She nodded. "Nana seemed happy."
There was more silence, except for the clatter of the trailer and the sound of Red already snoring between them. Maybe he should've told her the truth about where they were going today, but he knew she would never have agreed to it. It would be good for her to get out of the kitchen for a change.
Despite Lucy's fancy clothes, somewhere in there was the same girl he used to know, and he wondered if a change of scenery might help her find it. The way she pursed her lips and flitted her eyes around told him she was holding something back, not just from him but from everyone—maybe even herself.
He couldn't deny that he was still drawn to her. If it were possible, his attraction to her was even stronger now than when he'd been a teenager. Before he got out of bed this morning, he'd promised himself he would keep his feelings in check. Not only because Lucy still disliked him for barging in on her catering job, but if there were a slim possibility that he could have the chance to be chef of a big-time Dallas restaurant, he needed to take it.
"This is a nice truck," Lucy finally said.
"Thanks. I love this Silverado." He'd saved up for years to buy it. He'd wanted something that could haul his horse trailer and chuck wagon without breaking down on the side of the road.
When Dylan was growing up, his dad had driven old beat-up trucks that he was constantly working on. Dylan had always admired the dually trucks and shiny diesels the ranch owners drove.
Lucy scratched Red's ear. "I noticed you talking to J.T. Shaw at the brunch."
The more Dylan had thought about the conversation with J.T. Shaw, the more he thought this might be his chance to run his own kitchen and prove to his sister that he was going to do something to reach his goals. "Yeah. The man in the orange tie. He introduced himself."
Lucy sat up straighter. "He's an important man in Dallas real estate development. He owns the venue where the reception will be held. It's important we make a good impression on him."
"Worried I'm going to embarrass you? I didn't invite him to a tractor pull, if that's what you're wondering."
"Very funny," she said, not laughing. "He's considering me for the executive chef job for his new restaurant. I don't want anything to hurt my chances."
Dylan squeezed the steering wheel. "He's the investor you've been talking about?"
"He's not just any investor. If he's involved in a project in Dallas, it's a success. It'll be an honor if he chooses me as chef of his new restaurant."
Dread rolled through his stomach. The restaurant Mr. Shaw had talked to him about was Lucy's restaurant. How could he not have realized it? She'd want to skin him alive if she knew J.T. had talked to him about the job. "So what's the deal with J.T. Shaw's nephew?" he asked, eager to change the subject. "What was his name? Tweed?"
"It's Reed."
He didn't take his attention off the road, afraid she'd see through his pathetic attempt to dig into her personal life. "Right. What's his story?"
"He's an attorney. He's set to make partner at a young age. He's good looking and has a lot of friends."
He fought back a groan. How could she have actually gone out with a guy like Reed Shaw? "He sounds like a catch."
"Why? Are you interested in him?"
Dylan smiled. He loved the way Lucy kept him on his toes. "Keep this up, and I'm going to stick you on dishwashing duty. He told me you used to be a couple, and it looked like he was more interested in you. So are you friends, or is it something more?"
She shrugged. "We have things in common. We know a lot of the same people."
It all began to make sense. Reed wanted to impress Lucy and win her back—what man in his right mind wouldn't—and now he was encouraging his uncle to give the woman he adored her dream job. Lucy deserved to run her own restaurant, but not at the price of getting back together with a jerk like Reed. Her talent could stand on its own.
"That still doesn't tell me whether you two are dating."
A smirk came across her lips. "You're catching on."
He laughed, admitting defeat. "You want to change the subject?"
"Please." She turned to him and clasped her hands together. "I'm begging you."
They both stared out the dark windshield. His mind searched for a way to explain his conversation with J.T. Shaw without hurting her, but he came up empty. "Have you been catering for a while?"
She shifted in her seat. "Not really. I needed to pay the bills after my last job ended. Becoming executive chef would mean I was finally doing something right in my career."
He rested his arm over the top of the steering wheel. "Sounds like you're already doing all right. Executive chef at the Inven. Impressive."
Lucy straightened. "Sure. It was impressive...until I got fired." She sighed. "Maybe we should talk more about Reed."
He laughed. "Don't you worry. You're stuck in this truck with me for another three hours. We have time to cover your love life and your career problems."
#
A glance in Dylan's rearview mirror and the light from a passing car revealed the wagon sheet flapping in the wind like a Texas flag. "Shoot." Dylan hit the brakes and checked his blind spot.
Lucy turned to look behind them. "What is it? Are we getting pulled over? I knew that thing didn't look legal to haul."
"The fabric over my wagon came loose. If I leave it like it is, it'll be shredded by the time we hit the Red River."
With the skies still dark, he was thankful the roads were relatively empty this early in the morning. He pulled the truck over to the narrow shoulder of the interstate. "Stay here. I'll be right back."
He waited for a semi to buzz past, the speed of the truck rattling the cab, before he opened the door and stepped out onto the asphalt. The smell of gasoline and exhaust mixed with the scent of the dewy grass in the ditch beside them. He climbed onto the back of the trailer and began to bundle the fabric tarp that covered the top of his chuck wagon into a tight roll.
The passenger door of the truck slammed. He groaned. That headstrong woman didn't listen to a word he said.
Hands on her hips, she stared up at him. "Need some help?"
"I only need for you to get back in the truck before you get hit by a car."
She shook her head, swung a leg up on the other side of the trailer, and climbed over. "I wasn't planning to run out into the middle of the highway."
"But if I told you not to, you might. Are you this stubborn with everyone, or is it reserved for only me?"
She grabbed the other end of the cover and helped him gather it. "I prefer the term strong-willed."
He pulled at the leather strapping, fastening the rolled canvas into place. "So I guess Reed likes your independent streak."
She took the straps and did the same. "As a matter of fact, I think he does, but don't worry, I have plenty of people in my life who detest it."
"Is that how you lost your job?" he asked, knowing it couldn't be her cooking skills or her work ethic.
She finished buckling the strap. "You're not going to let it go, are you?"
He leaned on the edge of the wagon. "You're not the only one who's stubborn."
"Fine." She relaxed her shoulders. "I fired the owner's twenty-year-old loser son from the line. My boss told me that if I didn't give the spoiled kid his job back, I'd be the one in the unemployment line."
He smiled. "And of course you refused. Pretty gutsy, if you ask me." His admiration of her grew a few notches. "What'd he do wrong?"
She pushed back a strand of hair that the breeze had blown onto her face. "It was a combination of gross incompetence and the sexist attitude he inherited from his father. I was doing him a favor, really. I thought it might be a wake-up call."
"Sounds like you did the right thing."
"Who knows?" She blew out a breath. "In Dallas it's all about who your friends are. My stepfather says I'm going to ruin my career by making enemies with the wrong people."
Apparently J.T. Shaw was the man to befriend in th
is town. Another semi roared by them. He stepped off the trailer and walked around to the other side. He held his hand out to her.
She took it, jumped down to the blacktop, and dusted off the front of her pants. "I overheard Wyatt talking about your girlfriend back in Cheyenne? Is it serious?"
He tensed. Thoughts of Annie sent a shot of defensiveness through him. "Not anymore."
Her eyebrow rose. "A bad breakup?" she said, her teasing tone gone. "What happened?"
"I don't want to get into it." Especially not with Lucy.
She crossed her arms. "Come on. You can't drag all the skeletons out of my closet without revealing a few of your own. Did she break it off, or did you?"
He looked down the empty interstate and back to her. "I guess, technically, that would be me, but after I found her making out with my friend, I suspected she was having second thoughts about the wedding." Why was he telling her all this? He walked to the passenger door.
Lucy followed as a motorcycle buzzed by. "I'm sorry. That's terrible."
He'd said too much. He opened the door and motioned for Lucy to get in the truck. "We don't want to be late."
She stared at him, a smirk on her lips. "I get the feeling you don't want to talk about this. Sensitive subject?"
He gritted his teeth. "Not at all."
She climbed in, not protesting for once. He slammed the door behind her. Lucy had made her point. From now on, he'd keep his nose out of her business. Some topics were off limits.
Chapter Seven
Lucy woke up with her mind foggy and her head pressed against the cool glass of the passenger window. She blinked, fighting to regain her bearings. The sun had risen, and the truck rattled across a grassy field. White canvas canopies, campfires, and chuck wagons lined the perimeter. She looked down to find Red curled up against her leg. She scratched the dog's ear.
"Good morning, sunshine," Dylan said, one hand draped over the steering wheel.
She rubbed the corner of her eyes with her fingertips. She was usually lucky to get any sleep in her own bed with blackout shades on the windows, an eye mask, and plugs in her ears. She couldn't imagine how she'd fallen asleep sitting up in this truck with the trailer rattling behind them and a dog on her lap. "How long was I out?"
They bounced in their seats as they barreled over the bumps and holes in the grass. "At least an hour," Dylan said. "Or were you faking it to avoid talking to me?"
She gripped the door handle, remembering the way he'd reacted when she'd mentioned his ex. Obviously she wasn't the only one trying to avoid pain from the past. She hadn't meant to fall asleep, but she was glad he hadn't had a chance to talk about her father again. Getting too close to Dylan, sharing too much, would be dangerous for her heart.
Outside the truck, a woman in a bonnet, calico dress, and a clipboard directed Dylan to an open spot between two oak trees. "At least you didn't ask me to dress like that."
He took his hat from the dashboard and pushed it down on his head. "That nap has you looking on the bright side of things."
Dylan propped an arm on the top of the seat and reversed the trailer into the spot with ease, a talent Lucy appreciated. When she was a kid, her mom had backed over their swing set when trying to park a cattle trailer. Her father had given her a hard time about it for years.
Lucy shuddered. Even after all this time, memories of her dad could sneak up on her when she least expected them, and they always felt like a swift blow to her heart.
Dylan opened the door, letting Red jump out and leaving Lucy alone in the cab of the truck.
She took a deep breath as dread crept into her chest. Being with Dylan forced her to think more about her past than she had in years. He was a reminder of a piece of herself she didn't like very much, and today she was stuck with him and that old part of herself, and she had no way to escape.
The door swung open. "You ready?"
Red stared up at her from her place by Dylan's boots.
"As ready as I'll ever be, I guess."
Minutes later, they were digging a shallow pit and making a fire from the mesquite he'd pulled out of the bed of his truck. If there were something that could help her forget her problems, it was hard work, and there was no shortage of it here. Over the fire sat a steel box that looked like pieces of scrap metal welded together. They definitely hadn't covered anything like it in culinary school. The crude-looking device had a surface for a skillet, and a bar across the top gave him somewhere to hang the bigger cast iron pot.
The set up was a long way from the fancy kitchen they'd cooked in at the wedding venue. There were no food processors to work with, and the utensils and cookware were straight out of the 1800s, but the scent of the campfires and the cooking food made up for it.
Lucy spent the next half hour working with a group of men to erect a white canvas tent and ignoring Dylan as he tried to assign less strenuous jobs to her. What did he expect her to do—stand beside Red on the sidelines? She may not have been dressed like a cowgirl, but she knew how to work like one.
When the cowboys finally made their way back to their own camps, Lucy unloaded the rest of the truck with Dylan. "Do you know all those guys?"
He slid a wooden box toward the tailgate. "You run into the same people at these things. We all help each other." He looked out to the clouds forming. "It looks like it might rain. We need to go ahead and get the food on just in case."
The next hour was a flurry of butter and flour as they cooked biscuits and cobbler in a cast iron dutch oven and put a giant pot of stew over the fire. She hadn't known how she'd feel about cooking outside, but the morning was beautiful, and the sound of other camps starting fires and preparing food was relaxing. Or maybe Dylan was right and the extra sleep had simply put her in a good mood.
She couldn't deny that he made a great executive chef, if you could call him that when their kitchen floor was a bed of straw. He didn't bark out orders when he got in a hurry or stand over her shoulder. The fire by the truck and everything under their white canopy became like an actual working kitchen. He was organized and sure of himself, everything a good chef should be.
Lucy watched Dylan as he stood in front of the fire. His tan hands rearranged cast iron cookware on the hottest parts of the fire. His fingertips and palms showed the wear and tear of real work, just like her father's always had. Even after scrubbing them at the kitchen sink, her dad would come to dinner with oil and grease from the tractor or blisters from building fences.
Another wave of grief hit Lucy. All this cowboy stuff—not to mention the cowboy she was with—wasn't helping her keep that grief where it belonged.
Lucy blew out a shallow breath, trying to push away the overwhelming emotions. This was silly. Her father had been dead for fourteen years, and she'd never been one to shed tears easily. There was no time for this today.
She'd spent years trying to forget about her past life and fit in with her new stepfather and stepsister in the city. It had all come so easily for her mother, like she was eager to forget. Lucy was finally beginning to feel at home in her life, and Dylan's reappearance was unraveling everything she'd worked to accomplish.
Just as the food was ready, people started wandering through the maze of chuck wagon stations and showing up in front of Dylan's tent, watching them cook. Dylan seemed to relish his role as chief question answerer and impromptu storyteller. Her task shifted from cooking to handing out little cups of stew and peach cobbler. She especially loved watching the kids in ten-gallon hats and bandanas. They waited grudgingly as their parents sampled the fare, but their eyes always darted to those pony rides.
When the line in front of their camp had dissipated and most of the crowd was being entertained by a man and his lasso tricks, Lucy hoisted herself onto the open tailgate with a cup of pinto beans a woman at the next chuck wagon had handed her.
Red stared at her from the ground with eager eyes.
"No way. These are mine. Go get your own."
Dylan whistled, and R
ed jumped onto the scratched bed of the truck.
"Lay down, girl," Dylan commanded in his deep voice, and Red immediately found a spot against the wheel well.
Dylan sat beside Lucy. She tipped her cup toward the man entertaining the crowd. With his lariat he was circling a little girl in a prairie skirt. "You were putting on a pretty good show yourself earlier today."
He leaned back on his arms. "Cooking's as much about the experience you give people as what you make."
"Part food, part personality? I guess I don't have the benefit of being so naturally charming." She didn't disagree with Dylan, but she put her storytelling and personality on the plate. She stared down at the white foam cup and plastic spoon. She didn't only strive to make her food taste delicious, but to smell wonderful and look beautiful, too.
Her empty stomach rumbled, and she shoved the bite in her mouth. The buttery flavor of the beans melted. They weren't sophisticated, but no one could deny that cooking like this fed the stomach and the soul. "Mmm. Have you tried these?"
His eyes narrowed. "How on God's green earth did you end up cooking the fancy stuff? When I knew you, we were making meatloaf and cornbread."
She swallowed another bite of her pork and beans. "I blame the petit fours."
He shook his head. "Translation, please."
"My stepdad took us to France for vacation one summer. I fell in love with French pastries. Beignets, croissants, éclairs, pain au chocolat." She could still remember the sweet, earthy smell of the bakeries along the cobblestone streets. "Everything else kind of followed."
"France, huh? So why didn't you become a pastry chef?"
Kiss the Cowboy Page 6
