quite a handle.” Matthew pictured a sour-faced woman who insisted everyone address her with the whole blessed thing.
“Yeah, well, she told us that her mother gave her two fancy names to offset the boring last one. I don’t know if those fancy names went to her head or what, but she claims to be a gourmet cook.”
“Oh.” Matthew smoothed a hand over his mouth to hide a smile. Most cowhands weren’t big on gourmet vittles.
“The hands might be able to tough it out, but I feel especially sorry for the kids. Did anybody tell you about that program?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact. You’ve got, what, eight teenaged boys for the summer?”
“That’s right. This philanthropist named Pete Beckett came up with the idea of using the ranch for a residential summer program for teenage boys. They’ve been labeled troublemakers, but I guess they like being on the ranch, because they haven’t caused a single problem. I worry about this food thing, though. Teenagers need regular food. They don’t want to complain, but I can see it in their faces that they don’t like it.”
“So what does she serve that’s so bad?”
“Escargot.” Jeb said it with a groan.
“Hmm. Pricey.” Matthew wondered what sort of bills Aurelia Imogene was running up.
“It’s snails, man! You don’t eat something that crawls on the ground with slime coming out its ass! But she served a plate of those varmints and expected us to eat ’em. I don’t think so.”
“So you left them on the plate?” Matthew happened to love escargots and hated to think of that delicacy going to waste.
“Hell, no. That would have been rude. We scooped ’em out of the shells like we planned to eat them. By now we know to bring plastic bags in our pockets when we come up to the main house for lunch, which is the only meal we eat there. Mornings and evenings we fend for ourselves down at the bunkhouse with stuff like canned chili. We always used to fill up at lunch. But now we’re starving to death.”
“What’d you do with the snails?”
“Gave ’em to the dogs.”
Matthew winced at the travesty of that. Of course, maybe the snails weren’t any good. Just because someone claimed to be a gourmet cook didn’t mean they were.
“Some stuff’s so bad even the dogs won’t eat it.”
Matthew was hardwired to solve problems, and this was one he had a stake in because he did love his food. “Can’t you talk to somebody? Either her, or whoever hired her?”
“That’s just it. She’s Mary Lou’s niece, and Mary Lou invited her to come and fill in. Nobody wants to offend Mary Lou because she’s been good to us, and to be honest, I don’t know what the Chance family thinks about the food because they’ve never said anything.”
“So maybe they like it.”
“I’d be surprised. I think they’re just trying to ride it out like the rest of us. Plus, Aurelia’s sweet as can be, and I’m sure she doesn’t mean to make us gag. Nobody has the heart to hurt her feelings. In fact …” He glanced over at Matthew before sighing and turning his attention to the road again. “No, I can’t do it. It’s not fair to you.”
“What’s not fair?”
“One of the guys came up with the idea that you could pretend you were on a special diet or something, which she’d have to accommodate because you’re an honored guest, and we’d all climb on board and say we’d eat the same thing to make life easier for her.”
“I’m not going to lie to her about some bogus special diet.”
“No, I don’t think you should, either,” Jeb said quickly. “I told the boys that. Bad idea.”
“But I’d like to help. I’ve had some experience with fine dining, so maybe if I show that I appreciate what she’s trying to do, I can make some subtle suggestions that would turn things around.”
“Now that’s more like it! But I still think we should stop for food before we get to the ranch.”
Matthew shook his head. “That makes no sense. Before I can discuss food with her, I have to eat something she’s made.” He glanced at the clock on the truck’s dashboard. They wouldn’t arrive at the ranch until around seven, which was nine his time. By then he might not care what he ate.
“You’re a brave man.”
Matthew laughed. “That bad, huh?”
“I have two words for you. Goat cheese.” Jeb made a face. “Find out if she’s made something with goat cheese, and if she has, don’t eat it. I guarantee you’ll want to puke your guts out.”
Matthew decided not to admit he was fond of goat cheese, too. Demand for his training skills now brought him offers from around the world. He’d learned to appreciate all sorts of food, assuming it was prepared well.
“So I should drop you at the main house?” Jeb asked.
“Right. I need to check in with Sarah Chance, anyway. If you’ll take my duffel to the bunkhouse, you can put it on whatever bed you want me to use. I’ll unpack after I’ve had something to eat.”
“I hope you don’t mind being down with us, but it’s that or sleep in the main house with eight teenagers. I hear they’re behaving themselves, but still.”
“No worries. Bunkhouses are amongst my favorite places to sleep.” Matthew gazed out at the majestic Tetons in the distance and the grassy meadows bordering the road. After spending the past few weeks in the manicured pastures of Virginia, he relished the rugged landscape of Jackson Hole especially on a warm July day. Born not far from here in Billings, Montana, he was a Westerner at heart.
At sixteen, he’d hired on at a working ranch outside Billings. There he’d discovered his gift for working with difficult horses when he’d befriended a mare that previously had trusted no one. His boss had been a talkative man, and soon Matthew had been in demand throughout the state.
When he’d transformed a Montana senator’s unruly horse into a mount children could ride, he’d earned a national reputation for being a miracle worker. Many people had encouraged him to write a book about his methods, and that book had brought international attention to his training ability. He enjoyed the travel opportunities, but he welcomed a return to more familiar surroundings.
Jeb seemed happy about Matthew’s fondness for bunkhouses. He glanced over with a smile. “We have a card game going most nights, in case you’re interested.”
“Deal me in. Once I assess the food situation, I’ll be headed down there ready to play.” He looked forward to spending a week at a place where Stetsons and hand-stitched boots were the norm. Jackson Hole felt a lot like coming home.
SPINACH SOUFFLÉ. Aurelia had spent the past hour sitting at the kitchen table going through her cookbooks in search of something spectacular for tomorrow’s midday meal. The house was quiet for a change, because Pete Beckett had taken the teenagers to the Shoshone Diner to give Aurelia a break.
