Cowboy in the Kitchen Read online

  He fished a five from his wallet and thanked the driver for his patience, then patted Alberto on the shoulder.

  “I got this one,” Hunt assured the foreman.

  “Thank you, Mr. Temple.” Alberto smiled his appreciation.

  Hunt passed through the downstairs rooms, admiring the progress being made by the carpenters and painters. Gillian was stressing big time, but things were shaping up. True, there were large-ticket items running behind, and the crews were working around holes in the schedule, but it wasn’t out of the question to imagine the work finished well before Christmas.

  He’d even considered stringing holiday lights on the derrick out front, and positioning a lighted star atop the hundred-foot structure to match the sixty other replica derricks in town. But none of that would happen if he didn’t convince Gillian that she wasn’t a failure and get her to ease up on the throttle.

  “Gilly?” he called as he rapped on the closed door of the room where she’d set up her office. “Gilly, are you in there?”

  The door flew open.

  “I asked you not to call me that around here. I don’t want the men to get the wrong idea.” She left him standing in the hallway.

  Hunt followed and pushed the door closed again. He settled into a folding chair next to the makeshift worktable that she’d put together with plywood and sawhorses. Why she chose this setup when she could easily afford a proper desk was beyond his understanding.

  “What wrong idea? That you might be human and a nice lady who can take a little teasing on the job?”

  “That’s not what I was thinking.”

  “Then maybe it’s time to change your mind-set,” he suggested.

  “Meaning?” She took the other chair.

  “You will catch more flies with sugar than you will with turpentine.”

  Gillian blew her nose on a tissue and tossed it into the five-gallon bucket that served as her trash can.

  “So I’m supposed to simper and sashay and pretend to be a helpless Southern Belle so people will say I’m sweet?”

  “How many women have you met in Kilgore who sashay, for cryin’ out loud?”

  “I haven’t looked that closely.”

  “Well, add the effort to your to-do list. Maybe it’ll help get your mind off yourself, and you’ll start to appreciate the town you handpicked for your new home.”

  It was good advice, and he should probably take it himself.

  Her head angled away, moist violet eyes narrowed. “Since when do you consider this my home?”

  “Since you knocked out a few walls, brought in a load of river rock to build a fireplace in the restaurant and started fitting every room on the first floor with new baseboards and crown molding.”

  At the mention of the molding her lips popped open like a largemouth bass after a water bug. He sensed that round two of her hissy fit was coming, so he held his palm up to prevent the flood of words. “Yes, I’ve heard all about the delivery guy you threatened to strangle with his own radio chord.”

  “I wasn’t that bad,” she argued.

  “I witnessed the whole thing, Gillian. When you realized he’d brought the wrong order, you threw something out there in the parking lot that was just short of a conniption.”

  “All right, I did!” She grabbed the nearby roll of architectural plans and smacked them on the plywood for emphasis. “And with good reason.”

  She brandished the roll of drawings as if they were a sword for defending her honor. “The devil is in the details, and if they aren’t handled properly, then nothing that comes next will work.”

  Hunt stood and extended his open palm. “You’ve only shown me the plans for the first phase of the ground floor. Let me see the rest so I can understand what all the fuss is about.”

  She snatched the roll close to her chest. “This information is on a need-to-know basis. When I decide you do, I’ll share it with you and not before.”

  Hunt leaned over Gillian, placed his hands on her shoulders and bent so close that her metal chair tipped back on two legs. She held tight to the plans, refusing to be intimidated by his nearness. He dipped his face to hers and let a threatening smile ease across his lips.

  “Give me the drawings or give me a kiss. It’s your choice.”

  Her lovely eyes widened in defiance. Her gaze locked with his. The chair rocked, unsteady, as if it might tip over. Gillian’s hands flew out for balance. She let the plans drop to the floor, but she never let her eyes lose contact with his.

  Was it possible that his nearness was more important than her precious drawings? Hunt’s heart raced. He wanted to kiss the woman. Rather badly. But not without her consent.

  Hunt stepped away and let the front legs of Gillian’s chair thump to the floor. He stooped, retrieved the roll of paper, handed it to her and then returned to his seat.

  “Why are you playing those cards so close to the vest?”

  “Because what I plan to do next is still entirely on paper, and I’m not ready to share it. I’m in over my head as it is, and you’d probably try to talk me out of it if you saw what I have in mind.”

  “I deserve more credit than that,” he complained.

  “You do, Hunt.” She leaned forward, reached across the space between them and placed her palm on his knee.

  Her tender touch was warm. “You’ve become a friend, and I’m not sure I’d have gotten this far without your advice, even though I haven’t asked for it as often as you’ve given it.”

  She smiled to mask the blunt point.

  “Well, prepare for some more.”

  Gillian dropped against her chair, ending the brief physical contact. “I’m not up to your veiled criticism right now, Hunt.”

  “Even better, because there’s no time for candy-coating.”

  “Whatever bitter news you’re determined to deliver will have to wait. My father called this morning with some tough news of his own, and I’m up to here with worry.” She gestured to the space above her head.

  He leaned forward. “What’s the matter?”

  “He and my mother will be here in a few days, and things have to be on track before they arrive.”

  “Aah, coming for their first visit to see how you’re managing their investment.”

  “I wish that was all there is to it.” She shook her head miserably and reached for a tissue.

  As she dabbed at the corner of her eye, Hunt realized the impossible was about to occur. That stiff upper lip of Gillian’s was beginning to tremble.

  “Is whatever’s got you so upset also on a need-to-know basis, or can you can tell me what’s going on?”

  “I might as well. You’ll figure it out when they show up and never leave.”

  “Huh?”

  “They’ve been laid off,” she said quietly. “Both of them.”

  “What do you mean, laid off?”

  She huffed out a breath and rolled teary eyes. “You’ve heard about it on the news. It’s that thing companies do when they have to cut costs?” The sarcasm was watered down.

  “How do you get downsized out of your own business? Who gets laid off from a place that belongs to them?”

  The misery on her face morphed into confusion.

  “Where did you get the idea that they own the hotel where they work?”

  “Different things you’ve said gave that impression.”

  But had she really planted the idea with her words, or had he jumped to the conclusion to suit his own purposes? The huevos ranchero Alma had prepared for his breakfast rumbled in Hunt’s belly as a fresh supply of acid in his gut punctuated Gillian’s news.

  “If I did, then that was my bad,” she accepted the blame. “I never meant to imply anything other than the fact that my parents are hardworking people who’ve give
n their lives to one employer. Only now it seems their positions are redundant, and they’re being forced to take early retirement.”

  “So they’re coming here?”

  She nodded, not at all pleased.

  “Dad and Mom are shell-shocked. They’ve decided that the best way to get past the blow is to take on a new challenge. They want to help out, ‘stay busy,’” she mimicked her father.

  “And you object to that because...” He struggled to grasp why she wouldn’t be excited to have her parents nearby. The Temple Brothers would have given anything for another day with their folks. The judgmental thought must have shown on his face. Gillian had the grace to flush with shame.

  “It must be hard to grasp. But you’ll understand once they’re here and you see how much of my personality comes from my father.”

  “So, he’s bossy, too?”

  “Oh, you have no clue. That’s why he’s been successfully running a hotel for so many years. He manages every detail, and he’s constantly correcting everybody about the way they do things.”

  “Yep, you’re a chip off the old block.”

  “I have spent my entire life trying to stay a step ahead of him so he won’t be on my case. But if he comes in here and starts being unreasonable with my contractors and crews, this place is going to experience a mutiny.”

  “You realize the potential for mutiny already exists, don’t you? And you can’t blame your daddy for that situation.”

  “It’s that serious?” She winced.

  “You know the answer to that, Gilly. I understand how important this is to you, but you’re inflicting a load of stress around here and making yourself crazy in the process.”

  She ran both hands through her hair, catching strands of blond in her fingers and resting the beautifully tangled mess atop her head. His fingers itched to touch the silky tendrils that hung free.

  “Nothing is the way I’d imagined it would be, Hunt. I’m not sure how to adjust.”

  “If you get a bushel basket of broccoli instead of the cauliflower you ordered, you switch recipes and make the best of it.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I get it. When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. That’s clever when it’s embroidered on a pot holder but not so useful for me right now.”

  He took closer note of the dark smudges beneath her eyes.

  Gillian was miserable. Off balance. Not the pretty powerhouse who kept everyone else on their toes.

  His heart raced as he decided what his next move should be. One wrong step and he could put his foot in it for good. But would she be the one to pay the consequences? And could he live with himself if she got hurt?

  CHAPTER NINE

  “GILLY, DARLIN’, TELL me what you want from me so I can help. Shoot straight, ’cause I don’t wanna make the situation worse.”

  She sat up taller in her chair, did a first-rate job of appearing pulled together and in control, but he’d already seen the weakening in her tough exterior. As many hours as Gillian spent with that infernal cell phone to her ear, it was never for anything other than business or to argue with her daddy. Right now the woman needed a friend. A close friend.

  “How can I help you?”

  “Why would you even ask that question?” She sniffed. “I’m just fine on my own.”

  “Oh, come on. Give me some credit here.” He indulged in the exaggerated eye roll she’d been leveling at him for weeks. “I made the conscious decision to partner with you instead of treating this situation as if it were a hostile takeover. And as difficult as it’s been, I’ve kept my hands to myself, for the most part, when what I’d really want to do is...” He stopped, refusing to give her the pleasure of hearing him say more.

  If she wanted to hear how he felt about her, she’d have to work for it.

  She paused. Taking the bait, no longer on the verge of tears and once again sassy, she asked, “What you’d really want to do is what?”

  “To put you over my knee. Your daddy obviously didn’t do that often enough, no matter how tough you say he was on you.”

  “That’s not what you were about to say,” Gillian challenged. She left her chair, moved in front of him and leaned down with her hands on his shoulders as he’d done to her minutes before.

  “That is exactly what I meant to say. When you are frustrated, you behave a little like a child. And while I, personally, think it’s somewhat charming—”

  Gillian leaned closer, and he felt her warm breath on his cheek. He finished, “—the rest of the people who come in contact with you find it to be shrewish.”

  She snapped to attention, and her posture became finishing-school perfect. “Shrewish?”

  He nodded, dipped his chin and kept a grin to himself.

  “Why didn’t you say so before now?”

  “Oh, right. You’ve already shared your irritation with my unsolicited advice. It would have been about as popular as a roach in your grandma’s potato salad if I’d mentioned it might be a good idea for you to sweeten up your method of dealing with people.”

  She slumped down in her chair, folding her arms in a defensive posture. “Sounds as if you’ve thought this over.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I surely have,” he drawled in his best Texas accent. “You’ve got the skill to be a charmer—you’ve used it on me, though not nearly enough. If you’d flex your charm muscles more often, you’d have everybody you come in contact with eating out of your hand.”

  “That’s not my style,” she insisted, stubborn as always.

  He considered for a moment, then looked her up and down.

  “Have you worn your hair that way all your life?”

  “Of course not.” Gillian grimaced before adding, “I hate to admit it, but ten years ago I had a curly perm.”

  He couldn’t hold back a smile at the image of Gillian with corkscrews. “Why don’t you have those curls today?”

  “Because styles change, and you have to change with them or be labeled a fashion dork.”

  He pretended to aim an imaginary pistol and pull the trigger. “Bull’s-eye! You change with the circumstances. That is, if you’re smart.”

  “Okay, I get the point,” she conceded.

  “There you go, darlin’. I was sure there was a savvy woman deep inside that sizzlin’ hot body.”

  It was easy to admit but harder every day to remember that the oh-so-appealing exterior belonged to his boss lady.

  * * *

  GILLIAN LOOKED AROUND at the changes, unable to believe her eyes. What a difference three days and countless man-hours made! With a few kind words and some expensive overtime, she’d been able to convince the local electricians and plumbers to work around the clock to ready several suites.

  She moved from the hotel to the upstairs area she’d been using as her office space and powder room, enjoying the creative distraction of cobbling together country-chic accommodations for herself and her parents.

  “I couldn’t have done all this without you, Hunt.” Each day her gratitude toward him increased, though he always brushed off her words of appreciation.

  “Kindly keep that sentiment in mind when a paying guest sends her overcooked and underseasoned snapper back to the kitchen,” he challenged.

  “Ah, you remembered,” she crooned, as if he’d recalled something endearing. “How sweet.”

  “No, it’s just good business to pay attention to what people say about your work.”

  “And what do you expect my father will say about the place so far?”

  Hunt glanced around the suite her folks would occupy.

  “Be honest,” she insisted. She was satisfied with what they’d accomplished in a few days, but she wanted a man’s perspective.

  “What you’ve done with these rooms is pretty impressive.”

  Gill
ian had been aching for his reassurance. Without fear that Hunt would judge her actions, she moved close, and his strong arms instinctively encircled her body. He cradled her head in his hand and pressed her cheek to his chest. She heard his heartbeat, a thumping as strong as her own. She boldly tilted her face upward expecting to find his lips. Instead, Hunt sought the skin at her temple where he pressed a lingering but tender kiss.

  “Thank you,” he murmured into her ear. “I haven’t had a hug in a long time.”

  “Me, either.” She squeezed him harder for covering her awkward neediness and then ended the embrace.

  “So you don’t believe this room is too rustic?”

  “Maybe for some parts of the country, but not for Texas. And the fact that you found most of the furnishings at local salvage and resale shops makes it extra special. I suspect you’re planning to go French country up here with the rest of the guest suites, but you ought to model some of the rooms after this one.”

  “I hadn’t even considered spinning a local thread, but you make a good point. People don’t expect to find Danish modern in Lincoln’s bedroom when they visit the White House.”

  “And when they come to Texas, they want a taste of the Lone Star State in their accommodations, because they’re gonna get European in the restaurant.”

  She gouged him in the ribs with her elbow.

  “Ouch!” He rubbed the spot. “Cullen’s been goosing me that way all my life.”

  “Where do you think I got the idea?”

  “That’s it. No more meals for you at his house.”

  “Speaking of meals, I’ve got my parents’ suite covered, but there won’t be a working kitchen for a while yet.”

  “That occurred to me, as well. The walk-in cooler will be installed next week, and that’ll help with breakfast and lunch, but until then you’ll have to eat out.”

  “Where shall we take them tomorrow night?”

  “We? Don’t you want to spend the first evening alone with your folks?”