Love on the Range: A Looking Glass Lake Prequel (4 page)

For a moment Marlee stood, frozen.

A to-go lunch was expected in less than forty-five minutes. She had no idea how large the crew was, and the head chef who had hired her after a phone interview two weeks ago was nowhere to be found.

Cassie Paycoach was the head chef here. Marlee had been so excited about working for her. The woman sounded about the same age, and she loved to laugh. The phone interview was more like a chat between two friends than a job interview. Cassie seemed smart, capable, easy-going and efficient. Marlee couldn’t imagine a woman like that abandoning her post.

Unless this was a test.

Marlee’s heart rate picked up at that thought.

This was, after all, a working interview. She wouldn’t know if she had the job long-term until she’d been here for at least two weeks. Cassie had told her the ranch preferred to give both employee and employer a chance to get to know one another longer than just a phone conversation.

Elation swelled in Marlee’s chest. If this was a test, Cassie was a smart woman. Give a fresh graduate a chance to prove her worth when thrown a time-line for lunch. And make sure there were only a few ingredients to work with.

Brilliant.

This was a challenge Marlee could meet. Her dishes might not be the most creative or elegant, but she was fast and she could think on her feet.

Marlee rolled up her sleeves, ran water in a large bowl and threw in the spinach and red peppers. She had to get started with prepping the vegetables, even if she hadn’t decided yet what she’d make.

The action kicked her brain in high gear, and her heart skittered with glee as ideas flooded over her.

It was going to be delicious. She had barely enough time to roast those red peppers and do a quick spinach sauté. She’d get bacon sizzling on the griddle. And if she moved quickly enough, she’d have crispy bacon sandwiches with rich sautéed greens and slabs of smoky peppers smothered with melty mozzarella…all piled on grilled sourdough.

If she did it right, she’d have cowboys lined up begging for those sandwiches for weeks to come, and Cassie would hire her on the spot.

She’d be one-step closer to her dream of working in a five-star restaurant when the big resort opened.

Marlee had peppers roasting, bacon sizzling, and rows of sourdough lined up already dressed with mayo when she heard the cafeteria door open.

That would probably be her new boss, coming to see how she was doing with the test.

Marlee reined in her smile and tried to focus on the mound of washed spinach in front of her. A quick chop, and she’d pop these in a hot skillet with garlic.

The clomp of boots came closer, and Marlee looked up as the doors to the kitchen opened.

Oh. Jett.

She paused for a moment, knife poised. “What are you doing here?”

Wasn’t he supposed to be outside somewhere, doing something with cows or horses or ropes? Something cowboyish?

He stood still in the doorway, mouth open as he took in the state of the kitchen. His face deepened, growing redder by the minute as his eyes slid over the grill and the counter.

Marlee followed his gaze and stood up straighter.

What was he getting so bent out of shape about? It was a pretty efficient workstation. She’d kept it clean and neat.

Not an easy undertaking when put to the test like this.

Plus, she was on task to finish ahead of the forty-five minute time-line he’d given her.

She might even have time to prep the bushel of green beans for dinner tonight, because they were already in a pan in the sink for cleaning.

“What are you doing?” he bellowed.

“My job,” Marlee retorted. “And don’t rush me.”” She clenched the handle of her knife. “You said I had forty-five minutes, and no one else is here to help. If you want to yell at someone, go find the head chef. She’s the one testing me.”

He stared and shook his head.

Marlee sighed. Why did he always treat her like a small child?

He opened his mouth, but then closed it and headed around the counter.

He grabbed her elbow and pulled her outside.

“There,” he said. He pointed straight ahead. “That’s your kitchen.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Marlee stared.

An old wooden wagon sat in the drive. It looked like something straight out of a pioneer museum. Even its wheels were made of wood, and it had a canvas top. The only thing missing was a team of horses.

And Laura Ingalls.

“I don’t have time for this.” She jerked on her arm.

With her luck, the bacon was already burning on the grill.

He held firm. “It’s a chuck wagon.”

“I don’t care if it’s the Queen of Sheba. I’ve got to finish lunch before the head chef gets here to evaluate my performance.”

His mouth tightened but he let go of her arm. “Evaluate your—”

Marlee heaved an impatient sigh. “My performance. You know, lunch. Get everybody fed before they leave.”

“There is no performance.” He flexed his jaw, and re-settled his hat, still staring at her. “We already ate lunch.”

Marlee’s mouth dropped open and all that beautiful momentum fizzled. She looked down at her hand still clutching her knife. A shred of spinach dangled off the blade.

“But the head chef—”

Jett folded his arms. “You’re the only cook we have.”

Marlee’s throat went dry. She licked her lips and stared into his puzzled black eyes.

“But I—”

“You’re all we’ve got,” he said again. He didn’t look too pleased about it. He cocked his head, and swept his eyes over her.

Marlee stared, her mind whirling. If they’d already eaten lunch, then Cassie must have cooked for them. So the gorgeous kitchen where Marlee was frying her bacon right now was Cassie’s domain.

Marlee’s stomach twisted in knots as realization dawned on her.

Because that meant her own domain must be the chuck wagon.

Horrified, Marlee stared at the chuck wagon, and then at Jett.

He shoved beefy hands into his jeans, and squinted down at her. “If you’re gonna cook for us on this cattle drive, you’d best saddle up, lady.””

Marlee blinked and tried to swallow, but her throat got stuck with all the dust kicking up around them.

A cattle-drive?

Whoa.

Cassie hadn’t said anything about a cattle drive.

“You’re crazy,” she croaked. “If you think I’’m going on a cattle drive.”

Jett shrugged, but stared at her with flinty black eyes.

Marlee raised her chin and stared back. Under any other circumstances, she’d have described this man to her roommate as drop-dead gorgeous. Today, she wished he’d just drop dead.

“That’s the job, lady. Take it or leave it.”

Panic burned her throat. It wasn’t fair. They should have told her she was expected to go on a cattle drive and cook in some ancient rattle-trap of a kitchen. She was a professionally trained chef. At the bare minimum, she needed a stove, refrigerator, freezer, and dishwasher. Counters for prep. Colanders and pans and—

Marlee pivoted on her heel and stalked back to the kitchen.

No. Way.

If she was smart, she’d pack up right now, and head back to town.

Instead, she flipped nearly-burnt bacon and then dove back into chopping the greens when she returned to the kitchen.

Pieces of spinach flew up from her knife into her face.

Seriously.

Marlee ground her teeth almost as hard as she lacerated the spinach.

Jett entered the room, but she ignored him and swirled olive oil in a hot pan, then added minced garlic.

The room bloomed with the rich deep fragrance of garlic. The scent of comfort food. Normally, it was one of her favorite cooking smells, but today, it carried no comfort. She stood with her back to him, trying to catch her breath and get her bearings.

Behind her, he cleared his throat again.

“We need to load up.”

“No, I need to finish the prep, and it’s gonna take the time it takes.” She avoided his gaze when she turned to finish washing and draining the green beans.

She lifted her chin. No self-respecting chef would waste food. Besides, she deserved a little bit of time to regroup and take these new expectations in stride.

A little bit of time to decide if she was as nutty as Jett.

Was she really considering going on a cattle drive?

“You can’t hurry food,” she said. Her voice came out as snippy as the spattering garlic. “That’s how it burns.”

“Not asking you to cook, lady,” he said. “I’m telling you to get on the trail. There’s no time for…” His lip curled as he glanced over the pile of greens. “Vegetables.”

“You know who says there’s no time for vegetables?” She leveled her knife in his direction with a glare.

He blinked twice and squished his eyebrows together, as if she’d just asked him to set up the punchline for a joke he didn’t remember.

“Unhealthy people, that’s who,” she said. “There is always time for vegetables.”

“The beans, cornbread and fixings are already on board,” he said. “This drive will take at least three weeks. Vegetables won’t keep.”

She nearly dropped her knife. “Three weeks?” she squeaked.

“If we’re lucky.” He folded his arms. Black brows lowered. “Six if we’re not.”

She gulped and turned, frantic thoughts skittering through her head.

Through the low kitchen windows, she spotted Crazy Hoss. The old man was surprisingly wiry and strong for his age. He tossed her suitcases in the back of the chuck wagon like they were dice.

Marlee winced. Perfume bottles. The delicate porcelain Native Indian maidens she’s picked up at the souvenir shop on her layover in Denver. She narrowed her eyes. Jett could count himself one lucky cowboy if nothing was broken.

She took a deep breath. “I need time,” she said. “To sharpen my knives.”

Yeah. Right. What she really needed was time to decide what to do.

Marlee sighed and rinsed her knife under hot water.

This was supposed to be a cakewalk job. A year getting a reputation as a reliable sous chef, and a good recommendation for working the resort in Looking Glass Lake when it opened.

It wasn’t supposed to be a six week cattle drive.

“Won’t need ‘em. Wagon’s got all you need.”

She bristled. “A good chef always brings her own knives,” she said.

She yanked a whetstone out and swiped her knife along its edge. The “zing” normally made her feel like her brain was being sharpened, as if preparing her for a challenge. But this wasn’t like any challenge she’d ever faced.

“Tell me now if you’re quitting.”

That did it.

She was going on an honest-to-goodness cattle drive. Like it or not.

There was no way she was going to let a smug-faced cowboy tell her she was a quitter. No matter how handsome he was.

Besides, she couldn’t stomach moving back into the basement at Mom and Dad’s house.

“I’ll cook myself if I have to,” he said. He swallowed hard, and his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. He didn’t look too thrilled at the idea of his own cooking. “Either way, I’m getting up on those mountains.” He stabbed a finger in the direction of the snow-capped range behind the ranch. “And I’m bringing those cattle back, even if we gotta eat burnt beans every night.”

Marlee zinged her knife blade one last time, then she dried it on a towel and slid it back into its sheath in her knife roll.

The fire in his eyes was tempered with a kind of resolute bleakness, and his shoulders sagged slightly. Probably imagining the prospect of enduring burnt beans for three weeks.

Marlee sighed. The puppy dog look shouldn’t be so effective, coming from a hardened-leather cowpoke like Jett. But it was working its charm. Especially since the man clearly wasn’t pulling the mournful look on purpose.

He stood there, hands shoved deep in his pockets, face glum.

She tapped her fingertips on the gleaming stainless steel counter. Chuck wagon beans and cornbread, huh? Not the western resort type fare she had envisioned serving.

Cooking on a cattle drive wouldn’t do much good for the kind of experience she’d need to score a head chef position at the new resort.

But the man clearly couldn’t cook. Putting hot food in his belly at the end of a hard day? Yeah, that could bring satisfaction of a different kind.

A fleeting tingle chased up her spine, but she swept it away and bit her lip.

If she stayed, she’d prove she wasn’t a quitter. Bad test-taker in school, maybe. Mediocre chef, maybe.

Memories of disdainful looks from her instructors knotted her stomach. They’d told her that her food was boring.

Okay but not great.

So she wasn’t the most creative chef, either. At least not yet.