"I might hire you to drive me around in that big truck all night."
Dylan could think of worse ways to make a living.
Lucy turned away from him and hung the shirt on a hook in the corner. "I'm actually glad you stopped by. Paige needs us to finalize the menu as soon as possible. We're down to only about five weeks until the wedding, and she wants to get the bride and groom's approval at their next meeting."
"Don't you mean Nana's approval?"
"I guess it goes without saying at this point. What all do you cook?" She shook her head. "Other than calf fries, and the stuff I've already seen."
"I make a mean chicken fried steak," he said, deepening his drawl for effect. "With a heap of mashed potatoes, drowning in country gravy, and all the fixins'."
Her gaze studied him as if she were trying to figure out if he were messing with her. "Anything else?"
He frowned. "Of course, Lucy. I cook all kinds of things."
She put her hands on her hips. "Like what?"
"I have some ideas. Prime rib with a whiskey sauce and smoked brisket. I have a great okra recipe."
She wrinkled her nose. "I'm not sure how some of these things are going to mesh with the dishes I had in mind for the wedding."
It was all coming back to him now—how stubborn she could be and how much he could get under her skin without even trying. "Hey, don't turn your nose up until you've tasted them."
"I'm sure they're great, but I want the food to be perfect. Both of our reputations are on the line here."
He rocked back on his heels. "I'll tell you what. Why don't you come out to the ranch on Sunday night? You can try out everything and give me your honest feedback. Then we can hammer out the menu."
She narrowed her eyes." You're inviting me over for dinner?"
"It wouldn't be a date." Although it was clear from her reaction that the suggestion would have gone over like a lead feather. "Sunday is my birthday. I'm having a few friends over to my dad's place and making a ton of food. You can taste everything and let me know what you think would work for the wedding."
She hesitated. "I don't know. Won't I be intruding?"
"Trust me. It's not like we're sitting down with fine china and cloth napkins. It's completely informal."
She shook her head, her expression pinched. "Could I bring Paige along? Maybe she could help us find some middle ground."
"Like a couple's therapist? Why not."
Two of the older women he'd met the first day he'd come to the center walked into the room as Lucy glared at him. The woman who'd been wearing the cat sweatshirt was now in purple leopard print. She pointed at him with her cane. "The cowboy's back."
Lucy sighed. "Actually, Dylan was just leaving."
As the women stared at him, he remembered he was still wearing the apron. His fingers fumbled to untie the string at his back. "I was about to head out. I have some work I need to do."
The woman lowered her cane. "Why don't you stay for the class? I hear these days women like it when a man knows how to cook. Of course, my husband, God rest his soul, didn't know how to boil an egg."
He laughed. "It's not that. It's just that—"
Lucy patted his arm. "It's okay. We wouldn't want to embarrass you in the kitchen."
He raked his hand across his chin. "Like I said, I should be going."
Lucy turned back to her watermelon.
He leaned in close, the eyes of the two women still on them. "So will I see you at the party?"
She nodded. "I'll be there."
Chapter Nine
The roads leading to the ranch looked different at night. Without street lamps, the headlights on her car and the full moon were the only things guiding them between the two rows of barbed wire fence pulled tight between crooked posts.
She exhaled a shaky breath. How had she let Dylan talk her into this? Right now she'd rather serve chicken nuggets to the wedding guests than deal with all the painful emotions the ranch stirred up inside her.
"Are you sure you know where you're going?" Paige had been gripping the center console ever since the blacktop ended.
"I think we should see it in the next mile or so." But at this point, the ditches and occasional gate all looked the same.
She glanced at the cake box in the back seat. Half of the icing was probably stuck to the lid with the way it had been bouncing on the bumpy road.
They topped a hill, and in the middle of the expanse of pasture, a home glowed ahead of them. Lucy squinted. "That's it." As they got closer, she could see a bonfire flickering behind the barn and hear the soft thud of music.
Paige leaned her head back against the seat. "Why am I here again?"
She squeezed the steering wheel. "I need your moral support. Besides, when have you ever turned down a party invitation?"
Paige laughed. "That's true, but I'm usually the one planning them."
Lucy turned down the long drive, the gravel crunched under her tires. "Maybe you'll pick up some good ideas."
She shot her an unbelieving look.
Lucy should have told Dylan she couldn't come back to the ranch. That he would have to bring the food to her, but right now she needed as much control over the menu as she could get if she still wanted a shot at impressing the investor. Dylan's food had to be sophisticated enough to pair well with hers without outshining her dishes. The last thing she needed was a repeat of what happened at the tasting.
She reminded herself that this was simply about business. If she'd learned anything from her stepfather over the past few years, it was that she had to keep her emotions in check and get the job done. She would get in, taste the food, and get out. "What's our sign so we can sneak out early if we need to?"
Paige pulled the visor down and rubbed her lips together in the mirror. "It's just a party, Lucy. Why are you so nervous? Is this about the cowboy?"
They pulled up to the house and parked in a field by a row of mostly pick-up trucks. "Trust me. I can handle the cowboy."
Paige laughed and snapped the mirror back into place. "I bet you can."
Lucy let herself sink into the driver's seat.
Paige studied her. "Are you okay? What's going on with you?"
She swallowed hard. "This is the ranch where my dad used to work."
Her fingers touched Lucy's arm. "I didn't realize. This must be tough for you."
She yanked the keys out of the ignition. "It's fine. I'm fine." She reached for the door handle but stopped short. "Just...weird...to be here, you know?"
Paige nodded but didn't speak.
"Let's get this over with."
"Just in case—if you tuck both sides of your hair behind your ears, we're out of here."
Lucy nodded. "Thanks."
After she'd gathered her courage and pulled the cake box out of the backseat, she followed the music coming from inside the beige metal barn.
Paige fell into step beside her. "There's a band here? Wow."
Everything inside the barn had been pushed to the sides to leave an expansive open space in the middle. The doors on the front and the back of the building were open, allowing guests to see all the way through to the bonfire in the field.
Lucy was surprised at how great everything looked. It was casual, like Dylan had promised, but no less inviting. Tables of food were set up on one side of the barn and hay bales provided places to sit. The drink table was covered in mason jars and galvanized buckets of ice.
People turned and smiled at them as they walked inside. Dylan walked in from the other huge door carrying a plate of food. His face brightened, looking genuinely excited to see her. "Lucy, you came."
She nodded. He looked good—too good—in a pair of crisp wranglers and a button up.
"Let me set this corn down," he said over the music, "and I'll be right back."
Paige leaned toward her. "Are you sure we're just here to taste the food?"
Lucy ripped her gaze from Dylan. "Paige, please."
"You're doing a lous
y job of hiding it."
Lucy stared at her sister. "Hiding what?"
"You have a thing for him."
Lucy glanced around. None of the other guests were paying attention, thank heavens. She pulled Paige toward a red tool box against the wall. "I do not have a thing for Dylan."
Paige laughed. "You could have fooled me. I guess now I know why you're not more excited about Reed being back in the picture?"
Mention of Reed practically threw a bucket of cold water all over Lucy. "Let's just remember why we're here."
"Whatever you say. I can't deny the cowboy is cute."
But he was a cowboy, and he wouldn't stay in one place too long. Her own mother had struggled to deal with Lucy's free-wheeling father. She'd thought he was too old to still spend every weekend at a different rodeo.
"Thanks for coming."
She turned to find Dylan standing over them. She didn't want to notice how tall and handsome he was. Most of all, she didn't want her stepsister to be right.
Paige pointed at an open ice chest. "I'm going to grab a drink. Great party, Dylan."
He tipped his hat at her. "Thanks for coming."
"That's a big compliment coming from Paige. She's the professional at planning a great party."
He looked at the white box she clung to. "Is that for me?"
She opened the lid, revealing the Salted Caramel Cashew cake she'd baked that morning. She'd added the silhouette of a chuck wagon made out of sugar paste and piping that looked like rope around the edges.
He was silent for a second. "You made that...for me?"
She shrugged. "I was nervous about coming here today. This is what I do when I'm nervous—I bake. Besides it's your birthday. Everyone needs a special cake for their birthday."
He lifted the weight of the cake out of her arms. "It's amazing. No one has ever made me a birthday cake."
"Never?" Dylan's mom hadn't been around when they'd known each other as teenagers, but Dylan had never talked about it.
"Maybe a cake from the grocery store, but nothing like this."
"It's no big deal. It was a good chance for me to try out a recipe." The truth was that she'd wanted to make him something he would love. Last night she'd scoured her recipe books and the Internet for a flavor that suited him perfectly.
He cleared a spot on one of the tables and made room for the cake. "I bet this thing will be gone by the end of the night."
She followed him to the edge of the barn.
He motioned at the dark figures of the horses on the other side of the fence. "You should come out sometime when we can go riding."
"I don't ride any more. I haven't been on a horse in years."
He jerked his head back. "Really? But you used to live for that kind of stuff. The place is smaller than it used to be, but we still have some great trails. I know you'd love it."
But he didn't know her now. After all these years, he thought she was the same person, but no one was the same as they'd been at fourteen, especially not someone who had gone through as much as she had. "Thanks, but I'd rather keep two feet on the ground."
On the stage set up on the other side of the barn, the band started the first few chords of a song. Lucy's heart sank. In her car, those notes guaranteed a switch of the station. That music inevitably brought back visions of her father teaching her to two-step around the kitchen table. The combination of the song, the smell of hay, and leather of the saddles made it impossible to fight the wave of memories that pulled her under.
Dylan cocked his head. "What is it? Are you okay?"
She forced a smile. "It's nothing. I'm fine"
"It probably isn't easy for you to be back here."
She wanted to get out of there before they had a chance to reminisce about old times. "I can't stay long. I thought we could go ahead and get the issues with the menu figured out so Paige and I can get out of your way."
He put a strong hand on her shoulder. "Relax, Lucy. There's no hurry." He pointed at the long table covered in tin foil containers, warmers, and bowls. "Why don't you grab a plate of food? Find a place to sit out by the fire. Enjoy yourself. We can talk business later."
Before she could say anything, he'd disappeared through a crowd of people.
And she'd lost her appetite.
#
Dylan took a handful of empty cups and headed toward the house.
His dad stepped through the back door with a bucket of ice. "There you are. I've been looking for you." His gray hair stuck out from under the hat he'd gotten from the tractor supply store.
"I was talking to Lucy," Dylan said. "I'm headed to check on some stuff in the kitchen."
"Lucy Pickett? She's here? I thought she drove you nuts."
"She does." She was as stubborn as an unbroken mare. "She's here to taste the food, so we can decide on a menu for the catering job."
His dad smirked. "And that's the only reason you invited her?" He slapped him on the back and kept walking before Dylan had a chance to lie to him. "It's about time you noticed anything other than the inside of that old oven. I was beginning to worry about you."
"Don't go getting any crazy ideas about me and Lucy," Dylan yelled out to him.
Even halfway across the expanse of pasture and over the murmuring of voices and the beat of the music, he could hear his dad chuckle.
As he walked to the house, he saw a figure stand from the back steps. He stiffened. "Lucy." How much had she heard?
She stared at him. "What kind of crazy ideas?"
Shoot. "Don't mind my dad. I think his head hit the ground too many times when he was bronc riding."
She laughed. "Leaving your own party?"
After stepping around her, he held the screen door open. "Just going to check on the ice cream."
She stepped inside the old farm house and saw Red lying on the worn wood floor of the kitchen. "You make your own ice cream too?"
The old floorboards groaned underneath him as he moved to the sink. "It isn't the manliest pastime, is it?"
Her pretty brown eyes looked up at him. "I think the big truck and muddy boots probably make up for it."
Dylan patted Red. "Too much commotion out there for you, girl?"
Red groaned and rolled onto her side.
The ice cream maker buzzed from the counter. Dylan opened the lid to check on the mixture of cream and sugar, and he flipped the switch off.
The faucet handle squeaked as he turned it on to wash up. "Want to help me make some caramel sauce to go with the ice cream. I bet it would be great with the cake you made."
He pulled a canister of sugar out of the cabinet, and she took his place at the sink. "Sure. Do you cook all your food in this kitchen?"
He glanced around the shabby room. Nothing had been updated. It probably looked exactly like it had the last time she'd been in it, except worse. The cabinets didn't quite close, and the floor was worn down in front of the sink and stove. For the first time, he realized what a bum he must look like to Lucy. She lived in a world where men wore expensive suits and probably invited her out for a night at the symphony—men like Reed. "I smoked all of the meat outside on the smoker." He patted the handle of the yellow oven. "This old thing isn't pretty, but it works."
Lucy, looking so sophisticated with her silky shirt and glossy lips, was a sharp contrast to his dingy kitchen.
"Whatever you're doing is working," she said without a hint of sarcasm or judgment. "Nana loved your food."
He grabbed a couple of dirty pans and dumped them in the dish water. "Sorry about the mess. Making sure the cattle operation survived has taken priority over almost everything else." He'd gone so long without trying to impress anyone that he'd almost forgotten how. He hated how much he cared what Lucy thought of him. He cared a lot more than he wanted her to know.
He'd been perfectly fine these past few months living in his dad's guest room with nothing but his dog, his truck outside, and a beat up duffel bag full of belongings. Now he could only imagine that L
ucy was making a mental checklist and measuring him against Reed Shaw.
"At least you use the kitchen," she said. "Most of the people I know think the only useful appliances are the coffeemaker and the microwave."
He pulled a pan from the dish rack beside the sink. "They don't know what they're missing."
Her smile reminded him of star gazing and swimming in the farm pond that summer. She had an unfair advantage with that smile. "Did you try the food?"
She nodded. "Yes, and I have a few ideas for how we can make the menu work."
He measured sugar into the pan. "Do your ideas include me cooking?"
She laughed. "Your food is delicious. You know that. It's just that I have a lot riding on this reception, and I struggle with giving up control."
No kidding. Her knuckles were probably white from the way she was clutching the reins. "I know this job is important to you."
"I want my family to know that I can handle another big job. With what happened with the last one..." She shook her head.
After adding water, he set the pan on the stove. "Most people don't realize how tough this business is," he said, handing her a wooden spoon. "You were the executive chef at one of the nicest restaurants in Dallas before you were thirty. They had to been impressed with that."
Her gaze darted between Dylan and the pan. "It's not that easy with my mom or her husband. He's a big name in Dallas. I have a lot to live up to. I dropped out of college to go to culinary school, and I got fired from the job that everyone thought was my big break."
Dylan's own father had been impressed that he'd gotten through high school. But the idea of not living up to expectations wasn't foreign to Dylan. He'd never been enough for Annie. No matter what he'd done to become the man she'd wanted him to be, it had always been out of his reach. Needing to do something with his hands, he pulled a thermometer from the drawer and stuck it in the pan of sauce. "Have you tried to explain why you became a chef? Why you got fired?"
The room began filling with the sticky sweet scent of the caramel.
"Sure, but it isn't good enough for them. Their expectations have always been high. Sometimes I get tired from always chasing after them."
Kiss the Cowboy Page 8
