Tamed by a Texan

A smiling hostess with a profusion of curly hair greeted them. “Two this evening, gentlemen?”

“Yes, ma’am. But we can’t stay long,” Ty said apologetically. “So no need to waste a table on us. Seats at the bar would be fine.”

“You got it.” She gestured toward the back corner of the room. “Amy’s got some great specials going on tonight. Enjoy.”

The decor consisted mostly of framed photographs. Old black-and-white family pictures intermingled with colorful landscapes of the region. He recognized shots of Main Street from his exploring town this afternoon. There was a photo of three kids, a tiny dark-haired girl standing between two lanky boys, in front of The Twisted Jalapeño. He wondered how long the restaurant had been doing business. The place had its charm—and something certainly smelled good—but as he and Stephen walked through the dining area, he noted signs of age and disrepair. This restaurant needed some TLC…if “TLC” stood for infusion of cash.

About half the tables they passed were occupied, but the bar was mostly empty. At one end, a woman spoke into her cell phone while twirling a straw in her margarita; at the other was a man in a suit, with a laptop in front of him. Ty and Stephen took seats at the middle of the counter. The bartender had purple hair and a butterfly tattoo on her upper arm, revealed by her blue tank top and black leather vest.

She smiled at them. “Can I interest you two in…” She trailed off, blinking at Ty, then mumbled something.

He couldn’t be one hundred percent sure, but he thought she said, “Oh, this should be good.”

She walked away briefly, returning with a basket of tortilla chips and some green salsa. “Those are our drink specials tonight.” She pointed to a chalkboard at the end of the bar. “And here are a couple of menus. Be back in a minute to take your order.”

Before either man had a chance to speak, she hustled to the far end of the bar, to the man in the suit. They had a quick conversation in low voices. Ty didn’t betray his curiosity by looking toward them. Instead he swiped a chip through the salsa and nodded.

“Excellent,” he pronounced.

He flipped open the menu and was studying the range of selections when he sensed motion. Ty glanced over his shoulder. A woman in a formfitting green dress was stalking toward him, her long black hair bouncing against her shoulders. She was one of those women for whom the expression “you’re beautiful when you’re angry” had been created, although Ty had no idea why she looked so ticked.

“Incoming,” he said under his breath to Stephen.

Stephen took a quick look, then shook his head. “Tell me you didn’t date her and break her heart. There must be a hundred females in the world who want you dead.”

“Not true,” Ty objected. The benefit of keeping his relationships casual was that women tended not to be heartbroken when he left. Most of his breakups were amicable, including the food critic who’d given him a glowing write-up even after they stopped seeing each other. “Besides, you know me, I’m a pain in the ass. By the time I leave, they’re relieved to see me go.”

“You!” The woman had reached them. Her narrowed eyes were sharper than the best set of knives he’d ever owned. “You have a lot of nerve.”

Ty gave her a disarming smile. “It’s true, ma’am. I’ve always had more nerve than brains. Have we met? Ty Beckett.”

“Oh, I know who you are, Mr. Beckett. You’re the competition and you’ve come to spy.”

“Spy? Ah. You must be Grace Torres,” he deduced. “Look, it isn’t as if I came in here to steal your recipes. Although, kudos on this salsa verde. It would definitely be worth stealing.” He waited a beat to see if the compliment improved her opinion of him. Nope. “I was just stopping by on my way to the reception because I was intrigued. You were a mystery. I’ve heard of all the other finalists.”

When Stephen coughed, choking on his chip, Ty realized his phrasing might not have been the best way to break the ice, insinuating she was a nobody in the culinary world.

To cover his uncharacteristic gaffe, Ty offered quickly, “Hey, we could all ride together. Want a lift to the vineyard?”

Grace drew back, her almond-shaped eyes incredulous. “I’d rather walk.”

“In those heels?” Ty teased. “Might be uncomfortable.” He’d noticed the shoes because they were sexy as hell and did great things for her exposed calves, but he kept that information to himself. Instead he introduced her to Stephen. “This is Stephen Zigler, my friend and business manager. It was his idea to come in,” Ty fibbed cheerfully.

Stephen reached across him to shake her hand. “The manager designation is true. The friend part is debatable.”

When Grace laughed, her entire face lit with warmth. She’d already been lovely, but as her lips curled into a smile and her eyes lit… Damn. Ty was jealous of his friend, annoyed that Stephen, the married soon-to-be-father, had been the one to coax this from her.

“You, I like,” Grace said, ignoring Ty’s presence completely. “I’ll see you at the reception. I really should be going…just came in to go over a few changes with the kitchen staff. Amy, their drinks are on the house.”

The bartender nodded. “You’re the boss.”

Then Grace turned and left without another word to Ty. Stephen hooted with laughter. “There goes the winner of this cooking competition,” he pronounced between chortles.

“What? Now, that’s just mean,” Ty complained. “You’re only saying it to wound me. A great salsa verde is no basis for determining whether she can win the whole kit and caboodle.”

“Oh, I wasn’t basing it on that.” Stephen’s grin was full of admiration. “She’s possibly the only woman on the planet completely immune to the Ty Beckett charm. In my book, that makes her a superhero with mystical powers. Dude, you’re toast.”

* * *

GRACE DROVE PAST THE MAIN building, which looked like an Italian villa, complete with a red-tiled roof and graceful fountains out front, and found a place to park. Her hands were shaking from adrenaline. And from too little sleep, she admitted to herself. She was not in top form tonight.

Her father would have been disappointed in her display back at the Jalapeño. Victor Torres Senior had possessed a gift for making people feel welcome. She’d given in to her temperamental side and had been rude to Ty Beckett. What were the chances she could avoid speaking with him for the rest of the night? She wasn’t even sure what she’d meant by her “spying” accusation—it wasn’t as though she’d caught him sneaking into the kitchen wearing a hat and false mustache. But when she’d seen him at the bar, exuding negligent confidence as though he belonged there, as though he rightfully belonged anyplace he felt like being, she’d been intimidated. Which in turn made her angry.

She was putting that behind her now. I am a consummate professional. Should she happen to find herself in Ty’s company, she’d be courteous and simply ignore him the rest of the time.

Right. Because ignoring a face like that would be so easy. Amy had been correct—he was even better looking in person. But what had been more startling was the sense of overwhelming familiarity Grace had felt when he’d looked at her. He reminds me of someone.

Grace gave herself a mental shake. Enough. Her focus needed to be on this competition, not some wandering chef with a dazzling smile and lady-killer rep. She climbed out of the car and followed the path, which twinkled with dozens of tiny white lights. There was enough illumination for her to appreciate the stone bell tower to her left and a beautifully tiled open courtyard. She imagined that later this evening, once food and drinks were served, guests would mill outside and make use of the round iron tables. It was a lovely evening, but the breeze carried a distinct chill. She was glad for the long sleeves that offset the vee neckline of her wraparound dress. Still, the filmy green fabric wasn’t very thick. She should have grabbed the sweater she kept on a coatrack back in the restaurant office, but she’d been flustered when she left.

Once she opened the rounded wooden door that brought to mind stately castles, her stomach clenched in a fresh bout of nerves. Since she had the advantage of being local, knowing her way around town and not having to check in to a hotel that afternoon, she was one of the first contestants to arrive. But the two other chefs she spotted inside the huge room were both renowned in their areas of expertise—desserts and molecular gastronomy, the industry term for those who applied science to cooking in innovative ways. Talking to them was the host for Road Trip, Damien Craig, whom she recognized from myriad television appearances.

Behind her, the door swept open, admitting Katharine Garner and her husband, plus Ty Beckett and his business manager. Knowing that if she continued to stand in the entryway she wouldn’t be able to avoid Ty, Grace made a beeline toward one of the four bars bracketing the room. There, she accepted a glass of an award-winning cabernet blend so richly delicious that she immediately began trying to compose recipes to go with it.

She closed her eyes to better savor a sip, then opened them again as she sensed someone next to her.

“Is it good?” a baritone voice asked.

She turned to smile at Damien Craig, thinking it was a shame he didn’t narrate audio books. He was sort of generically handsome—he’s no Ty Beckett—but he had an incredible voice. “Mr. Craig, nice to meet you. I’m Grace Torres. And yes, the wine is fantastic.”

They stood making small talk about the vineyard, the upcoming festival and how he thought he had the best job in the world, traveling all over, meeting new people and enjoying meals prepared by legendary chefs. By the time he continued on with his social rounds, all of the contestants had arrived. Guests were grouped in clusters around the room, some standing near the large hors d’oeuvres table in the center, others chatting in corners or waiting for their wineglasses to be filled. Ty Beckett stood amid three attractive women. Naturally. One of them seemed to be on the show’s crew, but the other two were chefs. Judging from the women’s smiles and the way blonde pastry chef Phoebe Verlaine kept finding excuses to touch him, they didn’t find Ty less attractive just because he was the competition.

Grace was en route to say hello to Antonio Zavalo, a chef who’d known her father, when Ty unexpectedly fell into step with her.

“We meet again,” he said cheerfully.

“That tends to happen when you follow someone.” As an afterthought, she added a half smile to temper the acerbic words, but he wasn’t fooled.

“Are you always so prickly, Grace, or—” he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper “—is this an act to keep people from knowing how much you want me?”

She nearly gaped at the outrageous comment but decided that would only encourage him. Rather than give him the satisfaction of a protest, she nodded. “Yes. Arrogant chefs who resort to mind games with their opponents are exactly my type.”

The amount of sarcasm dripping from her words would have shamed a lesser man into retreat. Instead Ty’s mischievous smile grew more wicked. “I knew you were crazy for me. Stephen didn’t believe me.”

Grace’s step faltered as she studied his grin. She was experiencing that tingle of déjà vu again. Was he familiar to her because she’d seen him on television? Maybe that was it, although she still felt as if he reminded her of someone specific, someone famous whose identity was right on the tip of her brain.

“Grace!” Meeting her halfway, Antonio stepped forward to pull her into his burly arms for a warm hug. “So wonderful to see you again. How are your brothers?”

“They’re…” Well, one of them was injured physically and the other was injured emotionally. “Oh, how rude of me. Antonio, do you know Ty Beckett?”