THINGS ARE HEATING UP…

Hey, Everyone! 

COOKING FOR COWBOY  available on Amazon

 http://amzn.to/14y7hMB

 Chad’s a professional chuckwagon driver.

Sierra’s an executive chef.

Things are heating up,and not in the kitchen…

Chad Parker is balancing the operation of the cattle and horse ranch he inherited from his late father with racing on the WPCA pro chuckwagon circuit, including the upcoming Rangeland Derby at the Calgary Stampede. If that weren’t enough headaches for one guy, once again another cook has quit due to Chad’s mother’s insufferable criticism. But Sierra Griffin, an unemployed executive chef, enters his life at just the right moment. Sierra is the answer to his prayers, but can Chad keep the peace between his new cook and his mother, whom he banished from her own kitchen?

Sierra Griffin willingly accepts the handsome cowboy’s job offer while she pursues a position more suited to her qualifications with Chad’s blessing. But Sierra soon discovers she loves cooking for cowboys, especially the guy who sits at the head of the table. Things start heating up between Sierra and Chad, and not in the kitchen.

Just when Chad believes he has the situation under control, he learns that Sierra has found her dream job. Now what will he do? Hiring another cook is the least of his worries. Does the woman he’s falling in love with intend to move out of his life as quickly as she slipped into it?

NOTE:  Chad’s mother has recently been confined to a wheelchair due to ever-advancing stages of MS.  I’ve dedicated this book to a good friend who has battled MS for decades.  Love ya, Judy!

DEDICATION

  This book is dedicated to Judy Knapp, a good friend and TOPS pal who has faced her MS diagnosis fearlessly and has fought back for decades. Her bravery and tenacity are an inspiration to everyone who knows her.

Check out this excerpt…

COOKING FOR COWBOY

  Chapter 1

 

“Touch me like that again, Romeo, and I won’t be responsible for my actions,” warned Sierra Griffin, glaring at her boss. While holding a plated dinner, she waited for him to take a step back. When he moved aside, she set the customer’s meal on the spotless pass-through under the lights.

“Come on, babe. You love it,” insisted Romeo, owner of the fine-dining restaurant and lounge that carried his name. “You know I can’t resist you.” He reached over Sierra’s shoulder and snagged a piece of red pepper off the stir-fry.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered in frustration while she slid the ruined food into the garbage can and slammed the plate on the metal counter beside the dishwasher. She wiped her hands on the white cotton apron protecting her spotless chef’s coat. As the restaurant’s executive chef, Sierra insisted on perfection from herself and her staff, and she didn’t mind pitching in to help cook on busy evenings.

“Hey, you’re costing me money, babe,” complained Romeo, standing with his pudgy hands on his broad hips.

“Sue me,” muttered Sierra. “I’m not sending anything out of this kitchen that you’ve dug your mitts into.”

“I stole a pepper and I only touched that one piece.”

“I’ll explain that to the health inspector next time he visits.” Sierra noted the stunned expressions on her staff’s faces. “Get busy, please. There’s a full house out there. Do you want the orders to start backing up?”

The kitchen staff leapt into action, busied themselves at their assigned stations.

“My, you’re touchy tonight. Wrong time of the month?” whispered Romeo, crossing his arms and resting them atop his substantial middle.

Sierra ignored the infuriating man. She adjusted her chef’s hat with the back of her hand and returned her attention to the top-of-the-line gas range in front of her. For the hundredth time she asked herself why she’d endured this nonsense for the past six months. No executive chef in her right mind should tolerate any man patting her butt or whispering x-rated innuendos in her ear.

“Martin, another stir-fry 9-1-1, please.”

“Right away, Chef.”

Cursing under her breath, Sierra removed the cover from a steaming pot of vegetable beef soup and tossed the lid onto the counter. Several heads jerked up. The staff glanced in her direction and then returned to their work. Damn Romeo anyway! She never lost her temper in the kitchen, and she felt her face redden. Was Romeo ever going to accept the fact she wasn’t interested in him, and there would never be anything personal between them? If she condoned violence and thought it would do any good, she would have slammed him up side the head with the pot lid in hopes that he’d get the idea. She tasted the soup, nodded in approval, and set the spoon in a tub of dirty dishes as a busboy passed by.

The potager returned from his break to his soup station. “I’ve been keeping an eye on that for you,” said Sierra. “Excellent soup. It’s ready to set out front for the waitresses to serve up.”

“Thanks, Chef.” The young man beamed with her praise and headed out front, maneuvering the heavy pot through the swinging doors.

Sierra grabbed her tongs and flipped the set of flame-broiled steaks she’d tossed on the grill just before plating the now ruined stir-fry. Romeo still stood behind her. The fact that he hovered nearby kept her nerves on edge, but she couldn’t order the boss out of the kitchen or he’d hang around all night just to annoy her. She took a moment to visualize her tongs wrapped around Romeo’s neck in a vise-like grip, tightening them until he promised to stop harassing her. Right. Like that would happen. She relaxed her white-knuckled grip, refusing to allow Romeo’s inappropriate behavior to get to her. Besides, she’d never resort to physical aggression against the jerk, or anyone else for that matter.

Where were all the good men in the world? Her mother had found her father, and her best girlfriend married a great guy three years ago. Good men existed somewhere, she reasoned. All she wanted was one man who loved her, who looked forward to raising a family with her, and who intended to spend the rest of his days at her side. Was that too much to ask?

Sierra passed the two plated medium-rare steaks to the sous-chef standing on her left. “Finish these off, please, Martin.” She reached for the order slip and handed it to him. Her co-worker passed his Chef de Cuisine certification examinations last week, and Sierra expected he’d submit his notice any day now in favor of running his own kitchen as an executive chef at a competing restaurant. Of course, it would mean extra work for her unless Romeo hired someone to replace him, but Martin was a really nice guy and she couldn’t be happier for him.

They finished off the last three orders in record time, including the 9-1-1 stir-fry to replace the one that ended up in the garbage.

“Take your break, Martin,” she suggested. “There seems to be a lull in the orders right now.”

“Okay, Chef, I’ll grab a cup of coffee. A buddy of mine texted me awhile ago that he’s in the lounge. The second seating will arrive in fifteen or twenty minutes, but I’ll be back in time.”

“Thanks,” said Sierra, smiling. “I appreciate you having my back when things get insane around here.”

“See you in a bit,” called Martin, as he strode through the swinging doors heading into the restaurant and lounge.

The savory smells in the kitchen had Sierra’s stomach grumbling for an hour already. She hadn’t eaten anything since noon. She should grab a quick coffee and a bite to eat before the next rush of orders started. Before she could move, Romeo sidled up behind her and leaned close.

“I’ve got your back, too, babe,” he whispered in her ear.

And then he patted her ass.

Sierra gasped and swung around. She fisted her hands, wanting more than anything to slug him. “I can’t believe you just did that!”

Romeo winked, leering at her in a suggestive way. “If you’d stop ignoring me, you’d realize I love admiring your backside.”

Sierra tugged her chef’s hat off and threw it on the counter. “That will never happen in this lifetime.” She whipped her apron off and tossed it in Romeo’s face. His smirk disappeared from sight.

Romeo pulled the apron down and covered his heart with his hand. A pained expression appeared on his face. “Babe, you’ve wounded me.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Sierra spat through gritted teeth while she grabbed her own set of knives and other culinary tools and stuffed them into their black leather carrying case. “I’ve had it. That stunt you just pulled was the last straw. You’ve manhandled my behind for the last time. I quit.”

“Temper, temper,” sang Romeo, waving his stubby index finger in her direction.

Sierra zipped up the case and threw the strap over her shoulder. “That wasn’t temper. Trust me. You don’t want to experience my temper.” She stomped down the hallway and entered her office, grabbed her purse out of the desk’s bottom drawer, and strode toward the back exit. “I mean it, Romeo. I’m out of here and I’m not coming back.” She paused for a moment and turned to confront the former bane of her existence. “You should thank your lucky stars that I’m not initiating a sexual harassment suit against your lecherous butt.”

“You can’t leave in the middle of a busy Friday night shift.” Romeo waddled after her down the narrow hallway leading to the back door. “Be reasonable, babe.”

“Take your ‘be reasonable, babe’ and stuff it you know where.” Sierra glared at the man she now considered her ex-boss. “Martin just became your new executive chef. Tell him I wish him all the best. And if I was you, I wouldn’t pat his ass every second shift. If you do, either you’ll end up with a black eye or, once again, you’ll find yourself without an executive chef.”

“Take the rest of the night off, Sierra. Martin will cover for you. Tomorrow will…”

“Forget it.” Sierra waved off Romeo’s suggestion. “Tomorrow I’ll be looking for a position with a restaurant whose owner understands professional standards of conduct,” she called over her shoulder. “Something you sadly lack any knowledge of.”

Sierra slammed the door on her way out. She strode across the poorly-lit parking lot, heading toward her apple-green Honda. She loved her little car and the color always cheered her up. But not tonight. She’d job hunted last January for several weeks before landing this job at Romeo’s. With the turbulent economy, executive chef jobs were as scarce as teeth in chickens.

“What have I done?” she asked herself aloud, unlocking the driver’s side door.

She climbed inside as an owl hooted in answer from a nearby tree.

“Who is right? Who’s going to give me another job?” she muttered, setting her purse and knife case on the passenger seat.

She started the car, slammed it into gear, and fought back tears as her car darted toward the exit.

* * *

Chad Parker slumped on the lumpy vinyl-covered barstool and scrubbed his hand down his face. Could this day get any worse?

“Are you certain I can’t buy you another beer, handsome?” asked the young redhead who’d been sidling up to him for the last ten minutes. She’d offered him a lot more than another beverage, too, and he was beginning to lose patience with the obviously inebriated woman. There was nothing less attractive, in Chad’s opinion, than a drunk female.

“No, ma’am,” insisted Chad, politely. “As you can see I haven’t finished this one yet. And I’m driving, so one is my limit.”

Suddenly, Chad’s friend appeared at his side and rested his hand on Chad’s shoulder. “Now, sweetheart, shame on you for flirting with some woman when I’m out of sight. Naughty, naughty boy.” Martin batted his eyelashes for good measure.

Chad coughed to cover his laughter. Trust Martin to rescue him in the most preposterous way.

“You’re gay?” asked the redhead, incredulously.

Without waiting for a reply, she slid off her barstool and teetered in her cowboy boots. Recovering her balance without spilling a drop of the beer she carried, she staggered across the room, undoubtedly heading toward her next target. Chad silently wished him luck.

“You asshole,” teased Chad, playfully. “But thanks for getting rid of her. She picked the wrong day to annoy me.”

“What’s up? Shouldn’t you be in Ponoka racing this weekend?” Martin slipped onto the now vacant barstool beside his childhood pal.

“Our rig is racing there, but I sent Chris to drive for me. Robbie and Blaine are my outriders this weekend. Mom ended up in the hospital after a nasty fall, so I brought her back to Calgary.” Chad noticed the bartender holding up an empty at the other end of the bar and waved off the offer of another round. “And to make matters worse she ran off another cook.”

Martin groaned and shook his head. “Not again. I give up.”

“Come on. You must know someone. Don’t cooking people know each other and keep tabs on what everyone is involved in?”

“I’ve suggested someone twice already. Right now nobody comes to mind off the top of my head.” Martin sipped his coffee.

“I’m not fussy. I just need someone who’s honest and a competent cook.” Chad downed the rest of his beer. “By the way, you mentioned you’d passed some tests last time you texted me. I’m proud of you, buddy.”

Martin laughed, uproariously. “Thanks, Chad. But I consider receiving my Certified Chef de Cuisine designation a little more significant than ‘passed some tests’ as you put it.”

“I don’t know what all that chef stuff means, but it sounds impressive. Congrats again. But like I said, I need someone who’s willing to cook at the ranch and travel the chuckwagon circuit with us this summer.”

“How are you guys doing so far?” Martin set his coffee mug on the bar’s countertop.

“We did our best at Grande Prairie and High River, and the accounting firm owners who sponsored our tarp seem happy. They were very understanding about Mom’s accident and me having to send a substitute driver to Ponoka. Chris sends me a text with our rig’s time every night, and so far he’s driven penalty free runs with Blaine and Robbie as outriders. It’s going okay, and I couldn’t be happier with how the guys are handling things in my absence. Of course, we’re all really hoping the horses perform well at the Stampede. That’s the big one, and the same accounting firm bought our canvas for it.” Chad grinned. Nothing in the world thrilled him as much as driving a team of chuckwagon horses around that famous Half Mile of Hell at the annual Calgary Stampede. He’d never managed to win it, but he always placed in the money.

“By the way, thanks for the pair of Saturday night tickets. I’ve booked off work, and Dad and I will be there cheering for you.” Martin raised his coffee mug in a toast and took another sip.

“Thanks. I appreciate it. With Stampede starting a week today, I’ve got more than enough on the go right now, and I can’t be hiring a new cook every month. Mom is bitter that she can’t oversee the kitchen anymore, but as far as I’m concerned, she’s done running off every cook I hire. She’s not getting anywhere near that kitchen or criticizing any more cooks. The doctor ordered her into a wheelchair to help ensure she doesn’t take any more spills. She’s just too unsteady on her feet to use her walker anymore,” explained Chad.

“Has the MS progressed?” asked Martin, concern evident on his face.

“I guess so. It’s all been so gradual that it’s not something you notice. It just sneaks up on you. We dodged a bullet this last time; she could have broken a hip or something. I’m accepting the fact that Mom’s condition will worsen more and more as time goes on.”

“Sounds rough, especially for your mother. She always treated your friends like her own kids. If I had a dollar for every cookie she baked for us, I’d be retired years ago.” Martin chuckled. “She sure loved children. Too bad she never had more than just you.”

“Yeah, I always wanted a brother, but you were a suitable substitute,” said Chad, grinning.

“The two of us were closer than I was with my own brother.” Martin leaned over and grabbed Chad around the neck and playfully shook him. “Of course, Blair was ten years older than me, so we really didn’t have a hell of a lot in common. Blair and I never got into any trouble, not like we did. Considering some of the stuff we pulled, it amazes me that we survived our childhood.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” agreed Chad. “Remember the night we damn near burned down Dad’s horse barn?”

“I had nightmares about that stunt for weeks afterward.” Martin blew out his breath. “An angel sat on our shoulders that night, watching over our irresponsible asses. Otherwise, there’s no logical explanation for how we managed to put out that fire ourselves.”

“First time I believed in miracles.” Chad punched Martin on the shoulder. “Anyway, I’ve got to get back to the ranch. Mom’s in the hospital for a few more days until they complete the tests her doctor ordered. And the nurses mentioned giving her some pointers on how to maneuver a wheelchair. I bought her a top-of-the-line chair, but she’s not taking to the idea too well. Maybe I should have gotten her an electric one?”

“Probably wouldn’t matter. If she’s not happy about it, you could have bought her the Rolls Royce of wheelchairs and it wouldn’t have helped. Say hi to her for me next time you visit.”

“Will do, and keep your ears open in case you hear of a cook looking for a job.” Chad stood and grabbed his Stetson off the bar’s counter.

Martin rose at the same time. “Well, I’ve got to get back to the kitchen. The second seating is arriving and Sierra will need me back at her side.”

“Sierra?”

“Executive chef. A real stickler for perfection, but I’ve learned so much from her that I never would have passed the CCC if it wasn’t for her mentoring.”

“I’m glad you had such a great teacher. I’d like to meet her sometime. Well, I’ll talk to you soon. We should grab a beer some day at Ranchman’s.”

“Text me when you’re going to be in the city again.” Martin stuck out his hand.

“Count on it.” Chad shook hands with his buddy.

“That redhead isn’t looking this way. I won’t have to kiss you goodbye.” Martin grinned, ear-to-ear.

“Just try it,” warned Chad, laughing as he stuck his Stetson on his head and strode out the door.

A few minutes later, Chad started his pickup and backed out of his spot at the far end of the parking lot. He crept forward toward the exit. Just as he was about to turn onto the street, a green Honda whipped around the corner and headed straight for him. Chad’s muscles bunched as he tightened his hands on the steering wheel and yanked it to the right. His heart pounded. He slammed on the brakes, and his pickup skidded on the gravel-covered lot. He cursed under his breath and braced himself for the unavoidable collision.

Metal scraped against metal and the grill and hood on the apple-green compact crumpled like an aluminum pop can before his eyes. The impact of the custom winch installed on the truck destroyed most of the other vehicle’s front end. He heard the unmistakable sound of breaking glass as the Honda’s windshield shattered.

“Shit,” muttered Chad, slamming the gearshift into PARK. His heart raced and his breath caught in his throat. He leapt out of his truck and raced over to the Honda, feeling a trickle of sweat running down his back. He silently prayed no one was injured. “Keep a level head,” he whispered aloud, refusing to succumb to panic in an emergency.

While hoping for the best, he held his breath and braced himself for the worst.

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