A Texas Thanksgiving

“Because she enjoys preparing our meals, but especially coming out here and showing me just how lacking I am in housekeeping skills. She’s angling to be our housekeeper, although she would hate ranch life.”

Julia surveyed the kitchen with its clean counters and lack of dirty dishes in the sink. “I’d say you do a good job.”

“Not according to my mother-in-law. She believes her granddaughter lives in a pigsty.”

Julia stopped next to the oak table with two yellow place mats on it. “You’re kidding! I was considering hiring you to come over to my apartment and clean it.”

Julia liked the sound of his laughter that suddenly warmed the small space between them. Any lingering tension from Marge dissipated as his gaze captured hers. Her heartbeat picked up speed.

He broke eye contact with her, focusing on the bag on the counter. “What are we cooking today?”

“Spaghetti.”

“The kind in a can?”

She shook her head. “I think you’ve probably mastered that. Let’s move on to something more challenging.”

“Are you sure that’s wise? I once boiled an egg that exploded in the pan because I forgot about it.”

“I’m sure. But I like to live dangerously.”

“You might regret saying that before this is over.” He looked beyond her to the back door. “We’d better get to the barn before my daughter has Bessie saddled and decides to give her own lesson.”

“She’s good for her age. How long has she been riding?”

“Almost two years. Since I’ve had the ranch. She was so enthralled with the horses that I was afraid she would try to ride on her own if I didn’t teach her.” He grabbed his cowboy hat from a peg near the door.

“Paige sounds more and more like my Ellie. No wonder they like each other.” Julia left the house first, conscious of Evan’s gaze on her as she descended the steps on the back stoop.

“I’m not sure if I’m glad or scared. Paige can be a whirlwind.”

Julia slanted her glance toward him as they strolled to the barn. She could easily picture him riding over his land, saving a calf that had fallen into a hole, mending his fences, breaking a wild horse—everything but being a cook.

“Why didn’t you just say cook the onions?” Evan crunched up his mouth, his eyebrows beetling, as he stood at the stove brandishing a wooden spoon in his hand as though it were a weapon.

“Because a recipe will say sauté. If you’re going to cook, you need to learn the terms, too. Words like whisk, brown, fold, caramelize.”

“Why would I caramelize anything? I don’t even like caramel.”

Julia pressed her lips together to keep from laughing out loud, but a chuckle or two escaped. “When you caramelize something like diced onions, you cook them until they are a caramel color.”

He pushed his hand through his hair. “All I want to learn are a few dishes so Paige and I won’t starve. Today has confirmed that I can’t continue to be so reliant on Marge. Now I discover I have to learn a whole new language. I’m almost afraid to ask what fold means in cooking. I know how to fold laundry.”

“First, stir the onions before they burn.”

Evan complied, muttering something under his breath that he at least understood the word burn.

“When you fold something in, you slowly add it to a mixture, gently turning over the batter as you do. For example, you might fold strawberries into a cake batter. You wouldn’t want to stir them too vigorously.”

“No, I’m sure I wouldn’t.”

“Now that the onions are clear and the meat is brown, it’s time to add the rest of the ingredients, turn the heat down and let the sauce simmer.”

“Is simmering in cooking similar to a temper simmering?” He dumped in a can of diced tomatoes. Some of the liquid splattered on him and the stove.

“Yes, like browning meat is just what it means. You’ll want the meat to turn brown—not black or stay pink.” She gave him a dish towel to wipe his hands.

“But I like a steak red.”

“That’s a steak, not ground beef. You don’t want it red or pink when making a sauce.”

“This isn’t gonna be easy, is it?” He added the tomato paste.

“You’ll get the hang of it.” She hoped, and sent a silent prayer to the Lord for guidance. She loved to cook but had never taught another person how. “My plan is to teach you to prepare a few meals that children like to eat. Things like macaroni and cheese, spaghetti, pizza.”

“Pizza? You don’t just order it from a restaurant?”

She laughed. “Believe it or not, some people actually make it in their homes.”

“I guess stranger things have happened.” He put in the last of the spices that she had taught him to measure earlier—or rather, demonstrated how. “Done.”

Julia pointed to the knob on the front of the stove. “Turn it down halfway between low and medium. Now we’ll get the water on for the spaghetti.”

“That shouldn’t be too hard. I do know how to boil water.”

“Unless you leave an egg in it too long.”

“Spaghetti doesn’t explode, does it?”

The smile he sent her caused a fluttering in her stomach. “Not to my knowledge, but you can overcook it.” She gestured toward a pot, trying to dismiss her reaction to his heart-melting grin. “Let’s fill it three-quarters of the way and put some salt in.”

He followed her instruction, placing the water on the burner. Julia handed him the salt. When he sprinkled it into the liquid, she turned to put the spices away in the cabinet next to the stove.

When she glanced back at him a minute later, she caught him staring at her, still sprinkling salt into the water. She clamped her hand around his wrist and yanked it back. “What are you doing?”

He looked down at the pan. “Putting salt in the water like you said.”

“A little of it goes a long way.”

“I didn’t use a lot.”

Her gaze connected with his. The fragrance of onion, tomatoes, spices and ground beef cooking teased her nostrils. The sound of the water beginning to boil competed with the ticking of the wall clock. But for a few seconds none of that really registered. All of her senses centered on the man being so close. She could smell a hint of lime in his aftershave lotion. The depths of his eyes glinted a smoky blue. She felt the pull of them.

Giggling from the living room dispelled the moment. When he looked away, she realized she was still holding his arm and immediately released her grasp, backing away a few steps.

“Uh,” she grappled for something to say, “why don’t you put a little oil into the water?”

“Why would I want to do that?” His face scrunched up in an expression of horror.