The thought of making a living as a baker sounded incredibly indulgent. "My stepfather didn't think making cakes was a legitimate career. I told him I could be the next Wolfgang Puck, and he was sold." She took another bite of her beans.
"Wouldn't life be a lot simpler if you were just true to yourself?"
She drew back from him. "I am being true to myself, but it doesn't hurt to base life decisions on practicality over my love of carbs. My stepfather is a good businessman. I respect his opinion." And why was she justifying her choices to Dylan? Why did it matter so much for him to understand?
Red sat up and tried to nose her way between the two of them. Dylan laid a hand on the dog's back. "I don't think you should have to alter who you are to please other people."
"It's no different than what you do—the way your drawl gets a little thicker and your ma'ams get a little more frequent when you have an audience."
His shoulders stayed relaxed, and he seemed more amused than threatened. "You think I'm faking it?"
She set her cup on the truck bed, letting Red lick what remained. "I simply think you play up the cowboy thing for effect."
His gaze stilled her. "I know who I am, Lucy." He raised his eyebrows. "Do you?" He hoisted himself off the tailgate.
Her spine stiffened as she watched him kneel by the fire. As he poked a metal bar into the embers, she wondered why his words had cut right through her.
#
A couple of crashes of thunder were the only warnings Dylan got before the clouds dumped huge raindrops on his camp. Visitors ran for the shelter of their cars and minivans, and cooks and their crews rushed to pack up anything that wasn't under the protection of the tents.
Dylan tossed Lucy the keys. "Take Red and get in the truck."
Lucy looked at the keys in her hand and threw them back to Dylan. She lifted what was left of the stew from smoldering coals and lugged the heavy cast iron pot toward the tent.
He grabbed it from her. "Lucy! Truck! Now!"
She rolled her eyes and moved toward the rest of the food.
Stubborn woman. Why was she always so bent on being difficult? "Suit yourself," he said, pretending not to care. He stomped through the wet grass and opened the truck door to let Red jump inside.
He turned around in time to see Lucy dragging an ice chest bigger than she was through a puddle of water, raindrops dripping down her face. He winced. What kind of man was he, letting her work out in this downpour? He wanted to throw her over his shoulder and toss her into the truck so she wouldn't catch a cold. Knowing Lucy would never let that happen, he took his hat from his head and pressed it down over her now limp ponytail.
She looked up at him like she was going to protest, but with water no longer falling onto her eyelashes, her shoulders relaxed. "Thanks."
Rain splashed against the wet grass around them, replacing the scent of food and campfires with the clean scent of a summer shower. The beauty of her soaking wet clothes, the way her pale skin looked under his cowboy hat, paralyzed him.
She turned around and filled a plastic tub with pans and dishes.
He sighed and went to work beside her.
Once the rain had stopped and the only drops falling were from the corners of his tent, he started a new fire from the logs that had managed to stay dry under the blue tarp in the back of his truck.
Lucy carried two tin mugs of coffee over from a neighboring camp. Her pink lips and cheeks stood out in sharp contrast to her fair skin.
"Be careful with that stuff. Cowboy coffee will put hair on your chest."
She smiled and handed him one of the mugs with steam rising from the top. "I'll take my chances, but I shouldn't drink this stuff this late in the afternoon. I may never sleep again."
He looped a finger through the handle and held it up in the air like he was toasting her. "You'll be so worn out after today that it won't matter." He took a sip. The thick warmth of the coffee felt so good going down.
She wrapped her hands around the cup and blew across the top of it. "I hope you're right. I'm really just drowning my sorrows over the fact that all the peach cobbler was ruined."
Dylan stood and walked back to the wagon. He scooted a giant bag of flour to the side and pulled a towel from the bowl of cobbler. "This is my secret stash, but I guess I'll share."
She gasped and slapped a hand against his shoulder. "You've been holding out on me."
There was that smile again, the one that probably left men all over Texas heartbroken. Heck, it was making him share his last bit of cobbler. He grabbed two forks and handed her one. "A man has to have a few secrets."
They sat side-by-side on a wooden box, close enough to the fire to feel its heat. "Is this the same dessert that won Nana's heart?"
"It probably didn't have anything to do with my food. Nana just has a thing for cowboys."
Lucy sunk her fork into the crust of the cobbler. "I guess it runs in the family, but I wonder how Nana feels about her little debutante marrying a man who spends so much time away from home on the rodeo circuit."
"Heather doesn't want him riding bulls anymore," Dylan said. "If you were Heather, would you ask him to give up the rodeo thing?"
"I won't ever have that problem." The soft lines of her eyes turned hard. "I don't date cowboys."
"What are your criteria? If he wears boots he's okay, but a hat pushes him over the edge."
She focused on her cobbler, stabbing it with her fork but never actually taking a bite. "No, but the rodeo thing would definitely rule him out."
"Why? Bad break up? Was he the kind who should wear a black hat?"
Her big brown eyes glanced over to him as she shook her head. "Nothing like that."
In an instant, memories of learning about her father's fatal accident came flooding back to him. Of course she would be leery of rodeos. He regretted saying anything. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking—"
She held up her hand. "Please. Let's not talk about it."
Something else to add to the list of things she didn't want to talk about. "Got it."
She stared out at the longhorn in the small round corral across from them and stuck a bite of cobbler in her mouth.
So that was it. Lucy wanted a city boy like Reed Shaw. Could he blame her for wanting someone safe and stable, someone who already had his whole life laid out before him? Dylan could no more pass for that kind of man as Red could pass as a kitten. "So no cowboys?"
"That's right."
"I guess that rules me out."
"I guess it does."
Silence hung between them. He didn't look at her. As soon as this wedding was over, they'd both go back to their own lives, and Dylan would be just another cowboy Lucy would be happy to forget.
#
The windshield wipers swished steadily in front of Dylan as raindrops flew into the headlights. Lucy was leaning on her elbow, her eyes closed, her face relaxed and painfully beautiful.
Either she didn't want to talk to him on the drive home, or the woman was in desperate need of sleep.
Her hair, still damp from the rain, stuck to the side of her face. She'd been a trooper, never whining about the work or the conditions—almost seeming to enjoy them.
Dylan took in a deep breath through his nose. She hadn't even complained about the undeniable smell of wet dog in the cab of the truck. He patted Red's side, and Red groaned.
He gripped the steering wheel, telling himself not to look at her again. She'd walked back into his world, and she was just as spirited as he remembered.
He couldn't shake the overwhelming need to take care of her, to make sure she was safe. Unfortunately, she seemed determined to keep him at a distance.
It shouldn't matter to him that she didn't want to date a cowboy or that she was interested in a man like Reed Shaw. It was none of his business if she wanted to date Liberty Valance, but somehow it still irritated him as much as a mosquito in a bed roll.
He refused to let Lucy get to him like this. He was no longer a fou
rteen-year-old with a crush. If he wanted to show his sister that he was more than a one-trick pony, he needed the executive chef job. This wasn't a little chuck wagon operation. It was the big leagues. A shot to prove to himself and to Jentry that he had what it took to do something bigger with his life, and that she could do the same.
He couldn't let anyone ruin his opportunity at having a real career in cooking, even Lucy Pickett.
Chapter Eight
Lucy braced herself for another Sunday night dinner with her family. Everything looked just as it always did, the table set with the good china, her mother in pearls and a sweater set, and Kenneth still in his suit and tie. No one spoke. All eyes stared at her under the elaborate chandelier.
She unfolded the napkin in her lap. "What's going on?"
Keeping his gaze on Lucy, her stepfather took the butter dish from her mother. "Paige was telling us where you were yesterday."
Lucy sent a pointed look to her stepsister.
With her chin ducked down, Paige stuffed a bite of salad into her mouth.
He shook his head. "Working for a chuck wagon cook? Seriously, Lucy?"
She scooted her chair closer to the table. "Trust me. I wasn't excited about it either, but I simply did what you've taught me over the years."
His thick, gray eyebrows rose. "And what is that?"
"I did what I had to do to make things happen. If I wanted the Tornsten wedding, this was part of the deal."
Kenneth loosened his tie. "But working for a chuck wagon cook? I thought the goal was to be recognized as a legitimate chef again, especially after what happened with your last job."
Paige cleared her throat. "The bride's Nana, Mrs. Tornsten, was fond of the cowboy. I'm glad she was willing to compromise and have both of them on the wedding. It was the perfect solution."
Quickly forgiving her for ratting her out, Lucy gave her stepsister a smile of gratitude.
Ken nodded. "I think you made a good decision by keeping Mrs. Tornsten happy, Paige. She's a bit of an eccentric, but she has a lot of connections in the city."
Leave it to Paige to change her father's mind on a dime. You'd think after all these years, Lucy would've been able to figure out how to do the same, but no matter what she did, she'd never quite been accepted by Kenneth Morgan.
He put his forearms on the edge of the table. "I heard J.T. Shaw was at the brunch you catered."
Nothing that went on in Dallas's social circles slid past her stepfather. Everyone knew her as Kenneth Morgan's stepdaughter. "Yes. He was there."
The thick drapery over the windows and the Persian rug under her feet seemed to suck all the light from the room.
"Did you speak to him about the restaurant?" her stepfather asked. "Working for J.T. Shaw would be a big opportunity."
Her mother's gaze darted back and forth between them. "Dear, let's wait and talk about work after dinner. She just walked in the door. Let her catch her breath."
He sliced through his salmon. "Beth, I only want to see her succeed. After the incident at the Inven, we need to make sure her next step is the right one." He had a special skill for slipping her past failures into every conversation, making Lucy feel like she didn't quite measure up.
She shook her head. "I didn't talk to him."
Kenneth leaned back in his chair. "J.T. is an old golfing buddy. I'll call him this week, and we'll work it out over eighteen holes."
"No. I don't want you—"
"It's not a problem. I don't mind."
Determined not to let him take this over, she sat straighter in her chair. "Thank you for offering to help, but I can do this on my own." She needed to show her stepfather and the rest of her family that she was capable of succeeding without their help.
Kenneth pulled his mouth into a firm line.
Running out of energy to explain herself, Lucy dished more salad onto her plate. Only the clinking of dishes cut through the silence. If she wanted to prove herself to her stepfather, she would have to rely on more than her cooking. Maybe she should borrow a little of Dylan's philosophy and win J.T. over with her personality. One way or another, she needed to make an impression on the man who held the key to the restaurant.
Paige shifted in her chair. "She talked to Reed," her conflict-hating sister blurted out. "At the brunch."
Ken loosened his tie. "That's great. Are you two dating again? That could help you get the job."
"Kenneth!" her mother chided.
Lucy sighed. "We're not back together, and if I get this job it's going to be on my terms. No golfing buddies. No special treatment because I used to date his nephew." She gave a pointed look at her stepfather. "And no calling in favors on my behalf."
Kenneth held his hands up in front of him. "I'm not suggesting you use Reed. He's an outstanding young man with a bright future ahead of him."
Lucy desperately wanted to talk about something else. Anything else. Paige's date with the meathead trainer at her gym could do the trick, but instead of inflicting revenge on her stepsister for telling them about Dylan, she stabbed a green bean with her fork.
"If Reed is interested, the least you could do is not reject him. Don't shoot yourself in the foot."
When she had been dating Reed, it had felt nice to finally have Kenneth's approval on something. "He hasn't asked me out again, so we don't have to worry about that yet."
Paige swirled her fork around in her mashed potatoes. "Maybe I chose the wrong profession. I spend my days working with engaged men and their neurotic brides, while Lucy is spending time with single attorneys and good looking cowboys."
Kenneth's eyebrow cocked. "The cowboy is good looking?"
Paige cleared her throat, avoiding Lucy's gaze.
A cell phone rang and Kenneth reached into the pocket in the lining of his suit jacket. He held up a finger. "Excuse me one minute. This is important." He pushed back from the table and walked into the other room.
Paige leaned forward. "So how was the cowboy?"
Cocky, bossy, and utterly charming. "Just another day in the kitchen." It had been far from a normal day, but Paige didn't need all the details.
Paige turned to Lucy's mother. "Do you remember Dylan Lawson? Lucy said their dad's both worked on some ranch together?"
Lucy opened her mouth to cut Paige off, but it was too late. The last person she wanted to talk about with her mother was Dylan Lawson. He knew too many of Lucy's secrets and brought up too many old memories for her family.
Her mom's expression pulled tight. She glanced at Kenneth, who was taking his seat at the table, and then looked back to Lucy. "Of course, I remember Dylan. How is he?"
"He's fine," Lucy said, trying and failing to keep her voice light.
It was easier for everyone involved to pretend anything before Kenneth didn't exist and forge ahead with their new lives in Dallas. It had always been an unspoken rule between them. As a teenager carrying around a big ball of grief and regret, it had been a hard rule to follow.
As an adult, Lucy had learned the silence was for the best. Better to ignore all the dangerous undercurrents of the family.
#
Dylan stepped into the senior center. It was strangely quiet inside except for the hum of a radio in another room.
He ran his thumb across the soft gray hoodie in his hand. He shouldn't be here. There were things to do on the ranch, his dad's back still wasn't one hundred percent, and he'd promised himself that he would keep things between him and Lucy strictly business.
Despite all that, his renegade heart had jumped when he'd spotted her sweatshirt in the seat of his truck and realized it gave him an excuse to see her.
What could one little encounter hurt? Maybe this could get these crazy feelings for Lucy out of his system once and for all. Seeing her would remind him how impossible she was to deal with and how much she loathed him for intruding on the wedding gig. Then he'd be able to talk to J.T. about the restaurant job without a shade of guilt on his conscience.
In the kitchen,
static-filled pop music played from a prehistoric radio. Lucy's ponytail swung as she used all her muscle to cut into a watermelon almost as big as Red.
The strings of her apron were tied in a perfect bow at her tiny waist and just above the curve of her hips.
He forced himself to tear his attention away from the denim pockets on the back of her jeans. He had to focus on all the reasons he needed the restaurant job, not all the reasons she looked great in a pair of blue jeans.
Dylan set the sweatshirt on one of two tables set up with bowls, utensils, and cutting boards. He took one of the white aprons laid out at each station and slipped it over his head and across his faded T-shirt. As he tied it at his back, Lucy turned around, the knife still in her hand. Her eyes widened in surprise, and she let out a little squeak.
He cocked his head, letting his gaze burn into hers. "I didn't mean to scare you. I'm here for the class."
She put a hand over her heart. "How long have you been standing there?"
"Long enough to watch you show that watermelon who's boss. Where is everyone? They didn't like the leeks?"
Her pink lips threatened to curl into a smile, but as usual, she held back. "They should be here any minute." She wiggled her knife at him. "Nice apron, by the way."
He smoothed it out over his torso. "Thanks."
"Today we're moving on to melons and berries. I'm not sure if a lightweight like you can handle it." She shook her head. "But I suspect you're here for something other than the class."
He picked up her gray sweatshirt from the table. "You left this in my truck." He held it out to her. "I washed it. It smelled like smoke from the fire and was covered in dog hair."
Her fingers brushed his as she took the shirt, sending heat up his back. His plan to relieve his guilty conscience was quickly blowing up in his face.
"Thanks," she said. "I guess I was pretty out of it when you dropped me off at home. I can't believe I fell asleep on the way there and back."
"It was an exhausting day."
"It was, but I have trouble sleeping under the best conditions. When I'm with you, I'm out like a light."
He laughed. "I'm flattered. I guess my company and conversation skills have that affect on women."
Kiss the Cowboy Page 7
