Cooking For Cowboy (Stampede Sizzlers) (10 page)

Watching from the doorway, Sierra noticed that Mrs. Parker’s face paled. After a moment, his mother nodded, her hands fisting in her lap.

Sierra realized Chad meant business. She almost felt sorry for the poor woman. Almost. Chad had good reason for his firmness in setting the boundaries for his mother. His previous warnings hadn’t penetrated the woman’s way of thinking. She supposed he wanted there to be no wavering this time as far as the rules went.

Would Mrs. Parker observe his wishes? Sierra felt herself pale. Wait until his mother discovered which guest room she was in! She grimaced with the realization that she was in for a battle the likes of which she’d never seen.

Chapter 8

Two days had passed since Mrs. Parker was released from the hospital and returned to the ranch. Chad had never once mentioned the encounter in the hot tub the night before his mom arrived home, and neither had Sierra.

Chad’s mother hadn’t defied her son’s orders and ventured into the forbidden territory of Sierra’s kitchen. Sierra was happy that Celia and Charlie insisted on sitting in the dining room and eating their supper with Mrs. Parker both nights. They were the three people closest in age on the ranch, and they enjoyed each other’s company. Chad hadn’t raised any objection to their arrangement, and Sierra even heard laughter coming from the dining room during dinner tonight.

Sierra spent the evening seated at the dining room table with a dozen open cookbooks fanned across its top in front of her.

“What are you doing, Sierra?” inquired Celia, slipping into the chair across from her. She’d been out for the evening, seeing a movie with a friend.

“I’m rewriting several of my French cuisine recipes to better accommodate a cowboy’s taste buds,” she answered.

“Don’t worry, dear. The ranch workers love everything you cook.” Celia smiled, sipping a cup of tea. “Would you like a cup of your favorite chamomile?”

“No, thank you.” Sierra felt herself tearing up, recalling how many times her grandmother had asked the same question late at night before turning in. Back in those days, many of these familiar cookbooks were Sierra’s best friends.

“What was that expression that crossed your face?” Celia frowned.

“I was thinking about my grandmother,” she admitted.

“Tell me about her,” encouraged Celia, setting her teacup on the saucer.

“My parents were killed in a car accident the year I turned fifteen. Grandma took me in; she was my only living relative. I loved her dearly, and I was very thankful for a roof over my head.” Sierra fought to keep her emotions under control and whispered, “We only had six years together until she passed away.”

“How sad! What happened?”

“Grandma choked, a complication of MS, while I was at work and she was home alone with no one to save her.”

“Oh, my goodness. Just the two of you lived alone together?” asked Celia.

“Yes, and I willingly cared for Grandma, receiving her love in return. But the arrangement came with a price though: no after-school activities, few friends, and an uncommon familiarity with doctors for someone my age.” Sierra laughed, nervously. She hated talking about herself.

“It must have been so difficult for you, dear.”

Sierra took a deep breath and continued, “Most of the girls in my high school slipped into the clinic for birth control pills, but I visited doctors with Grandma every other week to monitor her MS. I couldn’t count the number of nights I slept in an uncomfortable chair beside her hospital bed, praying she’d still be alive in the morning. I still hate hospitals.”

“That’s understandable.” Celia reached over and patted her hand.

Sierra smiled. It felt good talking about her grandmother, even if some of the memories still hurt. “After school on days when Grandma was healthy and in good spirits, I’d finish my homework and cook dinner. Grandma would insist on drying the dishes while I washed, and then she’d park her wheelchair in front of the TV set. She loved watching
Jeopardy
and
Wheel of Fortune
. I’d spend the evening reading her cookbooks, inventing new recipes for the two of us to try, and dreaming of one day becoming a professional chef.”

“You must have been devastated when she passed away.” Celia shook her head.

“That was ten years ago last month so I don’t dwell on it. Grandma bequeathed everything to me, providing me with more than enough funds to pursue my dream of becoming a trained chef. In the end, Grandma rewarded me tenfold for sacrificing my teen years caring for her.”

“How do you mean sacrificing?” Celia leaned her arms on the table.

“I could never go on overnight school field trips. Or go to a sleepover at my best friend’s house. I had to be home to help Grandma in and out of her wheelchair every morning and night. And even if I’d had the money, I couldn’t go away to college and leave her with no one to care for her.” Sierra smiled. “I had no idea Grandpa left her so much money when he died.”

“She never discussed finances?”

“Never. Just told me not to worry about money, she would make sure the bills were paid. As long as I did the cooking and cleaning and cared for her, Grandma told me everything would be fine.” Sierra shook her head. “I had no idea I’d inherit that kind of money. I paid for my education, and I’ve still got a nice nest egg. Mind you, I live pretty frugally, never wasting money on a lot of fancy clothes or a fancy car. I spend the majority of my time in a chef’s coat. As long as I had a set of wheels to get me from point A to point B, I was content.” She grimaced, recalling yesterday’s conversation with her insurance agent. Her Honda was a write-off and a settlement check was ‘in the mail’. She’d have to dip into her savings and look for another vehicle soon. And then she smiled at herself. Old habits died hard. Enough with the make-do mentality. If she landed a dream job in a hotel, she could afford a nice car. And she deserved one, too.

“Your grandmother must have been extremely proud. You are a caring, unselfish young lady.” Celia reached across the table and patted her hand again. “I’m proud of you, too, for helping out Chad with your cooking. And having cared for your granny, perhaps you can help me with Mrs. Parker’s care.”

“Any time you need help, just ask me.” Sierra attempted to stifle a yawn. She’d never worked so hard in her life since arriving at the ranch.

“Well, I’m turning in for the night.” Celia stood and headed toward the kitchen. “Sleep tight, dear. See you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Celia,” she called. “See you in the morning.”

Sierra considered the mornings she had so far experienced on the ranch. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d seen six a.m. on purpose. Cowboys, she’d soon discovered, believed in starting the day with the rooster. She recalled being wakened by that darn rooster her first morning on the ranch. She could laugh now, but the damn bird frightened the daylights out of her when it started crowing at five a.m. She’d lain in bed considering fried chicken as an option for dinner when Celia tapped on her bedroom door and called, ‘You have time for a quick shower before preparing breakfast, Sierra. I’ll start the coffee for you’.

She’d needed coffee to jumpstart herself, especially at six a.m. She’d drunk four or five cups every morning by the time the cowboys wandered into the kitchen, all washed up and eager to eat. Grubby boots were left at the back door and Stetsons were hung on hooks in the mudroom, never permitted at the table. Charlie always muttered a quick grace before everyone tucked into their meals.

Occasionally at her previous jobs, a happy restaurant customer had sent word with a waitress that a particular dish was the best they’d ever tasted. Or someone insisted she come out front to their table to receive a hearty thank you for cooking a steak perfectly. Now, after every meal, no matter how simple, she received several choruses of ‘thank you, ma’am’ and ‘that was mighty tasty, miss’ from the guys she considered ‘her cowboys’. As a chef, she’d never received such volumes of immediate feedback. Often, she caught herself beaming with their praise.

Who'd have thought she would love cooking for cowboys? And these ones had somehow wormed their way into her heart—particularly the man who always sat at the head of the table.

Sierra glanced at her watch. Ten fifteen. Mrs. Parker had retired to her bedroom for the night a couple of hours ago, and Celia was probably watching a bit of television in her room off the kitchen before turning off her bedside lamp. Sierra had no idea where Chad was. Most nights she was in bed reading when she heard his footsteps in the hallway outside his bedroom door. She closed the cookbook in her hand.

Just as she was about to stack up her cookbooks and call it a night, Chad poked his head into the dining room. “What on earth are you doing?” he asked as he entered, his eyes roaming over the books scattered around her.

“Revising recipes to accommodate cowboy palettes,” answered Sierra with a smile. “What were you working on so long? It’s past ten o’clock.”

“One of the mares had a colt this evening. He’s a beauty. She didn’t have a problem, but Charlie and I and a third-year vet student working for us this summer sat with the mare through it anyway.”

“I bet his help was appreciated tonight.”

“Her help. And yes, she’s going to be one hell of a good vet when she graduates. She worked all her life on her family’s cattle ranch, about fifteen miles west of here. Overseeing the birth of that colt didn’t faze her in the least.” Chad stifled a yawn.

“You must be tired after such a long day.” Sierra stood. He looked exhausted but happy, too. She hadn’t seen him smile so much since she arrived here. “Can I get you a snack or something before you head off to bed?”

“No, I’m still stuffed from that beef stew and dumplings you served for dinner. The men were still talking about it out in the barn when they came in to check on the mare.” Chad smiled the lethal smile that made her knees weak.

“I’m glad they liked it. It’s so nice to be appreciated.”

“Oh, everyone appreciates you,” whispered Chad, reaching for her hand. “And no one more so than me.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, as her insides did a little flip.

“Has my mother attempted to worm her way into your kitchen yet?” he asked, gazing into her eyes.

“Nope. I haven’t seen ‘hide nor wheel’ of her,” answered Sierra, smiling at her own joke.

Chad chuckled. “Good. I don’t want her bothering you. Remember, you’re in charge.”

“Thank you. I appreciate having you in my corner. But I still think she could make a valuable contribution, providing she behaved herself.” Sierra’s heart rate increased while Chad played with her fingers. Now he was sensuously stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. She was finding it increasingly difficult to carry on this conversation. Was he even listening to anything she said?

“How were your first few days here?” he asked, lifting her hand to his mouth. “No regrets?”

She wondered if he was referring to their evening in the hot tub. Was he finally ready to discuss what had happened? Her heartbeat quickened at the thought. She hadn’t felt embarrassed that night, but now...

“My time here has been wonderful. I even look forward to crawling out of bed at the crack of dawn. Can you believe I just said that?” She laughed as he kissed each finger one at a time. Why did she enjoy his touch so much?

“No,” he responded, chuckling. “Judging by your sleepy-eyed appearance that first day, I got the impression you weren’t a morning person.”

“Certainly not.” She wanted desperately to slip her arms around his neck, to run her fingers through those dark curls; his hair would feel so soft. Maybe she should just nibble on his earlobe. Would she shock him if she did? Ever since that night in the hot tub, she longed for his touch again. And to touch him.

“You’re becoming a real ranch cook,” he observed, wrapping his arms around her waist.

Had he been contemplating the same things she had?

“How so?” she managed to whisper.

“You’ve got the uncomplaining, easy-going part down pat. Celia tells me she enjoys working with you, sharing a laugh several times a day. I reviewed and paid the invoices for your kitchen orders. I don’t know how you’re doing it, but you’re saving me a lot of money.” Chad pulled her close against his body and her heart almost stopped. A heat wave surged through her when the evidence of his attraction pressed against her.

“I’ve got a few connections in the food supply industry. No reason why I shouldn’t use them whether I’m ordering for a high-end restaurant or your ranch,” she explained as her heart skipped a beat. She’d wanted to be with him ever since their night in the hot tub. Should she show him she’d welcomed his attention? Oh, to hell with it! Sierra leaned further into his embrace and ran her hands up and down his arms.

“Well, I appreciate it. Every dollar counts no matter how large or small your ranching operation.” He kissed the end of her nose.

She smiled while the butterflies in her stomach did acrobatics. “Thank you.”

He gazed into her eyes for several seconds. “God, you’re beautiful. But I think I’ve told you that before, haven’t I?”

“A woman can never hear something like that too often,” she replied, leaning closer still. She’d always had a soft spot in her heart for cowboys. The sexier the better, and Chad definitely qualified in that department. “I deserve a reward for all this good work.”

“A reward? Are you attempting to wangle a raise out of me?”

“No raise...just a kiss.” Her boldness surprised her, but she felt unbelievably comfortable with him, as if they’d known each other for weeks not days.

“A kiss?” Chad’s right eyebrow rose.

“Yep. Kiss me.”

“Is that a suggestion?”

“No, no, no. That’s an order. I am in charge of this kitchen, remember,” she answered playfully.

“Technically, this is the dining room not the kitchen,” said Chad. The expression she’d come to expect crossed his face. That smile should be illegal.

“Okay, you’re right. But I’m hoping that you’ll follow through anyway,” she whispered seductively. Her brazenness shocked her; she didn’t recognize herself.