Cowboy in the Kitchen (10 page)

“Yeah, the truck’s a good living, but it would be nice to serve my food on a table for a change.”

“But then you have all the stress and risk.”

“Not if it belongs to somebody else. If Rudy’s willing to bankroll the restaurant and let me manage it, that might be just what the doctor ordered. A buddy from Vegas has been working for Rudy for years. Says he’s a fair boss who stays out of the kitchen and as long as the profit margins are good, he trusts his executive chef to work the plan.”

“You can’t ask for a much better deal than that,” Hunt agreed.

“Hey, you two.” Gillian’s mother edged her way through the lines. She cradled a footstool upholstered in blue silk with finely carved legs.

“Nice purchase, Mom.”

“I see the resemblance, but this señora is far too young and beautiful to be your mother,” Jackpot insisted.

“I hear that a lot,” Meredith played along.

“What does a guy have to do to get some wings around here?” Somebody in the crowd complained.

“That’s my cue.” Jackpot shook Hunt’s hand and bowed to both women. “We’re on Facebook. Stay in touch,” he called before hoisting himself into the truck and closing the door.

“A friend of yours, Hunt?”

“Yes, ma’am. We met in culinary school in France.”

“That guy, Jackpot, is classically trained?” Gillian tried to imagine him in a white chef’s coat.

“Don’t let the old hippy getup fool you. He struck gold right out of school when he got hired at one of the premier restaurants in Vegas. One night he literally rolled the dice with his paycheck and hit a big win. He quit the restaurant and paid cash for that truck the next day.”

“That’s why you call him Jackpot?”

“You got it.” Hunt snapped his fingers as if he’d just had an idea. “Hey, if Jackpot’s interested in settling in one spot for a while, he might consider Moore House. He could park his truck out by the lake and use it for special events, like catering that big wedding next month.”

“When pigs fly,” Gillian muttered the short reply.

“Hey, this is Texas. Stranger things have happened.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

T
HE
DRIVE
to Kilgore was quiet. Meredith nodded off early in the ride, and Gillian seemed lost in thought, probably making a mental checklist of things to argue with her father about when they got to Moore House. Hunt glanced at the beauty on his right and noted the barbecue smudges on the front of her Redskins sweatshirt. She’d been more agreeable after a generous serving of Jackpot’s wings with a side of
pommes de terre frite
—crispy fries dusted with herbs de Provence.

Hunt smiled to himself at the image of his old buddy. The brief encounter was a vivid reminder that today’s culinary business was a close community, a small world that the general public had begun to peer into with the growth of food television. Reality cooking competitions, such as the one that had launched his career, had opened up a window on the artistry involved in creating memorable dishes while respecting the ingredients. The cameras had propelled many a chef, who might never be more than a legend in his own mind into the national spotlight.

Hunt remembered his early days in the kitchen, the harassment of his brothers, the encouragement of Mama and Alma. In the beginning he’d never given much consideration to achieving celebrity status, but the culture had changed and so had Hunt since he’d joined the ranks of James Beard Award winners. Popularity in the food world could take a chef out of the heat of the kitchen and in front of the hot lights of a film crew.

It was heady stuff for anybody, especially a boy from East Texas. And depending on where he was willing to go and how much he’d sacrifice, it could get much more intense for Hunt. He understood Jackpot’s desire to live life on his own terms and in his own truck. But Jackpot also understood the rewards and benefits of corporate gigs, which were more stable with greater earning potential.

Rudy was offering that for the taking, and his wasn’t the only game in town. Another call to Hunt’s agent could produce any number of opportunities...as long as Hunt was willing to make the move. He’d already done Europe and the Caribbean. There was unlimited potential in Asia.

Asia? Really?

How far did he have to go to learn for himself what Cullen had said the night before?

This is home, the one place where he’d always belong. He’d do well to stick around, mend fences with old friends and let this kernel of new love have a chance to sink its roots, to blossom into something amazing. At the same time, he wasn’t sure he was ready to give up advancement this early in his career and settle.

Settle?
Was that any way to label the future with the dynamic woman beside him?

But to be blunt, Gillian hadn’t asked him for more than a temporary commitment. She wanted his help, not the rest of his life. There were even moments when he wasn’t sure she wanted his here and now.

The future he’d been so certain of a few months ago had fled and confusion had rushed in to fill the void.

“What’s on your mind?” Gillian murmured, as she glanced over her left shoulder to confirm her mother was still sleeping.

“I’ve been appreciating how lucky you are to know exactly what you want to do with your life.”

“It’s not as if you haven’t figured it out for yourself.”

“Well, I’ve found my vocation, but I’m not sure where I belong, yet.”

“Belonging is a state of mind. I never imagined I’d end up in Texas, but your Pap’s place called to me, so here I am. Wherever you sink roots, you eventually blossom.”

Hunt did a silent double take at her use of the same metaphor that had passed through his mind moments before.

“Where’d you pick up that piece of wisdom? It sounds Texan.”

“Luther was a Southerner, but I believe he was from Georgia. He was an older gentleman I met when I was a kid. He traveled around the country pulling a small RV behind his truck, migrating with the vacationers and catching the sights himself when his shift at the hotel was done. He didn’t have a lot, and while he was alone at that point in his life, he said God gave him new sights and people every day to keep him company.”

“And this Luther taught you about roots and blossoming?”

“He sure did. He said life is a constant change of seasons, and even if you sink some shallow roots, you’ll eventually blossom when the springtime comes along.”

“And what did Luther do at the hotels?”

“He was a groundskeeper. He picked up trash and cigarette butts and dog poop, all the stuff guests leave behind expecting someone else to clean up. Luther had a song and a smile for everybody, because he was in a perpetual season of spring.”

“Your friend makes life sound simple, but it’s not that easy.”

“
Simple
and
easy
don’t mean the same thing, Hunt. It’s simple to do the right thing, but it’s not always easy. It was the right thing for me to buy Temple Territory, but there’s been nothing easy about making my dream a reality.”

Her words sunk into his heart. Once Gillian had found what she wanted, she’d set her feet on a difficult road and never looked back. He was seeking the easy route to happiness without being certain where he was headed. First he had to figure out where he belonged and maybe the rest would seem simple.

“Has anybody reminded you lately what a smart lady you are, Gillian Moore?”

* * *

H
UNT
’
S
KIND
WORDS
warmed Gillian in the cool cab of the truck, but a new chill spread through her body at the suggestion she may have planted in his mind just now. She’d chosen where she wanted to be, and it was settled. Hunt had factored into her plans almost by default. But he’d only come home for a respite; he hadn’t intended to stay permanently. Her purchase of Temple Territory had thrown him for an unexpected loop. But he’d gone along with her, even shown her how to shift positive momentum into high gear. Naturally she wanted his support to continue, but was it right for her to encourage a talented chef with such a limitless future to make a life-changing decision based on what was best for her?

“Smart will only get you so far if you don’t use common sense,” she responded to his compliment. “You’ve given me a heaping dose of that lesson in recent weeks, and now it’s my turn to do the same.” She reached across the space between them and laid her hand on his forearm.

He shrunk his chin defensively close to his chest like a turtle pulling into its shell. “I’m not sure I care for the sound of this.”

“Oh, stop it.” She squeezed his arm, appreciating the hard muscles beneath his shirtsleeve. “It won’t hurt.”

“Much?”

“Maybe a little, but that depends on you.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“If you’d asked me yesterday for my opinion of your job offer, I’d have done everything possible to convince you to stay in Kilgore. But today I realize you should make a decision based entirely on what’s best for you, Hunt. My future is literally set in stone in the form of that big cream-colored mansion. Yours is fluid, and that’s as it should be. Exciting changes are taking place in the food industry, and you should be free to take advantage of whatever develops.”

“Are you trying to get rid of me?” he teased, but there was concern in his tone.

Her grip on Hunt’s arm increased for silent emphasis.

“We both know that’s not true.” Her voice was soft, not wanting her mother to overhear. “We’re also well aware that I prefer to call the shots, but this one is out of my control. You’re welcome to stay at Moore House for as long as you’re happy, but everybody understands the better-offer principle. You’re capable of a much bigger deal than I can give you, and I’ll do my best to accept it when you decide it’s right for you to move on to the next challenge.”

Her mother began to stir, so Gillian gave Hunt’s arm one last squeeze and tucked her hand in the pouch of her hooded sweatshirt. There, she’d said what had to be said. It wasn’t her place to pressure him into staying in East Texas, and that wouldn’t work anyway. She had to get on with her plans and focus her energy on the multitude of tasks that had to be accomplished in a few weeks.

Hopefully the work of today would crowd out the sadness of tomorrow.

Hopefully.

* * *

T
HE
PAGES
OF
the calendar flew off with the force of a Gulf Coast hurricane wind. Holiday lights went up all over town, and Hunt made good on his promise to get a star on the top of the oil derrick that stood sentry over the entrance to the mansion. The Thanksgiving parade, complete with the Kilgore Rangerettes, marched through town on the day Gillian opened her doors for the world to catch a first glimpse of Moore House.

Under Hunt’s creative leadership and Alma’s meticulous attention to details, the kitchen staff laid out a buffet for visiting press and local dignitaries that would make any hotelier proud. The setting was one Gillian had imagined for as long as she could remember. But as recently as yesterday she’d figured they’d never pull it together.

“This wouldn’t have happened without you two.” Gillian thanked her parents for the tenth time that day, but it didn’t scratch the surface of her gratitude. “If you hadn’t arrived when you did, it might have taken me months longer, if ever, to get to this point.”

The three of them had taken their plates to the outdoor terrace where tall heaters cast halos of warmth on the tables set with linens and silver for the invited guests.

“We often encounter surprising twists on the road to our future, and very often it takes us in a different direction than what we expected,” her father reminded her. “Being forced to take early retirement came as a professional blow, but in the end it was a personal blessing.”

Gillian had argued with her father on a hundred points since his arrival, but on this he was correct. It had been a blessing indeed.

“And perfectly timed,” her mother added as a passing waiter offered them a cranberry mimosa.

“Did I hear the mention of perfect timing?” Hunt accepted a flute of the festive drink and took the empty seat at their table. His face glowed with satisfaction over their efforts.

“And your timing is as excellent as your taste,” Gillian complimented her executive chef. She closed her eyes to savor a bite of Hunt’s miso poached salmon, shook her head in wonder and smiled. “I have no idea how you do this, and I don’t even want to as long as you keep doing it.”

“Believe it or not the poaching broth is Alma’s secret recipe, so it’ll be here long after I’m gone.”

“So, you’ve decided to take the job managing the restaurant in Austin?” James asked.

Gillian’s stomach plummeted at her father’s mention of the opportunity Hunt was considering. She wasn’t even aware her father was in the loop on that information. Hunt had probably spoken man-to-man with her father, since he’d mentioned it so matter-of-factly.

She set down her fork, hoping her appetite for the extraordinary food would return when the conversation took a different direction.

“It’s not even close to a done deal, but we’re negotiating.”

“Are you holding out for more money?”

“Dad! That’s a rude question.”

Fortunately, Hunt laughed instead of taking offense.

“I don’t mind him asking.” He smiled at Gillian’s mortification, then answered her father. “Actually, the money’s fine, but my creative freedom will be a bit hog-tied. The fact is, the restaurant is an established steak house, and the owner doesn’t want to veer too far from a menu that’s been quite successful. That can get old for a chef after a while, and I don’t want to commit to something that might be boring in six months.”

“But why would anybody court you for your experience and reputation, and then not capitalize on those assets? That’s the same as buying an expensive pair of cowboy boots and leaving them in the box,” her father mused. He’d begun to work all things Texan into his speech.

“They want to put the fancy new boots on display, just not let anybody wear them,” Hunt explained.

“Well, there wouldn’t be any such nonsense if you stayed at Moore House,” Gillian’s mother insisted.

“There will be limits anywhere I work, even here. For instance the boss lady here will let me prepare fine cuisine to my heart’s content, but she might object to all-you-can-eat taco night.”

“If those tacos are filled with European perch or Welsh lamb, I might not object at all. I simply don’t want to offer food that can be had for a fraction of the price at the local drive-through.”

“We are in complete agreement.” Hunt handed Gillian a fresh fork and nodded for her to give some attention to her abandoned plate.

Yes, they were in agreement on so many subjects that Gillian was hopeful there might be a future for them together. If not now, then someday.

But they didn’t agree on all subjects. Aware of how strongly he’d object to the demolition and construction in the next phase, she’d intentionally withheld the information and blueprints from Hunt. Now with the first phase so close to completion and her father on board to ramrod the new project through while she and her mother ran the day-to-day operation of Moore House, the writing was on the wall, they had to move forward.

That meant applying for new permits, and once those became part of public record, it would be difficult to keep phase two under wraps.

She’d begun to view Hunt’s possible move as a sign of providence. If he wasn’t there to take issue and find fault in her plan, she could proceed. But if he stayed on, she’d be inclined to make changes based on his vision and never get exactly what she wanted.

Either way she’d lose something precious that she might never have again.