The Chef's Mail Order Bride: A Sweet Western Historical Romance (Wild West Frontier Brides Book 1) (6 page)

A
fter the loaves
of bread were out of the oven, Sadie headed back home. It was still fairly early, and she thought she might get a little rest in before it was time to get ready for opening night’s festivities.

She locked the door to the
Occidental
, feeling very good about what she’d done. Even though she’d been up since before dawn, her step was light and her heart full as she thought of Mr. Lewis, and that she’d prevented him from going hungry, at least for this morning.

A giggle escaped her as she thought of his face with his first bite of the meat pie. His eyes grew wide and he just kept taking bite after bite. She knew how Tripp would feel tonight. There was nothing quite like people loving something you’d created.

As she opened the door to Tripp’s house—her house, although she had yet to think of it that way—she spotted him where she thought she would. In the kitchen.

She hung up her coat and put her gloves in the pockets, ready for her return later to the restaurant. Tripp was once again bent over the stove, stirring something that actually did smell quite good. She’d eaten the last meat pie before she’d left, so she wasn’t starving, but it made her stomach rumble, just the same.

“Hello,” she said as she came up behind him, and she felt a pinch of guilt as he once again started, hitting his head on the pans. He turned, rubbing his head.

“Hello to you, too.” She reached for his hand, ensuring that there was no blood and stood on her tiptoes to check for a bump.

“That seems to happen to you quite frequently,” she said, smiling as she let go of his hand. “I don’t see any blood, but you’ll have a bump to match the one on the other side.” She smiled at him, surprised that she felt relieved he wasn’t injured.

“Maybe I should move the pot racks,” he said as his own smile widened.

“Being a chef isn’t exactly supposed to be dangerous, so maybe it would be a good idea.”

She took a seat on one of the stools next to the chopping table. The kitchen in Tripp’s house was really just a smaller version of the one at the restaurant, and he certainly knew his way around—except when trying to avoid bumping his head.

He stirred whatever it was on the stove and held out the spoon for her to taste it. “Here, see if you like this.”

She blew on it for a moment until it stopped steaming quite so much and closed her eyes, ready for anything. She smiled, surprised that it was delicious—and then felt a pang of guilt that she might expect anything other.

“It’s delicious, Tripp. Is that for the opening tonight?”

He put the spoon back in the pot. “Oh, no. That’s for us for lunch. It’s a cream sauce and goes over the chicken. Everything is ready at the restaurant until I get there later, and I was a little nervous. And when I’m nervous, I cook.”

She turned toward the cupboard and took out some bowls, quick to hide her smile. She was the same way, and had gone to the restaurant early to ward off
her
anxiety, and was delighted to find that he’d done the same. And especially grateful that he’d made something for them both for lunch—and felt another twang of guilt at the thought. She’d not made anything for him. In fact, she hadn’t even told him what she’d been doing.

Shaking off the thought, she set the bowls down next to the pot, and the spoons and napkins on the butcher block. The few times they actually had eaten there, they’d sat in the kitchen, where they both seemed to feel more comfortable and they could continue to make things, grab condiments and enjoy their meal.

It was starting to feel comfortable to her, and she asked and he answered questions about the menu, hoping to keep his nerves quiet. It was a big night, after all. One he’d been anticipating for a very long time.

They finished eating, and he’d insisted that she rest for a bit before she headed back to the restaurant. “Are you sure?” she’d asked him as he grabbed his coat and his hat. “I think I’m all right to come with you.”

“No, no, definitely not. It might be a late night, although it should be very small and end early. It’s only the few people that I’ve invited. Kind of a soft opening, so it won’t be horribly busy while I get familiar with the menu.”

“Oh, I meant to tell you, a friend of yours came by today and I invited him to the opening tonight,” she said as she thought of Hank and her promise to him. “He asked me to give you his regards. Said he hadn’t seen you for a long time and used to ride the trail with you.”

“Oh? I haven’t been back all that long, I guess. Who was it?” he said as he put his hat on.

“His name was Hank. Hank Archer,” she said and she smiled as he laughed.

“Ah, good old Hank. He rode the trail with me, and helped me out a lot when I needed it. After…” He stopped, putting his coat on. “Well, it’ll be nice to see him.”

She watched him, wishing she knew what had happened. “He asked if he could bring a guest, and I said it was all right. I hope I did the right thing,” she said as she looked up at him.

He opened the door and started to walk out, but stopped, turned around and gave Sadie a quick peck on the cheek. “That’s fine. Just fine. He’s a friend. And thank you for everything, Sadie,” he said as he closed the door behind him.

The heat rose in her cheeks as she brought her hand to where he’d kissed her. Her brows furrowed at the butterflies in her stomach. Why would they be there? Yes, he was handsome, and yes, he was a very good chef, but he hadn’t wanted her to help much.

Well, only to help him with the things he didn’t want to do. And he was a little odd, sometimes. But she couldn’t deny that her cheeks were red—she even confirmed in the mirror—and that her cheek still tingled from his kiss.

She shook her head, thinking that this was a very bad thing as he clearly did not have feelings for her other than gratitude, and this was a business arrangement.

As her head hit the pillow, she decided not to think about it, and just make sure that the restaurant was as successful as it could be, and the rest she would worry about later. Nothing she could do about it now, anyway.

T
he two “invitation
only” nights had been a blessing for Tripp as he was able to work out some of the small kinks in something as complicated as a fancy restaurant. On opening night, Sadie and Suzanne had arrived early, wearing their best day dresses.

“Gosh, you two really look a lot alike tonight,” Tripp said as they put on their aprons.

Sadie and Suzanne looked down at the same time, laughing in unison. “Oh, my goodness,” Sadie said. “Our dresses are the same color.”

Suzanne’s eyes twinkled as she said, “Hope that doesn’t get us in trouble.”

They smoothed their aprons and headed out into the dining room. Guests came in steadily and were seated in order, handed menus and bread was placed in the center of the table.

They’d decided to split the tables down the middle, each responsible for five. Sadie and Suzanne took orders as quickly as they could, refilled water and coffee and grabbed plates from the kitchen as soon as they heard the bell Tripp rang when orders were ready.

As Sadie set a basket of bread on one of her tables, a customer at one of Suzanne’s flagged her. She looked around and, assuming that Suzanne was in the kitchen, she went over to the table.

“Good evening. May I help you?” she said.

“I’ve asked already for more water,” the woman said.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’ll—“

“I see you must have forgotten. I’d like it now, please,” she said, tapping her empty water glass with her fork.”

“I’m not—“

The woman peered at her over the glasses that had slid down on her nose. “I’ll have no excuses. Just bring it now, and don’t forget next time.”

Sadie raised her eyebrows, wanting to argue that she was not the waitress for this table and hadn’t forgotten, but decided it was easier—and faster—to just get her water.

As she turned back to the kitchen after pouring the water, she almost bumped into Suzanne.

“What?” Suzanne whispered.

Sadie nodded her head toward the woman’s table.

“She wanted water. I think she thought I was you,” she said, covering her mouth as she giggled. “I decided it was easier to get it than to argue.”

Suzanne’s eyes twinkled.

“Thanks, sister. I just did the same for one of your tables.”

“Oh!” Sadie said as she looked around and then down at their dresses. “I guess they think we’re the same person. How could that be when there are two of us?”

Suzanne shrugged her shoulders and laughed as she headed over to her section of the dining room, clearing away dirty dishes.

Sadie grabbed the plates for her next customers and set them on a tray after Tripp had rung the bell again.

“How’s it going?” he said, stirring a sauce as he turned to her.

“It’s going well, except they keep getting us mixed up. They think we’re the same person,” she said, laughing.

He stopped mid-stir. “Well, that would make things challenging for the customers.”

“I hadn’t thought of it like that,” she said. “We’re just trying to help each other.”

He turned back to his sauce. “Good luck. Let me know if you need help.”

How could you help?
she thought as she pushed through the swinging doors with her tray. He was busy enough as it was.

As she served her table their plates and Suzanne went into the kitchen, she heard another voice behind her.

“Waitress,” said a man with slicked-back hair and a black, matching mustache.

Suzanne was nowhere to be seen as she took a quick look around. She smiled as she walked over to the customer.

“Was that our meal that you just served?”

“I beg your pardon?” she said, looking over to her table.

“I just wanted to make sure you hadn’t mistaken their order for ours.”

Suzanne walked up with a tray and set it down. “No, sir, here is your meal.”

The man’s chin dropped and he and his wife looked from Suzanne to Sadie and back again.

“Oh,” his wife said as her hand rose to her mouth. “I’m so sorry. We thought you were our waitress, but you’re…”

“Twins,” Suzanne said, as she set their meals in front of them.

A hush fell over the room and Suzanne and Sadie looked around at the wide eyes staring at them. “We’re twins,” Sadie said as she and Suzanne broke out into laughter, which was followed by titters around the room.

Suzanne bent over the table, taking a flower from the vase in the center. She broke off the stem and placed it behind Sadie’s ear.

“This is Sadie, with the flower, and I’m Suzanne, without the flower. We’ll try to keep the orders straight if you try to keep your waitresses straight,” she said to smiles around the room.

“Tomorrow, we’d better make sure to wear different colored dresses,” Sadie whispered as they went into the kitchen, bursting into laughter as the door swung shut behind them.

“What’s so funny?” Tripp asked as he smiled at their laughter.

“Oh, just what you’d said might happen. They thought we were one person,” she said, collapsing for a moment on the stool by the counter.

“Sounds like trouble.”

Suzanne grabbed Sadie’s hand and pulled her toward the dining room. “Different plan for tomorrow, Tripp.”

He shrugged his shoulders as they headed back out.

The next night, they’d planned what they were going to wear and made sure their dresses looked very different, and things went more smoothly. For them, anyway.

Halfway through the evening, Tripp had a chance to come out of the kitchen and walk around the dining room a bit, shaking hands and thanking people for coming.

When he got to Hank’s table, he broke out in laughter as the gentlemen stood, both wrapping him in big bear hugs.

She turned as she heard Tripp say, “Sadie, Sadie, come over here.”

She hurried to the table and tried to hide her surprise as an older gentleman standing next to Hank grabbed her in a hug.

“Hey, hey, this is my wife, Beau,” he said, laughing and grabbing Sadie’s hand. “Hank, I believe you’ve met my lovely wife, but Beau, please meet Sadie Morgan.”

“A little late for that, Tripp. I’ve already given her a hug,” the man said, his big smile turned toward her. He was very tall, she noticed, with a full head of black hair, graying at the temples. She looked from him to Hank and thought they looked enough alike to be related.

“I had the good fortune to meet Mrs. Morgan this morning, Pa. I knew you’d like her,” Hank said as Sadie felt her eyebrows rise in surprise.

“Sadie, this is the kind man I worked for who sent me to chef school,” Tripp said, introducing Hank and Beau Archer.

“Aw, it was nothing, Tripp. You earned it. Best trail cook I’ve ever known. Deserved it. It’s what Katie wanted, you know that. And she’d be so proud to see you now.”

He gestured to the grand dining room. “We’re so pleased to be here.”

“I would have sent an invitation if I’d known you were off the trail, Hank,” Tripp said, shaking Hank’s hand.

“You know as well as I do that you never know when that’s gonna happen,” Hank said. “Take it when you can get it. Remember?”

Tripp chuckled. “Yes. I remember clearly.”

“I have to say, Tripp, it’s never been the same since you left,” Hank said as he smiled at Tripp. “No one we’ve hired has been able to duplicate your chili. We all still talk about it.”

Tripp laughed and said, “Aw, thanks, Hank. How about I make some up for you two next Friday night? I’ll make enough for you to take home to the girls, too.”

He looked over his shoulder at the customers. “I do hope that we can catch up soon, but for now I’ve got to get back in the kitchen. So pleased you came and got to meet my wife.”

Sadie watched Tripp turn and head back to the kitchen.

“It was very nice to meet you both. Tripp is so excited, and thank you so much for making this possible, sir,” she said to the older man.

“Please, call me Beau. And he’s Hank,” he said, pointing his thumb at his son. “You might not know it yet, but we’re family. And congratulations on the opening, Mrs. Morgan. And, of course, the wedding.” Both Hank and Beau nodded at her.

She thanked them and excused herself, thinking maybe they could shed some light on Tripp’s transition from trail cook to chef, and tucked that thought away for later.

Sadie noticed the dark circles under Tripp’s eyes after the two-night run. Since the next day was Sunday and the restaurant would be closed as they evaluated what had gone right—and wrong—over breakfast, she said, “I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted.”

He smiled weakly at her, taking a big gulp of the coffee she’d set before him, along with the plate of bacon and eggs and a few slices of her homemade bread.

“I hate to say it, but I am, too. That was really something.”

He took a big bite of eggs and then of toast, and he held it up to the light, eyeing it approvingly. “Is this the bread you made for the restaurant? I was so busy, I didn’t even get to try it.”

“Yes, it is,” she said, happy that he had noticed—even if it was a little late. The customers had seemed to like it, too, and she was glad she’d made it and set it on the tables as some of the dishes Tripp was working on took a little too long. It actually
had
prevented unhappy customers, although she hadn’t told him so.

He cleared his throat. “You know, the one class at culinary school I wasn’t all that good at was baking. The examples from the chef looked just like this—a perfect amount of holes on the inside and a crunchy, dense crust on the outside. Perfect. And I could never get it quite right.”

Her heart swelled at the compliment—and the admission. She hadn’t heard anything like that from him yet.

“Well, there’s not much to it when you learned how before you could even read or write,” she replied, still glowing from the praise. “I can’t make a sauce like you to save my life.”

He finished off the toast, bacon and eggs and said, “Maybe this arrangement will work out after all,” as he set the plate and fork in the sink and drained his coffee.

“I’d like that,” she said, humming as she set to cleaning the dishes, drying them and putting them back in the cupboard.