Cooking For Cowboy (Stampede Sizzlers) (7 page)

“Is that your team of horses?” she blurted, and then grimaced. “That was a dumb question. Of course, it’s your team.”

“Yep, that’s our substitutes. A team of four race at a time, but we have several that we train and change out depending on which barrel we draw and if there’s an injury,” explained Chad, tipping back his Stetson and leaning over the fence. “And we sell a lot of the Thoroughbreds that we breed here.”

Just then, the team thundered past them pulling a wagon that no doubt had seen better days, harness jangling and hooves pounding the hard-packed ground. The driver hollered and slapped the reins, urging the team onward to the finish line the same as he would if it were an actual race. Dust swirled around the rig and drifted across the track. Chad pressed her head to his chest and she closed her eyes while the dust swirled around them and then passed by. Considering it had rained last night, the ground must be parched to create all that dust this morning.

“Okay, you can look up again,” said Chad.

She turned her attention back to the track and they watched the driver turn the team around and head back toward the finish line. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a hunched and bow-legged old fellow lumbering down the side of the track toward them. Wearing jeans, boots, and a plaid shirt, he held a stopwatch in a tanned, arthritic-looking hand.

“Hey, Charlie, how’s it going?” shouted Chad.

The man’s weathered face matched the leather-tooled belt that circled his middle, and an enormous horse head buckle sparkled in the high-noon sunshine. A pair of dark brown eyes peeked out from under the largest Stetson Sierra had ever seen. “Doing just fine, Chad.”

“Charlie is our ranch foreman, Sierra. Charlie, this is Sierra Griffin. She’s our new cook.”

Sierra stuck out her hand, smiling. “Pleased to meet you, Charlie.”

Charlie shook hands and whistled. “You’re mighty pretty, ma’am. If you cook half as good as you look, there’ll be some happy fellers here at the Whispering Pines.”

Sierra laughed. “I’ll do my best.”

“So, what’s for supper, ma’am?” asked Charlie, expectantly.

“Um, well, I…” she stammered.

“Give her a break, Charlie.” Chad slapped the old fellow on the back. “She only set foot on the ranch a half hour ago. Let her settle in and then I’m certain whatever she makes for supper will be delicious.”

“Looking forward to it,” said the old fellow, nodding. “We ain’t had a decent meal in ages it seems. Well, I’m done timing that team, and I’m done checking fences for today. But I’ve got a mess of tack to clean, so I’ll be getting back to work.”

Chad and Sierra watched the old cowboy lumber back down the track toward the main barn.

“That old guy has worked here since he was in his mid-twenties. Married one of our housekeepers, but she passed away almost fifteen years ago now. Celia handles everything herself, won’t hear of me hiring any more help except for spring and fall cleaning. Charlie turned seventy-five last month. Mom baked him a cake, bought him that fancy belt buckle he’s wearing, embarrassed the crap out of him. That man won’t stop working until he’s six feet under. The word retirement isn’t in his vocabulary.” Chad chuckled and slipped his arms around her waist. “He’s still a competent foreman; I never worry when I’m not around.”

“Charlie will live to be ninety if he keeps himself busy and useful.” Sierra looked deep into Chad’s eyes and smiled while a tingle raced up her spine and her heartbeat quickened at his touch. God he still smelled good. A trace of the musk aftershave she’d noticed last night met her nose. Her hands shook slightly and she could feel his muscular biceps through his shirt as she settled her hands on his arms. She leaned into his embrace and savored his warmth. His casual show of affection suggested he was a kind, caring man who’d make some woman a wonderful husband some day. Would he choose her? Whoa! She had to stop thinking along these lines. She’d just met the guy last night. “I’d better get back up to the house and decide what’s for dinner.”

“I would hope so. I can’t tolerate a slacker,” teased Chad, laughing. And then he leaned down and claimed her lips.

He thoroughly kissed her for a least a full minute, but it ended all too soon.

Sierra’s breath caught. When had those thousand butterflies inhabited her stomach? Chad and Sierra stood, staring into each other’s eyes, bodies pressed together. His breath had quickened, too, and his eyes appeared as dazed as she felt. Her heart pounded in her chest; she was certain he could hear it, he was standing so close. For the moment, only the two of them existed in the entire universe.

She couldn’t read his expression. Stunned? Surprised? She’d felt shockwaves too intense to measure on any Richter scale clear down to her toes. The earth had moved beneath her feet. No man had ever kissed her like that.

After the go-around with the handsome cowboy over the bedroom arrangements, she should be furious with him. But she yearned to drag Chad’s head down for another kiss. She brushed a strand of hair off her face. If he kissed her again, he might singe her bangs.

She needed to regain her equilibrium and pulled out of his embrace.

“I hope you don’t mind. I wanted to kiss you since last night…” he confessed.

Chapter 6

“It’s okay.” She didn’t elaborate or confess she’d wanted him to kiss her again. Spotting the dogs off in the distance, she called, “Here, Barney!”

Sandy’s and Barney’s heads whipped up and they turned toward her. Both of them raced back to the track, and Sierra smiled watching Barney’s ears flopping with each bound.

“Here they come,” observed Chad, sounding a little breathless. “Old Sandy’s going to get a lot more exercise with Barney on the ranch. And I don’t think Barney will wander off with Sandy here to play with.”

The dogs halted at their feet, tongues lolling and eyes darting from one human to the other. “You guys want a treat?” asked Sierra. She sounded a little breathless, too. Locking lips with a gorgeous cowboy did that to a girl.

“A treat? Do these guys need a nap would be a better question,” suggested Chad, laughing. “Especially for Sandy. He’s probably ready to drop.”

“Okay, let’s go back to the house and the dogs can have a nap while I do some meal planning.” Sierra glanced toward the ranch house.

“You guys go ahead. I’m going to catch up with the team and talk to the driver. I forgot to ask Charlie, and I’m curious what the time was.” Chad leapt onto the fence, grasped the top rail and vaulted over, landing on the other side. “Celia can show you around, answer questions, and get you set up with all that cooking stuff you’ll need to know.”

“Cooking stuff? Please, stop with all this technical terminology,” she teased, feigning a sudden state of being overwhelmed by raising the back of her hand to her forehead.

Chad chuckled as he wandered away, “See you at suppertime.”

Sierra raced the dogs to the house, losing shamefully. Perhaps she should ask if there were any weights or a treadmill on the ranch.

She and the two dogs stumbled through the deck door into the kitchen. Sierra spotted Celia sitting at the large rectangular pine table that monopolized the majority of the kitchen floor. The older woman’s attention was glued to some sporting event on the TV in the corner.

Celia turned and rose from her chair.

“Please, we need water!” Sierra gasped, dramatically, and then grinned. “These two guys have been having so much fun together. Barney is going to love it here.”

“I hope you have fun here, too, Sierra.” Celia filled a metal dog dish at the kitchen faucet.

“I hope we didn’t interrupt your show.”

“Not at all. My team is so darn far behind they’ll never catch up.” She finished filling the first dish and started on the other. “I saw you talking to Chad out in the yard. You two young people make a lovely couple.”

“Celia Wilson, are you a matchmaker?” inquired Sierra, concerned with exactly how much Celia saw. Had she witnessed that steamy kiss they shared?

“Not matchmaking, just making an observation.” Celia set the dogs’ dishes by the back door and the dogs lapped greedily. “These furry boys have their water. Now, let’s chat over that cup of coffee.”

“Sounds good,” said Sierra. The air-conditioned house felt wonderful after wandering all over the ranch for an hour on a hot June day.

“And I need to tell you the secret to cooking on this ranch,” whispered Celia, knowingly.

“Secret?”

“Yes, secret. Cook well, cook lots, and don’t take any guff from those cowboys,” confided Celia, with conviction. “And don’t pay no mind to Mrs. Parker’s criticism. She’s got her undies in a twist because she can’t run this kitchen the way she did for more years than she’ll admit to.”

“Chad mentioned she’d recently been confined to a wheelchair.”

“Yes, she was. And knowing her the way I do, she’s not gonna take to it like no duck to water. You’re in for a few arguments, Sierra.”

“Arguments?” Sierra frowned. “What would Mrs. Parker be arguing with me about?”

“Who’s deciding on menus? Who’s doing the ordering? Who’s going to…”

“Okay, I get it. And I suppose she intends to be the one doing all that?”

“Oh, yes. She’ll fight to the death before she relinquishes control of this kitchen. She’s already run off a half dozen cooks that Chad hired. She criticizes their recipes, finds fault with every dish placed on the table, blames them for wasting food, and nags them…”

“Whoa. I don’t care what she’s gotten away with in the past. She’s not going to intimidate or badger me. I’ve put up with all the crap that I’m ever going to tolerate. It’s not happening again, ever!” Sierra stood hands on hips, feeling certain fire blazed in her eyes.

“Glad to hear it. I’m looking forward to working with a cook like you. I worked alongside Mrs. Parker for years, and every cook Chad hired since, even a few fine gentlemen. But you seem like someone with more determination in your little finger than the whole lot of them other folks had in their entire bodies. I believe you’ll give back as good as Mrs. Parker gives.” Celia patted Sierra’s arm.

“Let’s get started. We’ll have a coffee and then decide on our plan of attack,” whispered Sierra, conspiratorially. “When did you say Mrs. Parker would be home?”

“On Monday, I suspect.”

“Perfect,” said Sierra, grinning. “Now, there’s something I need to know. What’s Charlie’s favorite dinner?”

“Meatloaf,” answered Celia.

Sierra grimaced at the thought of having the oven on for an hour in this heat, cooking enough meatloaf to feed a dozen people. And then she remembered the house was air-conditioned.

“Meatloaf it is.”

* * *

Sierra loved the enormous country kitchen with spacious pantry and high-end appliances. The red and white plaid decor felt homey, and sunshine filtered through the white lace cafe curtains that covered the rectangular window above the sink. A dozen matching chairs stood around the enormous pine table in the center of the room. She’d been cooking and baking up a storm, and the banquette bench in the bay window alcove was the perfect spot to snuggle up and read while she waited for the stove’s timer to ring. She’d never cooked on a ranch before, but she didn’t imagine there were many rural kitchens that matched this one. Clearly, Mr. Parker had built this beautiful kitchen for his wife’s benefit. No wonder she’d loved being in charge!

Sierra had planned meals for the next two weeks and ordered supplies. Of course, Chad had showed her the splendid vegetable garden out behind the garage the first day she arrived. The next day, she’d almost fainted when Celia took her through the greenhouse hidden against the south side of the house with access from the mudroom. Having all these fresh vegetables at her fingertips was like finding a goldmine. Besides saving money, being able to create meals with produce minutes after picking it was a total treat.

Today was Sunday—her second day on the ranch—and she’d spent the entire afternoon working in her bikini in the privacy of her garden area, enjoying the fresh air and adding another layer to her tan. She’d questioned the wisdom of wearing a bikini on a ranch crawling with cowboys, but Celia had been right. No one had come around to bother her. Now, there wasn’t a weed in sight. Standing back to admire her hard work, Sierra hadn’t felt such a feeling of accomplishment in ages.

She slipped into the house to get a cold drink. Soon, she returned to the backyard and sat on the sandy bank beside the nearby creek and dipped her toes in the cool water while she drank her iced tea. “Ahh,” she sighed and smiled. Her fingernail drew circular patterns in the condensation that had formed on the glass.

Butterflies dipped and hovered in an erratic path as they journeyed across the yard. A bee startled her when it flew past her ear. She jumped and gasped when iced tea splashed onto her bare leg. She downed what remained in the glass and headed back to the garden.

Feeling refreshed, she picked a small bucket of peas, the first harvest of the year. The carrots and beets were still too small but they’d be ready soon. And they’d have new potatoes in another couple of weeks, too. She couldn’t wait.

Lastly, she picked salad greens, and pulled radishes and green onions and stuffed them into a plastic tub atop her peas. She’d add a few cherry tomatoes she’d noticed were ripe when she toured the greenhouse. She’d make a salad with vinaigrette dressing for supper. If the cowboys downed the garden salad with gusto, then Chad would be right. The cowboys would eat anything she prepared.

She stowed her garden tools in the shed, settled the tub on her hip, and headed up the stone paver path toward the house. A blue jay called from a nearby tree as she passed by. “Hello, up there,” she answered, shading her eyes in an attempt to spot him. As she continued on her way, a frog on safari from the creek hopped onto the path, crossed over the patterned walkway, and disappeared into the grass.

She rounded the corner of the house and glanced over at the barnyard. She almost tripped on a stone paver when she spotted Chad standing in the corral. She stopped dead in her tracks. He slowly circled the corral, leading one of his Thoroughbreds. She had no idea what he was doing, but he’d taken his shirt off to do it.