Cowboy In The Kitchen

“I’ve laid out this kitchen nine ways from Friday and I’ve planned out exactly how it should operate. I’ve been remodeling it in my mind since I was sixteen and fried my first green tomato.”

“Then why didn’t you make it happen yourself?” There was annoyance in the way she barked the question.

“I never imagined anybody would make the investment in this place, given its reputation.” Hearing his excuse made Hunt feel like the whiner his brothers had accused him of being that very same morning.

“Well, you were wrong. It only took me one walk-through to realize this property could be spectacular.”

“So you’ve already told me.” He scuffed his hand through his hair, Gillian’s aggravation spilling over to him. “Just give me the budget and I’ll get the best return for your investment.”

She retrieved a notepad from her purse, flipped over a few pages and then held it up so Hunt could read the bottom-line figure, circled in red ink. “We must stay within that amount.”

Hunt exhaled a soft whistle. He’d be bitter about her ability to exercise such generosity if he wasn’t going to enjoy spending the rich girl’s money.

“Well, can you make it work?”

“I’ll see what I can do.” He feigned uncertainty. “There’s wiggle room, of course.”

“None whatsoever.” She flipped her notepad closed and poked it into her bag. “I don’t intend to rob Peter to pay Paul during this project. I’ve worked this budget out with my financial advisor nine ways from Friday, as you so eloquently put it. There’s no reason we can’t open Moore House on schedule and without breaking the bank.”

Moore House. Cold chills rippled up Hunt’s spine each time he heard the name. Surely the sensation was caused by Pap rolling over in his unmarked grave.

* * *

MOORE HOUSE. JUST the mention of it comforted Gillian like a thick quilt on a bleak winter day. Her parents’ investment of their years of vigilant saving simply had to bear fruit, and in a big way. There could be no other outcome, or her folks would be working the rest of their lives, and she’d never hear the end of it from her father.

Gillian loved the hospitality business and would work in corporate service if there was no other choice. But caring for her own guests under her own roof was her dream.

She’d been short with Hunt just now about his ambitions, but the man had dragged his feet and let a golden opportunity pass him by. That was his issue. She had plenty of her own.

Highest on the list was to meet her grand opening deadline to make the most of the holiday season. To do it, she’d personally have to watch every penny, and that meant keeping a close eye on Hunt. Everything he put on his inventory list had to be absolutely necessary and the best value possible. She’d drive a rental truck to Dallas and pick up the stainless-steel appliances herself if it would save a buck.

“You’re the boss,” Hunt reminded Gillian, returning her attention to their discussion. “Far be it from me to argue if you want to cut corners.”

“You can’t be serious.” His crooked smirk revealed that the man was intentionally goading her. “That’s a very generous budget. If you’re not able to handle the job, I’m sure I can find a capable chef, even if I have to take a risk on an unknown,” she bluffed.

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist. We made a deal, and I intend to keep my end of the bargain.”

Her cell buzzed again. Gillian slipped her hand inside the pocket of her shoulder bag, retrieved the phone and, no surprise, noted her father had called twice in the past fifteen minutes.

“My knickers are none of your concern. But our contract certainly is, so speak now or be legally bound through the end of the year.”

He held his palms outward. “I apologize, that comment was inappropriate. How can I make it up to you?”

The phone sounded once more. She held up her index finger to indicate she needed a minute to take the call. With the phone to her ear, she turned away, briefly but firmly telling her father she would call him shortly. Then she faced Hunt again, the enormity of the undertaking hitting her. Maybe she could delegate.

“Since you offered, would you meet with the kitchen designer for me? He’s on his way, and I still have a lot to cover with the contractor in the other room who’s probably charging me by the hour for this meeting. So I’ve got to go. Can I trust you to handle things with the designer and report to me as soon as your meeting is finished?”

“Of course. How about if I give you a full rundown over dinner tonight?”

“Dinner?” She wasn’t sure it was wise to spend an hour with Hunt away from the workplace. Tongues would wag in this small Texas town. “Where?”

“My brother’s house, unless you’d rather go out.”

“Actually, a home-cooked meal sounds wonderful.”

It had only been a week, but Gillian was already tired of the small restaurant in the chain hotel where she was staying.

“Any special requests?” Hunt asked.

“I’m game for something local, whatever’s in season.”

“Right now, squirrel is in season.” He clamped his lips together to suppress a grin.

She slanted her eyes at some invisible point above him and considered how to respond.

“Surprise me,” she finally challenged.

“Consider it done. Now go take care of your remodeling man, and I’ll deal with the kitchen guy. What’s his name, by the way?”

She checked her notes. “Steve Froehlich.”

“Froehlich? I don’t know of any Froehlichs in these parts.”

“He’s from Houston. Since he’s working another job in Tyler at the moment, he agreed to drive over.”

“Did you invite anybody local to bid? I’m sure I could make a good recommendation if you’ll give me a day to ask around.” He snapped his fingers. “I played ball with a guy named Karl Gates who works with his dad. They’re the best carpenters in Rusk County. What do you say I give him a call?”

She raised a palm against his offer. “Don’t start with that good-old-boy network business. I’m aware of how you guys operate.”

“I haven’t done anything to deserve your suspicion.” Hunt took offense.

“You haven’t done anything yet.” Gillian motioned with two fingers from her eyes to Hunt’s, then turned and hurried away. The clock was ticking and she was spending her parents’ money.

But in her rush to get things done, had she put too much trust in Hunt too soon?

* * *

THE MAN WHO answered the front door of the home that evening was the mirror image of Hunt, but Gillian realized instantly it was his twin. Hunt’s dark brown hair was neatly cropped; his face always clean-shaven.

This man’s hair was on the shaggy side with a couple days’ worth of very appealing stubble on his chin. And in contrast to Hunt’s GQ style, this twin was dressed comfortably in a flannel shirt and jeans faded by years of wear.

“Gillian Moore?” he asked. When she smiled, he offered his hand and drew her across the threshold. “I’m Hunt’s older and better-lookin’ twin brother, Cullen.”

“Go ahead and admit that you’re also smarter than the rest of us,” Hunt called from inside the house. “You’ll reveal your brilliance eventually, you always do, so get it over with up front.”

“He’s right,” Cullen agreed, lowering his chin modestly. “I am the best-educated of the Temple brothers, but I’m not so sure that makes me smarter than anybody besides Hunt, which ain’t sayin’ much.”

“Whoa, I always heard twins were kindred souls, each protective of the other.”