Cowboy in the Kitchen (6 page)

Hunt leaned his head against the seat and laughed.

“Oh, I probably said it to scare you away, but I didn’t have to make it up. Remember, this is Texas. The truth here is bigger and stranger than the whoppers anywhere else.”

“And the legend of the Caddo well? Was that story just to scare me, too?”

“No, ma’am.” He shook his head, once again serious. “It’s never been proven, but the Caddo believe that hole was dug by their ancestors whose spirits still haunt the well. Pap respected that, and I do, too.”

“That nasty thing stinks.”

“The supernatural usually does.” He sounded ominous.

“You can’t really believe that story.” She brushed him off. He was messing with her head.

“The descendants of the ancient tribe believe that the spot is sacred. Pap honored their superstitions by preserving the well, and if you’re smart you’ll leave it just as it’s been for hundreds of years.”

“Or what?”

“You watched the film
Poltergeist,
didn’t you? I wouldn’t want to be around when you find out the hard way that Pap was right.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

T
O
G
ILLIAN
’
S
RELIEF
, the building permits began to trickle in by the end of October. Serious work finally got underway but it was out of order. Things were happening, just not according to Gillian’s carefully conceived plan.

She started each day full of hope that she’d make progress, and then fell into bed at night beneath the weight of more stress than she had ever imagined possible. Six weeks into the renovation and she was constantly second-guessing herself. Maybe Hunt had been on to something when he’d tried to get her to consider the worst-case scenario. Plan A was not coming together, and there simply was no plan B.

Either Gillian was failing or what the locals said was true: Temple Territory was jinxed. Either way, it would be fatal. And after her father’s call a few hours earlier, she wasn’t sure she would bear up under another blow.

“Miss Gillian, would you come approve this molding before I sign off on the delivery and let the guy unload?”

“Sure, Alberto,” she agreed. She followed the foreman of Karl Gates’s team to the area where building supplies were being staged. A flatbed had been backed up near the temporary Quonset barn that shielded construction materials from the elements. The truck driver in his familiar orange apron waited with his clipboard for a signature.

“Is this what you and Mr. Karl agreed on? I expected the crown to be eight inches wide.” Alberto slid a length of wood forward for Gillian’s inspection and laid a tape measure across the width. “This is only four.”

“Please tell me you’re joking.” Even before Gillian got her hands on the molding, she realized this was no laughing matter. The custom order was half the width they’d expected. This material, arriving two weeks late, would never give the ceiling the illusion of a French drawing room. She took aim at the innocent driver, her last nerve shot.

“Get your boss on the phone,” she demanded.

“Um, ma’am, I don’t carry a cell. Can’t afford it.”

She stomped toward the open door of the flatbed, reached inside and yanked the built-in microphone off its dashboard mount. “Is there someone on the other end of this thing?”

Anxious eyes looked to Alberto and then back to Gillian. The driver nodded his head in response.

It took all the composure she could muster not to shoot the messenger. She stretched the chord to its fullest extent and thrust the mic toward the driver. “Get your dispatcher on the line and inform him the lady who owns Moore House is beyond furious!”

“Moore House?” he questioned.

She blew out a sigh when a scream was really what she wanted to let loose.

“Temple Territory, then. Tell them the lady who is remodeling Temple Territory is, to put it in local terms, madder than a wet hen! And as soon as it is humanly possible, Mr. Gates will be at your store with some choice words for the idiot who screwed up my custom order.”

To Gillian’s horror, her throat began to thicken and her eyes burned from emotion that wouldn’t be held in. She ducked her head, brushed past Alberto and made a beeline for the mansion. Once inside and up the staircase, she closed herself into the sitting room that served as her on-site command center. With no one to see and no reason to fight away the tears, she let them flow.

* * *

H
UNT
RECOGNIZED
A
golden opportunity when one smacked him upside the head. He’d watched from the Jeep as Gillian and Karl’s foreman hurried out the terrace door. They’d examined the load on the delivery truck and then Gillian had pitched a hissy fit. He could have made things more embarrassing by stepping into the scene before she fled inside, but that pesky niggling kept him frozen to the spot.

He’d come to this moment with a clear conscience, but it would never be clear again if he didn’t do the right thing now. One day soon he’d succeed in his own right, he was sure of that in his heart. But it wouldn’t be at the expense of a hardworking, hardheaded woman who was determined to give her all, even if she went down in flames in the process.

“Aw, man,” Hunt muttered as he crossed the parking lot and motioned for the delivery driver to give him a minute.

“I didn’t hear exactly what Ms. Moore said to you, but I got the impression there’s been a mistake of some sort. I apologize for not stepping in sooner to deal with the problem myself, but if you’ll give a copy of the purchase order to my friend Alberto, I’ll call your store and get this all straightened out.”

He fished a five from his wallet and thanked the driver for his patience, then patted Alberto on the shoulder.

“I got this one,” Hunt assured the foreman.

“Thank you, Mr. Temple.” Alberto smiled his appreciation.

Hunt passed through the downstairs rooms, admiring the progress being made by the carpenters and painters. Gillian was stressing big time, but things were shaping up. True, there were large-ticket items running behind, and the crews were working around holes in the schedule, but it wasn’t out of the question to imagine the work finished well before Christmas.

He’d even considered stringing holiday lights on the derrick out front, and positioning a lighted star atop the hundred-foot structure to match the sixty other replica derricks in town. But none of that would happen if he didn’t convince Gillian that she wasn’t a failure and get her to ease up on the throttle.

“Gilly?” he called as he rapped on the closed door of the room where she’d set up her office. “Gilly, are you in there?”

The door flew open.

“I asked you not to call me that around here. I don’t want the men to get the wrong idea.” She left him standing in the hallway.

Hunt followed and pushed the door closed again. He settled into a folding chair next to the makeshift worktable that she’d put together with plywood and sawhorses. Why she chose this setup when she could easily afford a proper desk was beyond his understanding.

“What wrong idea? That you might be human and a nice lady who can take a little teasing on the job?”

“That’s not what I was thinking.”

“Then maybe it’s time to change your mind-set,” he suggested.

“Meaning?” She took the other chair.

“You will catch more flies with sugar than you will with turpentine.”

Gillian blew her nose on a tissue and tossed it into the five-gallon bucket that served as her trash can.

“So I’m supposed to simper and sashay and pretend to be a helpless Southern Belle so people will say I’m sweet?”

“How many women have you met in Kilgore who sashay, for cryin’ out loud?”

“I haven’t looked that closely.”

“Well, add the effort to your to-do list. Maybe it’ll help get your mind off yourself, and you’ll start to appreciate the town you handpicked for your new home.”

It was good advice, and he should probably take it himself.

Her head angled away, moist violet eyes narrowed. “Since when do you consider this
my home?
”

“Since you knocked out a few walls, brought in a load of river rock to build a fireplace in the restaurant and started fitting every room on the first floor with new baseboards and crown molding.”

At the mention of the molding her lips popped open like a largemouth bass after a water bug. He sensed that round two of her hissy fit was coming, so he held his palm up to prevent the flood of words. “Yes, I’ve heard all about the delivery guy you threatened to strangle with his own radio chord.”

“I wasn’t that bad,” she argued.

“I witnessed the whole thing, Gillian. When you realized he’d brought the wrong order, you threw something out there in the parking lot that was just short of a conniption.”

“All right, I did!” She grabbed the nearby roll of architectural plans and smacked them on the plywood for emphasis. “And with good reason.”

She brandished the roll of drawings as if they were a sword for defending her honor. “The devil is in the details, and if they aren’t handled properly, then nothing that comes next will work.”

Hunt stood and extended his open palm. “You’ve only shown me the plans for the first phase of the ground floor. Let me see the rest so I can understand what all the fuss is about.”

She snatched the roll close to her chest. “This information is on a need-to-know basis. When I decide you do, I’ll share it with you and not before.”

Hunt leaned over Gillian, placed his hands on her shoulders and bent so close that her metal chair tipped back on two legs. She held tight to the plans, refusing to be intimidated by his nearness. He dipped his face to hers and let a threatening smile ease across his lips.

“Give me the drawings or give me a kiss. It’s your choice.”

Her lovely eyes widened in defiance. Her gaze locked with his. The chair rocked, unsteady, as if it might tip over. Gillian’s hands flew out for balance. She let the plans drop to the floor, but she never let her eyes lose contact with his.

Was it possible that his nearness was more important than her precious drawings? Hunt’s heart raced. He wanted to kiss the woman. Rather badly. But not without her consent.

Hunt stepped away and let the front legs of Gillian’s chair thump to the floor. He stooped, retrieved the roll of paper, handed it to her and then returned to his seat.

“Why are you playing those cards so close to the vest?”

“Because what I plan to do next is still entirely on paper, and I’m not ready to share it. I’m in over my head as it is, and you’d probably try to talk me out of it if you saw what I have in mind.”

“I deserve more credit than that,” he complained.

“You do, Hunt.” She leaned forward, reached across the space between them and placed her palm on his knee.

Her tender touch was warm. “You’ve become a friend, and I’m not sure I’d have gotten this far without your advice, even though I haven’t asked for it as often as you’ve given it.”

She smiled to mask the blunt point.

“Well, prepare for some more.”

Gillian dropped against her chair, ending the brief physical contact. “I’m not up to your veiled criticism right now, Hunt.”

“Even better, because there’s no time for candy-coating.”

“Whatever bitter news you’re determined to deliver will have to wait. My father called this morning with some tough news of his own, and I’m up to here with worry.” She gestured to the space above her head.

He leaned forward. “What’s the matter?”

“He and my mother will be here in a few days, and things have to be on track before they arrive.”

“Aah, coming for their first visit to see how you’re managing their investment.”

“I wish that was all there is to it.” She shook her head miserably and reached for a tissue.

As she dabbed at the corner of her eye, Hunt realized the impossible was about to occur. That stiff upper lip of Gillian’s was beginning to tremble.

“Is whatever’s got you so upset also on a need-to-know basis, or can you can tell me what’s going on?”

“I might as well. You’ll figure it out when they show up and never leave.”

“Huh?”

“They’ve been laid off,” she said quietly. “Both of them.”

“What do you mean, laid off?”

She huffed out a breath and rolled teary eyes. “You’ve heard about it on the news. It’s that thing companies do when they have to cut costs?” The sarcasm was watered down.

“How do you get downsized out of your own business? Who gets laid off from a place that belongs to them?”

The misery on her face morphed into confusion.

“Where did you get the idea that they own the hotel where they work?”

“Different things you’ve said gave that impression.”

But had she really planted the idea with her words, or had he jumped to the conclusion to suit his own purposes? The huevos ranchero Alma had prepared for his breakfast rumbled in Hunt’s belly as a fresh supply of acid in his gut punctuated Gillian’s news.

“If I did, then that was my bad,” she accepted the blame. “I never meant to imply anything other than the fact that my parents are hardworking people who’ve given their lives to one employer. Only now it seems their positions are redundant, and they’re being forced to take early retirement.”

“So they’re coming here?”

She nodded, not at all pleased.

“Dad and Mom are shell-shocked. They’ve decided that the best way to get past the blow is to take on a new challenge. They want to help out, ‘stay busy,’” she mimicked her father.

“And you object to that because...” He struggled to grasp why she wouldn’t be excited to have her parents nearby. The Temple Brothers would have given anything for another day with their folks. The judgmental thought must have shown on his face. Gillian had the grace to flush with shame.

“It must be hard to grasp. But you’ll understand once they’re here and you see how much of my personality comes from my father.”

“So, he’s bossy, too?”

“Oh, you have no clue. That’s why he’s been successfully running a hotel for so many years. He manages every detail, and he’s constantly correcting everybody about the way they do things.”

“Yep, you’re a chip off the old block.”

“I have spent my entire life trying to stay a step ahead of him so he won’t be on my case. But if he comes in here and starts being unreasonable with my contractors and crews, this place is going to experience a mutiny.”

“You realize the potential for mutiny already exists, don’t you? And you can’t blame your daddy for that situation.”

“It’s that serious?” She winced.

“You know the answer to that, Gilly. I understand how important this is to you, but you’re inflicting a load of stress around here and making yourself crazy in the process.”

She ran both hands through her hair, catching strands of blond in her fingers and resting the beautifully tangled mess atop her head. His fingers itched to touch the silky tendrils that hung free.

“Nothing is the way I’d imagined it would be, Hunt. I’m not sure how to adjust.”

“If you get a bushel basket of broccoli instead of the cauliflower you ordered, you switch recipes and make the best of it.”