A Cowboy In The Kitchen. Meg Maxwell
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was home now, that people like old-fashioned, good food, not newfangled spices in thinner sauce. No one was counting fat grams at Hurley’s.
Deep breath taken, Annabel was about to head back into the kitchen when she froze, her heart speeding up, unable to take her eyes off the man who’d just walked through the door of the restaurant. West Montgomery. He held his little girl’s hand. Clementine walked over with a smile and led them to a table overlooking the hill out back with its wildflowers.
Annabel should go over and say hello and thank him—he must have gotten up early and silently gone to work on the Hurley’s Homestyle Kitchen sign, because the sign was freshly painted and the loose cobblestones fixed. A man of his word. Instead she waved, then scurried into the kitchen, her reaction to the sight of West, the gorgeousness of him, scaring the bejesus out of her.
Hattie was on the grill, her assistant, elderly Harold, on sides and salads. Annabel was helping both of them and in charge of sauces and kitchen management, and was trying her best to become a better baker. When Clementine came with the Montgomery order—roast beef po’boy for West and a children’s mac and cheese for Lucy—Hattie was so busy with a special-ordered fish that Annabel took care of West’s and Lucy’s orders.
She was making their dinner. Which felt very...domestic. A fantasy poked in her head about what it would be like to live with West and Lucy. A thought she forced out of her head. West had hurt her so bad seven years ago that she wasn’t sure she’d ever let herself fall in love again. Granted, he’d been a grieving mess that night and she shouldn’t blame him too harshly, but she couldn’t help it. He’d put a halt to things with her, then had been doing the same things with Lorna Dunkin out in the open, not caring if she saw them or not.
That was who West was; she had to remember that. People always showed you who they were loud and clear, right? That was what Gram always said. So why did West not seem like a thoughtless jerk? She peered through the little window on the door to the dining room and caught West helping Lucy color on her children’s place mat. That wasn’t a sign of a jerk.
She thought of herself at eighteen, alone and lonely and out of her element in Dallas, trying so hard to fit in and eventually succeeding while feeling...empty. Now she was back home where she belonged and she wasn’t about to let herself want West Montgomery again. No matter how many cobblestones he fixed or how many times he played thumb war with his daughter at Annabel’s favorite table in Hurley’s. No matter how much she wanted to join them.
The moment she peered out the window into the dining room, West happened to see her and waved her over. She was covered in gravy stains and had flour in her hair, but such was the life of a cook.
She weaved her way through the tables, smiling at the Henry family, catching one of the waiters’ eyes to refill water on table three, and stopped in front of West and his daughter’s table.
She kneeled down beside Lucy. “Hi, I’m Annabel Hurley. I’m one of the cooks here. I hope you liked your macaroni and cheese.” Considering there was only a scrape of cheese left in the bowl, she felt safe putting the girl on the spot.
“It was really good,” Lucy said. “We were going to have French toast, but it burned because Daisy ate my crayon.”
“Long story,” West said, ruffling his daughter’s hair. “Want to split a piece of chocolate layer cake?” he asked Lucy. “That looks amazing,” he added, upping his chin at the delectable dessert heading over to another table.
“Yes!” Lucy said. “With whipped cream and a cherry on top.”
“She wants everything to be like a sundae,” West pointed out.
Annabel smiled at the adorable girl. “How would you like to come into the kitchen and help me make your sundae cake?”
The girl slid out of her chair. “Yes!”
Lucy slid her hand into hers, the sweet gesture poking at her heart. West glanced at their hands and smiled at Annabel, following them into the kitchen.
After introductions to Hattie and Harold, Annabel led Lucy to the dessert table, holding three chocolate layer cakes, four kinds of pie and a big plate of butter cookies. Annabel sliced a piece of cake, then brought Lucy over to the walk-in refrigerator, where the girl spun around with her mouth open.
“I’m in a refrigerator!” she exclaimed.
Annabel laughed and pointed out the tub of whipped cream, which she put in Lucy’s outstretched hands, and then they headed back to the dessert table. Annabel handed her a scoop, and Lucy dug in and released a perfect mound of whipped cream on the cake. “Now for the cherry so it’s a real cake sundae.” Annabel held out a basket of cherries.
Lucy grinned and grabbed one by the stem, then carefully, her little pink tongue sticking out in concentration, placed it just so in the center of the whipped cream.
“We’d better let Ms. Hurley get back to work,” West said, mouthing a thank-you to Annabel. “What do you say, sweetheart?”
“Thank you, Ms. Hurley,” Lucy said.
Annabel kneeled down and smiled at her. “You can call me Annabel. And you’re very welcome. Enjoy your cake, but remember to save some for your dad.”
Tongue sticking out in concentration again, Lucy carefully carried the plate in two hands out of the kitchen to her table.
West looked at Annabel for a long moment, then seemed to realize he had an audience—Hattie and her assistant, Harold—and cleared his throat. “See you later at my place,” he said before disappearing through the door. He was back in a heartbeat. “For the cooking lesson,” he added, throwing a glance at Hattie and Harold.
Hattie could barely contain her big laugh while Harold smiled down at the potato chowder he was ladling into a bowl.
Annabel felt her cheeks warm but couldn’t help the chuckle. Yet as she thought about being alone with West Montgomery in his house, in his kitchen, standing shoulder to shoulder at the counter, the chuckle was replaced by honest-to-goodness fear.
How did you stop yourself from falling for someone you’d never gotten over to begin with?
* * *
When the last table at Hurley’s was cleared and the Open sign on the front door turned over, Annabel headed into the kitchen and cleaned up her station, the gloppy congealed lumps of white gravy that had fallen to the floor a particular pain in the neck. She was about to start on Hattie’s grill section when Clementine took the heavy-duty sponge out of her hand.
“I know West Montgomery is waiting on you at his house, so go ahead. I’ll take care of the cleanup.”
Annabel squeezed her sister’s hand in thanks. “That’s okay. You were on your feet all night, just like I was. I’ll do it.”
“Go ahead,” Clementine said, glancing at the clock at the wall—it was just past 9:00 p.m. “I don’t have a hunky guy waiting for private cooking lessons.” Clementine stared out the window for a long moment, her expression changing, and again, Annabel wondered what was up with her private younger sister.
“Clem, is everything okay? You can talk to me. You know that.”
“I’m okay, I promise. Just got some stuff on my mind that a good round of cleaning will help me work out. Go.” She pointed at the door. “Oh, wait. Maybe go after you wash the barbecue sauce out of your hair. And there’s a small piece of fried chicken on your shoe.”
Annabel hugged her sister—tight. She loved Clementine to pieces, but getting her to open up was like yanking teeth.
“I tried Georgia again on my break earlier,” Clementine said, “but I got her voice mail, as usual. I know she left the message saying she couldn’t come home just yet and was sorry, but what could be keeping her in Houston? What could be more important than Gram and Hurley’s?”
“Something must be going on,” Annabel said. She and Clementine had spent the