Cowboy In The Kitchen. Mae Nunn

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      “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.

      The crispy pastry melted on her tongue, leaving a hint of honey and earthy sweetness.

      “Have you had breakfast?”

      “No,” she mumbled, savoring another bite.

      “My brother Cullen’s place is only a couple miles from here. If Alma’s there, she’ll be happy to whip up some killer huevos rancheros. Her tortillas are always made from scratch.” His eyes sparked at the mention of the Mexican favorites.

      “Maybe another morning. Today I’m in the mood for something French prepared by my new executive chef.”

      “Does an omelet au fromage appeal to you?”

      “Does Limburger cheese stink?”

      “Well, then, let’s go.” Without hesitation he stood and offered his hand to help her to her feet, then swept his palm toward the side drive where both their vehicles were parked. She stepped toward her rental car with his footsteps a respectful distance behind.

      “I’ll follow you in my car.”

      He was being suspiciously agreeable. Over the course of their brief negotiation, the man had morphed from righteous indignation to effusive gratitude. Somewhere in that pendulum swing of emotion was the real Hunt Temple, and given long enough she might be able to sift through the chaff and find the grain. If not, that was okay, too.

      She’d come to Texas to realize her dream, not analyze a man.

      * * *

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