A Cowboy in the Kitchen (7 page)

Annabel saw the resignation in her grandmother's face, the pain in her eyes. Essie Hurley had started Hurley's fifty years ago as a twenty-five-year-old newlywed, been through ups and downs, including the loss of her beloved husband and then her only son and daughter-in-law. If Annabel could help it, she wouldn't let her grandmother, especially in her condition, suffer the loss of her beloved restaurant.

“Gram, first of all, Clementine is exactly where she wants to be. She's a small-town girl and loves Blue Gulch. And second, I have no interest in going back to Dallas. I want to be here with you and Clem and work in the kitchen. And third, there's no way we'll let Hurley's close. We'll get through this, just as you always have. And if today's any indication, business is picking up.”

Annabel wasn't sure what to say about Georgia not coming home. Where her older sister was—why she wasn't coming when she was needed—that was just as worrisome as the possibility of losing Hurley's. But Georgia had to have a damned good reason for staying away.

Tears pooled in Gram's blue eyes. “We've had good days in the past too. I'm a fact facer and numbers don't lie. I've had a good run, Annabel. Fifty wonderful years. It'll be okay, honey.”

Tears pricked Annabel's eyes too, a combination of anger and determination keeping them at bay. She could plainly see it wouldn't be okay. And losing Hurley's might be just the thing to push her frail grandmother over the edge. “Gram, listen to me. I'm not letting Hurley's close. I'll make some kind of deal with the bank. I'll do what I have to do. But Hurley's will not close.”

Her grandmother slipped her hand into hers. There was no way she'd let her gram down. Essie Hurley had taken in her three granddaughters when their parents died, putting aside her own grief over losing her son to be there for three young teenagers who'd howled in pain every night and walked around like zombies during the day for weeks until the shock had settled some. Annabel would not let the bank take away the one thing that had sustained her grandmother, sustained their family, all these years.

I'm willing to take care of the bills, payroll, the loan in its entirety and flesh out the business account with enough capital for improvements. I'll make sure Hurley's stays open and give you the breathing room so that the restaurant can start turning a profit again.

She needed West.

He needed her.

To be honest, he'd had her at “marry me to save my daughter.” If a sham marriage would save his family, she'd have married him for that reason alone. That he could save Hurley's would just make it all easier to swallow.

Essie's eyes drifted closed, so Annabel quietly picked up the lunch tray and carried it back to the kitchen. She pulled out her phone and texted West:
I'll see you at 9:15 at your house for the appetizer lesson.

She'd get through the dinner rush at the restaurant without dropping a plate of fried green tomatoes or confusing the sides. On her breaks, she'd work up her list of questions—and, boy, did she have questions—about how exactly this “marriage” would be set up. You could fool a lot of people, but you couldn't fool a kid—nor would Annabel want to, and she was sure West wasn't willing to do anything that would confuse Lucy.

Immediately three more questions popped into her head, one that made her blush. She should really write these down.

Is that a no to my proposal?
West texted back.

You still need to know how to make bruschetta & healthy snacks for Lucy,
she texted.
Wife or no wife.

She quickly added
: PS—I have questions about how this is gonna work
.

Me too
,
he texted back.
And now I'm hopeful you might say yes.

God help me
, she thought.

* * *

How
is
this going to work?
West wondered as he peeked in on Lucy, fast asleep in her bedroom. He tiptoed in and moved a ringlet of hair off her face, and she shifted, squeezing the stuffed Eeyore her mother had given her for Christmas a few years ago. He moved the pink and white blanket up to just under her chin, his heart constricting.

“I'll do anything for you,” he whispered to his daughter, touching a kiss to her forehead before slipping back out of her room.

As he headed into the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee—he had a feeling he and Annabel would need the strong stuff—he tried to think about how the business marriage would be set up. They'd have to look like a real couple, of course, share a home, a bedroom.

A bedroom.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. A text from Annabel to say she was here, on the porch.

He opened the door, and there she stood, carrying a grocery bag. Her long, silky auburn hair was loose around her shoulders, and though she had on a long, thick, open cardigan, the white T-shirt she wore, tucked into tight jeans, her feet in flip-flops, her toenails painted a shimmery red, made him want to grab her close and just hug her, to breathe in the scent of her. What he felt was something like...need, and it unnerved him. He stepped back and held the door open wide.

She offered a tight smile. “I didn't want to risk waking Lucy by ringing the doorbell.”

“That's exactly one of the reasons why you're perfect to play this part,” he said, taking the grocery bag. “You think of things like that and you're not even a parent.”

A strained look crossed her face, but then it disappeared and she started for the kitchen. He followed her in. “I brought lots of fruit and vegetables.” She pulled produce out of the bag onto the island. She slid over an almost empty bowl that had once been full of fruit and stacked apples and oranges and a bunch of bananas inside. “After school, when Annabel gets home, she can just grab an apple, and you can show her how to spread a little peanut butter on slices for added protein, and—”

“Annabel,” he interrupted, taking both her hands and stilling them. She was talking a mile a minute, and he'd bet his truck she was nervous as hell about what they really needed to talk about—and Lucy's after-school snack wasn't it.

“So I guess I'd move in,” she said, glancing everywhere but at him. She finally looked up at him.

He nodded and let go of her hands. “For all intents and purposes, as they say, it will be a real marriage. For as long as necessary,” he added quickly, wanting to make sure she knew there was an out, that she wouldn't be stuck with him forever. “Why don't we have some coffee and sit down and talk it out?”

She nodded, wrapping her cardigan sweater around herself and sitting at the kitchen table, the low sliver of moon just visible in the bay window. He handed her a mug of coffee and watched her slowly add cream and a spoonful of sugar. It was clear she needed a minute before he launched into the mechanics of their would-be marriage.

“A real marriage,” she repeated. “I'm confused by that because...because a real marriage is based on a few things that aren't going on between the two of us.” She wagged her finger back and forth from him to her.

He sat down and took a sip of his coffee. “Well, I guess I mean a real marriage in the sense that we'll live in the same house, share a bedroom, act like husband and wife when we're in public.”

“Share a bedroom,” she said slowly. “For appearances' sake, you mean.”

He held her gaze, and as her cheeks slightly pinkened he was consumed by the urge to rush over to her and kiss her, to take off that thick beige sweater and slowly undress her, feel her hair slide down his chest, let his hands roam where they wanted. She looked away and wrapped her own hands around the coffee mug.

He'd gone back and forth on this one. He thought that keeping things “professional” in their business marriage was the smartest thing to do; after all, this whole marriage would be about Lucy, about him being a better father, about him able to be a father. It wasn't about sex. But then he started thinking of the effect Annabel had on him and the reality of sleeping next to her every night. Maybe they could fulfill certain needs while still keeping things...businesslike.

Daisy ambled over to sniff Annabel's foot, which gave him a few seconds before he had answer. A wrong word and she might sprint out the door.

“Not necessarily, no,” he said. “I mean, we'll be sharing a bedroom. Every night. Sleeping in the same bed, inches apart. But if you want to keep things strictly platonic, I'll abide by that. I'm just saying that I'm a man and you're a woman and you'll be an inch away from me in bed.” The memory of her, half-dressed underneath him in the hayloft of his family's barn, came slowly into his mind, the feel of her lips, how soft her skin was, how badly he'd wanted her.

She nodded slowly, and he was dying to know what she was thinking. Had he offended her? Was it too much to want sex on top of everything else he was asking? She had to know the effect she had on him, had always had on him. How was he supposed to resist her? He would, of course, if that was what she wanted.

“Let's leave that one for later discussion,” she said, giving Daisy a rub under her chin. The dog jumped on the window seat and curled up, snoozing in seconds flat. “What about Lucy? What are you going to tell her?”

He took a long slug of his coffee. “I'm going to tell her that the nice lady who helped her make a cake sundae at Hurley's the other day is a wonderful person and that I've decided to marry her. Seems like enough information for a six-year-old.”

Annabel nodded. “And the Dunkins? Is that what you're going to tell them?”

A chill ran up his spine. “I'll tell the Dunkins that I've decided it would be in my and Lucy's best interests if I had a good wife who'd make a wonderful mother.”

“Aren't they going to ask if you love this good wife who'd make a wonderful mother?”

“They don't care if I love you. They care that you'll be a proper influence on Lucy and make sure she's taken care of.”

Again, Annabel nodded. “And so I'll make healthful family meals, keep Lucy's ringlets tangle free, make sure she's dressed in a way that doesn't set Raina Dunkin flying into the attorney's office, catch her if she falls from that crab apple tree and then in a few months or so we'll reevaluate the need for the marriage?” For a moment her dark brown eyes looked so sad that he froze, but she sipped her coffee and her expression changed, back to business.

“That's it exactly,” he said, relieved that she so completely understood what was necessary.
What was necessary.
The whole thing stank—even if she did agree to sex. West didn't like having his hands tied, being forced into something, especially something as sacred as marriage and vows.

He stood up and paced the length of the kitchen, mad as hell suddenly that he was being forced—and that he was asking something like this of Annabel. He was tying her hands too—how could she
not
help him? And how could she not after he was dangling his bank account in front of her when her family business was in jeopardy?

Sometimes he really did feel every bit the jerk his parents, the Dunkins and a few women in town thought him to be. He guessed he should include Annabel in that group too.

Hell.

He tried to imagine how his parents would react if they were alive to hear the news that he was marrying Annabel Hurley. His father would probably tell him he was proud of him for the first time. His mother would worry for Annabel's heart, mind and soul. He'd loved his parents and he hated thinking of them this way, but yeah, it burned to know he'd finally win their approval with a sham marriage. It just figured. What was real didn't matter. Everything was about appearances. It had always been that way with his parents. And it was that way with the Dunkins.

And then there was Annabel. A woman who probably wished she'd never had to lay eyes on him again after what he did to her seven years ago. Now he'd talked her into marrying him to save her family's business.

He suddenly felt sick to his stomach, red-hot anger churning in his gut. “You know what, Annabel, I think we're done here. Peanut butter on apple slices. A banana. I got it. You're clear on the marriage arrangement. So let's call it a night.”

She stared at him for a moment. “Well, if
you're
all set.”

Sarcasm. He sighed, wishing he could explain everything bashing around in his head. “Do you have more questions? Something we didn't cover?” The weariness in his voice surprised even him and he sat back down.

She seemed to be considering something but then got up and wrapped the sweater tightly around herself again. “We're crystal clear,” she said, reaching over to give Daisy a scratch on her head before heading toward the door.

“Anything we didn't agree on tonight or talk about we'll just deal with as it comes up,” he said, thinking about Annabel lying next to him in bed, naked and beautiful. Though she likely wouldn't be naked. Damn it. He'd have to keep his hands to himself. It was bad enough he was putting her in this position. He wasn't going to come on to her and complicate things with sex, no matter how much he wanted her. That was what cold showers and mucking out stalls were for. There. He'd made the decision for them. No sex. Platonic. Businesslike.

“I assume you want to get married as soon as possible,” she said, walking into the living room.

He followed her. “This Friday at the town hall?”

She stopped and turned to face him. Again, something crossed her features that he wasn't sure of. Like a Friday afternoon wedding at the Blue Gulch town hall was any woman's idea of a dream wedding, even for a sham marriage.
Good God, West.

“That's just fine,” she said, an edge in her voice. “I'll have Harold cover for me. I might even be able to work the dinner shift.”