Cowboy In The Kitchen

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Karl was right. Gillian was beautiful in a fresh way, but she was all business. Hunt doubted the men of Rusk County had much of a chance against the stick she carried. It doubled as a whip.

* * *

GILLIAN WAS JUMPY, as if somebody had slipped a double shot of espresso into her cup of decaf. She was well aware of the source of her case of nerves, and it was chemical, all right, but it wasn’t her body’s reaction to caffeine.

It was that blasted Hunt Temple.

The man was getting under her skin, and she was pretty sure it was by design. The question she’d wrestled with all night was whether or not to do something about the attraction she had to him. The timing was completely wrong, but when would it ever be right? They were both in the hospitality business, a world that required around-the-clock availability. When and where would she ever find a more compatible or attractive man who just might understand the demands of her life?

And if she won him over, he’d become an ally instead of the snake in the grass she was fairly sure he was being when she was otherwise occupied. Staying one step ahead of him with so much on her plate was wearing Gillian out, and the project was only just getting started. The months ahead would be rewarding. She was building her dream. But they would also be the most critical of her life.

If she wasn’t so dependent on him to get Moore House off to a great start, she’d save herself a lot of trouble and just fire him on the spot.

“So, are you thinking of firing me?” Hunt asked as he reentered the room.

“You’re not only an excellent chef, you’re a mind reader.”

“I beg your pardon.” His head snapped back as if she’d popped him on the chin. “You’re firing me?”

“No, just considering it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, why did you ask?”

“You went around me and called the friend I told you about. Does that mean you don’t want my help?”

“Hunt, what is it going to take to get through to you on this subject? I own this property. Temple Territory is going to become Moore House. You can roll with the punches or punch out. I will meet my opening deadline, with or without you. So which will it be?”

Hunt folded his arms, turned about-face and seemed to study something outside the window. His white knit shirt stretched tight across solid shoulders, revealing the body of a man who could have played professional baseball, if everybody who ever mentioned him to her was to be believed. Those powerful arms could definitely swing a bat.

Or hold a woman close.

Maybe she’d been hasty. What if he walked away? She’d be out more than an executive chef.

Oh, knock it off. Don’t let your emotions get in the way of your plans.

“Well, what’s it going to be?” She stood her ground, silently praying he’d stay the course while her nails dug little half-moons into her clenched fists.

“I might ask you the same thing. What’s it gonna take to get through to you that I start what I finish?”

“You must admit you’ve left more than one attractive position.”

“But I never left an employer high and dry. I always gave notice and worked at one hundred percent of my ability until the last meal was served. I’ll do the same for you.”

“That’s admirable, and I appreciate you being straightforward with me.” The tension in her fists eased. “So, other than putting out exceptional food, what are you hoping to accomplish for the duration of your contract?”