The Cowboy Rescues a Bride (Cowboys of Chance Creek) (7 page)

“It looks great.” It really did. And Mexican food was much more familiar to the inhabitants of Chance Creek than Afghan food would be. Not for the first time, he wondered if Fila’s restaurant would suffer in comparison.

Camila beamed at him. “The fixtures were all here. I just had to paint. Come taste my homemade salsa.” She dragged him by the hand to a booth where a red plastic basket full of chips sat on the table next to a black bowl filled with salsa. “Come on, Fila!” She waved her over as Ned took a seat and she shoved in beside him.

Ned shrugged at Fila and gestured to the opposite seat. Fila slowly sat down across from him.

She watched Camila scoop up a heaping portion of the salsa with a tortilla chip, toss her thick, dark curls over her shoulder, and feed the chip to Ned, holding her other hand cupped underneath it to catch any drips. Ned gamely allowed her to poke the chip right into his mouth. As he bit into it his face lit up.

“That’s good!”

Camila’s mouth stretched into a wide smile. “Do you really think so?” She leaned in toward him.

“Give me another one so I can be certain.”

“Sure thing, cowboy,” she said, her slight accent making the statement seem somehow provocative. She scooped up another chip full of salsa and fed it to Ned, who leaned closer to catch it in his mouth. “Go ahead, Fila,” Camila said, resting a hand on Ned’s bicep. “Take one. Tell me what you think.”

Fila frowned, but she took one, dipped it in the salsa and took a bite. She nodded admiringly. She seemed subdued, but then Fila was always quiet around new people. Ned figured she and Camila would soon be fast friends.

“I’ll make you some tostados tomorrow,” Camila promised Ned, leaning in closer and feeding him yet another chip.

“It’s time for lunch,” Fila said suddenly.

“What? Oh, right.” Ned helped himself to a chip. He’d be fine staying right here and consuming a whole plate of them. He noticed Camila watching him, and held the chip in front of her mouth instead of eating it himself. “Your turn. Open wide.”

She did so and he popped it in. Camila ate the chip, then licked the salt from her lips. “That is good, if I do say so myself.”

Fila stood up suddenly, bumping the table so the salsa bowl slid several inches toward their side.

“Whoa—slow down.” Ned caught it handily. “I guess we’d better get going.” Fila sure seemed anxious to leave all of a sudden.

Camila took her time getting to her feet and when she did, she stretched luxuriously. Ned couldn’t help notice she had a fine figure. Like Fila, she was short but curvy. Just the way he liked women. “I’ve been up since dawn,” she said. “I’m about ready for my siesta. I don’t imagine you do that around here, though, do you?”

“Unfortunately not.” Ned winked at Fila. “Sounds like a good idea to me. Say, we’re off to get some lunch. Want to come?”

Fila opened her mouth, then snapped it closed again. Whoops—he’d said he’d take her home, hadn’t he? Well, it wouldn’t kill her to eat out. A friend like Camila could be just the thing to draw her out of her shell.

“Sure!” Camila smiled broadly again. “Where are you planning to eat?”

“How about Linda’s Diner? It ain’t Mexican food, but it’s filling.”

“Let’s go.” Camila linked her arm with his, then turned to Fila and hooked her other arm through hers. Fila stiffened at the contact, but didn’t say anything. Good. Playful Camila would have Fila loosened up in no time. She had none of the fears Fila had, and with her obvious restaurant experience she could most likely give Fila all kinds of pointers. Maybe the proximity of the two restaurants would help, Ned thought. People liked variety. They would come to Camila’s place and see Fila’s on the way in. Maybe next time they’d go there.

“What brought you to Chance Creek?” he asked Camila once they were seated in a booth at the diner, looking over the menus Tracey Richards had handed them.

Camila made a face. “I’m being punished.” She folded her hands and sat as primly as a schoolmarm. “I’ve disgraced my family so I’ve been sent to Siberia to learn the error of my ways.”

“What was the error?”

“Being a better chef than my older brother. He’s been being groomed to take over my family’s restaurant in Houston for ages, but for the last year I ran the kitchen once a week—on Mondays, the slowest day for a restaurant.” Camila played with her fork. “Except after a few months, Mondays became our second best sales day—better than Friday nights. Customers began to ask why the food wasn’t as good on the other nights of the week. Mateo was not amused. Neither was my father.”

“He didn’t let you take over on the other days?” Fila spoke up for the first time.

“No. He found me a husband.” Camila tossed the napkin away. “Actually brought a business associate of his home to meet me. And told me when I was married I could cook for my family. I told him no way. I left the next day.”

“How did you have the money to start a restaurant?” Again, it was Fila who spoke. Ned suppressed a smile. See, friends already.

“My uncle has a slightly more forward vision of women’s capabilities. He told me he’d front me the money as long as I picked a location where my father would never want to open a restaurant. So I picked Chance Creek. Even my father can’t have a problem with that.” Her expression conveyed that no one would want to start a restaurant here. Ned tamped down a desire to stick up for the place.

“Must be tough not to be supported by your father,” he said. He could relate.

Camila shrugged. “Maybe I don’t need his support.”

“Maybe he’ll come after you when his restaurant starts losing money.” It was Fila speaking again. Ned wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her so animated in company before.

“I doubt it.” But Camila’s mood seemed to lighten after that. “What are you getting?” She touched the back of Ned’s hand where he held his laminated menu.

“A bacon burger. How about you?”

“A Cobb salad, I think. What about you, Fila?” Camila’s smile was perfectly friendly, but Fila was frowning again. What was that about?

“Fila?” Ned shifted closer. “Don’t you know what you want to eat yet?”

She glanced down and pointed at an item at random. “That one.”

Camila craned her neck to see. “Meat loaf?”

“Are you sure?” Ned said. “How about fried chicken strips? You liked them at Autumn’s house.”

She flashed him a grateful smile. “Yes. Chicken strips would be good.” Under the table, Ned twined his fingers briefly with hers and gave her a reassuring squeeze. She met his gaze, studied him a moment, and then relaxed.

“Hi, Ned, Fila. Didn’t know we’d see you here.”

Ned looked up at the sound of a familiar voice and spotted his mother’s blue wool coat. Her face above it was alight in happiness at seeing him. His father, walking behind her, took in Fila next to him and Camila across the table. As he scanned Camila’s vibrant features, a crafty look came into his eyes.

Before Ned could act, Holt approached the table, reached across it and offered Camila his hand. “Pleased to meet you,” he said. “Holt Matheson. I’m Ned’s father.”

“Nice to meet you.” Camila flashed him her widest smile. “I’m Camila Torres.”

“Haven’t seen you around here before.”

“I’m new in town. Just getting to know the place.”

“New in town, huh? You’ll have to come and visit our ranch sometime. The Double-Bar-K is one of the oldest in the county. Any friend of Ned’s is a friend of ours.”

“Yes, come to Sunday dinner,” Lisa chimed in. “I’m sure Fila would love to have you there.”

Ned didn’t miss the implications of his parents’ statements. Holt was treating Camila like Ned was dating her instead of Fila. Lisa was letting him know she assumed she was Fila’s friend. No good could come of the invitation either way. “I doubt Camila’s interested in our ranch,” he began.

Camila cut him off. “Are you kidding? All I do is hang out at the Flying W if I’m not at the restaurant, and everyone there is so busy they don’t have much time for me. I’d love to see your ranch. What time?”

“Six o’clock sharp,” Lisa said. “Ned will give you the directions. We’d better go get our lunch.” She poked Holt in the ribs.

“At the restaurant, huh? Are you a chef?” Holt asked, not budging.

“Yes.”

“Can you make a steak?”

“Best steak you ever had. You come by my place once I’m open. I’ll give you one on the house, Mr. Matheson.”

“That’s a deal. I’ll hold you to it.” He turned to Fila. “Stick with this lady. She can teach you something.”

Before Ned could say a word, Lisa took hold of her husband’s elbow. “Stop being cantankerous. Where’s my dinner, old man?”

“Don’t old man me.” But Holt allowed himself to be led away. Ned breathed a sigh of relief.

“What was that all about?” Camila watched them go. “Don’t you cook steaks, Fila?”

“No,” Fila said shortly.

“You should taste her
bolani
,” Ned put in loyally.

“I’d love to. What is it?” Camila’s eyes danced with fun.

A glance told Ned Fila didn’t share her amusement at the situation. “Flatbreads,” he explained. “Best thing you’ve ever tasted. Of course, I’m biased.”

Camila’s gaze flicked from him to Fila and she frowned for a moment. An instant later, she tossed her lustrous hair over her shoulder and gave him another smile. “I don’t think I’ve ever tried Afghan food before. I’m looking forward to it.”

Ned couldn’t help but smile back.

‡
Chapter 9

F
ila was beginning
to think the meal would go on forever when Camila looked at her watch and gasped. “I’m going to be late.” She fished in her purse and threw a twenty dollar bill on the table, but Ned picked it up and handed it back to her.

“My treat today.”

As yet another hundred-watt smile flashed across Camila’s pretty face, Fila tensed.

“Thanks! I’ll get it next time.”

“Where are you off to in such a rush?” Ned asked.

It was like she wasn’t even there, Fila thought. Of course that was her fault. If she didn’t talk, why would anyone notice her?

“Volunteering! See you soon!”

Then Camila was gone in a whirlwind of coats and scarves and clicking heels. After she left, the atmosphere at their table felt dull and flat.

“Nice girl, huh?” Ned said, finishing up his lunch.

Fila nodded. Nice was hardly the word for Camila. Brilliant. Exciting. Beautiful. She was a peacock to Fila’s sparrow.

“Something wrong? Should we get you home?”

She stifled a sigh. Ned was so in tune with her needs. Too bad those needs were so boring. What if they weren’t, though? What if she was the kind of girl who longed to ride a horse, or learn to drive, or go to a concert—or be kissed? Would his intuition be even more keenly tuned to hers? Would he grow more interested with each passing day rather than less, as she feared he would soon do? No hot-blooded man wanted to be burdened with a timid, weepy woman like her.

So she’d have to change. Starting right now.

Right…now.

“I’d like to learn to ride a horse.”

Ned nearly dropped his fork. “Are you serious?”

“Yes.” She wasn’t. She didn’t want to be. But she had to be. And wow—was he definitely interested now. Could he read the fear in her trembling voice or had she held it steady?

“I’ll teach you any time.” He glanced outside at the snow that was falling and made a face. “We might have to wait a bit.”

That was fine with Fila. Just the suggestion had made Ned light up. He wasn’t thinking about Camila’s pretty face or wide smile now, was he? That’s what was important.

“I know the perfect horse, too. We’ll have you riding like a pro in no time. I bet you’ll end up in the rodeo.”

Now it was her turn to smile, and though she knew hers wasn’t nearly as bright as Camila’s, nor did she laugh out loud like Camila would have done, it brought out an answering shine in Ned’s eyes.

“I swear I can see it now.” He nudged her gently. “Fila Sahar—star barrel racer.”

“What is a barrel racer?”

“What’s a barrel racer? Hell, girl. We need to get you to a rodeo!”

“Here you go,
boss.” Luke dropped a stack of folders on Ned’s workbench late that afternoon. Outside, the sky had already darkened to dusk and more snow was falling. Flakes sparkled on Luke’s wide shoulders and pooled around his feet.

“What the hell is that?”

“Taxes. The appointment with the accountant is next Tuesday. You’ll want to go through all that before you hand it in to him.”

Ned dropped the screwdriver he’d been using to disassemble a tow-behind trimmer and stood up. “Mom does the taxes.”

“She won’t last forever.”

“Hell, she’s only in her sixties. I don’t think she’d care for you acting like she’s on death’s door.”

“I don’t think she should have to handle the paperwork at her age.”

Ned moved away from the workbench. “So I bet you told her you’d do it, then you dumped the job in my lap. You can just take it back again.”

Luke squared off with him. “I think whoever is in charge oughta know how to keep the books.”

“What the hell is this really about?” As if he didn’t know.

“It ain’t fair—that’s what this is about. Just because you were born a year ahead of me don’t mean you know anything I don’t know. I can run this place—I know it! I just want a chance.”