Cooking For Cowboy (Stampede Sizzlers) (2 page)

She started the car, slammed it into gear, and fought back tears as her car darted toward the exit.

* * *

Chad Parker slumped on the lumpy vinyl-covered barstool and scrubbed his hand down his face. Could this day get any worse?

“Are you certain I can’t buy you another beer, handsome?” asked the young redhead who’d been sidling up to him for the last ten minutes. She’d offered him a lot more than another beverage, too, and he was beginning to lose patience with the obviously inebriated woman. There was nothing less attractive, in Chad’s opinion, than a drunk female.

“No, ma’am,” insisted Chad, politely. “As you can see I haven’t finished this one yet. And I’m driving, so one is my limit.”

Suddenly, Chad’s friend appeared at his side and rested his hand on Chad’s shoulder. “Now, sweetheart, shame on you for flirting with some
woman
when I’m out of sight. Naughty, naughty boy.” Martin batted his eyelashes for good measure.

Chad coughed to cover his laughter. Trust Martin to rescue him in the most preposterous way.

“You’re gay?” asked the redhead, incredulously.

Without waiting for a reply, she slid off her barstool and teetered in her cowboy boots. Recovering her balance without spilling a drop of the beer she carried, she staggered across the room, undoubtedly heading toward her next target. Chad silently wished him luck.

“You asshole,” teased Chad, playfully. “But thanks for getting rid of her. She picked the wrong day to annoy me.”

“What’s up? Shouldn’t you be in Ponoka racing this weekend?” Martin slipped onto the now vacant barstool beside his childhood pal.

“Our rig is racing there, but I sent Chris to drive for me. Robbie and Blaine are my outriders this weekend. Mom ended up in the hospital after a nasty fall, so I brought her back to Calgary.” Chad noticed the bartender holding up an empty at the other end of the bar and waved off the offer of another round. “And to make matters worse she ran off another cook.”

Martin groaned and shook his head. “Not again. I give up.”

“Come on. You must know someone. Don’t cooking people know each other and keep tabs on what everyone is involved in?”

“I’ve suggested someone twice already. Right now nobody comes to mind off the top of my head.” Martin sipped his coffee.

“I’m not fussy. I just need someone who’s honest and a competent cook.” Chad downed the rest of his beer. “By the way, you mentioned you’d passed some tests last time you texted me. I’m proud of you, buddy.”

Martin laughed, uproariously. “Thanks, Chad. But I consider receiving my Certified Chef de Cuisine designation a little more significant than ‘passed some tests’ as you put it.”

“I don’t know what all that chef stuff means, but it sounds impressive. Congrats again. But like I said, I need someone who’s willing to cook at the ranch and travel the chuckwagon circuit with us this summer.”

“How are you guys doing so far?” Martin set his coffee mug on the bar’s countertop.

“We did our best at Grande Prairie and High River, and the accounting firm owners who sponsored our tarp seem happy. They were very understanding about Mom’s accident and me having to send a substitute driver to Ponoka. Chris sends me a text with our rig’s time every night, and so far he’s driven penalty free runs with Blaine and Robbie as outriders. It’s going okay, and I couldn’t be happier with how the guys are handling things in my absence. Of course, we’re all really hoping the horses perform well at the Stampede. That’s the big one, and the same accounting firm bought our canvas for it.” Chad grinned. Nothing in the world thrilled him as much as driving a team of chuckwagon horses around that famous Half Mile of Hell at the annual Calgary Stampede. He’d never managed to win it, but he always placed in the money.

“By the way, thanks for the pair of Saturday night tickets. I’ve booked off work, and Dad and I will be there cheering for you.” Martin raised his coffee mug in a toast and took another sip.

“Thanks. I appreciate it. With Stampede starting a week today, I’ve got more than enough on the go right now, and I can’t be hiring a new cook every month. Mom is bitter that she can’t oversee the kitchen anymore, but as far as I’m concerned, she’s done running off every cook I hire. She’s not getting anywhere near that kitchen or criticizing any more cooks. The doctor ordered her into a wheelchair to help ensure she doesn’t take any more spills. She’s just too unsteady on her feet to use her walker anymore,” explained Chad.

“Has the MS progressed?” asked Martin, concern evident on his face.

“I guess so. It’s all been so gradual that it’s not something you notice. It just sneaks up on you. We dodged a bullet this last time; she could have broken a hip or something. I’m accepting the fact that Mom’s condition will worsen more and more as time goes on.”

“Sounds rough, especially for your mother. She always treated your friends like her own kids. If I had a dollar for every cookie she baked for us, I’d be retired years ago.” Martin chuckled. “She sure loved children. Too bad she never had more than just you.”

“Yeah, I always wanted a brother, but you were a suitable substitute,” said Chad, grinning.

“The two of us were closer than I was with my own brother.” Martin leaned over and grabbed Chad around the neck and playfully shook him. “Of course, Blair was ten years older than me, so we really didn’t have a hell of a lot in common. Blair and I never got into any trouble, not like we did. Considering some of the stuff we pulled, it amazes me that we survived our childhood.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” agreed Chad. “Remember the night we damn near burned down Dad’s horse barn?”

“I had nightmares about that stunt for weeks afterward.” Martin blew out his breath. “An angel sat on our shoulders that night, watching over our irresponsible asses. Otherwise, there’s no logical explanation for how we managed to put out that fire ourselves.”

“First time I believed in miracles.” Chad punched Martin on the shoulder. “Anyway, I’ve got to get back to the ranch. Mom’s in the hospital for a few more days until they complete the tests her doctor ordered. And the nurses mentioned giving her some pointers on how to maneuver a wheelchair. I bought her a top-of-the-line chair, but she’s not taking to the idea too well. Maybe I should have gotten her an electric one?”

“Probably wouldn’t matter. If she’s not happy about it, you could have bought her the Rolls Royce of wheelchairs and it wouldn’t have helped. Say hi to her for me next time you visit.”

“Will do, and keep your ears open in case you hear of a cook looking for a job.” Chad stood and grabbed his Stetson off the bar’s counter.

Martin rose at the same time. “Well, I’ve got to get back to the kitchen. The second seating is arriving and Sierra will need me back at her side.”

“Sierra?”

“Executive chef. A real stickler for perfection, but I’ve learned so much from her that I never would have passed the CCC if it wasn’t for her mentoring.”

“I’m glad you had such a great teacher. I’d like to meet her sometime. Well, I’ll talk to you soon. We should grab a beer some day at Ranchman’s.”

“Text me when you’re going to be in the city again.” Martin stuck out his hand.

“Count on it.” Chad shook hands with his buddy.

“That redhead isn’t looking this way. I won’t have to kiss you goodbye.” Martin grinned, ear-to-ear.

“Just try it,” warned Chad, laughing as he stuck his Stetson on his head and strode out the door.

A few minutes later, Chad started his pickup and backed out of his spot at the far end of the parking lot. He crept forward toward the exit. Just as he was about to turn onto the street, a green Honda whipped around the corner and headed straight for him. Chad’s muscles bunched as he tightened his hands on the steering wheel and yanked it to the right. His heart pounded. He slammed on the brakes, and his pickup skidded on the gravel-covered lot. He cursed under his breath and braced himself for the unavoidable collision.

Metal scraped against metal and the grill and hood on the apple-green compact crumpled like an aluminum pop can before his eyes. The impact of the custom winch installed on the truck destroyed most of the other vehicle’s front end. He heard the unmistakable sound of breaking glass as the Honda’s windshield shattered.

“Shit,” muttered Chad, slamming the gearshift into PARK. His heart raced and his breath caught in his throat. He leapt out of his truck and raced over to the Honda, feeling a trickle of sweat running down his back. He silently prayed no one was injured. “Keep a level head,” he whispered aloud, refusing to succumb to panic in an emergency.

While hoping for the best, he held his breath and braced himself for the worst.

Chapter 2

Chad poked his head through the broken driver’s-side window. “Are you okay?”

A shocked expression appeared on the woman’s face, but she didn’t utter a word.

With some difficulty, Chad managed to yank open the car’s wrecked door. He squatted down in front of her. “Can you move?”

Suddenly, the driver’s expression turned to red-faced anger. “You idiot! You hit my car!” she shouted.

Chad stumbled backward almost landing on his butt. “Actually, ma’am, you hit me,” he replied while catching his balance and rising to his feet.

“The hell I did.” The woman attempted to turn in the driver’s seat.

“I’ll call 9-1-1.” Chad dug in the front pocket of his jeans for his cell phone. “Stay still. You could be injured and not realize it.”

“I’m fine. What the hell were you thinking?” The string of curse words that followed would make a trucker blush and almost singed Chad’s eyebrows.

“Don’t move,” he insisted as he eased her slim body back against the seat.

When the woman’s head flopped onto the headrest Chad’s heart almost stopped. Had she passed out? Was she still breathing?

“What’s your name, ma’am?” he asked, desperately hoping she’d answer him.

“Sierra Griffin,” she whispered and then she burst into tears.

Chad stood, speechless, noticing for the first time the most beautiful set of hazel eyes he’d ever seen. He cringed. A crying woman was his worst nightmare, and he’d prefer she continued swearing at him.

“9-1-1. What’s your emergency?” asked a male voice at the other end of the line.

“There’s been a collision in the parking lot of Romeo’s Restaurant on 4th Street in the south-west,” he blurted.

“Is anyone injured?”

“I’m not sure. The woman was driving a small compact. She’s conscious and cursing so I think she’s okay, but send an ambulance to be certain.”

“Please stay on the line, sir. The police and an ambulance are on the way already.”

“Thank you.” Chad breathed a sigh of relief and turned his attention back to the other driver. “Help is on the way, Ms. Griffin,” he said, hoping to reassure the woman who continued crying.

And he’d thought the redhead in the bar had given him grief. His day had just gotten a lot worse.

* * *

An hour later, Chad couldn’t say why he hadn’t just headed home after dealing with the police and giving them his statement. A couple leaving the restaurant had witnessed the entire thing and assured the police he wasn’t to blame. Now that everything had been sorted out, he recalled overhearing the paramedics mention their destination while loading Ms. Griffin into the ambulance. For some inexplicable reason, his pickup had headed to the Rockyview Hospital.

He strode through the hospital’s emergency department doors and stopped at the front desk.

“Could you please tell me where I can find…” Chad spotted Sierra Griffin walking down the hospital hallway, heading toward him. “Forget it. Thanks anyway,” he muttered, turning his back on the nurse seated behind the desk.

He watched Sierra for several seconds, undetected. A purple bruise above one eyebrow peeked out from behind her long blonde wispy bangs, and the dark circles under her eyes suggested the accident had taken a toll. Her face appeared puffy, one side more swollen than the other. Had she been thrown against the steering wheel? He recalled her airbag had been deployed during their collision and that might explain some of it. She walked without hesitation, which suggested her legs hadn’t been harmed. He wondered how her ribs and upper torso had fared.

She’d been wearing a chef’s coat when they wheeled her atop the gurney into the ambulance. Now, the crumpled jacket was folded over her left arm. She wore a pale pink scooped-neck top and a pair of tight-fitting white jeans. Her right arm swung freely as she continued toward him, moving soundlessly on rubber-soled white clogs. Her purse strap and the long handle, on what he assumed was a leather knife case, were hooked over her other shoulder. She’d screamed blue murder, insisted he dig the thing out of the crumpled car and pass it to her, as they were rolling her into the ambulance. What was it with chefs and their knives? His best friend was obsessed; Chad suspected Martin slept with his.

And then Sierra spotted him standing beside the counter.

“You!” she shouted, approaching him.

“Are you okay?”

“Do I look okay?” she gaped, shaking her head. “You destroy my car. You send me to the hospital in an ambulance against my wishes. As if I wasn’t having a bad enough day already...”

“I’ll pay for the damn ambulance trip, and I’m sorry about your car,” interjected Chad. “But you drove right in front of me.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“You barreled around the corner and drove right into my truck.” Chad threw up his hands. “There was no way I could avoid you.”

Sierra opened her mouth, and then she must have thought better of it. Standing there, lips pursed, glaring at him, bruises and all, she looked absolutely beautiful. But the old adage ‘if looks could kill’ popped into his mind. If that were true, he’d be a dead man.

“If my car requires extensive repairs...”

“I trust you have insurance…” began Chad.

“Of course I have insurance,” blurted Sierra. “Why wouldn’t I have insurance?”

“Forget I mentioned it. Why were you having a bad day?” he inquired and then thought perhaps it wasn’t wise to stick his nose into her personal affairs. “You don’t have to answer that. It’s none of my business.”