She’s a fantastic cook, which always makes it easy to come home.”
“You think of the ranch as home,” she said a few moments later, after they’d stepped outside and were sitting in chairs facing his patio.
“I told you that I love it here. This is my haven. I can come out here and enjoy the total silence. Sometimes you hear the wind, and sometimes you don’t even hear that. For a few minutes I can imagine the whole world is at peace. Even if it’s not, my little corner of it is.” He grinned. “Obviously, I like the ranch and I’m happiest here.”
“You’re fortunate. Far luckier than you give much thought to. I work with people daily who don’t have a haven, not even a tiny one. Then, there are those who surprise me—one would think they couldn’t possibly feel at peace because they own nothing, but they have an inner sense of a haven. That’s resilience, and it’s amazing.”
“You really like working with those people, don’t you?” he asked, looking more intently at her. He sounded surprised.
“More than anything. It’s the most wonderful feeling in the world to help someone, or rescue an animal and find it a loving home, or make someone’s life easier. That’s the best possible reward.”
“That’s commendable, but in my experience people don’t change. You can work your fingers to the bone and not make a difference. With the career you had, there were some very tangible financial rewards and lasting legacies. You could have built your own business instead of working with people who will disappoint and deceive you.”
“You have a cynical view of the world. Expect more from people, Blake. There’s a deep-rooted goodness in most people. Look for that and believe in it.”
“I’m just puzzled. You’ve tossed over a spectacular, successful career, a fabulous reputation and a hefty income for something that will take infinite patience, probably have low financial returns and be a lot of hard work that sometimes goes unappreciated and unrewarded.”
“Wow, Blake. That’s strong. You’re only looking at the downside of what I do.”
“Just looking at it honestly because I can’t understand your great faith in the goodness of human nature.”
“I don’t know what you’ve experienced, but I have seen that people are good and can live up to high expectations, or occasionally exceed them. Look at you. You don’t need money, yet you work hard to build your hotel business.”
He looked away and was silent a moment. She noticed a muscle flex in his jaw and wondered why her question caused him to tense up.
“I want to know that I can be a success in the business world as well as in the ranching world. We all have our goals.”
Wendell appeared, wearing a white apron over his jeans. “Dinner is served.”
“Thank you.” Blake stood. “Leave your wine. There will be some poured at the table.”
She walked with him toward the front of the house, and then they turned into the wide hall. In minutes Wendell directed them to a kitchen that was big enough to hold her Kansas City apartment, but the tempting smell of beef assailed her before she ever stepped inside. Doors stood open to reveal stainless steel appliances and state-of-the-art cookware that, when not in use, would be out of sight behind the elegant dark wood. A tall, slender woman with her brown hair clipped at the back of her head, smiled. Etta wore a white apron over a black uniform.
“Sierra, this is Etta Strong, my cook. Etta, this is Ms. Benson, who is here to plan the decor for our new wing.”
“So what’s for dinner tonight?” he asked as soon as the women had greeted each other.
“Tossed salad with chunks of lobster, slices of avocado on the side and French dressing. Prime rib, asparagus hollandaise, mashed potatoes and gravy and buttermilk biscuits. With homemade peach ice cream,” Etta answered.
“That sounds like a fabulous banquet,” Sierra remarked.
“When you’re seated, I’ll get you started.”
As Sierra walked with Blake to the adjoining informal dining area, she had another view of gardens and his irrigated yard, and marveled at the luxury of his lifestyle. She was thankful again for his check, and after their earlier conversation, she knew he needed to see some of the good his money would do.
They sat at a table that could easily seat ten. Wendell came with a bottle of red wine and one of white. He asked Sierra her choice and tipped red into her glass before pouring Blake’s.
Etta set the prime rib in front of Blake for him to carve. She returned with a bowl of steaming asparagus that she served.
After the first bite of prime rib, Sierra sipped her wine and smiled at Blake. “I have to agree—you have a fabulous cook. This is delicious.”
“Wait until you try her homemade ice cream. Wendell helps her with that.”
“No wonder you like the ranch so much.”
He smiled. “The food is the best, but there’s more than food. Have you ever been to a rodeo?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Actually, one of the best is in New York City, the Professional Bull Riders at Madison Square Garden,” he explained.
“Do you ever participate locally?”
“Sometimes—not as much now as I used to. I have ridden bulls a couple of times, but not seriously. That’s a bit rougher than I’m up for.”
“Aw, shucks,” she said, smiling. “So I won’t see someone I actually know in a rodeo. The pictures I’ve seen look wild.”
“That’s the thrill of it,” he said, and she laughed.
Through dinner, he was charming, keeping the same professional manner as if they were at a business dinner in Kansas City. Even so, there was an undercurrent of sensual awareness, and every minute spent in his company drew her closer to him and heightened his appeal.
As Wendell removed her dinner plate, she smiled. “My compliments to the chef. That was one of the most delicious dinners I’ve ever eaten. I don’t know which was best—that prime rib or those fantastic biscuits.”
“Thank you,” Wendell said, smiling as he started toward the kitchen. “I’ll tell Etta.”
Sierra looked at Blake. “I meant every word of that. What a marvelous cook you have.”
“I do everything I can to hang on to both of them. Etta has a reputation throughout the county—and probably farther than that. If she decided to leave, she would have so many offers, I don’t know how she would decide.”
The peach ice cream was served with white chocolate chip cookies, and they lingered over coffee, which Sierra barely touched. Once again, she thought about the homeless people at the shelter and how they often lived with hunger. Blake’s check would provide food for so many, and again, she felt enormous gratitude for his donation.
“Etta should open a restaurant—talk about natural talent for a job.”
“Don’t
