Nathan's Big Sky

by M. L. Buchman

  She tromped up the stairs, the treads creaking badly. They were stout enough and served their purpose well enough for a storage loft, but for an office space, she needed to pop them up, then glue and screw to kill the squeaks. Another task on her already overwhelming list. Maybe she should just pop off all the treads and maroon Nathan up here by himself.

  He was sitting on a sawhorse facing her when she walked in.

  “What is it with you, Nathan?” Not the nicest of greetings.

  “I like you, Julie.”

  It took her a moment to shift gears. She wasn’t expecting such a simple statement from a guy. “You’ve got a weird way of showing it.”

  “Wasn’t me. Just my brother. I never could beat decent manners into him.”

  “He wasn’t the one bragging about kissing me.”

  “Neither was I. He was complaining that he hadn’t and I had.”

  “But I heard—” What had she heard?

  “He saw us. And I couldn’t get him to shut up. Has he really been coming on to you like you were a side dish?”

  “More like a slab of female first course.”

  “I should pound him,” the look of anger that suffused his face only fit Nathan if he really was the white knight. She’d never met one. Didn’t even believe in them since she’d been grabbed hard and in nasty ways at ten by an eleven-year-old Danny Andersen. Julie had thrown every single one of her cherished princess and fairy tale books in the manure pit that day. It didn’t seem likely that a New York chef could actually be a white knight, but he was doing a fair imitation. Either he was better at it than most others—because at least he was trying—or maybe it was one of those sneaky games he’d mentioned.

  “If you do decide to beat him up, I’ll be glad to help. I’ve tried most everything else to get him to back off.”

  “There won’t be anything left after I strangle the little rat.” Nathan was still angry enough that he looked ready to spit out horseshoe nails.

  “Are you now doing some macho, she’s-mine, kind of hooey?”

  “No! It’s just not the way you’re supposed to treat a woman,” then about half his fury dissipated when he looked up from the hole he’d been trying to glare through the floor. “You mean like some hound dog peeing on his turf?”

  “Exactly like that.”

  Nathan actually looked puzzled as he inspected her, the floor, the ceiling, and then her again. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “You don’t think so?” She finally sat on the other sawhorse.

  “Never thought about it really. But I don’t strike me as the guy who does that kind of thing.”

  “All guys do that kind of thing.” At least all of the guys she’d ever met.

  Nathan just shrugged.

  He was silent long enough for her to become aware of the dust motes in the air and the occasional huffing sighs of horses perfectly content to be inside on a chilly day.

  “As I said, I like you. But I’m not stupid enough to think that a kiss, no matter how spectacular, makes you mine in any way. The only claim I can make on you is that I like you. I seem to keep saying that. I guess because Emily said I should.”

  “Emily said you should keep saying that you like me? You asked her for relationship advice after a single kiss?” Julie didn’t know whether to go back to being furious or to laugh.

  “Not exactly. She said that I should remind you that you like me. And no, I didn’t ask for advice. I just asked if she knew where you were.”

  “She thinks that I was so angry because I’d forgotten I liked you?”

  Nathan shrugged a yes.

  That tipped her over into laughter.

  “What?”

  “So much for the infallible Emily Beale.”

  Nathan tentatively matched her smile, but he didn’t get the joke yet.

  “I got so angry because I do like you. Now get out of here, I have work to do.”

  He nodded and rose. He didn’t go for a kiss. Didn’t even hesitate to see if she’d offer one. He just took her at her word, rose, and left.

  If he wasn’t the strangest thing in the history of Teton County, she didn’t know what was.

  Chapter 6

  As soon as Nathan knew what was going on, he had a plan. It couldn’t be sneaky, instead it had to be utterly blatant or it might just irritate her again and there’d be no predicting the end result.

  The plan was so clear in his head that he hadn’t even thought to kiss her when leaving Emily’s loft office until he was out of the barn and most of the way back to the house. It was just as well, he didn’t want anything messing up his plan.

  He couldn’t do anything about it that night, except a bit of prep. Sunday dinners were apparently a big deal on a Montana ranch. Emily helped him and Ama with the cooking, others chatted from the fireside or were recruited to peel or chop.

  Julie was her usual all-over-the-place on Monday, which worked well for him. Unexpectedly she came down to the house for lunch—which he still couldn’t get straight in his head was supposed to be called dinner. Her arrival almost messed up his preparations, but he managed to hide the ingredients he’d been assembling without having her any the wiser.

  Only Ama knew what he was up to and she didn’t say a word.

  Patrick and the not-twins were merely moderately obnoxious to their unexpected lunch guest—at least they weren’t downright offensive. He didn’t dare jump to her defense because that would just egg on different rumors. Emily shut that down hard when she joined them, though. Hard enough to earn his appreciation of her, even if no one else at the table appeared to notice. Maybe it had been just normal teasing. Julie had certainly handled it as such, but he still didn’t like it.

  After lunch (dinner), she headed up onto the hill.

  Perfect.

  He carried his first load of supplies up to the Aspen cabin as soon as he and Ama had lunch put away. Julie was right, of course. If he had to choose any cabin of the five, now that he’d toured them all, it would be this one. The others stood together on the grassy hillside. Aspen’s treed cloister cut down on the vista to either side, but it made it private and cozy. Once inside, he fired up the cabin’s heat and the oven.

  Julie answered his casual wave with a nod from where she, Mac, Doug, and Mark were auguring piling holes up at the new cabin sites. They had giant cardboard tubes that they slipped down into each hole as soon as it was dug out.

  His hands were full on the next trip as he brought up most of the rest of the cooking supplies. She was driving her truck down for more of the tubes as he walked up the trail from the house, so this time it was his nod to her wave.

  Last night he’d set a pair of steaks in marinade made mostly of red wine. The wine pre-digested the meat just enough that it would be fork tender by the time he cooked it. He started in on German scalloped potatoes, done in a vinegar-bacon sauce rather than a cream one.

  As he worked through the warm afternoon, he was pleased to discover that he still enjoyed cooking. He hadn’t been sure if that was something else he’d left in New York. Helping Ama prepare the meals for the family and the ranch hands had been pleasant, but it wasn’t real cooking. This was, and it was fun.

  He used a cookie cutter to make sure that each circle of puff pastry was exactly the same size for the tiny puff pizzas which he would garnish with roasted pepper, a sauce he’d spent all morning building on jarred tomato, and identical slivers of caramelized onion cut on the bias to make each piece a curling arc around tiny cubes of roasted winter squash and Ama’s sausage.

  He’d had to discard a dozen different dessert ideas due to lack of ingredients before he’d decided that simpler was better. Fresh vanilla bean ice cream on individual-sized huckleberry and candied ginger pies.

  The sun was headed down when he made his last trip to the house for a bottle of wine and a couple of glasses. He’d purposely left it behind because he wanted to pique her curiosity with another back-and-forth.

  The work crew knocke
d off about the time he returned to Aspen cabin. His timing was perfect.

  He checked on everything that was cooking, poured two glasses, and headed out to sit on the porch swing.

  By the time Julie rolled her truck to stop on the dirt track below the cabin, he was relaxed and enjoying the last of the sun’s warmth before it ducked down behind the mountains.

  “What have you been up to all afternoon, city boy?” she called from her open truck window.

  “Come see for yourself, cowgirl.” He picked up the second wine glass and held it aloft as an offer.

  She cut the engine and eased out of the cab with the care of someone who’d been working hard all day. “All I want is a hot shower and a beer.”

  “Rats! I didn’t think to turn on the water heater.” She looked just fine to him in dirt-spattered boots and jeans. Her fleece-lined denim jacket, a yellow bill hat with a blue Ford logo on the front, and her hair pulled into a ponytail through the back loop were also just what he’d expect of a woman like her. Utterly practical.

  “Do you even know how to turn on a water heater?” She came up on the porch. “Are you trying to seduce me?”

  “Probably not.”

  She eyed him strangely.

  “I mean the water heater.”

  “So, you probably are trying to seduce me? Fair warning, it’s not going to work.”

  “No, I know. I just wanted to cook for you. We had some bargain about me having to cook for you.”

  “So that I don’t teach my evil ways to Patrick.”

  “That was it. I think he has enough of his own already. He is a good kid, you know. Even if sometimes he doesn’t show it so well.”

  “Sure,” Julie agreed as she finally unwound enough to sit down beside him and take the glass of wine. “Or maybe he will be if he ever grows up.”

  Nathan decided that both parts of that statement bore a lot of truth.

  “So what did you cook for me?”

  “Dinner. Or I guess you call it supper.”

  “I’ve never in my life had a meal like that.” But it seemed that she certainly should have. Food was normally just something to be eaten, but not Nathan’s supper.

  Through each course he’d explained how, when there was time to make it properly, a meal should unfold in layers of flavor. The tiny shredded pork ravioli were swimming in a broth that she could gladly have bathed in it was so tasty. He’d explained how the meal would have shifted if he’d followed with a fish course rather than a winter greens salad with walnuts and a mustard vinaigrette.

  The night of the party, when he’d said he could cook, she’d foolishly thought that meant he could “cook.” Maybe at one of the fancy hotels in Great Falls, which served scallops and fancy fish from Alaska. She’d had king-crab-stuffed sirloin once and it had been…good. She’d thought it had been great, prior to this moment.

  Now all she cared about was how glorious she felt. The flavors, the preparations, she’d never cut a two-inch steak with just the edge of her fork before. And it had practically melted on her tongue.

  The company had been shockingly pleasant as well. The warm fire, which Nathan had built tolerably well, made Aspen even more welcoming than she’d ever imagined. There was no candle on the table, which she realized was not an oversight. Nathan really didn’t seem to be running a seduction here. Instead they ate by the light of a single lamp—the table so friendly that there was no motivation to leave it for the living room. The meal itself seemed to have wandered forever, meandering down odd conversational lanes into strange and dusty corners that were always interesting.

  “How can you know so little about the world? You live in New York.”

  Nathan shook his head as he nursed a cup of tea and took a final scrape of melted ice cream. “I live, lived, in a kitchen. My world is ingredients, not…” he flapped his hand outward, “…all that noise.”

  “Sherlock Holmes,” she said, wondering if he’d get a literary reference.

  “Right. The case of the… I can’t remember… A Study in Scarlet. Sherlock complains when Watson tells him that the planets orbit around the sun. That fact was irrelevant and useless to his purpose of solving crimes. He didn’t wish to have it cluttering his thoughts. Works for me.”

  Julie tipped her head back and forth studying him. “You’re a very strange person, Mr. Gallagher.”

  “I could have told you that much. Why this time?”

  “As far as I can tell, you haven’t done a single thing to try and impress me.”

  He laughed, “I told you that I only had one skill. I know how to cook. If that didn’t impress you, I’ve played the only card I’ve got. Shot my full quiver.”

  “Impress me? That was not cooking—I’d call it delirium, it was so good. Not what I meant anyway. I mean, you aren’t trying to show off your knowledge, or how good you are at something. Not how many cattle you can brand in a single hour, or your epic ride on the latest rodeo bronc, or even how many prize belt buckles you’ve won.”

  “There’s such a thing as a prize belt buckle?” He sat forward shoving aside some plates and dishes so that he could lean on the table. But it wasn’t as if he was leaning in to get closer to her. He was just being comfortable.

  She laughed because she couldn’t help herself. She was very proud of the ones that adorned her bedroom wall.

  “There are even things called Buckle Bunnies. They’re women who wear cowboy boots and painfully short shorts.”

  “Let me guess. They go to rodeos and try to trip cowboys.”

  “Bingo.”

  “Any boy buckle bunnies trying to trip cowgirls?”

  “Nah. Just—”

  “Rutting cowboys,” they said in unison and she laughed again. She could feel the attraction across the table—a very nice bit of sizzle. But Nathan had none of the aggressiveness necessary to be a rutting cowboy. Overall, though, he was still climbing on both the prince charming and white knight scales.

  Nathan sobered, “As to how many of those things I can brag about? That’s easy. Does zero count as an answer?”

  “It does. I’m not particularly sure what to do with it. But it counts. I think.”

  “I can’t wrangle a cow. I can’t build a cabin. I can’t train a dog or ride a horse. I’m—”

  “Wait a second. Back up there, city boy.”

  “A dog? I was watching Stan out there working with those military dogs he’s training. I see why he doesn’t talk to people; his main language is dog. And he’s good at it.”

  “Not that. You can’t ride a horse?” Julie didn’t know if she’d ever actually met someone who couldn’t ride a horse. Even the most incompetent city guests who came to Henderson Ranch were coming to ride horses. “Tessa is three years old and can ride a pony just fine. Though it spooks Emily every time she does. Belle will be three months in a little bit. Definitely time to get her up on a horse.”

  Nathan looked aghast, exactly as Julie had planned.

  “In someone’s arms. She can’t even sit up yet. You let go and she just tips back over and giggles. Cutest kid you ever saw.” And how she’d ended talking babies with Nathan Gallagher, she had no idea. She gunned back for the prior topic. “Really, really never ridden?”

  Nathan just shrugged. “They rent horses up in Central Park. At least I think they do, but I never hired one.”

  “You can’t ride a horse.”

  Nathan looked around the room. “Strange echo in here. Never heard a delay like that one before. Never pet a horse either. Don’t think I’ve so much as touched a horse. Or a cow. Well, you know, not before it was butchered. No interested in petting Lucy, just so you know.”

  “Oh, city boy. We really are gonna have to fix that. Soon.”

  He squirmed uncomfortably in his seat.

  “Not an option, city boy. It’s just too sad for words.”

  “Yeah, that’s me.” The way he said it stopped her.

  There was something more behind that, something she’d caught a gli
mpse of earlier in the week—sad and painful. But it was clear he didn’t want her prying. And after the amazing meal, she decided that kindness was something she could give him, tonight anyway. But it was the second time she’d caught something wrong and she was going to have to dig it out; it was bugging her like a stone in Clarence’s shoe.

  She went searching for a different topic—and spewed out pure stupid.

  “So what’s the course after dessert? Is this when you try to seduce me?” Talk about giving him an vast opening. Bad move. Very bad move.

  Nathan smacked his forehead with his open palm. “I knew there was something I was supposed to be doing next. I’ve got to run down to the main house and get some bedding. Could you check upstairs and see if the mattresses are musty? Probably should have scattered rose petals up the stairs and into the bedroom. You don’t have any rose petals handy do you?” He started patting his pockets as if he’d find them. For half a second she thought he was going to actually rush out for sheets and blankets and, be still her heart, rose petals.

  Then the joke caught up with her. “You run a runt’s seduction, city boy.”

  “Special for you, cowgirl,” he dropped back in his chair as if exhausted by all of his momentary flurry. “Actually, I thought that maybe just getting to know you a bit might be fun. That, and find out if I can still cook.”

  “Put a big check in that last box, Nathan. It was truly amazing.”

  He was nodding to himself as if he wasn’t so sure.

  “Okay. Spit it out. Enough of this sad dog act.”

  “Spit what out?”

  But he didn’t deny the sad dog part of it.

  After a moment he raised both hands in resignation. “Not tonight, okay? Not over my food. Maybe over someone else’s.”

  “Well, don’t be looking at me. I can cook on a grill or a campfire well enough to not poison most folks, but I’m all thumbs in a kitchen.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind for the future. What are my survival odds? Fifty-fifty? Sixty-forty? Still might be worth the risk.”

  “Might end up accidentally knocking your cowboy hat into the fire,” she made it a threat.