finished about half his coffee when he decided to broach the kitchen-help idea. At least Nelsie had some Bailey’s in her, which tended to mellow her out a bit.
“I can hear the wheels grinding over there,” Nelsie said. “You might as well spit it out.”
Archie looked over at her and grinned. She always could read him like a book. “All right. You’ve been against this in the past, but we’re feeding quite a few cowhands at lunch these days, and—”
“Archie, you know I hate the idea of a stranger in my kitchen, not to mention the expense.”
“But you’re working yourself to a frazzle.”
“If only Diana would—”
“Well, she’s not going to, and we might as well accept the fact that she’s not domestic.” Archie hadn’t figured out what Diana was good at besides shopping for clothes in Jackson.
She and Jonathan fought about her spending habits, but whenever Jonathan refused to give her money, she threatened to divorce him and take Jack. She would get that baby, too. Courts usually found in favor of the mother unless she was a drunk or a drug addict, and Diana was neither.
Archie peeked over at Nelsie to gauge her mood. He’d bet she was thinking about those shopping trips, too, judging from the way her mouth was set in a ruler-straight line.
But wishing for a different kind of daughter-in-law wouldn’t get them anywhere. He pressed on. “I heard about someone who’s looking for work. She came here from Nebraska with some guy who left her high and dry. She’s been helping Edgar and Madge Perkins at the diner and they love her, but they can’t give her enough hours because they already have a cook.”
Nelsie turned to him. “Why doesn’t she just go home to Nebraska?”
“Apparently she’d catch grief for her decision to leave in the first place. Besides that, she’s become fond of our little town. Edgar and Madge said working for us would be the answer to her prayers.”
Nelsie’s expression softened. “So you’ve come up with a young woman who needs a helping hand.”
He sensed victory. “It seems like we should at least try her out since we need a cook and she needs a job.”
“You always did know how to get around me, Archibald Chance.” She met his gaze. “I guess you’d better ask this girl to come out and talk with us. What’s her name?”
“Her last name is Simms.” Archie paused, trying to remember. “Her first name has two parts, like Mary Jane, or … no, wait, it’s Mary Lou. Mary Lou Simms.”
“Mary Lou Simms.” Nelsie seemed to be trying out the name on her tongue. “You know, it might be nice to have another woman around the place.”
Archie didn’t miss the note of longing. Nelsie had dreamed of a daughter-in-law who was also a friend, but that hadn’t happened. Maybe she’d find that female friend in Mary Lou Simms.
1
Present Day
FOOD WAS IMPORTANT to Matthew Tredway. He loved the taste, texture and smell of good food, and at six foot five and 220 pounds, he required a lot of it. But due to a series of air-travel snafus between Richmond, Virginia, and Jackson Hole, Wyoming, he hadn’t had a decent meal all day.
Jeb Branford, a lanky, red-haired cowboy, had picked him up at the Jackson airport for the hour’s drive to the Last Chance Ranch, where Matthew was scheduled to train a problem horse named Houdini. The potentially valuable stallion had never been ridden, let alone used as a stud. Matthew had been hired in a last-ditch effort to salvage the ranch’s investment.
As a bonus, he looked forward to some down-home ranch cooking during the week or so he’d be at the Last Chance. Jeb had offered to stop somewhere for a bite to eat, but Matthew didn’t want to look at another restaurant menu if he could help it.
“I’ll just wait until we get to the ranch,” Matthew said. “I’m ready to kick back with a cold beer and some home-cooked eats.”
“I really think we should stop somewhere.” Jeb scanned the area as they headed out of Jackson. “About a mile down this road there’s a burger joint that serves really—”
“No, thanks.” A burger would do in a pinch, but Matthew longed for something that hadn’t been part of an assembly-line operation. “I’m sure leftovers from the ranch kitchen will beat your burger joint, hands down.”
“I wouldn’t bet on it, Mr. Tredway.”
“Matthew.”
“Okay, Matthew, although it feels funny calling you that.”
“Because I’m so old?” Matthew pegged the cowhand as early to mid twenties, and at that age, a thirty-five-year-old like Matthew probably seemed ancient.
“Heck, no!” The kid’s blush nearly obliterated his freckles. “Because you’re famous, Mr. Tred—I mean Matthew. You’ve been on TV and everything! I have your book, Think Like a Horse, and I’ve about worn it out. I lobbied for the chance to pick you up at the airport.”
“Well, thank you.” The concept of having fans always made him uncomfortable. Fame was a byproduct he hadn’t counted on when he’d set out to do the work he loved. “I’m glad the book has been useful.”
“Oh, definitely. Although we finally had to give up on Houdini, which is kind of cool since he’s the reason you’re here. I’m actually grateful to that horse for being a pain in the ass if he brought you here.”
Matthew laughed. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. Ultimately, if my program is a success, I’ll work myself out of a job.”
“I doubt that will ever happen. There’ll always be people who mess up a horse one way or another and need you to straighten things out. But listen, I really think you should eat before we get back to the ranch. We’ve passed up everything in Jackson, but Shoshone will be coming up in forty minutes or so. We could stop at the Spirits and Spurs or the Shoshone Diner.”
“Why are you so dead set on feeding me before we get to the ranch?”
“Because the food there is terrible.”
“Terrible? I find that hard to believe on a ranch the size of the Last Chance.”
“It didn’t used to be terrible. Mary Lou fixed great spreads.” Jeb spoke in a worshipful tone. “Fried chicken with her special batter, amazing ribs, potato salad seasoned just right, stew with lip-smacking gravy, biscuits that would melt in your mouth … man, what I wouldn’t give for some of that grub right now.”
Matthew had a bad feeling about how this story would end. “Don’t tell me Mary Lou up and died.”
“No, not that bad. She got married.”
“And left you high and dry?”
“For a little while, yeah. Mary Lou and Watkins, one of our top hands, are on a three-week honeymoon
