Cowboy in the Kitchen (5 page)

She stepped away, embarrassed that she’d allowed the intimacy, and confused about why he’d taken the liberty.

The aggravating man smiled.

“Well, now that we’ve kissed and made up, how about if you show me all the woodwork details you talked over with Karl today, so I can help make sense out of his bid when it’s delivered?”

She studied his lips as he spoke. If that was a make-up kiss, then his grudge kiss must be spectacular.

Could the man who’d been quasi-hostile to her only days before now become a respected, even enjoyable guide on this journey?

She’d been suspicious of him up until now, but perhaps it was time to find out.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“T
HIS
WAITING
IS
driving me up the wall!” Gillian stated.

Hunt reached for the French press and filled their cups. Gillian sat across the kitchen table from him, a pen wiggling nervously above her ever-present spiral notebook. Coffee in Cullen’s kitchen had become Gillian and Hunt’s late-morning routine since they’d declared a truce. A verbal truce, at least, though Hunt had done nothing about his intent to sidetrack the efforts of his boss. Still, guilt niggled him constantly.

“It’s only been a couple of weeks. Did you really expect permits to be issued overnight?”

“Evidently I did,” she admitted. “I covered so many bases in advance but never considered investigating this business of city approvals. It makes no sense that we can’t even begin demolition for minor renovations, much less break ground on new structures. What if they turn me down, Hunt?”

“That’s not going to happen.” He tried to soothe the blond beauty whose feathers were perpetually ruffled.

“Then why is it taking so long? Inspector Watkins said he’d do his best to hurry my applications through the process.”

Hunt chuckled. “I doubt his idea of ‘hurry’ is the same as yours. City inspectors don’t get excited over much, apart from the occasional ice storm that results in a day off.”

“I’m going to call down there again this afternoon.”

“What do you mean,
again?
Have you been pestering the city’s permit office?”

“I’d hardly refer to keeping a tight rein on my project as pestering.”

Hunt considered this news. Gillian was a pit bull on a bone when it came to the details. Her ability to focus was critical in a host of positive ways during the start-up of a business. But it could get her tail in a wringer if she needled the wrong clerk.

She was putting the same pressure on her contractors. Karl complained that she was on the phone with him at least once a day, and the work hadn’t even begun yet. How would Gillian act once the property was crawling with crews? Could she step aside and let them do the work she was paying them for, or would she be up in their business, questioning every detail?

By all indications, if left to her own devices, Gillian would implode before the first frost. He didn’t have to do anything to derail her plan. She was doing it herself. It should have made him happy, but somehow he didn’t relish the idea of watching her fail. Still he reminded himself she didn’t have as much to lose as he did.

Meanwhile he was making quiet inquiries into funding in case Temple Territory went back on the market. After Gillian trampled every toe in town and made her retreat to the security of corporate life, he’d be ready to step in and make an offer to the bank. Pap’s place would end up in the family after all. Hunt would restore and remodel the kitchen and dining room, but the rest of the mansion would remain as his grandfather had intended; a memorial to the life of an independent Texas oilman. So what if people still claimed Mason Dixon Temple was crooked as a dog’s hind leg? J. R. Ewing was no better, and he was as big a legend as Hunt’s real life namesake, the great H. L. Hunt.

“So what do you suggest I do instead?” Gillian asked. “Wait patiently and let the holiday season come crashing down on my head?”

“What’s the worst that can happen if you don’t open the doors in December?”

Her eyes couldn’t have been any more incredulous if a horn had sprouted from his forehead. “I can’t believe you’re asking that question, as if missing the deadline were an option.”

“I’m not insinuating it is, but you’re sitting here with too little to keep you busy and too many people to pester, so I’m asking you to consider the worst-case scenario and get it over with.”

She dumped a heaping teaspoon of raw cane sugar into her cup and stirred as if her life depended on it. She couldn’t make a permit materialize, but by golly she would make those crystals dissolve.

“I can’t even consider that possibility.”

“You mean you won’t.”

“No, I mean I can’t. There’s more at stake than I’m willing to admit out loud. The consequences of failure are even steeper than the rewards of success.”

She dipped her chin toward her chest. A curtain of golden hair swung out from behind her ear, hiding Gillian’s face from his view. She must have struck a heavy bargain with her daddy to be so worried about the outcome of her first business venture. Naturally she wanted to do well, but it wouldn’t be the end of the world if she didn’t. She was an only child. If her parents had been willing to bankroll her once, they’d do it again. And again.

“
Buenos días,
Miss Gillian and Mr. Hunt,” Alma greeted as she came through the door. Hunt jumped to his feet to help with the bag she carried. Fresh mustard greens sprouted from the top of the recycled shopping sack Alma filled almost daily at the farmer’s market.

“Buenos días, señora,”
Gillian responded.
“¿Cómo es usted?”

“
Muy bien!
You’ve been practicing,” Alma said, complimenting Gillian’s efforts to learn some phrases in Spanish.

“It only took a few days in Texas for me to figure out a crash course was in order.”

“These greens are almost as pretty as you,” Hunt teased Alma as he sorted the contents of the bag, appreciating her eye for the freshest produce.

“This one is the sweet-talker of my boys.” Alma pretended to share a secret with Gillian. “He will have you eating from his hand and twisted around his pinkie finger.”

Hunt wrapped Alma in a hug from behind. He towered over the short woman, pinned her arms to her sides and lifted her feet off the ground. “How am I supposed to stay ahead of my new boss if you give away my secrets?” he hissed.

“Put me down, you bully.” Standing on her feet again, Alma tugged at the hem of her navy housekeeper’s dress. “I’m sure this pretty lady has figured out for herself that you will say anything to get your way.”

“That’s only with you,
Mamá Pequeña,
” he said, calling her by the name she loved, Little Mama.

Gillian wondered how accurate Alma’s statement was. Hunt hadn’t done anything more to cause his loyalty to be questioned, nor had he made any further effort to kiss her. But he was definitely clear on who buttered his bread.

“Hunt’s being honest, Alma. He hasn’t tried any lines on me that I’d categorize as sweet talk.”

“Give him a while longer.” Alma winked, and then went about the job of rinsing and storing her fresh vegetables.

Hunt took his seat at the table again. “Thanks for speaking up for me, Gillian. You’d expect her to be prejudiced in favor of her youngest. Instead she’s always expected the worst from me.”

“What I expect from you is to put those cups and saucers in the dishwasher and then get out of my kitchen. It’s a beautiful fall day. You kids go outside and play.”

“She’s right. Let’s not waste this perfect weather. How about a drive out to Lake Cherokee, Gillian? I’ll show you where my brother Mac lives and we can have lunch at the marina.”

“Under one condition.”

“That’s a shock.” He squeezed his eyes shut, as if the condition would be painful. “Go ahead, name it.”

“That we stop by the courthouse on the way through town to check for word on my permits.”

“You’re going to irritate those folks if you’re not careful.” He slanted a warning look her way.

“Thanks for the advice on interpersonal skills, Dr. Phil.”

“Just consider yourself forewarned.”

“Hey, you have to break a few eggs to make an omelet,” she reminded Hunt.

“You’ve got me there.”

* * *

S
ITTING
IN
THE
passenger seat of Hunt’s ancient Wrangler as they cruised the shore of Lake Cherokee seemed oddly natural to Gillian.

“My father had a Jeep when I was a teenager,” she mentioned above the growl of the engine.

“Did he teach you to drive it?”

“No, it was a model with a history of rolling over, and he didn’t want me behind the wheel. He taught me in Mother’s Lincoln.”

She remembered the mammoth sedan they’d bought secondhand and driven until the wheels had fallen off. Her mother had always been partial to gas-guzzling land yachts. But Dad said she put in so many hours, either behind the front desk or filling in for the catering office when they were short-staffed, that she deserved the comfort of a big luxury car. It was their one indulgence as they socked away money for the future. Her no-nonsense father had been raised to save and he’d taught Gillian the same strict discipline. Living well within her means had become second nature, so the extravagant spending on Moore House was nerve-racking.

Every day that passed without moving closer to opening the doors was a waste of twenty-four precious hours. She used them as wisely as possible, but Hunt made a good point. If she continued to pressure everyone she came into contact with, she’d get a reputation for being difficult. Even if she had good reason for earning that reputation, it would make business harder down the road.

“Well, what do you say?” Hunt pulled the hand brake.

“About what?” She’d tuned him out a few miles ago.

“McCarthy’s place?” He pointed toward a two-story A-frame home that perched on a ledge beside the four-thousand-acre lake. The house was designed from deep red cedar, huge panes of glass and chunks of ruddy-colored rock. The view from inside had to be breathtaking.

“Your oldest brother’s done very well for himself.”

“Mac’s the mathematician in the family, a natural bean counter. He did his best to guide the rest of us to use our inheritance wisely, but he’s the only one who really parlayed his money into a serious nest egg.”

“The inheritance you received when your parents died?” She’d done enough research to learn his folks had gone down in a private plane when the boys were all probably still in school.

Hunt leaned forward and crossed his forearms over the steering wheel. He nodded. “Pap had died years earlier when natural gas caused a rig to explode in West Texas. But Daddy didn’t find out about it till long after the fact when an old friend of Pap’s came through Kilgore and stopped for a visit.”

“Nobody notified the family that your grandfather had been killed?” Gillian was mortified.

“Nope. My dad and grandfather hadn’t spoken in years. Dad wasn’t even sure where Pap was living.”

“How sad. Do you mind telling me why?”

“Pap was convicted just as our dad was applying for college. The state took everything they had, and since Dad was already eighteen there wasn’t even a provision for his support. He was forced to leave Temple Territory and move in with neighbors to finish his senior year or go stay with his mother’s people in Georgia. He’d never even met them, and they didn’t exactly welcome him with open arms, since they assumed he was somehow messed up in Pap’s dirty business dealings.”

“I’m sorry to keep prying, but what was your grandfather convicted of?”

“Drilling slanted wells.” Hunt made an angular motion with his hand. “A lot of wildcatters were doing it, and plenty of people were aware of the practice. Slant-well drilling was a way to get even with the major oil companies for squeezing out the independents.”

“That’s a Robin Hood way of thinking.”

“Sort of, justifying the crime didn’t make it right. Others were charged but Pap was the only one convicted. His foolish refusal to fill his wells with cement to hide the evidence of his crime cost him fifteen years of freedom.”

“What happened to your father when his dad went to prison?”

“He stayed in Kilgore, got into college and worked three jobs to support himself. After he married my mother, she helped to put Dad through medical school, and he agreed to come home to practice in order to get grants from local businesses.

“By the time Pap was paroled, Daddy was in private practice at the only hospital in town. He and Mama had four young’uns and a life of their own, so Pap went quietly out West. My dad got a letter from the Texas Department of Corrections saying Mason Dixon Temple had been paroled, but Pap never got in touch, and my folks left it alone.”

“What did your parents tell you boys about your grandfather?”

“They didn’t have to tell us much of anything. The town made sure we heard all the old stories and probably a lot besides. I asked my daddy once why he didn’t change our name and move away from the gossip, and he said, ‘What my Pap did will hurt like the dickens for a couple of generations, and then people will forget. We’ll make our own name. This is our home, and we’re not going to run away.’”

“Then your grandfather’s friend just dropped by out of the blue?”

Hunt nodded. “Wilbur was one of Pap’s roughnecks on Temple One back in the day. They met up again out in West Texas and worked together until Pap was killed. Poor old Wilbur had no idea he was breaking the news when he told Daddy how sorry he was about Pap’s death.”

“How did your father deal with it?”

“Not aware his Pap had died and not even knowing where he was buried gnawed at Daddy in ways you can’t even imagine. But he was determined to honor the old man’s wishes and keep the rest of us clear of the shame. Pap took it to the grave with him, and that’s the way he wanted it.”

Hunt stared past her toward the lake that could be seen beyond his brother’s magnificent home. The wind gusted whitecaps on the water that lapped at the shoreline.

“Did you ever meet your grandfather?”

“Nope.”

“That’s just tragic.” The sentiment was heartfelt. “When did you find out about Temple Territory?”

“I can’t remember ever not being aware it was Pap’s place. It was the only part of the story that we boys could be proud of when kids said we were a family of thieves.”

“Children can be so cruel.”

“Adults can, too, and unfortunately the memories here are still sharp. That’s one of the reasons the property’s been empty for so long. The story that Temple Territory is jinxed kept locals from wanting to invest in it.”

“So that first day when you said the place was cursed, you weren’t just making that up to scare me off?”