She stepped toward him. "We have less than two months until the wedding, and Nana really wants..." Lucy stopped, her nose wrinkled. She lifted her boot and groaned.
Dylan laughed as she scraped the sole across the dirt. The Lucy he used to know would have never forgotten to watch for cow patties in the pasture.
She held her foot up behind her and wobbled on the thin heel. Dylan put a hand on her arm, holding her steady. "I'm guessing you haven't been out of the city in a while. Trying to walk through this pasture in those fancy shoes is like trying to rope a calf with a ribbon."
She narrowed her eyes at him, a smirk across her lips. "Don't forget that at one time I was better at roping than you."
They'd spent the summer burning up the dirt road between her house and the trailer home his family had lived in. "I haven't forgotten. You came by it naturally. Your dad was one of the best ropers and bull riders on the circuit." Before the rodeo accident had stolen that away.
Lucy cleared her throat. "A long time ago. I probably wouldn't remember how to climb into a saddle these days."
"It's like riding a bike. It'd come back to you."
Lucy blinked, like she was trying to make her way back into the present. "So what about the catering job? What can I do to get you to help me?"
He studied her expensive clothes and the rigid way she carried herself. Despite the voice inside yelling at him to run the other direction, he and his dad needed the money, and Lucy needed someone to remind her where she came from. "I'll do it on one condition."
#
Lucy stood in front of Dylan with a rattling metal windmill in the distance. The familiarity of it all and the mention of her father were almost too much to bear. It was like a portal back to her old life. "What kind of condition are we talking about?"
She'd done her best to leave her past behind her, and she'd done a good job of it. She rarely thought about the pain of losing her father and the guilt that inevitably went with it. But shutting out those memories had required her to shut out her relationship with God. She still believed, but the ease of the faith she'd had when she was younger had disappeared.
"I'm cooking for an event a week from Saturday," Dylan said. "You can be my assistant."
She shifted on her toes, trying not to let him see how the heels of her boots sank into the dirt. She'd thought the shoes might lessen her distinct height disadvantage with Dylan, but like most of her plans, it had backfired. "You want me to be your sous-chef?"
He gave her a boyish grin. "If that's what you want to call it."
The idea of Dylan bossing her around in the kitchen sounded like Chinese water torture. "What would I have to cook?"
"Biscuits, cobbler, standard cowboy fare."
What were a few hours of sacrifice for a shot at her dream job? She would stay focused and refuse to let the Marlboro Man distract her from her goal. "Okay. You've got a deal."
He gave a satisfied nod. "I'll pick you up at 4 a.m. You'll need to—"
"Wait. You mean 4 p.m, right?"
That annoyingly endearing smile twitched up under his cowboy hat. "No, ma'am. I'll pick you up at 4 a.m."
And now they were back to ma'am. "Who are we cooking for—vampires?" Half the time she didn't fall asleep until after 3:00.
"We'll have a lot to do. You'll need to wear jeans and boots." He snarled down at her designer shoes. "Real boots."
Was Dylan under the impression that every Texan owned a pair of cowboy boots? She'd paid far too much for these not to be considered real, but that's what she got for shopping with Paige. "I have running shoes."
He cocked his head at her as if she were from another planet. "I guess that'll have to work."
Dylan hesitated, like he had when he'd first seen her in the kitchen.
"Is there something else?" she asked. "Chaps? A holster?" She bit her lip. She really shouldn't be so snarky, considering she had another favor to ask.
He laughed. "That'll do."
She blew out a breath. "Well, I have one more thing. I'll need you to be at Wyatt and Heather's engagement brunch this Friday."
He ran his hand along the back of his neck. His shoulders and arms filled out his shirt in a way she wished she didn't notice. Growing up had agreed with him. "Hang on. A brunch? I thought we were just talking about the wedding. Tea sandwiches and mimosas aren't really my thing."
The brunch was another Nana curve ball, but this one could be to Lucy's advantage. Mr. Personality could entertain Nana while Lucy hid out in the kitchen where she belonged. "They want to make sure we work well together. It'll be small. Only close family and friends at Nana's house."
"You expect me to go to that woman's house and spend the morning being sexually harassed by a senior citizen?"
"I'll handle everything. You just need to show up and do that charming cowboy thing you do so well."
He frowned. "Do you honestly think I'm going to hang out with Nana the entire time and let you do all the cooking? What about the menu? Shouldn't I get some input?"
Lucy gritted her teeth. He wasn't going to do this the easy way. "Don't worry about it. I'm happy to take care of it."
The bottom of his chin twitched up. "I get the feeling you're not so keen on us working together."
Dylan was proving to be almost as stubborn as she was. Almost. "Fine. We can get together and work out the menu. Maybe tomorrow. What time is good for you?"
"How about—?"
She held up her hand. "After nine, please."
"It's your call. Wherever and whenever you'd like to meet." It sounded more like a dare than a concession.
A truck engine roared. Lucy glanced over Dylan's shoulder toward the barn and saw an old truck with faded black paint now shuddering. She was ready to escape back to the comfort of the little kitchen in her condo. "Meet me at The Oakleaf at noon. I'm doing some cooking there, and then we can talk about the menu over lunch."
He rocked back on his heels. "I'm assuming that's some stuffy restaurant in the city. I don't have to dress up, do I?"
She shrugged. "It's something like that, but no. Just make sure there isn't cow dung on your boots, and maybe wear a hat that is"—she glanced at the dust-coated thing covering his head—"cleaner."
His gaze moved slowly down to her shoes, and he lifted an eyebrow.
Her calves ached. Standing in a cow pasture without letting her heels sink into the dirt was a better workout than spin class. "You're hilarious," she said.
"I've missed you, Lucy." His tone was light, almost teasing, but his gaze burned into hers.
Heat charged up her neck to her ears. "I should be going."
"Tomorrow then."
His deep voice vibrated through her. She'd always thought that if she ever ran into someone from that time in her life again she'd be strong enough to deal with the shadows of her past, but seeing Dylan, remembering what she'd done, she wasn't so sure.
She gave a quick nod. After the wedding, she would put Dylan and all those memories he brought with him behind her.
Chapter Four
Sitting behind the steering wheel of his truck, Dylan checked the address again. He lowered the slip of paper to reveal the weathered sign of The Oakleaf Senior Center. This couldn't be it.
It had to be, though, and he had no time to waste. He needed to make this quick and get back to the ranch. His dad would eventually get antsy and start working on the new fence without him.
He killed the truck engine and stepped out onto the parking lot in the boots he reserved for church. The ramp to the front door was covered in faded artificial turf. He checked over his shoulder for a hidden camera. Surely this was some kind of practical joke.
Removing his hat as he stepped inside, he spotted an older woman with tight white curls and a pink walker. "Excuse me, ma'am."
She looked up at him. "Yes?" she said, her voice equally loud and shaky.
"I'm supposed to meet a friend of mine for lunch at The Oakleaf, but I don't think—"
"What's y
our friend's name, dear?" she yelled at him.
"It's Lucy, but—"
The woman's expression brightened. "Lucy's in the kitchen with the others. She didn't tell us she was bringing a guest."
Others? He'd been looking forward to spending some time alone with her. He wasn't prepared for another round with Nana and the debutante.
Dylan hung his hat on a coat rack inside the front door. He passed a few round tables and chairs and an empty stage with an old orange curtain. His footsteps echoed through the big room. A half-played game of checkers waited on one table and a partly finished jigsaw puzzle on another. He walked toward a cafeteria-style window and through the door beside it into the kitchen, unsure if he'd find Lucy Pickett or someone's great-grandmother Lucy. The smell of green peppers and some kind of spice he didn't recognize struck him.
Lucy's voice, confident and smooth, floated across the room, but a wall of gray hair and sensible sweaters blocked his view of her.
He scrubbed a hand across his freshly shaven jaw and chuckled. She'd duped him. He'd gotten all dressed up for lunch at the senior center.
"Who's he?" An older man pointed a crooked finger at him.
The rest of the crew turned away from the kitchen island and stared at him, the ladies far outnumbering the men.
Lucy walked around the small group, patting one of the women's shoulders as she passed. The white apron over Lucy's red tank was cinched in at her slender waist. This woman could make anything look good. Her hair was in a high ponytail with chocolate-colored strands falling around her face.
"This is Dylan. He's here to taste test what you made today."
"I am?"
She cocked her head and widened her eyes.
"I meant, I am." he said.
Everyone in the group frowned at him. Tough crowd.
Lucy took his arm and led him around the table to several plates of unrecognizable food.
"Today we made Moroccan couscous, braised leeks, five-spice vegetable stir fry, and apricot cupcakes for dessert."
He stared down at the odd looking food in disposable containers. "It looks...interesting."
The woman with a picture of two cats on her sweatshirt leaned forward. "I made the cupcakes."
"We all helped, Margaret," said a woman with a deep raspy voice.
Lucy scooped out the food, taking care to arrange it on the paper plate. She handed it to him with a plastic fork, and the crowd stared at him.
"Take a bite," someone ordered.
Pretty sure that he'd never eaten leeks in his life, he stuffed a forkful of the weed-looking vegetable in his mouth. He chewed and swallowed what tasted like a mild onion cooked with a little garlic and butter. He pointed at the plate with his fork. "That's good eatin' right there."
The senior citizens all grunted in approval and started filling their own plates.
Lucy came to stand beside him. "Thanks for being a good sport."
He narrowed his eyes at her. "You didn't tell me we were meeting at a senior center."
She shrugged innocently. "I may have forgotten to mention that."
He wanted to be annoyed, but in her eyes, he recognized a glimpse of the old Lucy.
The two women who had bickered over the cupcakes ushered him away from Lucy and out to a table, but he soon found himself sitting alone, watching everyone else cram around a different table.
Lucy slid into a chair across from him.
"Did I offend your friends?"
Lucy shook her head. "It's a conspiracy. I'm single. A man who isn't more than twice my age showed up. They think by not sitting with us, they'll finally get me married off."
So she was single. He nodded. "Ah."
"I'm used to it." Her gaze darted up to the ceiling. "So far they've tried to set me up with the custodian, the bus driver, and the man who mows the grass. They have good, albeit annoying, intentions."
"So how do I compare to those other arranged engagements?"
She took a bite of food. "I'd say you're in the top three."
"Please stop. You're giving me a big head." He stabbed his fork into something he didn't recognize. "So you come here just to pick up dates?"
She smiled and pushed food around on her plate. "I teach classes here—healthy cooking on a budget. A lot of them live alone and will eat nothing but cans of soup otherwise."
He glanced back at the crowded table, caught the stares. The old folks jerked their gazes back to their food. Busted. "This is a nice thing you're doing."
Lucy shrugged. "At one time, I thought that too, but now I know I get more out of it than they do. I like hanging out with them. They're friends."
Dylan remembered standing with Lucy in the kitchen while Mrs. Hooper showed them how to roll out dough. "You know, if Mrs. Hooper hadn't offered to teach us how to cook, I'm pretty sure my little sister and I would have had to survive our childhoods on frozen pizza and canned pasta."
Lucy gave a wistful smile. "How is your sister?"
"Jentry is great." No need to mention the fact that she'd been ignoring his calls for the past few weeks. "Because of an injury, she's thinking of giving up barrel racing and going back to school." If he could convince her she could do it.
"Wow," she said. "I still think of her as the little girl who was always trying to tag along. Where did Mr. and Mrs. Hooper go when they sold the ranch?"
"They both passed away several years ago. Her son said that tough old woman was still up cooking in her kitchen the day before she died."
"I would like to have seen her again. I remember being jealous when your biscuits came out better than mine."
He laughed. "I'm sure that's not true."
"Trust me. That's not something I would make up. I'm still a little jealous of those biscuits." She shook her head, like she was shaking away the memories. "Enough about that. Let's talk about the brunch. I was thinking we could do something French-inspired. Maybe crepes and brioche."
As much as he wanted to help Lucy, French food was not on his list of specialties. "Hang on. There are two of us in this now."
The muscles in her jaw tightened. The relaxed, playful Lucy had been replaced by the no-nonsense chef. "What did you have in mind?"
"How about breakfast burritos?"
She huffed. "We most certainly aren't going to show up with a bunch of greasy breakfast burritos. This is going to be in a huge house in the nicest part of town."
The hissed whispers of the matchmakers came from the other side of the room, but Lucy crossed her arms, not backing down.
"Fine. What about omelets? Are those fancy enough for you?"
Her shoulders relaxed. "Actually, an omelet station isn't a terrible idea. You could handle that, and I could make some lighter breakfast food to keep the bride happy."
He leaned forward. "I wonder what your dad would have thought of all this."
Lucy didn't speak.
Dylan could imagine him beaming with pride. "His little girl, a successful chef in the big city."
She slid her unfinished lunch plate away from her. "I'm going to get started on the dishes."
He'd said too much. "I didn't mean to—"
The legs of her chair scraped against the floor. "It's fine. I just don't like to talk about my father. Especially with the way things happened."
She'd felt responsible for her father's accident, but surely she didn't still feel that way. Not after all this time. "Lucy..."
She stood, her mouth in a tight line. "There's no good in dwelling on the past. You can make omelets, and I'll figure out some dishes that will go well with them. We shouldn't complicate things."
Dylan stood, almost knocking his folding chair over, but she'd already picked up her plate and headed back toward the kitchen. He watched her walk away, knowing it wasn't the menu she was afraid of complicating.
Chapter Five
Lucy sliced through the tough skin of the pineapple, cutting off the crown. She took a deep breath in a futile attempt to regain her focus. Nana's large
collection of ceramic roosters staring down from the top of the kitchen cabinets didn't help.
Her sister peeked out toward Nana's living room and glanced back at Lucy. "Is it weird having your ex here?"
Lucy kept working. She hadn't seen Reed since their last date and may have forgotten to return his most recent voice mail. "Why would it be weird?" she said.
Still hidden behind the doorframe, Paige strained her neck to stare at him. "He looks great. You should see his suit."
Lucy thumped her knife harder against the board. Her family adored Reed. He was smart, ambitious, and good looking, and he'd been less self-obsessed lately. But the thought of getting back together didn't stir up a single butterfly for her. "You should probably stop stalking him. He's an attorney. He knows how to file a restraining order."
Paige turned to face her. "You're not going to make any kind of impression on his uncle if you spend the whole morning hiding in the kitchen. You should see Dylan out there. He really knows how to work the crowd."
Lucy's stomach dropped. Dylan Lawson caused a whole slew of butterflies, but for all the wrong reasons. She'd spent her entire career working to build a solid reputation in the business, while Dylan managed to draw a crowd by cracking an egg.
She stood behind her sister. People had gathered around the makeshift omelet station they'd set up for Dylan beside the huge marble fireplace. Nana stood closest to him, her eyes shining. A pang of jealousy poked at Lucy. Wasn't this what she'd wanted? To keep Nana happy and out of her way? Lucy should have known that he'd upstage her. "His Texas drawl is probably thicker than ever right now." Lucy moved back to her cutting board.
Paige gave her a pointed look. "You can't blame the guy. He's using everything he has going for him, including his good looks. What woman wouldn't want to watch him make her breakfast?"
Lucy picked up the knife, her sister's words grating against her nerves. "We were hired as chefs, not as the entertainment."
Paige leaned a hip against the counter. "You could do the same, you know. A little more energy wouldn't kill you."
Kiss the Cowboy Page 4
