A Cowboy in the Kitchen (6 page)

The minute he tried to put Annabel and the kiss out of his head, he realized what else was burning in his gut—he had that same cold dread in his heart, snaking up his spine and wrapping around his nerve endings: Lucy wasn't here. Anytime she slept at the Dunkins', he was always aware of the lack of her. The world didn't seem right when she wasn't where she was supposed to be, which was here at—he glanced at the clock on his bedside table—5:30 a.m. She was on a regularly-scheduled sleepover at her grandparents and she'd be back home after school. But given what the Dunkins had threatened... Suddenly, West wanted his daughter here now, where she belonged. Home.

Normally he'd get out of bed, throw on his clothes and work boots and head out to the corrals and let the cattle out on the range. Then he'd come back, shower and dress and wake up his baby girl by pretend-cracking an egg over her head—that was her favorite way to wake up—and tickling his fingers down the sides of her face and under her chin to mimic the feel of gooey raw egg white and yolk. He'd give her a big hug and leave to let her get dressed.

So sometimes she'd come downstairs for breakfast in a pink church dress with red tights and her yellow light-up sneakers, and no, he wasn't going to tell her she didn't match. She matched fine. He'd try to untangle the knot at the side of her head, but sometimes he just couldn't get the darned thing loose. So off she'd go to school looking...unique.

This morning he had no doubt Raina had her wearing some scratchy school-appropriate outfit, her hair tangle free, her lunch box packed with healthful food.

West sat up and reached over to scratch Daisy, dozing as usual at the end of the bed, behind the ears. Maybe his daughter liked looking more presentable. Maybe she wore green and purple and crazy stripes because she didn't know better, not because she liked looking as if she'd dressed in a tornado. Lorna had made such a fuss over dressing Lucy just so, and Lucy had been stubborn, shaking her head and pointing at the outfit her mother wouldn't let her wear. Lorna had always won, of course; she'd been the parent, West realized, with the Dunkins' constant refrain: You're
the parent, West
, ringing in his ears.

He'd call Raina this morning, they'd talk it out, and she'd back down. He
was
the parent, damn it.

An hour later, his two ranch hands had arrived, and the three of them got the cattle out a bit father and the horses taken care of, then checked on the calves. Finally West showered and slurped down a strong cup of coffee, steeling himself for the call he had to make to Raina. He pressed in the numbers, his stomach clenching at the sound of Raina's hello. The call lasted all of forty seconds:
Lucy is just fine, and we're not changing our minds about seeking custody, sorry, but enough is enough, we just want our granddaughter raised right, goodbye, West.
Click.

That got West stewing for a bit until he hightailed it upstairs, put on his one suit and tie and got in his pickup, heading into town by 8:00 a.m to go see Winston Philips, a shark of a lawyer with a reputation for getting the job done. The man was known for working from 7:00 a.m. to be on par with eastern standard time until 7:00 p.m. He cost a mint, but so be it. If West had Winston Philips representing him, the Dunkins wouldn't be awarded custody of his daughter.

Except when West pulled into the parking lot, who was coming out of Philips's office but Raina and Landon Dunkin.

West cursed and let his head drop against the steering wheel, then drove over to the Blue Gulch elementary school and sat in his truck and looked for his daughter among the kids racing around the playground before the morning bell. He spotted Lucy and her friends Juliet and Delilah on the tire swing, and he wanted to go over and hug her so bad, but the bell rang and the kids shrieked and raced to line up.

At the front door of the school, he saw one of Lucy's little friends heading inside with her parents, each holding a hand and swinging her up. Her dad leaned down for a kiss and then she raced ahead, but her mom called her back, smiling and pointing at her Olaf lunch box still in her hand. The girl came running back, took her lunch box and then off she went.

At least five times over the past few months, West had gotten a call from the school office that Annabel had forgotten her lunch box and could he bring it down or should they bill him for a school lunch?

Lucy needs a mother
, he thought numbly. Someone who could fix her knotty ringlets and remember to hand over her lunch box and notice if her pants were raggedy or the wrong color.

A mother.

West bolted upright, the lightbulb over his head so bright he had to blink.
Yes, that's it.

Lucy did need a mother. And West needed a way to keep the Dunkins from taking Lucy from him.

Annabel Hurley was that way. The Dunkins liked Annabel. With Annabel as his wife, helping care for Lucy, they'd have no reason to sue for custody. Nor would they win as easily.

Annabel desperately needed money to save Hurley's. He desperately needed a wife to save his family. They could solve each other's problems and when things settled down, they could go their separate ways. A business deal from beginning to end, and together they'd work out the details of the middle.

He was due over to Hurley's tonight for the lesson on appetizers. Somewhere, between rolling biscuit batter around little hot dogs, he'd ask her to marry him.

He'd imagined that once before, a fleeting thought in the barn loft seven years ago, when he'd felt things he'd never felt before and never had with Lorna, even when he'd started to actually care for his reckless wife. But now it had nothing to do with feelings and everything to do with making sure the most important things in their lives weren't wrenched away.

He had no idea if Annabel would go for it. But he'd vowed to do anything he could to save his family and
he
was going for it.

In fact, forget about waiting for class tonight. There was no time to waste. It was a three-minute walk from where he was parked now to Hurley's Homestyle Kitchen. Which meant he had three minutes to figure out exactly how he was going to propose a business deal of a marriage to a woman who might not even be speaking to him anymore.

Chapter Four

I
n the restaurant kitchen, Annabel was mashing potatoes for garlic smashed potatoes—every smash a reminder to squash her feelings for West. Across the island, Hattie added onions and homemade bread crumbs to a big bowl of ground beef for meat loaf. Five loaves were already in the oven for the lunch rush, which began at eleven in a ranch town, and the smell, even at eight-thirty in the morning, was delectable. Annabel had grown up on cold meat loaf sandwiches in her brown-bagged lunch, packed by her mother and then her gram, and it would always be her favorite comfort food.

Hattie glanced out the window and upped her chin. “Looks like someone's moving into the old take-out place.”

Annabel squinted against the morning sunshine and looked across the street to the formerly empty storefront between the Blue Gulch Bakery and Yoga For You. “Coming Soon! Clyde's Burgertopia!” she read.

Annabel's stomach dropped. Everyone knew Clyde Heff made amazing burgers on his grill at his exclusive annual backyard Fourth of July parties. The key was apparently some kind of “secret ingredient” dating back five generations, and Annabel was pretty sure the secret ingredient was a mixture of bourbon and dill. But the man could make a mean burger, and now he'd be pulling lunch and dinner customers away from Hurley's. Granted, that little storefront with the small back room couldn't handle more than a counter and take-out business. But still. It was competition. Competition Hurley's didn't need. Worse, Clyde's daughter, Francie, had been part of Lorna Dunkin's posse back in middle school and high school.

Laughter, then:
Oh my God, Geekabel, those suede flats are like from the '80s. Get a clue.
Those suede flats had been her mother's, and Annabel cherished them. Or she'd find herself behind Lorna and Francie and their friends on the lunch line at school and hear,
I'd kill to be as skinny as Geekabel but only if I could keep my 32-Cs and my tiny waist. I mean, what's the point of being a rail if you look like a boy?
Then laughter, firm agreement and discussion. Annabel couldn't imagine snooty Francie Heff eating something as common as a burger, even at her father's own restaurant, so maybe she wouldn't have to see much of her old tormentor. If she did, Annabel would just stare her down and give it right back to her.

Eyeing the sign announcing the Burgertopia again, Annabel thought of the bills and the amount left in Gram's business account. Plus, a quarterly loan payment was coming due soon. Her stomach churned and panic crawled up her spine. “Between Sau Lin's noodle shop, the new steak house and the Burgertopia, we'll have a trickle of customers. I'm all for new businesses opening in town, but we're in trouble.”

If only there were money to build the back patio the way Gram had always dreamed, surrounded by the beautiful oaks and the wildflowers. They could put a children's playground back there and hire a sitter so people could eat dinner in peace. They could break down the wall to the too-big hallway and add five tables to the main dining room. They could spruce up the place with warm yellow paint and new dishware and cutlery. They could hire a full-time cook to take the pressure off her and Hattie, someone as great as Essie's former longtime assistant cook, Martha, who knew the recipes inside and out but had long ago moved to Austin.

These were all ideas that couldn't come to fruition. There was barely money to pay the bills. And with the loan coming due in a month and very little hope to pay it...

Hattie covered Annabel's hand and patted it. “Listen, all we can do is make the best food we know how and keep folks coming in.” She added Worcestershire sauce to the meat loaf, Annabel comforted by the fact that Gram's century-old recipe, handed down from her mother, was the best meat loaf anyone had ever had.

Yes. Focus on making the best chicken-fried steak and meat loaf and braised short ribs and garlic mashed potatoes and po'boy sandwiches—like the ones that West loved so much—in the county, she told herself. That was what Gram had always said.
Just focus on being the best you you can be and don't worry about anyone else.

Why did she have to bring West into the equation? A man who kissed and took it back. A man who broke her heart so irrevocably she felt split in two for over a year. A man who'd hurt her so badly she'd been dumb enough to let her heartbreak control her, keeping her away from home, from her gram, from Clem, for so long.

She'd never let that happen again. She might still believe in love, but she'd never be a dummy about it again—that was for sure. Though she wondered if a person could help it, if you were swept away and caught up and couldn't control it. There were people like her friend Sally from Dallas who specifically looked for a husband she liked who met her long list of criteria, including big salary and lack of family history of cancer and male pattern baldness. Annabel had gone to her wedding, and Sally had looked awfully happy with her wealthy husband with his head full of thick hair, a man Sally liked and admired but didn't love. Then there was Annabel's cousin Susannah clear across Texas who'd fallen madly in love with a hilarious, kind bull rider with no money, married him in a whirlwind wedding three weeks later and was madly in love ten years later, with two little cowboys and three dogs.

Annabel let out a deep sigh. She had no idea how love worked or was supposed to work.

Ugh, what was she doing? She had to focus on saving Hurley's Homestyle Kitchen, not worry about her love life or lack thereof. When it came to West Montgomery, she had to protect her heart and keep her lips at a distance. Two feet away at all times. That way, if he tried to kiss her again, he'd fall over and land flat on his face, as it should be.

“Now, that's a much better sight than a new sign going up across the street,” Hattie said, winking at Annabel.

Huh? Annabel glanced out the window and there was the man himself crossing the street, looking very...serious. West, in a suit and tie, strangely enough, was about to pass through the open gate leading to the restaurant, but then he turned tail, jogging back across the street, paced from the yoga studio down to the Blue Gulch Public Library and back again. He stood there, across the street, hands on hips, as though he was working something out with himself.

Good Lord, was he about to come in here and tell her he wanted his money back for the lessons, prorated for the breakfast and lunch ones he'd had, that he'd hire someone else?

Or maybe something had progressed with the Dunkins in their threat to try to get custody of Lucy. Maybe that was what the suit and tie was about. Had he already been to court his morning?

“Interesting,” Hattie said, eyebrow raised as West paced down to the library again, then back, crossing the street with a look of pure determination in his face, as though whatever was yanking him around inside his brain wouldn't win out. He stood by the window and glanced in and when he spotted Annabel, he held up a hand, then jogged up the steps.

Annabel shrugged at Hattie, wiped her hands on her apron and went out the front door to the porch.

“Do you have a few minutes?” he asked. “Maybe more than a few minutes. I need to talk to you.”

“Let me just tell Hattie to cover my potatoes.” In moments she was back, apron off.

They walked down Blue Gulch Street toward the town green with its pretty wood gazebo and American flag. He stopped in front of a stone bench, and gestured for her to sit down, then sat beside her, loosening his blue-and-red-striped tie.

“I'm in this getup—” he gestured at his suit jacket “—because I'd planned to go see Winston Philips this morning, to hire him as my attorney to fight the Dunkins. But when I pulled into the lot, the Dunkins were coming out of his office. They mean business, Annabel.” He cleared his throat. “And so do I. So I have a proposition for you.”

She stared at him. “A proposition?” What proposition? Just then, a couple walking their little dachshund strolled by, so she had to wait until they said their hellos and asked West how his daughter was and if he had any ponies for sale, which he did, and get through five more minutes of them setting up a date and time to come out to the ranch. Finally they waved and walked away, the little dog stopping to sniff something, and Annabel wanted to scream at the top of her lungs,
Move along already, people!

West took her hand and led her over to the narrow cobblestone alley between the park and Blue Gulch Coffee and Treats. “Just so there are no more interruptions.” He glanced down, then up at her. “You've said Hurley's is in big financial trouble. 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 stared at him, joy fluttering for a moment as she heard only that Hurley's Homestyle Kitchen would be saved. Then her fairy godfather morphed back into West when she recalled the word
proposition
, which meant he wanted something from her.

“And in return, I...?”

“You marry me.”

Annabel's jaw dropped.
“What?”

He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I need a wife—a wife the Dunkins will approve of—to keep them from fighting me for custody. They like you, they like your family. You're a chef, you always look nice, you'll know how to take care of Lucy in a way that will satisfy them. I'm desperate here, Annabel. I need you to marry me—for however long it takes to show them I'm a good father, for me to learn from you how to be more of a mother too. If in six months or a year, whenever, we're all good, then we can quietly go our separate ways. I know it's a lot to ask, but I'm offering a lot in return.”

Annabel leaned back against the brick wall of the coffee shop, needing something to brace herself against. Good God. West wanted her to marry him—a sham marriage—to keep his daughter. This was serious stuff. The man she'd always loved, still loved, damn it, was proposing marriage. For the sake of his family. It was both awful and understandable at the same time.

It
was
a lot to ask. And he
was
offering a lot in return.

“I need to go, West,” she said, feeling those stupid tears stinging her eyes again. “I need to process this, okay?”

He put his hands on her shoulders, and she looked up at him. “I wouldn't ask this of you if I didn't have to.”

Yeah, West, I
know
that. Jerk!

It was just like him to make it worse.

“I need to think,” she said again, and took off running.

* * *

Lunchtime was so busy at Hurley's that Annabel barely had time to think about West's proposition. But she'd been so distracted that she'd forgotten that table six had asked for coleslaw with the meat loaf and not the garlic mashed potatoes, forgot about table ten's order entirely, then attempted to plate the fried green tomatoes and instead dropped them on the floor and stepped on one, which squished under her clog.

“You all right?” Clementine asked, searching her face. “I've never seen you so disorganized.” She put a bunch of orders on her tray and added the sour pickle to table five's roast beef po'boy. Annabel had forgotten the pickle.

“I'm fine,” Annabel said, running the back of her hand across her forehead. “Just got something on my mind.”

Clementine eyed her again, made up a few baskets of fried mushrooms, and put those on her tray. “I'll keep the hordes satisfied with these till you can get those orders up. I'll have Harold come in and help.”

“That's a good idea,” Annabel said, hating to let everyone down by messing up. This was her world—she'd grown up in this kitchen, had shucked corn and rinsed vegetables and knew how to spell every spice by the time she was six—and she'd spent seven years in upscale Dallas restaurants. She knew better than to allow distractions to get in the way of work.

Harold arrived ten minutes later. They all got into a groove, the food served and happy customers leaving nice tips.

Finally, the dining room empty, the kitchen cleaned and dinner prepped, Annabel prepared a lunch tray for her grandmother and headed down the hall to Essie's bedroom. How she wished she could tell her gram about West's proposal, but her grandmother was frail enough without worrying that Annabel would marry a man who didn't love her to save the family business. Gram would tell her not to marry West, so Annabel decided to keep the proposal to herself for the time being.

Her grandmother's room faced the backyard with her beloved vegetable garden where they grew most of the produce and herbs they needed for the restaurant. Annabel knocked and at Gram's “Come on in,” she carried in the tray of soup and sweet tea.

“Great news, Gram,” Annabel said, setting down the tray on the swing-out table at Essie's bedside. “Lunch was very busy today. Not a lull and a line out on the porch. The potato leek chowder and fried catfish po'boy with Creole mayonnaise were big hits.”

“I can see why,” Gram said, tasting the chowder. “No one makes soup like you, Annabel.”

Annabel smiled at her grandmother, her silvery white hair in a neat bun—Clementine's doing. “You taught me.”

Essie Hurley put down her spoon and stared down, her expression falling. “I'm glad to hear business was good today, sweetheart, but I've been meaning to tell you... I—” She glanced away, then back. “The restaurant is in bigger trouble than I let on. I don't know if you've had a chance to look through the books. I was hoping Georgia would come home and maybe see if anything could be done at this point, but between the competition and my health failing, it looks like Hurley's Homestyle Kitchen might have to close its doors. And that's okay, sweetie. You've got a life in Dallas, and maybe if I close up shop, Clementine will have a chance to see the great big world out there instead of spending her life waitressing at her family restaurant.”