a finger at him. "How did you know about the Lawrence / Tornsten wedding?"

  He tipped his hat at her. "Well, ma'am," he said with his thicker than molasses Texas drawl. "I'm here for the catering job."

  #

  Dylan jerked the tailgate open and pulled the oversized ice chest from the bed of his truck. He'd recognized Lucy Pickett the moment he'd stepped into that sterile kitchen. She was as beautiful and as bossy as she'd been at fourteen.

  Their fathers had both been hands at the Lone Tree Ranch. It had only been for a single summer, but he'd never forgotten about Lucy, who'd moved after her father had been killed in a tragic accident.

  Dylan's father had saved his pennies for the past ten years to purchase what was left of the operation. With only a small portion of the acres left, the land his father owned now was a far cry from what the ranch had been in those days.

  Back then Lucy had worn her brunette hair in a long braid down her back. Those big brown eyes used to shoot daggers at him when she'd had enough of him pestering her.

  He took a deep breath. He should have told her who he was, but she'd caught him off guard. His stupid pride had kept him from saying anything. She'd smashed his ego enough the single summer they'd known each other, like when she'd helped him get that stubborn bass off the hook. The hardest blow had been when she'd moved away and never said goodbye.

  It may have been his first time to get his heart trampled on by the opposite sex, but it hadn't been the last. After his most recent rela
tionship disaster, he wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to put his heart on the line again.

  He looked up at the windows at the top floor of the trendy building. How could a girl like Lucy, raised around ranching, act like a bucket of calf fries was going to turn her into a horned frog? He couldn't help but chuckle at the thought of Lucy's lips pulled thin in annoyance. He'd always known she was destined for more than life on the ranch. Dylan had heard her mom married some hotshot businessman in Dallas not long after Lucy's dad had passed away, but that was all he knew about her new life.

  He should cut her some slack for not recognizing him. He'd never taken his hat off, and the last time she'd seen him he'd been a little guy about six inches shorter than Lucy. Now he towered over her. Pestering Lucy had become his pastime of choice that summer. Anything to be near her, even if it brought her wrath.

  The food in the ice chest rattled as he carried it into the empty lobby and past a space still under construction, which looked like it might be a future restaurant. A sign on the opposite wall listed the names of several law and insurance offices occupying the floors between the street level and the reception hall. This was the first time he'd ever had to drag his food up an elevator.

  On the top story of the building, Dylan walked through the big loft space. Floor to ceiling windows framed a view of the Dallas skyline.

  Before he got his ice chest through the kitchen door, Lucy was standing in front of him with her hands on her hips. Man, she was gorgeous, even when she scowled at him like that.

  Lucy crossed her arms. "I spoke to the wedding planner, and she doesn't know anything about another caterer. There must be some mistake."

  Dylan moved over to the work table where all his food had been neatly stacked on the corner. "The groom asked me to come. Wyatt is a friend of mine."

  Lucy flung open the oven door. Her long ponytail swung as she poked around at a pan inside.

  He should have known she'd end up making a living cooking. The wife of the old man who owned the ranch had agreed to teach them both that summer. Before that, Dylan, his sister, and his dad had survived on the few things Dylan had figured out how to make on his own—mainly goulash, spaghetti with sauce from a jar, and tuna fish sandwiches. Lucy had loved their time in the kitchen as much as Dylan had, and their competitive streaks had pushed them to get better.

  Lucy shut the oven and strode across the room. He'd worried about her over the years—worried about how she'd dealt with her father's death and being forced to move to the city when her mom had remarried. It must have been awfully painful for her at such a young age.

  Watching her move through the kitchen with confidence gave him a deep sense of relief. All he'd ever wanted was for Lucy to be okay. And here she was in front of him, a tough little spitfire, just like she'd been at fourteen.

  She turned around, catching him staring at her. Their gazes held for a millisecond, and he thought she might recognize him.

  Lucy glanced away and turned on her heels.

  She moved over to a shelf of dishes, and without looking back in his direction, lined her plates in perfect rows on the table. When she reached the corner where his food still sat, she pushed the pan of brisket and then the bag of groceries into his arms without missing a beat.

  He held back the chuckle, only because he knew she might fling one of the plates at his head if he laughed.

  The handle of the cast iron skillet stuck up from his box. After he set the groceries on the counter, he picked up the heavy pan and twirled it in his hand. She didn't look at him, but she bristled like a barn cat.

  Setting it on the stove, he waited for her to protest, but she said nothing as she put the last plate on the table.

  Knowing they couldn't go on like this all day, he stood in front of her and swept the hat from his head. "You know, I'm glad to see you're still cooking. I was afraid you would give it up after that rhubarb pie caught on fire in Mrs. Hooper's oven." He probably shouldn't antagonize her, but old habits die hard.

  Her big brown eyes grew even bigger. "Dylan? Dylan Lawson?"

  "It's been a long time. I probably should have introduced myself earlier, but..."

  "Why didn't you say anything?"

  "Stupid pride, I guess." There were so many things he wanted to ask her. Why hadn't she told him she was leaving? Why hadn't she called or written? They'd only known each other for those few months, only spent a single summer together, but he had relished their friendship. The way she'd disappeared had only confirmed that his feelings had been one-sided.

  Squinting at him, she shook her head. "You're a chef? Do you live in Dallas?"

  He probably didn't look like most chefs she knew. "Something like that, and I just moved back."

  "And you ended up here—at my tasting."

  "Small world."

  "There's so much to catch up on, but..." She glanced back to her cutting board.

  He nodded. "The tasting. We need to finish cooking."

  "Unless of course you just want to bow out now."

  He recognized that familiar glint of competitiveness in her eyes. He laughed. "Not going to happen."

  "Okay then." She stuck her hand out. "May the best cook win."

  A challenge. That was the Lucy he remembered. He smiled and clasped her hand in his. "May the best cook win."

  The door swung open, and Wyatt Lawrence walked into the kitchen. "Do I smell ribs in here?"

  Dylan looked at Lucy, who slid her hand from his and moved back to her radishes.

  He slapped a hand on Wyatt's shoulder. "Of course I brought the ribs. They're your favorite."

  Without his cowboy hat, the scars across Wyatt's face from his years spent bull riding were more visible. The boots he wore with his khakis were the only sign of his life on the professional rodeo circuit. Of course a lot of injuries from a life on of rodeoing weren't so easy to see, like Dylan's father's bad back. Now that Dylan was in Texas again, he was trying to help his dad deal with the mounting medical bills and struggling ranch after his latest surgery. With Dylan's sister still in Wyoming, he was all the family his dad had right now.

  Dylan held out his hand and gave Wyatt a firm handshake. "So where's this wife-to-be everyone keeps talking about? Does she really exist?"

  He nodded his head back toward the door. "She's carrying on about how much she loves the concrete floors and exposed air conditioning vents. I don't get it. Looks like a feed warehouse to me. That's what I get for being on the road when she and her grandmother chose it."

  It was hard to believe a guy like Wyatt was getting hitched. He'd had his old truck longer than he'd ever had a girlfriend. "You riding next year?" Dylan asked.

  Wyatt's expression turned serious. He glanced over his shoulder. "Heather would love for me to give it up, but I don't know if I can do that yet."

  And there it was. "I thought bulls would fly before you'd consider walking away from bull riding."

  "What about you?" Wyatt asked. "Last I heard you were working on some big ranch in Cheyenne and getting pretty serious with a girl there."

  Mention of Annie brought back too many memories, the most vivid that of her telling him she was ending things because she'd fallen for someone else. The thought was like a kick in the gut from a stallion. Before Dylan could set the record straight, a woman in pearls strolled into the room. "Wyatt? What are you doing in here? I want the wedding planner to fill you in on the table placement and the decor we're going to use."

  Dylan saw why Wyatt was in trouble. The bride was beautiful, blond hair falling down her back and a sweet voice to match.

  Wyatt frowned. "What do you mean? Like streamers and balloons and stuff?"

  The blonde's mouth opened a fraction, and she shook her head. "Never mind. Nana was adamant that we get married in the church, but I'm glad she agreed on this place for the reception." She swept a hand through the air. "The view of the skyline will be our backdrop."

  Wyatt's forehead wrinkled. "You don't think it's too...modern?"

/>   Her bottom lip stuck out in a pout. "You don't like it?"

  He hesitated. "What do I know, honey? I'm sure it will look great."

  Just as fast as her sulk had appeared, it was gone. What had his friend gotten himself into?

  Dylan stepped forward and reached a hand out to the bride. "We men may wear the chaps in the relationship, but it's the women who hold the reins."

  She smiled and put a delicate hand into his. "I'm Heather."

  It was time to finally end Lucy's game of ignoring him. "I'm Dylan. Cowboy cook at your service."

  Lucy dropped her knife onto the wooden cutting board and approached them. He knew that would get her away from those radishes.

  Dylan nodded down at his worn jeans. "I apologize that I'm not dressed for the occasion. I cooked the ribs over the fire this morning."

  Heather's eyebrows drew together. "The ribs?"

  Lucy took her place beside the couple. "Dylan cooks cowboy food." She wrinkled her nose. "The kind of things you might eat on a trail drive."

  The bride's thin shoulders fell. "Wyatt, what's this all about?"

  With her work done, Lucy meandered back to her cutting board like nothing had happened. Oh, she was good!

  Wyatt took his fiancée's hands. "I thought it would be nice to have some real food at the wedding, not the fancy miniature food you like."

  The bride pulled her hands away. "Lucy is one of the best chefs in Dallas. We're lucky she's available on such short notice."

  Dylan glanced at Lucy, who raised an eyebrow. According to Wyatt, Heather's grandmother had fired the original caterer only three months before the wedding.

  Wyatt's back straightened. "I'm sure she's great, but a bunch of guys from the circuit will be here. I think they're going to want some meat and potatoes."

  The bride's blue eyes welled with tears. She turned and darted out of the room.

  That was just the kind of messy relationship complication Dylan needed to avoid. He'd had his fair share. These days, his old cattle dog was the only female in his life.

  "Heather, wait," Wyatt called. He gave Dylan a shrug before following his future wife.

  Dylan was left in the kitchen, alone with Lucy, who had a satisfied expression across her face as her knife sliced through her vegetables.