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Hunt folded his arms, the negative body language stretching a snug-fitting T-shirt tighter across the chest and shoulders of a former athlete. His mouth clamped as if pinching in an argument. She hurried on.
“And regarding your comments about hiring locals, I’m sure I’ll have opportunities for hourly employees, but I had handpicked my management staff before I ever started researching the right property. They’re experienced people I trust, men and women I’ve worked with over the years who are prepared to relocate.”
“Was McCarthy notified about this, as well?”
“There’s no reason why he should have been,” Gillian countered. “Mr. Temple, people are not fixtures that come with real estate just because they happen to live in the same zip code.”
“Will you look around, for cryin’ out loud?” He held both arms out, and then turned his head from side to side, giving Gillian a chance to appreciate his handsome profile.
“This place is huge! No matter how much you trust your handpicked buddies, they won’t figure out in a year what an old-timer in these parts forgot last week. Alma and her husband, Felix, have had their whole lives to become experts on this place, and they’ve taught my brothers and me everything there is to know about Temple Territory.”
“Moore House.” The correction slipped out.
“I beg your pardon?” There was disbelief and an angry edge to the way he asked the question.
She hadn’t meant to bring it up in this conversation. But she couldn’t unring the bell so she might as well get it over with.
“The name for the estate will be Moore House. And that’s just the first of many changes I’ll be making. This old place has to be modernized so it will appeal to my guests.”
Hunt pushed to his feet. He shoved both hands through his tidy crop of dark hair, and then drew in and expelled several deep breaths as he glowered down at her.
“Since you have so many objections to Temple Territory in its historic condition, what is it that actually appeals to you about this place, Ms. Moore?”
Gillian mirrored his action, stood and stretched her spine, determined to deal with Hunt Temple eyeball to eyeball. She’d done her homework, certain this moment would come. She desperately needed his help, but it would be financially fatal if she tipped her hand or let him intimidate her.
“Mr. Temple, these are tough times, and this is strictly business. If you understood anything about running one, maybe you wouldn’t be taking this so personally.”
“And by what right do you assume I don’t understand how to run a business?”
She smiled, armed and dangerous.
“It’s not about assumptions. It’s about the facts.” She began to recite his résumé. “You passed up a full ride to the University of Texas on a baseball scholarship to work your way around the U.K. and Europe as a line cook. You eventually earned your cuisine diploma from Le Cordon Bleu in Paris—though it took longer than usual because you struggled with classic French techniques. You shifted continents, became a pretty hot sous-chef in Costa Rica and finally settled into an executive chef position at the Four Seasons in Cancun. But that doesn’t appear to have worked out since you’re in Kilgore again.” She tilted her head. “And unemployed.”
The gleam in his eyes said she’d made an impression.
“Did I get the facts straight, Chef?”
“Except for that wisecrack about techniques. I didn’t struggle. I just didn’t practice. The French preoccupation with peeling vegetables is moot compared to the perfect searing on a tender strip of flank steak.”
“I happen to disagree. You can get a hunk of grilled meat on any corner in Texas, but fine continental cuisine is not so easy to come by around here.”
“And that’s what you plan to serve in your restaurant, of course.” He lowered his eyes, shook his head.
“Of course,” she answered, convinced she was absolutely on the right track. “Being unique and a cut above the rest is precisely why our dining experience will be appealing. We’ll offer our customers a menu with exquisite choices. In less time than it takes to sing ‘The Eyes of Texas,’ the private celebrations at Moore House will be the talk of the state.”
“Is that a fact?” He was working at being unimpressed.
“It is, indeed. I’ve employed an extremely high-profile event planner who has guaranteed fabulous bookings and media coverage if Moore House is operative by the holidays.”
“Since you have this rush job all figured out, I’m sure this experienced staff of yours includes a classically trained chef, correct?”
Aha! The opportunity she’d hoped for. She raised her chin and smiled to cover the quivering in her stomach.
I have to appear and sound more confident than I feel. I need this man’s help in a big way, and he has no reason to cooperate and every reason to refuse.
She took a deep breath and chose her words carefully.
“No. Not at the moment, anyway. My first choice hasn’t worked out, but I’m still hoping he’ll reconsider,” she lied.
Once Gillian had discovered the connection between the property and culinary celebrity Hunt Temple, she’d realized she was on to something big. Having the TV-acclaimed Cowboy Chef in her kitchen would guarantee the success of her restaurant, even if she could only afford him temporarily.
“Alma’s quite an amazing cook, and she’s friendly with all the local produce suppliers.” Hunt’s mouth curved with the suggestion Gillian could sense was coming. “If you should change your opinion about a hunk of grilled meat, I’m sure she’d consider running your kitchen.”
Gillian shook her head.
“I have no doubt your friend Alma would make an excellent addition to the kitchen staff. But until my first choice becomes available, I have a substitute in mind. An executive chef with a name and reputation that will draw clients to Moore House like flies to honey. A chef who inherited the ability to do things in a big way. An attractive man who can charm a female diner’s eye as well as her palate.”
Hunt checked his watch. “So, what time does Jamie Oliver get here?”
Gillian grinned at the idea of the English cooking superstar ordering the staff about in what would soon be her state-of-the-art kitchen.
“I had somebody closer to home in mind.” She tipped her head in Hunt’s direction.
His gray eyes widened. A shaft of sunshine shot highlights across his hair as the notion lit his brain. He lifted his right hand, touched his index finger to his chest.
“Me?” Hunt’s one-word question was incredulous. She couldn’t tell whether he was shocked, flattered or offended.
“What do you say, Chef?” Gillian tried to sound self-assured. “How about hanging around Kilgore for a while to help me get Moore House up and running?”
CHAPTER TWO
THE WOMAN STOOD there grinning, obviously pleased with her insulting suggestion. Hunt wondered how on earth she could believe he’d even consider jumping at the bone she’d tossed in the air like a treat for a desperate dog.
Gillian Moore was giving him the opportunity to cook in what should rightfully be his own kitchen, bless her heart.
And as second choice, for crying out loud! But even then it was only until the chef she really wanted was available.
Hunt’s head began to throb as if a plunger had just pushed the Columbian espresso he’d been drinking straight into his brain. He had to shake the caffeine buzz, clear his mind and concentrate. Somehow he had to turn this situation to his advantage, but that wouldn’t happen if he reacted by giving words to the bitter taste in his mouth.
When his family had first learned of the sale, his brother Mac had said it was time to accept what was over and done with because they couldn’t change it. The facts were that their grandfather’s shady deals had cost him fifteen years of freedom in a Texas prison, his wildcatter’s fortune, his home and his relationship with his only son, Hunt’s father.
Hunt couldn’t change the shame that had been left to them as a family legacy, but he could still make a difference in the present and salvage his own name. That is, if he kept a cool head, not exactly the strong suit of the men in the Temple family.
Gillian continued to smile, waiting on his answer.
“Well?” She had the nerve to sound perky.
How was it that rich folks seemed to have a knack for morphing somebody else’s pain into their gain?
He settled down again on the patio step. She evidently took it as an encouraging sign, because she did the same.
“Say something. What’s your gut reaction?” The infernal woman was expecting a positive response.
He held in the rude scoff that threatened to spew. His gut reaction, as she’d put it, was to end this ridiculous conversation, get into his old Jeep and drive away.
And then what?
There was no way to reverse the clock. She’d be the new owner of Temple Territory, no matter how he and his three brothers felt about it. And, as Mac had said, her hotel was better than having the acres leveled for big box stores. And as the eldest brother, Mac had the ultimate say.
Hunt had no choice but to roll with the punches, and that included returning to his hometown, and once again without a place of his own.
“You’re always welcome to bunk with me,” Cullen had mentioned the night before. “But how long do you reckon you might be hanging around?”
That was an odd question coming from Hunt’s identical twin. Weren’t they supposed to have some weird compunction to be together? That was the conventional wisdom, but even as boys the two had had little in common. Things were no different today between him and his book-nerd twin. Cullen was perpetually over at the university working on another degree or traveling somewhere to lecture to his fellow history geeks. They wouldn’t see much of one another if Hunt stayed with him for a while, so that was a plus. But at thirty-two years old, he couldn’t move in with his brother indefinitely.
Gillian tapped the edge of her cup with the tip of one short nail, reminding him she expected a response. She was a decisive woman who’d made a multimillion-dollar purchase after a few hours of consideration. He was nothing more than a speed bump in the parking lot of her plans. He had to make up his mind before she moved on to a third choice. There were excellent chefs in Dallas and Houston who would jump at the chance to get out of the city.
Hunt leaned forward, an elbow on each knee, one hand gripping the other to brace himself for the counterproposal he was about to offer.
“I hate to fly. I’d rather have a root canal. Once during a flight from Greece to Costa Rica, I got vertigo. Those were the longest and most miserable hours of my life.” Hunt closed his eyes for a moment against the recollection. “There was nothing I could do but let the world spin around me while the plane thumped through one pocket of turbulence after another. Once the aircraft landed in San José, I still had to suffer a wild ride with a Nigerian taxi driver to the nearest clinica. When I finally got enough medication in me to calm the vertigo, I prayed I’d never be in such a vulnerable position again.”
Gillian listened with her sandy blond brows pulled together in concern, a “what’s your point?” question in her all-business eyes and a not-so-surreptitious glance at her wristwatch.
“I know.” He bobbed his head in respect for her busy schedule. “But I told you that story so I could tell you this story. When I sat down with my three brothers yesterday morning, and McCarthy gave us the news that Temple Territory had been purchased, it was like being on that awful flight. For the past twenty-four hours, the world has been spinning out of control.” Hunt smiled. He needed to appear and sound sincere. “I guess, in a way, you’ve given me some hope, and for that I should be grateful.”
Her shoulders relaxed and a glimmer of relief appeared on the face that he had to admit was Katherine Heigl beautiful.
“So, you’ll accept my offer?”
There was cautious expectation in her voice. Maybe she didn’t have a third option up her sleeve after all.
“It’s more complicated than that.” He squinted and pressed his molars together, trying to seem stressed, as if he had a big decision to make. “You’re not the only person who’s aware I’ve left the Four Seasons. I have several other opportunities on the table already, so staying here even temporarily could cost me a much bigger deal.”
It might have been true. There was no offer at the moment, but his agent was working on it. He’d had a steady stream of offers since winning a reality cooking show that had given him the nickname “the Cowboy Chef.” Something would come along soon. Sadly, that something would likely take him far away from his hometown. And this is where he needed to be, if he was ever to become as close to his brothers as he’d once been.
“I’ll make it worth your while financially.”
He held a palm outward and shook his head.
“If I hang around, it won’t be because of the money, it’ll be for my family’s sake. Dad would want one of his sons to keep an eye on what you’re doin’ with Pap’s place.”
Gillian crossed her arms, and lowered her pointed chin a bit, causing long strands of blond hair to fall across her shoulders. “You do understand you’d have no vote in my plans, correct?”
“I didn’t ask for a vote, just a voice. An astute businesswoman should be open-minded, willing to listen to another opinion.”
She nodded, seemed to accept his logic. “So, do we have an agreement?”
“Not yet. I do have one condition, and it’s a deal breaker.”
“Let me guess. You want an offer in writing.”
“Yeah, but I want the offer in writing to Alma and Felix. You make them part of your staff for as long as you own the property, and I’ll stick around for a while. Between the three of us, we can teach you the history of our neck of the woods.”
* * *
FINALLY. THE MAN got to the bottom line.
Fair enough. Gillian appreciated a rousing negotiation and admired his family loyalty. She’d benefit from Hunt’s ability to help her design a state-of-the-art kitchen, then cook fabulous food and charm her well-heeled patrons with his Cowboy Chef persona for as long as she could afford him. But she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the man’s opinions, and she definitely hadn’t asked for his historical mentoring.
“As I’ve mentioned, I do my homework, and I’m pretty confident that I’m up to speed on Texas history.” She lifted her cup and took another sip.
“Is that a fact? So you’ve heard all about the monster sea snake that lives in Lake Cherokee, have you?”
Gillian sloshed a few drops from her cup. The dark brew splashed on her scarlet bag, a treasure from her favorite resale shop in Old Town Alexandria.
“And you’re aware that this very parcel of land was farmed for hundreds of years by members of the Caddo Nation?” He pointed toward the ground beneath their feet. “What’s left of the Caddo tribe regularly tries to lay claim to Temple Territory, pointing to the well their ancestors dug as proof of their rights. Pap built the mansion around the well out of respect for the spirits they believe still abide here.”
She shook her head, wondering if she should speak to her lawyer concerning this nonsense about that nasty old well in the courtyard.
“And, of course, you’ve heard Temple Territory is cursed, right? In all these years, no honest business would touch it because my Pap was branded as a thief who made his fortune stealing a few hundred million barrels from a major oil company.”
“No, I wasn’t aware of any of that,” she admitted. This was all fresh news.
It was true she’d been reading about East Texas in general but hadn’t yet found the hours to dig into local folklore. He was right. She could definitely use area experts and storytellers who’d share the fantasies as well as the facts of the place. Like Hunt himself, some of it could become part of the new ambience she’d use to entice and entertain the guests at Moore House.
Gillian pulled a tissue from inside her bag and swiped at the drizzling droplets of coffee atop it while she considered the appeal of Alma’s homemade pastries, made fresh each day. A smart hotelier offered her guests an experience they could not have elsewhere. What was the use in having the Cowboy Chef in her kitchen even short-term if she didn’t have the tall Texas tales to go along with him?
“Say something. What’s your gut reaction?” Hunt mocked her earlier question.
She shifted her attention from the coffee stain on her favorite purse to the alluring face of the youngest Temple brother. She’d never considered she could attract the reality television celebrity, but that was before her real estate agent had insisted Gillian get on the next flight for a visit to Temple Territory. Finding the perfect property that just happened to be connected to Hunt Temple couldn’t be interpreted as anything other than providence.
Gillian recognized her equal in the man beside her. He’d turned a problem to his advantage, just as she’d have done. Another item on the list of critical information she’d keep to herself.
Hunt still had the body of an athlete, was slap-your-sister hot and possessed a cache of local secrets. He was well traveled in spite of his fear of flying, and probably spoke a few phrases in several languages. So she steamrolled ahead with her plan, just as her father would do in her shoes.
“My gut tells me to meet your condition—if you promise to stay for as long as I require your help.” That would help her rush a grand opening during the holiday season and establish her no-nonsense reputation. Maybe she’d even convince him to stick around longer. Or not.
“I’ll have the agreement drawn up by my lawyer, and he’ll be in touch with you later today.”
She offered her hand to make it official. “Deal?”
He took her fingers gently in his, raised them to his face and kissed the backside of them lightly.
“Deal,” he murmured.
A shiver ran from her knuckles to the pleasure center of her brain. She gave a nod to acknowledge the gesture, and then slipped her hand away from his touch.
Needing a distraction from the warmth of his lips still on her flesh, she glanced down at the paper sack and then reached in for a homemade sopaipilla.
