The Trouble With Cowboys (10 page)
Sometimes, like this morning, Amy couldn’t help but think of the venture uneasily, like they were pushing a kind of a scam, exploiting their guests’ ignorance of the reality of farm life. Because actual farm work was relentless and tough. It involved mornings like this, working to keep your hands from freezing in the predawn hours of winter, ignoring the rumble of hunger in your stomach until the animals were cared for. Praying for a miracle to pay the bills.
Amy felt guilty packing up her snow shovel at ten, but she had a great excuse. Her eleven o’clock appointment with Lisa from Binderman Dairy. She stood for as long as she could justify in a hot shower, but the nap would remain a fantasy.
Binderman Dairy sat along the historic Old Route 66 section of Highway 40, which demarcated the northern border of Catcher Creek. The dairy hadn’t existed when Amy was a kid. The Binderman family had bred dairy goats as far back as anyone could remember, but the dairy had been the brainchild of Chris and Lisa Binderman. Amy had done her homework about all the ranches and producers she hoped to contract with, from wineries to herb farmers, and had been surprised to learn Binderman Dairy was a separate company from Binderman Farm, Chris’s parents’ property.
Amy pulled into the small, icy parking lot and stared at the roof of the building, at the huge, rotating, white fiberglass round of cheese with a picture of a goat in the middle. The kitschy design had probably been Chris and Lisa’s brainchild as well. No doubt, it was eye-catching and fit right in with the rest of the shops along the highway, but it didn’t exactly scream
sophisticated organic cheeses inside.
sophisticated organic cheeses inside.
She watched the cheese spin for one more rotation, then checked her makeup and hair in the rearview mirror, grabbed her briefcase, and reluctantly left the warmth of her car. She’d never met Lisa, but she’d seen her at church the day before and she looked kind. She had that same nurturing aura as Jenna did, like most good moms did. Plus, Amy had known the Binderman family her whole life and kind of figured this supply contract was a sure bet if only as a favor between neighbors.
Lisa stood behind the counter, wearing a pristine chef coat. Her dark blond hair had been pulled into a tight bun and covered by black netting. When the chime of the door sounded, she looked up from the ledger she was studying and offered Amy a wide, genuine smile. Amy returned the smile and closed the door behind her, shutting out the cold and the wind.
What struck her about the shop, besides its clean, simple interior, was the mouthwatering aroma of tangy cheese and baking bread. Amy’s culinary imagination stirred to life. A half-dozen recipe ideas sprung into her head between the short walk from the door to the display. Sure enough, behind the counter sat an electronic bread machine. The top edge of a baking loaf was visible through the glass lid, its dough still pale in color. Maybe their meeting would run long enough that she’d get to sample a slice when it was done.
After the two women exchanged introductions and handshakes, Amy couldn’t help but ask about the bread maker. “Why bread? Is it for cheese samples?”
Lisa leaned over the counter, like she was going to share a secret. “The truth? I got the idea from a Realtor friend of mine who bakes chocolate-chip cookies inside the houses she’s selling right before a walk-through or open house. She says the smell sells the houses. Something about evoking potential buyers’ childhood memories. So I thought, people don’t eat cheese because of the way it smells, they buy it because of the way it tastes when paired with other foods. I want people to smell the bread and imagine themselves spreading our goat cheese on a slice fresh from the oven.”
Amy nodded her approval. “Genius. That’s precisely what I thought when I walked in.”
“Ha! Good. It works like a charm. I sell more cheese when I’ve got the bread going than any other time of the week.”
Lisa directed Amy to a table for two near a window. “For the record, I loved your pitch over the phone. A restaurant featuring local ingredients is a fantastic idea. Might add a little zest to this sleepy town.”
Catcher Creek seemed to have all the zest it needed. Kellan Reed’s perfect jean-clad ass popped into her mind. No, Catcher Creek had been anything but sleepy since day one of her return. Heat crept up around her neck and she tugged the collar of her sweater, hoping to cool off before Lisa noticed. “Glad you’re on board with the idea because I’d love to feature Binderman cheese.”
She took the contract proposal from her briefcase and slid it to Lisa, who rummaged through her chef coat pocket and produced green-rimmed reading glasses. Amy held her breath as Lisa skimmed the first page. With a nod, she glanced up and smiled at Amy. “You know what you need to be doing while I read this? You need to be eating cheese.”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
In minutes, she had a plate of delectable-looking cheeses and crackers before her. She dug into the most unique one, a round wrapped in a grape leaf. Forgoing the cracker, she sliced off a chunk and popped it into her mouth. It melted on her tongue, a complex yet delicate palate of tang and salty cream with an undertone of herbiness from the leaf. All Amy needed now was for the bread timer to
ding
. She closed her eyes, lost in pleasure, and rolled the cheese over the roof of her mouth, reluctant to swallow.
ding
. She closed her eyes, lost in pleasure, and rolled the cheese over the roof of her mouth, reluctant to swallow.
“This contract looks great,” Lisa said after a while, rousing Amy from her euphoria.
“Terrific. Because this cheese is to die for. I’m talking, last-meal greatness here.”
“Thank you.”
“I have an off-topic question,” Amy said.
“Shoot.”
“I’m looking to hire a sous-chef for the Local Dish, but I’m coming up short on applicants.” Really short. As in none. “Any chance you know of a trained chef looking for work? Maybe someone you’ve done business with?”
Lisa tapped her chin. Amy slid another bite of cheese from the knife onto her tongue. This one was firmer and crusted with finely chopped pistachios. Heavenly.
“I sure do,” Lisa said with a snap of her fingers. “Do you know Jillian Dixon? She and I play Bunco every Thursday night. You should join us, by the way.”
It was kind of hard to focus on anything but the cheese. She had the crazy urge to grab the plate and make a break for the door. Dixon. The name sounded familiar. “I remember a Stephen Dixon. He and I were in the same grade growing up.”
“Yes. Jillian’s his wife. They run Dixon Ranch now that Stephen’s uncle died and his father, Douglas, has back problems.”
“Whereabouts is Dixon Ranch? I can’t picture it.”
“Northwest corner of town. Catcher Creek cuts right through their acreage.”
“And you think Jillian might be interested in work as a sous-chef?”
“Oh my gosh, no. Have you ever tasted Jillian’s ambrosia salad? She brings it to every church social.” Amy shook her head. “Lucky you. Trust me—you don’t want Jillian anywhere near your kitchen. I was talking about Douglas Dixon, her father-in-law.”
“The retired rancher with back problems?” Lord help her if her professional standards sunk that low.
Lisa chuckled. “That makes him sound old, but he’s only sixty-something. Before he worked the family ranch with his brother, he was a Navy cook. Tells the best stories about life on an aircraft carrier, feeding all those sailors day in and day out. Stephen and Jillian are going crazy with him underfoot at the ranch. And Douglas isn’t so happy either. He’s got a lot of life left in him and I imagine he feels pretty useless these days. You’d be doing them all a big favor if you gave Douglas a chance.”
“I’m not in the business of doing favors right now. I’m starting a restaurant.”
“Then hiring Douglas is exactly what you need to do. Think of the good karma.”
“Karma?” Sheesh. That was a stretch. Still, she had to hand it to Lisa; she was one heck of a saleswoman.
As if she could read Amy’s mind, she flashed a bright smile and patted Amy’s arm. “I’ll make a deal with you. Give Douglas a try as your sous-chef for two weeks and I’ll deliver Binderman cheese to your restaurant at cost for the first three months.”
Holy cow. Amy thrust her hand out and Lisa shook it with a solid grip. “Lisa, it’s not my place to say, but I think you’re in the wrong industry. You’re a natural-born saleswoman.”
Chuckling again, Lisa folded the reading glasses and placed them in her pocket. “That may be true, but I wouldn’t give this life up for anything. Making cheese is my passion. And the fact that I work alongside the love of my life is icing on the cake.”
Jealousy and admiration battled within Amy. She’d failed at both her career and finding love. Maybe she did need an infusion of good karma. “That’s wonderful. Your life is blessed.”
Despite Amy’s smile, Lisa seemed to sense her turmoil because she stood and pulled Amy into a surprise hug. “You’ll be fine, Amy. Your family’s tough. You and your sisters—you’ll get through this because you have each other to lean on. And family’s the biggest blessing of all.”
“You got that right. I didn’t always see that clearly, but I sure do now.”
Lisa scribbled a phone number on the back of her business card and pressed it into Amy’s hand. “Here’s Douglas’s number. Go ahead and draw up a new supply contract for me. You can stop by later this week with it.”
“Thank you.” Amy took the hint that the meeting had come to a close and said a silent good-bye to the half-eaten cheese plate. Just barely, she resisted the urge to swipe one last taste with her fingertip.
“You’re welcome.” Amy was at the door when Lisa called, “By the way, have fun on your date with Kellan.”
Amy looked over her shoulder. “Word travels fast in Catcher Creek.”
“I only know because he’s close friends with Chris. We were at his house for dinner last night and I could tell, when your name came up, that he’s into you. Really into you.”
“Oh.” Lisa’s words thrilled Amy, even as they terrified her. She didn’t want Kellan to be into her . . . did she? “We’re not . . . it’s not a date. We’ll probably spend the whole time talking business. You know, a supply contract for Slipping Rock beef.” Lordy, her face was hot. Time to leave. She flung the door open and stuck her head into the gust of cold air that swept through the threshold.
“Of course. How silly of me.”
Amy gave a little wave of Lisa’s business card, praying she didn’t look as jumpy as she felt. “Okay, then. I’ll give Mr. Dixon a call. Bye now.”
On the road, all thoughts of cheese and Kellan disappeared as Amy’s car skidded across a patch of ice. She corrected before plowing into the shoulder, then grinned. Kind of fun, actually. Like a whirly ride at an amusement park.
Yet she missed the zippy sports car she’d driven in L.A. and sold to afford the plane ticket home. The modest-priced sedan from the used car lot in Albuquerque didn’t handle ice all that well. Snow either. Or rain. Come to think of it, it didn’t handle well in the best of conditions. She pressed on the gas pedal. The engine strained to accommodate her need for speed and the tires slipped and slid along the five miles to Cousins Wine Cellar, the next stop on her errand list. Iffy tire tread was probably to blame, but Rachel would’ve yammered on about how the tires were fine, and Amy’s problem was that she took corners too fast.
Whatever.
Amy loved the way she drove, the unabashed freedom of speed. It was the one reckless vice she allowed herself without guilt.
The errands only took a couple hours and, by early afternoon, she was bouncing along the dirt road to her house. In the backseat, the two cases of New Mexico-produced wine from Cousins rattled in protest of the horrible road conditions, as did Amy’s teeth.
That was one aspect of country living she hadn’t missed—the dirt roads. Rachel and Jenna had outvoted her when she’d suggested they pave the quarter-mile driveway to ease guests’ passage. They’d insisted the dirt road added to Heritage Farm’s rustic appeal. It was no use arguing with the two of them when they banded together. Amy figured she’d sock away some cash and eventually add a paved rear entrance to the property. And she wasn’t going to ask her sisters’ permission, either.
Two people waited on Amy’s front porch. Amy gazed with curiosity at her unexpected guests and made short work of gathering her purse and phone and unfolding herself from the car. She recognized Sloane Delgado immediately, though her hair had been released from the severe ponytail of the day before to fall in black curtains around her face. Her cheeks were rosy and her legs bare and pale beneath the hem of her skirt. When she saw Amy, she stood and smiled anxiously. Amy couldn’t imagine why the young woman was paying her a visit, but she had the sinking feeling it had to do with whatever she’d agreed to at church while using Sloane and Charlene as a Kellan-shield.
An older man sat next to Sloane on the bench rocker, wearing a dark brown cowboy hat that he doffed the moment Amy stepped from her car. He also stood up, but it took him a while and he wore a terrible frown of exertion.
“Hello, Sloane. What a surprise.”
The previous night’s storm had moved west, and though it was still cold, the sun had pierced the cloud cover enough to melt the snow on the house’s roof. Water dripped relentlessly from the eaves, making it impossible for Amy to mount the porch steps without ruining her hair. She leapt through the drips, scrunching her nose at the icky feel of icy water trickling over her scalp, and held out her hand in greeting to the stranger. “I’m Amy Sorentino.”
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