Letting Hearts Heal (22 page)

Mason shook his head. “He was here a couple of hours ago. I said you were talking and planning how to take over the world. That made him stop worrying.”

Anna smiled and picked up the papers Dean had given her.

Realizing he’d missed Wyatt’s bedtime, Dean sighed at his own hopelessness. He had such a knack for getting caught up that he completely forgot his parental responsibilities.

As if he’d read Dean’s mind, Mason spoke up. “I told Wyatt earlier that he could go say good night to you, but he said that it was okay because you were working. He made me promise to tell you both good night, though.”

“Thanks, Mase.” Dean knew he needed to show Wyatt that he was more important than work.

“I’ll be over tomorrow with the laptop and the paperwork,” Dean told Anna. It had taken some convincing, but he’d made her accept a work laptop. She was quite computer savvy, but she and Joe only had the desktop computer he used for his work. Dean made a mental note to bring the tea set he’d found in the attic.

“I’ll see you then. Good night, boys.”

Dean stood in the door and watched Anna leave with Joe. He felt relieved that he’d be getting some help, which would free him up to work outside. At the same time, he was happy that Anna had finally let her guard down. Although he’d known her his entire life, it was like getting a new friend.

M
ASON
TOOK
a deep breath and turned on the oven. He couldn’t tell if it was getting easier or if he was simply getting more stubborn about it. He had started developing recipes again, and maybe the need to test and adjust them was stronger than the fear. Mason sighed. He didn’t have a clue. But in order to be a chef, he had to actually
cook.

He was inspired by the contents of the produce boxes for the following months. He had Dean’s permission to change them to suit the recipes. For a chef, it should have been fun and challenging. Mason knew that. He even felt some of it. But mostly he felt frustrated because his fear kept him from having as much fun as he should be having. Growling, he sent a whisk flying.

“You okay?”

Expecting to be alone, Mason whirled around and came face to face with Dean. “Fine. It slipped out of my hand.”

Dean raised his eyebrows but said nothing as Mason picked up the whisk from where it had landed under the table.

“What are you making?”

“I’m trying to make oven-baked root vegetables a bit more interesting. I keep coming back to the thyme, but it seems too ordinary.” Mason rubbed his forehead and glared at the offensive herb, his fear forgotten. “I might switch the meat around in some of the boxes, maybe some herbs, to get better fits.”

“You’re the chef. You do whatever you think is right, as long as the seasons are right.”

“I am, aren’t I?” Mason forced himself to smile because he
was
the goddamned chef, even if he felt more like the busboy who’d just arrived in New York.

“And you look sexy as hell in that apron.”

Mason looked up. He’d actually ordered real professional aprons online—happily foregoing a chef’s jacket—thinking it might get him in the proper mindset. He wasn’t sure it had worked. But if Dean thought he looked good in it, then they were well worth the money. The compliment made him relax slightly. Due to the terms they’d agreed on, it was unexpected—but nice nonetheless. Unless he was being sarcastic, of course. Mason narrowed his eyes. Dean’s smile was half a smirk as he all but undressed Mason with his eyes.

“What?” Dean asked. “I can’t tell you that you look good?”

“If you mean it.”

Dean frowned. “When have I ever lied to you? You look confident in a kitchen, despite how you feel. That’s hot, and the apron only enhances it.”

Mason was tempted to ask him who he was and what he’d done with the real Dean. Dean had never been as relaxed and confident as he was now. He’d been sure of himself before, but in a downplayed and almost hesitant way that Mason had found endearing. His new smirk and his blatant leering made Dean seem anything but hesitant. It made him lethally sexy and irresistible. Which was really bad timing, seeing as they’d just decided to cool things down.

“Thanks. I think.” Mason had to turn away.

Dean chuckled and left and Mason realized that the oven had been turned on the entire time and he hadn’t even been scared. Flustered, thanks to Dean, yes. But not scared. Another little step taken, although he hoped Dean wouldn’t stop by the kitchen to make him flustered every day.

He returned to the root vegetables. Twelve pounds of beets, root celery, carrots, Jerusalem artichokes, and parsnips later, Mason was finally happy with his recipe. Reminding himself to have Dean proofread it, Mason caught himself smiling. It was great to be able to do his thing again.

Especially as the oven was turned off again. There were moments when he still doubted he’d ever be as comfortable behind a stove. With a sigh, he picked up the covered trays of vegetables along with the steaks and sauce he’d made. As long as he was experimenting, the ranch hands might as well benefit from it and get out of cooking.

The hands thanked him repeatedly, apparently grateful not to have to dig into Mike’s spaghetti bolognaise, after all. Mason was just happy to be able to serve food for people again. He hurried back to the house where he had dinner waiting for Dean, Wyatt, and himself. He’d even made dessert because he had the urge to make apple trifle.

Chapter 18

“A
ND
THEN
you sprinkle on the nuts. That’s it. Good job, Wyatt.”

Wyatt beamed as Mason placed the berry cobbler in the oven. “When will it be done?”

Mason chuckled. “Forget it, kiddo. It’s for dessert. Not before.”

Pouting a little before giggles took over, Wyatt let Mason help him wash his hands.

“What’s that I hear? Cobbler before dinner?” Dean stood in the doorway with his arms crossed.

“No, Daddy.
After
dinner.” Wyatt shook his head as if he hadn’t just been contemplating the same thing. Mason chuckled.

“Too bad.” Dean scooped up the wriggling boy and turned him upside down in his arms, making him chortle with laughter. “Are you gonna help me with the rest of the decorating?”

Wyatt’s reply was impossible to understand, but Dean took it as a yes and winked at Mason before he left the kitchen with his son still hanging upside down.

The chatter and the laughter from the other parts of the house distracted Mason enough to attempt a second dish. It seemed like he was scribbling down recipes night and day. The ideas were flowing from him like they’d been kept inside too long—which they had. The selection of products he had to choose from was sublime, so that only helped to fuel his creativity. He pulled out the pork he’d secured in the Meat House. If he was efficient, Dean would be able to start matching recipes with boxes the following week.

D
EAN
FOUND
it amusing to decorate with Wyatt. Very few of the decorations held any kind of memories for him, but with Wyatt chattering and making up stories about the angels and the elves, that was clearly about to change.

They had nearly emptied the big box of decorations when a crash and a shout from the kitchen stopped Dean dead. Then he sprinted to Mason, vaguely registering Wyatt behind him.

Expecting gushing blood, a ton of shattered glass, an explosion, and flames taller than himself, Dean raced into the kitchen and came to a stop for the second time in a matter of seconds.

There was a baking tray on the floor, and Mason stood at the sink with his hand under the water. And that was it.

“What happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Mason muttered. “I’m just completely hopeless at this shit.”

Dean stepped closer, not completely sure if Mason had hurt himself badly or if he was just frustrated. “What happened?”

“I burned myself taking the tray out of the oven. And I never burn myself. After years in a professional kitchen without any mishaps, I’m suddenly this walking kitchen disaster. Fuck. I need some air.” Mason turned off the water and stalked out.

Dean grabbed a kitchen towel and removed the baking tray from the floor. He didn’t know how to tell Mason that he was overreacting without sounding condescending.

“Did Mason get an owwie?” Wyatt looked like he was close to tears, which was all Dean needed. One high-strung male was enough.

“Just a little burn. He’ll be okay.” Knowing he had to go talk to Mason, Dean had to make sure Wyatt was occupied for a little while. “Why don’t you go empty the box, and then I’ll be right in to help you finish with the decoration after I’ve checked on Mason?”

“Okay.” Wyatt ran off, and Dean was happy that he had such an obedient kid. It only took a moment before the boy returned, though, offering Sweet Pea to Dean. “Mason can borrow him.”

“Thanks, buddy.”

Dean found Mason on the porch—it seemed to be their spot—but as soon as he stepped outside, Mason went inside. “Too cold,” he muttered.

“Don’t say it,” Mason cut Dean off before he could say anything.

“Okay, I won’t.” Instead, Dean offered Mason Sweet Pea, which he took without a word.

Since he wasn’t allowed to talk, Dean decided to wait Mason out. Sooner or later he’d crack. They were standing inside the front door, and after a few minutes, Mason slid down to sit on the floor. Dean followed, wishing they could wallow somewhere more comfortable. What was wrong with the couch?

“I don’t think I can do this.” Dean almost startled when Mason finally spoke.

“Cook?”

“Cook, face my fears, be brave, be worth something to you.”

“You could sit in a chair and stare at nothing every waking moment of your day and still be worth everything to me. And as for the rest—I think you’re expecting too much too soon.”

Snorting with exhaustion, Mason slumped over and rested his forehead against his knees. “Right now I’m burning the cobbler. I know it, but I can’t seem to force myself to reenter the kitchen.”

“Then I’ll do it. No one says you have to do everything yourself. Take one step at a time.” Dean leaned over to kiss the top of Mason’s head before getting up so he could save the cobbler. He’d have left it in the oven, not giving a damn if it turned into a lump of coal, but the smell of something burnt would probably just upset Mason further.

When he returned Mason was standing. He thrust Sweet Pea into Dean’s hands. “Tell Wyatt thank you. I’m gonna see if I can’t get some sleep to shut up my thoughts. I can’t deal with them right now.”

“Sleep well, Mase.”

Wyatt was waiting for Dean in the living room, having decided to use the empty box from the decorations as a cave.

“All right. Let’s finish this up. And then it’s naptime for little cave trolls.” Dean’s enthusiasm for Christmas decorations had evaporated, and Wyatt looked like he was more ready for a nap than Mason was. And Dean was ready for a timeout and to maybe distract himself with some work.

M
ASON
DIDN
’
T
fall asleep, but he did spend an hour beating himself up for being an idiot. Then he got up and managed to avoid running into Dean on his way to the stables. The horses, as always, didn’t judge him or look at him with pity.

On his first day at the Walker ranch, Mason had promised himself that one day he’d buy a horse. Even when he lived in New York, the dream had never left. Although he’d been a success at the restaurant, the pay had never been
that
good—and later he’d spent all his savings trying to survive without a job. His own horse was as far away as it had been in high school.

“Good thing I’ve got you,” he murmured to Java, the chestnut gelding that was his favorite of the horses in Dean’s stable.

It was therapeutic to fuss and pretend that he was seventeen years old and in charge of his own section of the stables. Or maybe it was escapism—because reality was completely fucked up. But Mason didn’t care. He just wanted a break.

After about half an hour, he sensed Dean behind him.

“I should have known you were out here.”

“Just be happy that you didn’t get rid of all the horses or you’d have no idea where to find me.” Mason plopped down on a bale of hay.

“Oh, I’m happy all right. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t spared you a fleeting thought when I decided to keep a few horses.”

If that wasn’t love, Mason didn’t know what was. “It wouldn’t be much of a ranch without some horses. You’re stretching it as it is with just the three.”

“I know. I know. Joe’s told me the same thing about a million times. I’m working on it. Wyatt’s getting a pony for Christmas.”

Mason smiled. “Perfect. I can’t wait to see his face.”

Dean held out his hand. “Come on inside. Anna stopped by with some paperwork and a casserole. Said even chefs deserve a break from cooking once in a while. She’s keeping an eye on Wyatt until I get back.”

Reluctant to leave the stable, but relieved that he didn’t have to do any more cooking that day, Mason let Dean pull him to his feet. That brought them face to face, and Mason only had a two-second warning when Dean’s smile turned all wicked and delicious. He cupped the back of Mason’s head with one hand, and grabbed hold of a belt loop in Mason’s jeans with the other.