do I bring my own ingredients? Or is the kitchen fully stocked?” she asked.
“Honey, you bring what you think you’ll need and I’ll make sure the kitchen is clean and ready for you.”
Vivienne couldn’t help another look at the grime on the elbows of his shirt, the bits of mud and straw still clinging to his worn cowboy boots.
She made a note to bring her own pail and disinfectant.
“I guess I can show up tomorrow,” she said.
“Sounds good.” He pressed his hands against the top of the table to get up. “Now I gotta check in on my little girl, Karlee. She works at Hair Today, you know.” He pointed a crooked finger at Vivienne’s hair. “She could get you set up with a whole new look. She’s good.”
Vivienne nodded, then held her hand up to stop him. “So just to clarify. I head down Railroad Avenue to get to the Circle C?”
Ted frowned. “You’ve never been there before?”
She shook her head.
“Really.” He rubbed his forefinger alongside his nose in a gesture of puzzlement. “I thought for sure …” He flapped his hand again. “But, yeah, that’s right.” He pulled a tattered agenda out of his pocket, licked his finger and flicked through the pages. Then he ripped out an empty piece of paper edged with grease. “I’ll give you the directions, just in case.” He sketched a map with the stub of a pencil.
“And here’s where the cookhouse is,” Ted said, drawing an arrow, too.
“And how will I know which one is the cookhouse?”
“It’s the long, skinny building. The one with the most worn path to it,” he said with a chuckle. “Cowboys love their grub.”
He gave her the map and she folded it carefully over, trying to avoid the grease stains. “So I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said.
“You bet.” He tipped his hat to her, then eased away from the table. He shook her hand, gave her another gap-toothed grin, then limped across the grass to the other side of the park where Hair Today was located.
Vivienne watched him go, shivering as another breeze created a swirl of orange and yellow leaves around the table. Fall was definitely creeping up, bringing a hint of cold with it. Could she really spend a winter in Clayton stuck out on a ranch in the boonies?
She glanced down at the map in her hand, misgivings eroding her decision.
But what was her alternative? Pound the few streets of town looking for something—anything—to pay her living expenses and her debts? Move back to New York and lose a chance at starting her own restaurant with the money from the inheritance?
But what if Lucas didn’t show up in time? Their grandfather’s will clearly stipulated that they all had to be around for them all to get their money. Would she be making a wrong career move for nothing?
She shook her head, dislodging her second thoughts. This was an opportunity to keep her cooking skills sharp and make some money.
And for now, she had no other choice.
“So you found us another cook?” Cody hung the halters on the pegs from the tack shed, glancing over his shoulder at Ted. “I’m impressed.”
His uncle nodded, gnawing at his toothpick. “Working on lunch in the cookhouse as we speak.”
Relief surged through him. “That’s great. I know the hands have been whining about the food.”
“Delores’s grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch and supper only get a man so far,” Ted said.
“At least it’s food.” Cody had been fielding steady complaints about the grub ever since the last cook got fired for just about killing the hands with food poisoning. He’d managed to rope Delores, a hired hand’s wife, into cooking. She claimed the only thing she made was reservations. Or grilled cheese sandwiches. So that’s what they’d been eating. “So who did you find?”
“A surprise,” Ted said with a grin Cody didn’t trust.
“You know I don’t like surprises. Just tell me. Clayton’s not that big.” He stopped and put his hand on Ted’s shoulder. “Is it Arabella? Did you talk her into coming?” He could hardly believe his luck. Just thinking about Arabella’s pies and pastries got his mouth watering.
Ted angled him an “Are you kidding” look as he limped toward the cook shack. “Woman’s got triplets and takes care of that Jasmine girl. As if she’d have time to come out and cook for us.”
“So who did you get? Please don’t tell me you listened to Jonathan and got Vivienne Clayton to come and cook.”
Ted said nothing. Instead he opened the door of the cook shack with a flourish. Cody stepped inside.
And stared in disbelief as the very person he had warned his uncle against now stood in his kitchen.
Vivienne wore a tall chef’s hat and a white smock and apron. She stood at the stove, her back to them, stirring something smelling, for lack of a better word, weird.
What kind of joke was Ted playing? He yanked his hat off and slapped it against his thigh. He didn’t have time for this kind of malarkey. Too many things on the go and hired hands who grew more grumbly with each grilled cheese sandwich they had to choke down.
Vivienne wiped her hands on a cloth lying beside the stove and gave Cody a quick smile, a dimple flashing in one cheek. “Thanks for giving me this opportunity,” she said, holding out her hand.
Under that goofy looking hat, her hair was pulled back in a shining ponytail, low on her neck. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright and her cheekbones as beautiful as ever.
She looked even more amazing than she had in high school.
He caught himself, frustrated with how easily she brought back feelings he thought he’d dealt with years ago.
You’re not some dumb, love-struck senior anymore. You’ve lost a wife and—
He stopped his thoughts there. He couldn’t go to that dark place. Not now. Not ever.
“What is going on here?” he said, giving her hand a perfunctory shake. He shot an angry glance at Ted, who lifted his shoulders in a vague shrug.
“I’d like to go over the menu with you, to see what you and your uncle think of my choices,” Vivienne said, gesturing toward the stove. She pulled off her hat and whipped off the smock to reveal a black dress with no sleeves and some kind of shiny brooch pinned to one shoulder. “I hoped to have everything ready for my presentation, but you came earlier than I had anticipated.”
He didn’t want to look at her. “Menu?”
“Yes. For my test meal?”
“Test meal?” He felt like slapping himself on the head. He sounded like some robotic moron.
“Pauley Clayton doesn’t
