Cowboy In The Kitchen

It seemed her earlier fears about trusting the man were well-founded.

CHAPTER SIX

ON THE DRIVE to Temple Territory the next day, Hunt prepared himself to be in the doghouse with Gillian. He’d called twice that morning, and it’d gone to voice mail both times. Yep, he was on her bad side, he just wasn’t certain why. She’d enjoyed the meal, cleaned her plate and even agreed the fricassee was a dish worthy of his menu.

Correction. Her menu.

“I gotta stop acting as if I’m running this show,” he muttered to himself. “That’s probably why she took off before I got a chance to serve the crème brûlée.”

In fairness, she had come in the door last night making noise about having to work later that evening. But it was just as likely the hotel heiress had to report to her daddy as to how she was spending his money. Hunt could just imagine her observations—the East Texas locals were slow as molasses in Minnesota, and as easy as shootin’ fish in a barrel. Flash some cash and these folks will go along with anything.

In Gillian’s mind, setting up shop in this quiet little town would be a sure thing.

Hunt snapped his fingers.

A sure thing. That’s the boss lady’s Achilles’s heel!

She thought her money was the silver bullet, the solution to every problem. Well, it wouldn’t buy loyalty or respect. And it wouldn’t buy the one thing she needed to succeed in these parts: the hearts of the local folks.

By the time the Jeep’s wheels crunched on the asphalt of the private drive, Hunt’s mind was humming with a question. Did he dare exploit Gillian’s weak spot in hopes of getting her to give up on her plan?

And if he was successful? Then what? He’d put together a group of investors. That’s what.

He pulled alongside a new Silverado with local plates, then poked the keys underneath the cracked seat of the old Wrangler and headed toward the stucco mansion. Voices drifted from the kitchen into the high-ceilinged vestibule where Gillian said she planned to install her guest registration desk. A low voice rumbled, punctuated by female laughter. Hunt quickened his steps to investigate.

“So we’re in agreement, ma’am?”

“I believe we are,” Gillian responded to a tall guy in jeans and cowboy boots. The square shoulders beneath the chambray shirt were familiar, but it was the double cowlick on the crown of the auburn head that gave the visitor’s identity away.

“Karl Gates, you redheaded stepchild, is that you?”

The man spun around with a wide smile and stepped into Hunt’s bear hug. They held on in friendship, slapping one another on the ribs harder than necessary to see who’d release the embrace first.

“One of you is going to break a bone if you don’t knock it off,” Gillian intervened.

“What are you doing here, man?” Hunt held his best high school buddy at arm’s length.

“I could ask you the same thing, Temple. Thought you dumped us to live in some country where they eat slugs and fish eggs and call it fine quee-zeen.”

The common sentiment, that he’d dumped his old friends to be a celebrity, stung. But that was why he had come home. To put things right.

“Believe it or not, people eat that stuff just up the road in Dallas.”

“That’s exactly why Cathy Ann and I don’t go any farther than Longview for a night on the town.”

“There are some adventurous eateries in Longview, my friend.”

“Well, the most adventure I want on my plate is a porterhouse from Bubba’s House O’ Beef, if you know what I mean.”

Hunt faked a shudder of disgust, then moved his attention to Gillian. “Should we post a guard at the street to keep riffraff off the property?”

“Mr. Gates is here at my invitation.”

“Is that a fact?” Hunt wondered how this turn of events might figure into his new plan. Karl could be helpful throwing a wrench in Gillian’s works if he was willing to cooperate.

“Yep.” Karl seemed pleased. “Imagine my surprise when Miss Moore called the office this morning and asked us to take a gander at what she wants to do over here. Dad sure is tickled to bid on the job. Updating the woodwork in this big old house will put some extra guys on the payroll. And right here before the holidays, they really could use the work.”

“Gillian, do you want me to take it from here?” Hunt offered.

“No, thanks. Mr. Gates and I spent the past couple of hours walking the rooms for the first phase of restoration, and he understands what I have in mind.”

Karl lifted a yellow legal pad from the gaping, scarred ledge that had held a deep porcelain sink decades ago. He tucked his notes under his arm, clicked his pen, slipped it into his shirt pocket and then covered his cowlicks with a straw Stetson. Gillian took the hand he offered, and the warm smile they exchanged made Hunt the odd man out.

“Miss Moore, I’ll have drawings and samples to you by the end of the week.”

“Perfect. I’ll make a decision as soon as all the bids are in. I’d love to award the work to a local carpenter, but the financials have to be right.”

“We won’t disappoint you, ma’am.”

Gillian’s infernal cell phone buzzed. She pulled it from her pocket, then asked, “Hunt, would you mind showing Mr. Gates to the parking lot? I should speak with my father right now.” She faced the other direction so her daddy would get her full attention, which was more courtesy than she’d given Hunt’s calls that morning.

He waited until they were clear of the house before he ventured past general pleasantries with Karl. “So let’s hear all about your meeting with the boss lady.”

“That’s a woman determined to get what she wants, if you know what I mean.”

“And you agree with her ideas?”

“Not entirely, but my job is to please the client.”

“Well, mine is to keep her from destroying the history of this place, and I intend to do it. I want to review what you draw up before you present it to Gillian.”

“Oh, I’m not so sure about that, Temple.” Karl tugged off his Stetson and slapped the brim against his thigh. “This is business, and I can’t afford to screw it up. I can add up the number of mansions being converted into hotels around here on one hand. One finger, actually. This town ain’t anything like the places you come from.”

“I come from Kilgore, same as you,” Hunt reminded his old friend. “And how do you expect she heard about you? I got your foot in the door, didn’t I? You can count on my vote when the bids are all on the table. I don’t want a crew from Houston up here any more than you do, so work with me, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.” Karl climbed in the cab of his pickup, slammed the door and propped his elbow on the open window sill. “How come you’re home again? I thought you wanted to get out of Dodge and lose the town gossip about your family for good. You’re the Cowboy Chef now.” Karl mocked the title. “What do you want with us?”

“Hey, can’t a guy come see his brothers without everybody being suspicious?”

“I guess so.”

“And it seems I got here in the nick of time. I’ve gotta keep this place from becoming a No-Tell Motel. And you’re going to help me, my friend.”

“I’ll do what I can.” Karl put the key in the ignition and the engine rumbled to life. “So what’s up between you and Ms. Moore? Are you just letting her foot the bill to accomplish what you always said you wanted for this old place, or is there something personal going on?”

“What makes you ask either question?” Hunt kept his voice light. “I only met the lady a few weeks ago and you make it sound as if I’m taking advantage of her.”

“Well, you ought to at least get to know her better, and fast. That woman’s a looker. And when word gets around the Piney Woods that there’s a rich, single woman in Kilgore, she’s gonna have to fight men off with a stick, if you know what I mean.” He winked and headed his truck toward the exit.