Cowboy in the Kitchen (8 page)

CHAPTER TEN

C
ANDLELIGHT
FLICKERED
.

Shadows danced on the unpainted walls and freshly grouted stonework.

To Gillian, the aroma of recently sanded wood floors was as heady as Hunt’s masculine cologne. The cozy and quiet atmosphere in the cavernous room was amazing, but she had come to expect amazing from Hunt.

After the endive salad, she excused herself and made a quick trip to the kitchen where she found Alma prepping plates for the main course. Cullen was still in the dining room regaling her parents with stories of growing up in a house full of boys, so she helped sauce the perfectly grilled veal chops.

“Shoo, Ms. Gillian.” Alma made sweeping motions with her hands. “Get into the dining room before Hunt catches you touching the plates and wrings both our necks.”

“He is a little funny about people messing with his food, isn’t he?”

“He gives Mr. Cullen a hard time over the obsession with books, but each of my boys has his own brand of OCD. When Hunt was still in high school, he threatened to eviscerate his brother McCarthy for putting ketchup on a glazed duck breast. Now
that
was funny.”

Gillian snickered and gave Alma a quick hug. But before she rejoined the others, she whispered, “Alma, forgive me for underestimating you when Hunt first suggested I hire you to be my chef.”

Alma waved away the apology. “I am not a trained chef like Hunt. I am just a cook with a lot of years’ experience feeding the Temple family.”

“The experience you have can’t be taught in a fancy French school. Hunt cooks from talent, but you cook from love.”

“Thank you, Ms. Gillian,” Alma accepted the compliment, and then pointed toward the curtain. “Now, go!”

“Yeah, go on ahead,” Cullen agreed as he entered the kitchen, his tray filled with empty plates. “I left little bro on the hot seat, but he’s doin’ a fair job of holding his own.” He smiled and gave Gillian a thumbs-up.

“That’s quite a tale,” her father was saying to Hunt when she returned to the table.

“We wish it was just a tale, sir. Unfortunately the details I shared with you are true, but I grew up hearing a lot of embellishment from the folks of this town. So take my version to the bank and take the rest with a grain of salt.”

Cullen came out again, moving about the table with the main course.

“Were you embellishing that first day about when you said local Native Americans have tried to lay claim to the property?”

“Oh, no, that business about the Caddo Nation is a hundred percent accurate.” Cullen just had to put in his two cents’ worth. “Enough artifacts have turned up during excavations in the area to prove they were here centuries before the white men. Like most tribes, they don’t have any legal rights to the land they were driven away from, but that doesn’t stop them from staging a sit-in every now and again. You’ll see.” He winked at Gillian.

“I don’t care for the sound of that,” James said, concerned.

Gillian glared at Hunt over the linen napkin she used to dab her lips.

Hunt took the hint. “Sir, my brother’s yankin’ Gillian’s chain.”

“Am not,” Cullen protested. “Every square inch of Texas was inhabited by somebody else until the Spanish Conquistadors came onto the scene in the seventeenth century. At one time, France, Spain and Mexico all laid claim to this land before the Republic of Texas and the Confederate States were formed. It wasn’t until after the Alamo and the Battle of San Jacinto that it belonged to the settlers. And even then, they had a long row to hoe to hang on to it.”

“Are there legal ramifications that my daughter hasn’t considered?” James said to Hunt.

“Not any more than there are in your neck of the woods,” Cullen interrupted again. “The Virginia Indian Territories were inhabited for thousands of years before European colonization. You really can’t blame Native Americans if they kick up a fuss now and again. Protest just comes with the territory.”

“Thanks for the history lesson, professor. You’re excused,” Hunt muttered to his know-it-all sibling.

“This meal has been amazing.” Meredith changed the subject. “And I’m most certain there’s a wizard on the other side of that curtain whipping up dessert. But I’m going to have to take a rain check, or ask for a doggie bag. We’ve had a very long day, and it would be nice to settle in to the hotel where we’ll be staying.”

Gillian stood and both men rose, as well. “Come with me, Mom.”

“Hunt, will we see you tomorrow?”

“You’ll see me every day. I may be the executive chef, but I’m also part of your daughter’s crew. If she wants it done, I do it.”

“Well, then, good.” Meredith smiled, as lovely as Gillian.

The two ladies left the dining room with the unconventional-looking poodle in close pursuit. Hunt watched them take the grand staircase to the second floor, grinning because he knew what was waiting at the top of the landing.

“Something funny?”

Hunt wiped the grin off his face. “Not so much funny as happy. Your daughter’s gone to a lot of trouble so you and Mrs. Moore will be at home here. I’m sure you’ll both be pleased.”

“She’s always worked hard.” James scowled, brows drawn together as he stared in the direction the two women and the dog had gone. “Even with her head in the clouds, Gillian accomplishes more than most people I know. I just hope that, when it’s all said and done, she won’t bankrupt us over this decision to come to Texas. There were perfectly good properties closer to home, but no. It had to be her way or no way.”

Hunt studied Gillian’s father, searching for signs of his daughter beneath the hard exterior. She was definitely a chip off this old block, albeit a kinder, gentler chip.

“Mr. Moore, I’ve always staked my claim to this place because it belonged to my grandfather. But all those years I was all talk and no action. I planned and schemed, but I never did anything to make it happen. Then your daughter came along, smart and decisive, and she jumped on this property like a chicken on a June bug. And she made it happen. There’s a lot to be said for going after what you want.”

“This is more akin to going over Niagara Falls in a barrel. Maybe she should have started smaller, been less ambitious.” James gave a disapproving shake of his head.

“Sir, forgive my impertinence, but if you’re not confident in Gillian’s plans, why are you bankrolling her?”

“She’s my daughter,” he answered quietly. “And I love her.”

“I’m not sure she’s aware it’s that simple.”

“Of course she is.” James folded his napkin and placed it beside his empty plate. “I have to get our bags from the car. When Meredith calls it a day, she rarely changes her mind.”

“Sounds like her daughter.”

“Oh, yes. Gillian is her mother’s child. She didn’t get anything but the color of her eyes from me. We’re not the least bit similar, as you can probably tell.”

Hunt waited for James to smile, acknowledging that his comment was tongue-in-cheek. But he didn’t. The man seemed to have no idea that his daughter was opinionated, tenacious and driven, her father made over.

* * *

“H
UNT
,
THANK
YOU
for everything you did last night. Mother was so impressed.” Gillian’s voice drifted from the cell phone speaker as she shared her parents’ reaction to the country-chic suite upstairs.

As he listened, Hunt stepped into a favorite old pair of Lucchese boots. He tugged the legs of his starched jeans down smartly, checked to see that his plaid dress shirt was tucked in neatly and then appreciated the effect in the full-length mirror. At the moment he seemed more like a cowboy than an executive chef, but that image had become part of his allure in the fine-dining business. The reason he’d been dubbed the Cowboy Chef.

Every famous chef had a signature. And while Hunt was building a reputation for his skill in the kitchen, his Texas drawl and boots had become his trump cards. Today he was dressed to play his ace in case that’s what it took to get an offer from the premier steak house in Manhattan. His agent had done the legwork by setting up the meeting, and now it was Hunt’s job to move the deal into negotiations.

“Hunt, did you hear me?”

“Yes, of course, sorry. I’m dressing and have to be out the door in a minute.”

“Is there any chance you could bring some of Alma’s sopaipillas with you?”

He picked up the cell and punched off the speaker feature. “I don’t have the time, but Alma will be glad to bring them over. As much as I hate to do it, I have to fly to New York for the day. I’ll be home very late this evening.”

“Oh.” There was disappointment in the single word. “The walk-in is being delivered, and I just assumed you’d be here to oversee the installation.”

“I’d planned on it, but something’s come up. I’ll call Karl on the way to DFW and ask him to keep a close eye on the kitchen. And I can stop by on my way in from the airport tonight to check on how things went, though I don’t want to wake your folks.”

“Hunt? Is this trip about a job offer?”

“It’s too soon to say. I’m going up to talk to Rudy Owens about the direction he’s taking his steak house chain next year. The flagship store is in Manhattan, and I want to see for myself how it operates.”

“Sounds like the perfect opportunity for you. Good luck.” The encouraging words contrasted with her flat tone.

“You and I have a contract, Gillian. Moore House can count on me to stay the course no matter what comes out of today’s meeting.”

“Moore House appreciates the reassurance. Have a safe trip.” She ended the call.

The excitement he’d been enjoying since he had spoken with the Manhattan restaurateur wilted faster than spinach on a hot skillet. He’d let the prestige of the invitation overshadow his gut sense that going to New York would be wrong, akin to cheating on Gillian. But that simply wasn’t the case. There was nothing personal between them. Not yet, anyway.

And she should put the money she was wasting on an idle chef to better use getting ready for a holiday season opening at Moore House. Even the name had stopped creeping him out. Hunt had begun to accept the fact that Gillian’s vision and drive were transforming the old wildcatter’s mansion into a boutique hotel worthy of royalty. Pap would be proud. And one day the gossip might finally die down for good.

Maybe it would be best if he got out of Gillian’s way and let her succeed without his involvement. Because as long as he stayed in Kilgore and associated with Moore House, the local folks would assume it was all his doing, not Gillian’s. That might have appealed to him a few weeks before, but in this morning’s light, it seemed downright deceitful.

Hunt glanced at the bedside clock. He had to get started on the two-hour drive to DFW where he’d catch his flight, though he’d prefer getting a root canal to getting on a plane. The cell phone was still in his hand. It would be so easy to punch the redial key, get Rudy back on the line and say he’d reconsidered, wasn’t interested.

But just last night Hunt had confessed to Gillian’s father that he’d been all talk and no action for far too long. What man worth his salt would continue on that path? And what woman would want him on those terms?

Hunt tucked his cell into the case clipped to his belt, grabbed his keys and headed for the Jeep.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I
T
WAS
WELL
after midnight when Hunt pulled onto the road that led up to the mansion. An inviting glow was still visible from several windows on the main floor as he pulled into his usual spot. Pap’s place shone brightly, a beacon on the hilltop. Hunt took a moment to admire the repairs to the exterior stucco finish and the new coat of paint that reminded him of fresh cream. He’d have kept the original white, and he’d have been wrong.

Moore House was lovely, just like her mistress.

The terrace doors swept open and a black phantom moved swiftly across the tiles, bearing down on him, a stalker on its prey.

“Cooper, stay,” Gillian called softly.

The shadow stilled and a pink tongue drooped from between gleaming white teeth.

“Hey, buddy,” Hunt spoke, hoping the dog would find his voice familiar. Cooper bounded forward to accept scratches behind his soft ears. “Are you up this late all alone?”

“This sweet boy’s been keeping me company.”

“Burning the midnight oil, huh?”

“As usual. Come on inside. It’s too cold to stand out here for long.”

“Yep, it’s fall in East Texas.” He followed Gillian through the French doors with Cooper close behind. Hunt paused to secure the lock and when he turned around, he stepped into a warm hug.

* * *

G
ILLIAN
WRAPPED
HER
arms around Hunt and tilted her face up to his, determined to show him her heart before it was too late. He seemed hesitant, but returned the unexpected embrace.

“Whoa, this is a cozy welcome even for such a chilly night.”

His voice was different. Maybe it was already too late.

“How did things go today?” he asked.

“You first.”

Hunt let his arms slip away, took Gillian by the hand and pulled her toward the kitchen. “Let’s see the new work while we talk.”

The room was ablaze from the recently installed overhead lights. It was exactly what he’d requested, and Gillian agreed it was perfect for a professional kitchen staff.

“This certainly explains the glow I saw from the highway when I entered the property. Nice.” He walked around the spacious kitchen, his head tipped back to appreciate the new fixtures. “I wondered if you’d downgrade what I’d put on the requisition.”

“Why would I buy less than what you requested?” A state-of-the-art kitchen was important to Gillian, and she’d assumed Hunt felt the same.

“Oh, just to shave some cost,” he explained. “I certainly understand any decisions you have to make to come in under budget on the project as a whole. It’s not as if the kitchen should take priority over the guest rooms.”

He hadn’t seemed concerned before now, and this change of heart was unsettling. Had he been needlessly driving up her costs with pricey items, or did the quality of the surroundings not matter any longer because he didn’t plan to stick around? She led him to the walk-in cooler and pulled the heavy door wide.

“Did you expect me to downgrade here, as well?”

“Wow!” His mouth gaped open like a child seeing his first carousel. “You got the Big Mac Daddy?”

“Hunt, this is what you said we should have,” she reminded him.

“In the restaurant business, the equipment we
should have
and the equipment we can afford aren’t always one and the same.” He tested the strength of the racks that lined one wall, smiling at the quality of the materials. “This is first class all the way, Gillian.”

“I repeat, what made you think I’d purchase anything else?”

He stopped ogling the equipment, closed the door and turned his attention to her.

“I can’t speak for the hotel industry, but let me share the cold hard facts about fine dining.” He took her hand and pulled her close. Gillian shivered as he slid his arms around her waist. “Is this okay? I don’t want to get into trouble with the human resources department.”

She nodded and smiled, giving him approval to continue.

“Eighty percent of new restaurants go belly-up in the first five years. That failure rate is one hundred percent of the reason I haven’t gone out on my own before now. If I had the funds, which I don’t, I’d buy everything secondhand and cut corners wherever possible, so I could invest my money in the food and the service. Focusing on what I put on the plate and how well I care for my diners would hopefully allow me to stay in business against the odds.”

“Hunt, the rest of our new appliances are being loaded on a transport truck as we speak. Isn’t it a little late to be sharing this financial wisdom with me?”

“You never asked for my guidance on how to spend your money. In fact, you’ve cautioned me on more than one occasion about sharing my unbidden point of view on any subject. Besides, as I just said, I don’t know squat about owning a boutique hotel and you do, so I figured your opinion was best.”

“You figured right,” she said, determined to sound confident. “I did my homework. I visited places that gave me complete access, probably the sort they gave you at that restaurant today. I have journals full of notes on everything from the thread count of the sheets to the brand of coffee they serve to the paper quality of the comment cards they mail to guests. I studied customer feedback and rankings and, yes, I’m aware of the failure rate for the industry. I’ve accepted that there is no sure thing, no guarantee. But there’s timing, creativity, hard work and prayer, and I have all that in spades.”

“That, pretty lady, is true.” His arms tightened as he pulled her closer. She felt the warmth of his breath in her hair. “I didn’t mean to cast doubt on your professional progress, just to explain away my lack of the same.”

This time Gillian was the one to ease free of the embrace. She’d worried all day, and now she had to hear the worst. “Well, you must have made some progress today, so tell me about it.”

“Is there anything to drink in there?” He nodded toward an insulated cooler Gillian kept stocked for the construction crews.

She raised the lid, reached into the melting ice and retrieved a bottle of blue energy drink. “It’s still cold.”

He took the container, twisted off the cap and drank deeply of the funky-tasting stuff the workers seemed to love.

“Aah,” he exhaled. “My daddy would say, ‘Better than beer and almost as good as whiskey.’”

“You must have been doing a lot of negotiating to be so parched.”

A happy grin spread across his handsome face as he began to share with her his experience at the Manhattan restaurant where he’d spent the day.

“The business model is a proven success in New York, Chicago and Atlanta. Rudy wants to open three more stores this year, and he said I could take my pick of Austin, Denver or San Francisco.”

An odd sensation thundered beneath her ribs. She wasn’t sure if her heart was racing or shutting down. Either way it was scary. And it hurt.

“All three of those are great cities, so it’ll be hard for you to choose.” She worked at projecting a calm she didn’t possess.

“I haven’t decided if I’ll take the offer, but it’s a nice one to have on the table, since this place will be up and running before you know it.”

How was she going to confess that she hadn’t corrected her parents’ mistaken impression that Hunt was staying on indefinitely? When her father had mentioned it, she’d steered the conversation away from Hunt’s contract, hoping against hope that he would decide to hang around Kilgore a while longer.

“When do you expect the folks you hired in Virginia to start making the move?”

“My events planner has been working remotely, setting up a hush-hush wedding and reception for December. She says she might have to stay in D.C. if she can’t lease her home, but we can work around that situation. But my manager of housekeeping should be down later this week to search for a home and start interviewing for her staff.”

“I should get busy doing the same thing, especially if you believe a big deal is in the works. I’ll make sure we get off on the right foot before I seriously consider Rudy’s offer.”

“You’re going to accept it, aren’t you?” Her voice quivered.

She lowered her eyes to avoid Hunt’s, but he brushed his knuckle beneath her chin, lifting her gaze to meet his. She saw his answer before he spoke the words.

“Gillian, it’s what I do for a living, and it’s what I love. I have to consider my long-term finances, and you can’t afford to keep me on indefinitely.”

“I’ll be the one to decide what I can and can’t afford. You said yourself that once word gets out, our restaurant will be
the
venue where everyone wants to book parties and special events. Your name and reputation is already part of my marketing plan.” It wasn’t yet, but she’d go in that direction if Hunt stayed around.

“How’s that?”

“The deal that’s in the works for December was sold with you as the secret weapon.” Not true, but what could it hurt to stroke his ego a bit? “An East Coast celebrity couple wants to reserve Moore House exclusively for three weeks, so they can have privacy for their wedding. The price is steep, and the promise of the Cowboy Chef is the reason they’re about to sign the deposit check.”

“You make me feel so cheap,” he teased.

“Trust me, there’s nothing cheap about this booking, and it’s the perfect vehicle to get Moore House in the press. Once the media gets wind that this couple has said their vows in an exclusive little hotel in East Texas, there will be national coverage on every network.”

“I’m intrigued. I guess I’d better start planning a special wedding menu and contracting a bakery for the cake.”

“Exactly. Set all thought of running a steak house on the back burner for now, please. It’s critical for my executive chef to put his kitchen in order and pull out all the stops for an event that will rock the Big Rich of the Texas social scene.”

“I’ll start tomorrow,” he agreed. “We’ll put on a wedding worthy of the bravado that built Temple Territory.”

Gillian didn’t react to the name or try to correct him. Instead she breathed an inward sigh of relief to have Hunt on board, at least for the short term.