by Meg Benjamin
“Actually, it has nothing to do with cheese,” Bec said. “It’s more a facilities kind of thing.”
Ruth frowned, her brow furrowing beneath the shower cap she wore to cover her hair in the cheese room. Normally she was a striking brunette, but neither of them looked all that great in their cheese room sanitation gear. “Facilities? What facilities?”
“The deli kitchen,” Bec said quickly. “And the backyard.”
Ruth stopped sieving, studying her with raised eyebrows. “Okay, now you’ve definitely got my interest. What’s up?”
“I have this friend…” Bec lifted the cheese knife out of the vat and put it in the sink. She probably needed to face Ruth when she gave her the details. “He’s agreed to cook a romantic dinner for this couple, but he doesn’t have a kitchen. He’s just visiting here. I’d let him use my kitchen, but, well, you know what it’s like.”
Ruth nodded. She’d given Bec the rice cooker once she’d gotten an idea of the level of disaster Bec’s stoveless kitchen represented.
“Anyway, he needs a place to cook. I told him about the backyard here. If we cleaned it up, it would be a great place for this romantic dinner.” Her voice trailed off at the end. She had no idea if Ruth was buying into this idea or not. Now that she’d said it out loud, it sounded a little crazy, even to her.
“The backyard,” Ruth said slowly. “The backyard here? My backyard?”
“Right.” Bec nodded. “It’s really pretty nice with the willows and the wildflowers. If we cleaned off the flagstones, it could look great.” She tried to sound more excited than nervous, but she was pretty sure she didn’t succeed.
Ruth still looked doubtful. “I guess maybe it would. It’s got a nice view of the river.”
“It does. And once we’ve cleaned it up, it might actually function as extra dining space for the deli.” Just work with me here, Ruth.
Ruth frowned again. “I don’t think I want customers back there. Too hard to keep track of them. Plus we’d have all the mess to clean up when they’re done. We’d have to pack stuff back and forth from the back door.”
“Right, well, maybe for special occasions.” Bec bit her lip while trying to keep her enthusiastic smile in place. The two activities didn’t exactly work together.
Ruth packed another load of curds into a wooden mold. “You’re not doing the cooking, are you?”
Bec shook her head. Ruth knew about her culinary talents, which were nonexistent. “No, my friend would cook. He’s a professional.” Or he used to be. Anyway, he knew more about it than she did.
Ruth gave her a faint—very faint—smile. “Who is this friend? Do I know him?”
“I don’t think so. He’s new in town. I could introduce you—he’s from Denver. Wyatt Montgomery.”
“And he’s cooking? For somebody here in town?” Meaning for someone Ruth would know since she knew virtually everybody who cooked anything anywhere in Antero.
“No, he’s not a cook. That is, he’s not a cook anymore. He used to be a cook.” Bec took another breath, pulling herself together. “Look, Ruth, he owns a restaurant in Denver. And he’s doing this for me, sort of.”
Ruth was back to frowning, but then she shrugged. “If you vouch for him, I guess it’ll be okay. This would be at night after we close, right?”
Bec nodded. “Right. We wouldn’t be in your way at all. And we’d clean the whole place up afterward. You’ll never know we were here.”
“Except that I’ll now have an outdoor dining space.” Ruth sighed. “I’d actually thought about doing something with that space sometime, to tell you the truth. But I never got around to it.”
“Well, now you can see how you like it,” Bec said brightly. “Maybe you can use it for other things.”
Ruth gave her another of those half smiles. “Maybe. Who’s the couple? Are they from Denver, too?”
It took Bec a minute to figure out what couple she was talking about. “Oh. No. It’s local people. I don’t know who the girl is, actually. It’s Abel Parsons and someone he’s interested in, I guess. Wyatt promised him a romantic dinner for two.”
Ruth narrowed her eyes. “Abel? The malt guy Abel?”
Bec nodded, hoping against hope Ruth wouldn’t ask her whether this dinner had any connection to the future of Antero Brewing.
“Then it has to be Angel Lomax,” Ruth went on. “Abel’s had his eye on her for months. Not that Angel has ever noticed.”
For a moment, Bec froze, her brain going into free fall. Angel. Of course it’s Angel. I should have known. She picked up one of the plastic colanders from the stack next to the sink and began sieving out cheese curds so she wouldn’t have to look Ruth in the face. “Abel and Angel. Sounds like a sitcom.” She dumped the curds into a cheese mold, packing them down.
“I don’t know—I think it’s sort of sweet.” Ruth picked up her own colander and began sieving the other vat. “They’re both nice people. Maybe they’ll get together.”
“Maybe.” Bec sieved more curds, then packed them down again. Angel. Well, maybe we could kill two birds with one stone here. “Are we good? Abel needs to give us a date, but I think it should be sometime this week.”
Ruth shrugged. “I suppose. At least I’m getting an outside dining space out of the deal.”
“Right. Definitely.” Bec managed a smile, even if she didn’t feel much like one. With two of her suppliers having dinner together, she might be able to finish up her quest for the three vital ingredients. Then Wyatt would be on his way with her barrel of Zoria, leaving her both richer and more prepared to start on the next chapter of her life.
Which should have made her feel a lot happier than it did.
…
Wyatt resisted calling Abe before breakfast. The man was shy, after all. He might be hopelessly smitten with Angel Lomax, but it still might take him some time to work up enough nerve to talk to her.
Besides, now that he thought about it, this invitation could sound a little, well, weird. “Come out to dinner with me, Angel baby. Cooked by this guy I just met. In a location that’s supposed to be romantic. Trust me, Angel, it’ll be great.” Yeah, that could be a sort of a hard sell.
Still, it was reasonable in a kind of cockeyed romantic sense. And with any luck, Angel would see it that way.
He headed across the street to a small cafe he’d found a couple of days ago. Judging from the crowds, he wasn’t the only one who thought their breakfast was out of sight. He managed to wedge himself into a two-top at the side of the dining room, then sipped his coffee as he waited for his sunny side up eggs with bacon and hash browns. He’d begun to skim through the Grand Junction Sentinel when someone dropped into the chair opposite.
He raised his gaze, ready to reluctantly share the table, and saw Liam Dempsey giving him a slightly predatory smile.
“Morning,” Liam said.
Wyatt nodded. “It is that. Are you joining me?”
“Apparently. Where’s Jolene? I could use some coffee.”
Wyatt assumed Jolene was the waitress, although for all he knew it could be the heroine of the Dolly Parton song. “She’s due back with my breakfast. Or you could try running her down.” And get away from my table. On the whole, he wasn’t inclined to be too hospitable to Liam.
“That’s okay. Here she comes.”
Liam gave the waitress a smile that struck Wyatt as incredibly phony but which apparently seemed fine to her. “Hi, Jolene. Could I get some coffee and toast?”
“Sure, Liam.” She placed Wyatt’s breakfast in front of him without ceremony and headed back toward the kitchen.
Liam gave him another insincere smile. “Thanks for sharing your table with me. Denton’s can be crowded early on.”
Wyatt felt like pointing out that Liam hadn’t left him much choice, but he restrained himself. “Did you have a purpose in joining me, or is this pure serendipity?”
Liam flashed another of those smiles-that-weren’t. “Just thought I’d check up on your progres
s with my sister.”
For a moment, Wyatt thought he was talking about his thoroughly impure thoughts where Bec was concerned. “My progress? What do you mean?”
Liam’s smile dimmed. “With buying the beer. What other kind of progress did you think I was talking about?”
“Buying the beer.” Wyatt nodded slowly. “We’re working on it.”
“Is she toughing it out?”
“Not exactly.” Wyatt applied himself to his breakfast. He’d expected Bec would keep her brother informed about the sale of the Zoria and his luck in securing the ingredients she needed for another batch. After all, the two were partners, weren’t they? But judging from his questions, Liam didn’t know much. He wasn’t sure why Bec would conceal the information from her brother, but he knew he wasn’t going to pass on anything she hadn’t.
Liam sipped the coffee the waitress had brought him. “What kind of price is she asking?”
“Substantial.” Wyatt tore off a bite of bacon, keeping his attention on his plate.
“How substantial?”
Okay, enough. He put down his fork. “Isn’t that the kind of question you should be asking Bec?”
Liam shrugged, his smile disappearing. “I’m asking you.”
Wyatt paused. He’d been ready to tell Liam to go fuck himself, but all of a sudden he was curious. “Why?”
Liam shrugged again. “Maybe I want to make sure you’re not cheating her. She’s already gone through a lot with that brewery.”
“Is that why you’re grilling me? To make sure I won’t cheat Bec?” Wyatt paused, considering how Bec might respond to that. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll pass on your concerns to Bec when I see her. If she wants to reassure you, I guess she can get in touch.”
Liam’s smile was back, but now it looked slightly sour. “You don’t believe I’m truly concerned for my baby sister?”
Wyatt tried to picture Bec as anybody’s baby anything and failed. “I’m willing to believe you’re concerned. But I’m not the one you should be talking to about those concerns. And I’m guessing we both know that.”
Liam blew out a long breath. “How many other people know about the Zoria in Denver?”
Wyatt’s shoulders began to tense. “I don’t know. Some, probably. The last barrel that was sampled in Denver is sort of legendary. But I don’t know if anyone realizes there’s another barrel available.” Please not Christopher Threadgood.
“You’ve got a monopoly?” One of Liam’s eyebrows arched.
“I’m just first in line.” Wyatt took a bite of egg and potato. “Bec is free to contact anyone else she wants to. So far as I know, she hasn’t done that.” Sweet Jesus, I hope she hasn’t.
His shoulders felt uncomfortably tight. To get caught in a bidding war after everything he’d already put into this quest was definitely the kind of irony he didn’t need in his life. Plus he wasn’t sure how much more he could pay.
“Afraid of a little competition?” Liam’s smile had turned mocking.
Wyatt gritted his teeth. “What is it you want exactly, Dempsey? I won’t tell you about my deal with Bec. That’s between her and me. If she wants you to know, she can tell you herself. If that’s all you’re interested in, there’s not much else for us to talk about.”
Liam shrugged. “Trying to get a feel for what’s going on, how the process is working out. How satisfied everybody is.”
“I’m giving Bec everything she wants and needs,” Wyatt said between his teeth. “In my opinion, she’s very satisfied.”
A beat of silence stretched between them while he did a quick mental review of what he’d just said. Well, shit.
Liam looked like he was fighting a grin this time. “Do I have to whoop your ass or something, Montgomery? In defense of my baby sister’s honor?”
Wyatt pushed himself to his feet, tossing a couple of bills on the table in front of him. He figured there wasn’t much more he could say without making this situation worse. Anyway, he was already tired of the conversation. “You do what you think you have to do, Dempsey. See you around.”
Liam leaned forward quickly, his grin suddenly gone. “Listen, Montgomery. The last big time out-of-towner who blew through here destroyed the brewery. And Bec. It would be a good thing if you didn’t do that yourself. If you do, I may have to whoop your ass for real.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Wyatt turned and walked out of the restaurant. The worst part of it was that he hadn’t done anything with Bec that merited an ass whooping from an outraged older brother.
Not yet, anyway.
Chapter Ten
Wyatt waited until after lunch to call Abe Parsons. That gave the man almost twenty-four hours to have made his move. If he couldn’t bring himself to call Angel within twenty-four hours, Wyatt figured more extreme measures would be necessary, like calling Angel himself and trying to sound like Abe.
As it turned out, though, Abe had managed to guts up over the preceding day. “Tomorrow,” he said, a little breathlessly. “I told her I’d pick her up at seven. Is that okay?”
“Absolutely.” Wyatt made sure his voice oozed confidence. Tomorrow gave him the rest of today to get the back of the Salty Goat cleaned up and a menu put together. Then, in the morning, he’d buy the food and prepare it. He should be able to manage everything, particularly if he had help from Bec.
“Where are we going to go?” Abe sounded a little worried, and Wyatt couldn’t blame him. They might not have the same definition of romantic, after all.
“We’re setting up a dining area just for you,” he said. “On the riverbank. It should be terrific.”
“Should be?” Abel sounded even more nervous. “What if it isn’t?”
“It will be,” Wyatt corrected. Clearly he needed to watch his words with Abe. Anything less than absolute enthusiasm was likely to come across as doubtful, aka disastrous, from Abe’s point of view. “I’ll call you in the afternoon to let you know the address. It’s here in town. No driving involved. Unless you want to drive, of course.”
He had no idea what Abe’s romantic agenda was. Maybe he was counting on a backseat make-out session.
“Walking’s…good,” Abe said reluctantly. “Should work out.”
“Great.” Wyatt managed to inject a new note of enthusiasm into his voice. “We’ll keep in touch. Call me if you have any questions.” He started to say good-bye, then paused. “Any food allergies I should know about? Any kind of dishes you hate?”
“Food allergies?” Abe sounded panicked again. “I never thought to ask her about food allergies. Now I’ll have to call her back.”
Wyatt tried to see why that would be a problem and failed. “Tell her the dinner’s being made to order. We want to make sure it’s all stuff she’ll enjoy.”
“Right,” Abe muttered. “Right. Okay. I can do that.”
“Sure you can. Then you can call me back and let me know. Anything you don’t want to eat yourself?” Please, God, don’t let either of them be vegan. There were only so many dishes in his repertoire.
“Oh…” Abe paused for a few moments. “Don’t much like liver or heart or any guts, I guess.”
Right. No haggis. “Not a problem. Anything else?”
“I guess not. I’ll call you if I think of anything.”
“Do that. It’s going to be great, Abe.” Wyatt could only hope he sounded more sincere to Abe than he did to himself. Who, me? Nervous? Never!
Dropping his cell phone back in his pocket, he headed for the Salty Goat. If Bec had done her part, they’d be well on their way. Except for all the work they’d have to do to get the place in shape.
The eleven year old was behind the counter again, and she didn’t look any more impressed with him than she had the first time. “Still looking for Bec?” she asked.
He nodded. “I need a few minutes of her time.”
The kid gave him a long look, as if she was checking his suitability as a consort for the assistant cheese maker. Then she headed through
the swinging door at the back of the room. A few moments later, she was back with Bec.
Bec’s red hair frizzed slightly from beneath her white chef’s beanie, but her blue eyes were as sharp as ever. She looked faintly concerned. “What’s up? Deal fall through?”
My, aren’t we the little ray of sunshine?
“Not at all. I wanted to bring you up to date. And have you bring me up to date, assuming you’ve done your homework.” He folded his arms across his chest and tried to look detached, but he doubted it worked. She looked too delectable—even in an outfit that seemed designed to suck away as much sex appeal as possible.
“Oh. Okay.” She bit down on her lower lip, white teeth bright against the plush pink of her mouth. His body promptly went into overdrive.
Stop it, for Christ’s sake. There’s a kid at the cash register. A kid who was watching them both with raised eyebrows.
Bec glanced at the cash register kid, then back at him. “Maybe we can go out back,” she said quickly.
“Good idea.” He followed her through the door to the back of the building.
“Ruth said it’s okay to use her kitchen and the yard,” Bec said as she walked. “As long as we clean up when we’re done.”
“Which we will. She’ll never know we were here.” They stepped into the backyard, and he paused. He hadn’t noticed how many weeds there were back here. Hell, the place was sort of a jungle. Maybe he could find a mower somewhere—or possibly a scythe. Maybe a machete.
“Did you talk to Abe?” Bec pulled off her beanie, fanning her face with it.
“Yep. We’re on for tomorrow at seven.”
She paused, her eyes stricken. “That soon?”
“I’m just glad it isn’t tonight. That gives us today to get everything set up out here before we have to work on the meal.”
She surveyed the yard, chewing on her lip again. He managed to keep his gaze on the river. “It’s kind of mangy, isn’t it? It looked a lot better at night.”
“Good sign,” he said quickly. “We want it to look great at night. It doesn’t matter as much what it looks like in the daytime.”
