Cowboy in the Kitchen Read Online Free PDF Page A

into it. “What I said was cruel and I apologize.”
    “What you said was fairly accurate.” He faced her, a hint of a smile curving his full lips. “Alma always said that Pap’s interior design left a lot to be desired. But he did things his own way.”
    Hunt tipped his head up. His gaze scanned the dark walls and shadowy high ceilings of the foyer. “No matter what people said about him in the end, our daddy told us Pap had guts in spades—and an ornery nature any mule would envy.”
    “The family resemblance is strong,” she cautiously teased. Hunt had kindly let her off when she deserved a boot in the behind for her snide comment.
    The cell phone in her pocket buzzed. She checked the caller ID.
    Dang it, Father, what is it now?
    She sent him directly to voice mail, making a mental note to get to his message before her next appointment. Her father was driving her nuts, questioning and second-guessing her every decision. At least he was over a thousand miles away. Having her controlling father any closer would have made this project impossible.
    “So how about a stay of execution for the doors?”
    For a split second Gillian was tempted to give in to Hunt’s hopeful voice and appealing eyes just to make him go away and let her return to work. But the moment passed. She’d do things her way, and neither Hunt Temple nor James Moore would tell her what to do. Still, there was a story behind the pieces that added ambience, albeit in the wrong place.
    She offered a compromise. “We can use them in the spa. We’ll work the doors into the decor of the juice bar.”
    “Spa? You haven’t mentioned a spa.” Hunt’s brows scrunched in concern.
    “Phase II,” she explained. And that was all the explanation he’d get on her future plans. She could just imagine his objections when he found out that smelly Caddo well would be filled in and covered over with a tile floor when she enclosed the courtyard. She’d keep that to herself until he needed to know, if ever.
    Hunt squinted in thought, as if he was considering her alternative suggestion for the doors. Not that she could let his opinions matter too much in the end. Gillian would only get one grab at the brass ring. She hadn’t put her reputation and her parents’ retirement fund on the line to have her plans questioned by a professional foodie.
    Even if the foodie was the talented, unpredictable and quite handsome Cowboy Chef.

CHAPTER FOUR
    “I HAVE A better idea for the doors.” Hunt tilted his head and motioned with his hand for Gillian to follow him. He smiled at the tapping of her heels behind him. He was making progress with the boss lady already.
    “Hunt, I’m too busy for this right now.”
    Maybe not so much progress after all.
    He continued toward the old kitchen.
    “You’re not listening to me,” she insisted, but remained close behind. “I’m booked solid this afternoon, and I have to return that call. Your granddaddy’s rustic old doors have been collecting dust for decades. There’s no reason to get in a dither about them right this minute.”
    “All evidence to the contrary since you were about to put a piece of Texas history on the scrap pile. I’d say a dither is exactly what’s called for, and you might agree in about thirty seconds.”
    He crossed the scuffed terra-cotta tiles that led to the large walk-in pantry. Once inside, he reached up to tug a length of kitchen twine dangling from overhead, weighted decades ago by a lead swivel sinker from somebody’s tackle box. A single bulb lit the space dimly, but the light was sufficient to make Hunt’s point. The roomy closet was lined with thick slabs of knotty pine, the golden color deepened with age to the hue of maple syrup.
    Gillian stepped forward, ran her palm across the smooth wall, her face giving away her appreciation of the reclaimed timbers.
    “I hadn’t given this closet any attention. Is this the same wood?”
    Hunt nodded. “When the drilling derrick at Temple One