Cowboy to the Rescue

Brooke nearly jumped when Ryan placed his plate in the sink.

“Thanks again for breakfast.”

He was so close, she’d swear his breath caressed her cheek, a manly scent of the outdoors and honest work. It was headier than any cologne.

“You’re welcome.”

Brooke fought the crazy urge to turn slightly, to see just how close he was, what he might do. Before she had time to act on that thought, he was out the back door.

She closed her eyes, gripped the edge of the sink and exhaled. Then, unable to resist, she walked into the family dining room and watched as he headed back toward his slice of the ranch, doing more for a worn pair of jeans than any high-dollar model could ever dream of doing.

Brooke sighed, she was in trouble, and she wasn’t sure she minded it one bit.

Dear Reader,

I believe it’s impossible for a writer to not have her own experiences color her stories. I know that each one of mine is influenced by the things I’ve done, seen and heard. Cowboy to the Rescue is no different. It takes place in a fictional town, but Blue Falls sprang from my imagination while I was traveling through the Texas Hill Country. Its beauty is very different from that of the verdant South where I have lived all my life, but I think the difference is what attracts me. In the place of green rolling hills, the Hill Country has fields of wildflowers, cactus plants, views that go on for miles and a rich ranching and German heritage. How could I not be inspired by that?

Brooke, the heroine of Cowboy to the Rescue, has one sibling, a sister, and two nieces. I have the same. And like Brooke, I live several states away from them, so I can write those feelings of missing them with some authenticity. My sister and I share a lifelong love of books, and we can often be found instant-messaging each other with the question, “So, what are you reading?” When this book hits store shelves, I know what her answer better be.

I hope you enjoy Ryan and Brooke’s story. I loved writing this book, a story of two broken souls who finally heal when they find each other. When I write a book that can make me tear up, I know I’m doing something right.

Trish Milburn

Cowboy to the Rescue

Trish Milburn

To Mary. I love you, sis. (P.S. I found it. LOL!)

Brooke Vincent wiped her sweaty palms on her khaki slacks, hoping the woman sitting across from her didn’t notice. She needed this job, but didn’t want to appear as desperate as she actually was.

“You seem like a nice girl, but your résumé is a little thin,” Merline Teague said as she sat back in her office chair.

Understatement of the year.

“I know,” Brooke said. “I guess I’ve been one of those free spirits, trying to experience lots of different things.” Brooke winced at the lie, at how it might make her seem like a bad bet to hire. Of all the untraceable things she’d put on her résumé, the only one that held any truth was the summer backpacking trip through Europe. It’d been an unexpected and fantastic gift from her mother before Brooke had gone to college, the first thing to really expose her to the wide and varied world outside of West Virginia.

“Well, there is something to be said for seeing a bit of the world and finding yourself while you’re still young,” Mrs. Teague said.

Brooke tried not to get her hopes up too high at the older woman’s seeming understanding.

“Do you feel like your wandering days are over, at least for a while?” Mrs. Teague asked.

“Yes, ma’am.” A little surge of hope swelled in Brooke, but she did her best to hide it.

The proprieter of the Vista Hills Guest Ranch rested her elbows on the arms of her chair and clasped her hands over her chest. “Being a cook for a guest ranch seems tame next to touring the Yorkshire moors and walking in the Brontë sisters’ footsteps.”

Brooke hurried to assure Mrs. Teague she wouldn’t be disappointed in life in rural Texas. “Not really. Every place has its own personality,” Brooke said. “Here, there seems to be a real connection to the land, a unique identity like you’ve stepped out of one world and into another.”

When she noticed the surprised expression on her potential employer’s face, Brooke nearly kicked herself. She sounded like a splashy tourist brochure. If she truly wanted to leave her old life behind and start over, she had to stop acting like a polished city dweller who was very good at reading people and telling them what they wanted to hear.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? She didn’t really want to start over. Sometimes you just didn’t have a choice.

She forced a laugh she was far from actually feeling. “Sorry. Guess I’ve been reading too many travel magazines. I just really enjoy cooking and believe I could do a good job for you.” At least that much was true.

Mrs. Teague didn’t immediately respond. Instead, she sat staring at Brooke as if she was dissecting every word Brooke had spoken, every facial expression and eye movement. It proved remarkably difficult not to fidget.

“I tell you what,” Mrs. Teague finally said. “I’ll give you a tryout. The guests are on their own tonight, so you can cook for the family. If it goes well, we’ll talk again after dinner.”

Brooke schooled her expression, cloaking an excitement she would have never imagined a year ago. “What would you like?”

Mrs. Teague smiled. “Surprise us.”

Her mind jumped to all the elegant menus at the Davenport, the hotel where she’d been the convention manager, a parade of high-end entrées and decadent desserts. But this wasn’t a four-star hotel in Washington, D.C. A guest ranch in the Hill Country of Texas required a bit different fare from Maine lobster and hazelnut soufflé.

“Okay. You won’t be disappointed, Mrs. Teague. I promise.”

Please let me fulfill that promise.

“Well, come on.” Mrs. Teague stood and motioned for her to follow. “Let me show you the kitchen and dining areas. You can look through the supplies, see if you need to go into town for anything.”

When they reached the kitchen, it was bigger and more modern than she expected. It occupied the back half of a great room that also included the family’s comfortable-looking living area. A large dark-wood island stood in the center of the kitchen with copper-bottomed pots hanging from an iron rack overhead. Cobalt-blue and terra-cotta tiles covered the floor and backsplashes, and marble countertops gleamed. Her hands itched to put the stainless steel appliances to work creating something scrumptious. Amongst the appreciation was a pang for the kitchen she’d left behind, that entire life.

She shook off those negative thoughts and made herself focus on the tour.

Mrs. Teague pointed toward the dining room adjacent to the kitchen. “When it’s just family, we eat in here. But when guests are here for meals, we use the dining area we added to the back of the house.” She motioned for Brooke to follow her through a set of glass double doors on the back side of the kitchen.

The room she stepped into had the same feel as the other parts of the house she’d seen: homey, Western, welcoming. Several wooden tables were scattered around the room. Punched-tin napkin holders sat alongside salt and pepper shakers in the shapes of cowboy hats and boots. A long wooden sideboard with leather-covered front drawers and forged-iron drawer pulls occupied one wall. A mammoth antler chandelier hung from the middle of the ceiling.

“We have ten guest cabins, so we’re set up here to feed up to forty people,” Mrs. Teague said. “Though it’s not often that many. Sometimes it’s mainly couples, so the number might be half that. Then you have late sleepers who skip breakfast, and the tourists who want to try out the restaurants in town. But we ask the guests to give us a meal count each day for the next day so we know how many to cook for.”

Brooke continued to scan the facilities. “It’s a lovely room.” More intimate than the hotel ballrooms she was used to.

“Thanks. We didn’t want it to feel impersonal like a lot of places that serve large numbers all at once.” With that, Mrs. Teague led the way back into the kitchen.

“That’s about it,” she said after she’d pointed out a few more highlights. “Any questions?”

Brooke shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“Then let’s shoot for six o’clock.” She patted Brooke’s hand where it sat palm down on the large, cool surface of the island.

The friendly, familiar gesture surprised Brooke. But based on her limited knowledge of the other woman, it seemed totally in character.

The phone rang, drawing Mrs. Teague’s attention to the caller ID. “Oh, I’m sorry but I have to take this.”

“Okay, no problem.”

Brooke smiled as Mrs. Teague headed out of the room, hoping only a few more hours stood between her and a job. Because, honestly, if she didn’t get this position, she didn’t know if she had the energy to start her search over again. When she’d found the ad online for the ranch cook opening at Vista Hills, something had made her latch on to it, planning her new life around the idea of working here.

She hoped that decision proved wiser than the one that had led her to Texas. The one that had forced her to walk away from the person she’d been before, as if Brooke Alder had never existed.

RYAN TEAGUE PRESSED the hot brand into the board, the last piece of a large trunk he’d just finished constructing. When he pulled the branding iron away from the wood, his nose tingled as it always did from the scorched scent in the air.

He smoothed his hand over the image—a VHR flanked by a simple wildflower on one side and a horse on the other. He made a mental note to call the doctor in San Marcos who’d ordered the trunk as a wedding gift for his daughter.

After hanging the branding iron in its spot next to his shop’s large outdoor stone fireplace, Ryan wiped the sweat from his face and headed inside to cool off and get a drink. It was only mid-May, but central Texas was already doing its damnedest to give Hades a run for its money in the heat race. Still, anything was better than the merciless inferno that was the Iraqi desert.

He froze halfway to the fridge as a chill swept through him, one that had nothing to do with the cranked air-conditioning. He closed his eyes, brought a view of the ocean to mind, and imagined the sound of the waves. He inhaled and exhaled slowly—once, twice, three times.

The moment passed, thank God not a true flashback this time. They were less frequent now than they’d been two years ago, when he’d been shipped home with a hole in his leg the size of a baseball.

As if the injury had happened yesterday, he felt that blinding pain again. He fought the urge to reach down and rub the side of his thigh. But the pain was all in his head, his memories. He hardly ever even limped anymore. Months and months of hard work had him walking normally so he didn’t have to be reminded of that horrible day every time he put weight on his leg.

Harder to banish was a head full of images no one should ever have to see. Despite the therapy and his family’s support, he still wasn’t sure the lessening of the flashbacks was a good thing. Part of him still believed he deserved them.

With a curse, he shoved those thoughts back to the other side of the world and crossed the distance to the fridge. He jerked the door open and … found it empty.

He’d forgotten to restock. What a surprise. Sometimes he’d swear being nearly blown up had knocked some of his memory loose. As if to punish him for his absentmindedness, the sides of his parched throat stuck together. Time to go pilfer some sodas from his parents until he could get into town to buy his own. And with the length of the order list for his custom-made furniture, God only knew when that would be.

He walked the short distance from his shop-home combo to the main drive into the ranch. His parents’ house, the ranch office and the horse barn were visible the moment he made the turn. Even though he didn’t live far from his parents, a hill and several large live oak trees gave him the privacy he needed.

Choco, the family’s chocolate Lab, descended the steps from the front porch and ambled out to meet him.

“Hey, boy,” Ryan said as he crouched and gave the dog a good scratching between the ears. He nodded toward where Nacho, the yellow Lab, lay watching them from the porch. “I see your buddy is as lazy as ever.”

Choco snorted as if agreeing. Ryan laughed then resumed his trek toward refreshment.

When he stepped in the back door to the kitchen, he noticed his mom standing behind the open refrigerator door.

“Perfect timing,” he said. “Please tell me you have a cold 7-Up in there.”

When the fridge examiner leaned back, it most definitely wasn’t his mother. Instead, a dark-haired, dark-eyed beauty stared back at him.

“Oh, sorry. Thought you were my mom.” For a moment he felt as though he’d wandered into the wrong house, then he thought maybe this woman was a guest. But why was she in the kitchen with no one else around?

Or had his mom finally hired a new cook? After years of seeing Trudy helping his mom in the kitchen, he hadn’t been prepared for someone near his own age. He hadn’t even known his mom’s weeks of interviews had finally come to an end.

“You’re Mrs. Teague’s son?” Was that a touch of nervousness in her voice?

“One of them. Ryan. Are you the new cook?”

The woman placed a package of chicken on the island and closed the fridge.

“Not yet. I’m making your parents dinner tonight, sort of a tryout.”

A tryout? His mom hadn’t required that of any of the other applicants. Then it clicked what day it was. He laughed, but at the stricken look on the woman’s face he reined himself in.

“Sorry. Bit of a family joke.” He pointed toward the calendar on the wall, one adorned with prints by famous Western painters like Frederic Remington and Charles Russell. “Thursday is family night around here, with mandatory attendance by all. We each take a turn providing the meal and entertainment. Guess whose night it is.”

“Your mother’s?”

“Bingo.”

She smiled, just a little, but it was enough to make something in his chest perform an unexpected flip-flop.

Not a good thing.

He forced any hint of a smile from his expression and headed toward the refrigerator. Damn, he had to remember to buy his own drinks.

“I shouldn’t have assumed I was just cooking for two,” she said.

“Mom didn’t tell you how many to cook for?” That was odd.

“She got a phone call she had to take when we were talking, and then headed over to the office. I guess she just forgot when she got busy, and I assumed when she said ‘just the family,’ she meant her and your father.”

Ryan stared into the fridge, not seeing any 7-Up. He grabbed an orange soda instead and closed the door. When he turned around, she—whatever her name was—was eyeing the chicken and chewing on her lip.

“Seven adults, one six-year-old boy.”

Her gaze met his, and for some reason he got the feeling that part of her was somewhere else. “Huh?”

“That’s how many you’re cooking for.”

She exhaled as though she’d been holding her breath. “Oh, thanks. That helps.”

They stared at each other until it grew awkward. She broke eye contact first, picking up a pen and pad from a basket on the island.

“Well, good luck,” he said, then headed toward the back door that led outside.

“Thank you.”

He nodded then hurried outside, overcome with the need for fresh air, to not be trapped in the kitchen with a nameless woman who’d caused his system to jump off its normal, everyday rails with one look of her big, brown eyes. Doe eyes.

After he stalked several yards away, he stopped and looked back at the house.

What had caused him to react to her that way? It certainly wasn’t the first time he’d seen a beautiful woman. He couldn’t remember ever fleeing from one before as if she was a giant spider on the verge of capturing him in a web.

Choco nuzzled his hand, looking for more affection. Ryan gave the dog what he wanted without even looking. The longer he stood in the middle of the driveway, the more realization sank in.

He was attracted to the mystery woman in his mother’s kitchen. Really attracted. Other than panic and fear from his nightmares, he hadn’t felt anything that strongly since he’d come home. And that frightened him more than facing armed insurgents.

BROOKE KEPT LISTING possible dishes to make for dinner, then crossing them off—too fancy, too country, too exotic, always too something. It didn’t help that she kept glancing at the back door, wondering if Ryan Teague might reappear.

She shook her head and pressed her palm against her forehead. Daydreaming about a tall Texan with blue-green eyes so striking she’d momentarily forgotten how to speak wasn’t going to help her get this job. Focusing on him instead of her task would probably ensure she didn’t.

Another look at her list gave her an entirely new idea. Two menus. Two different menus to show her versatility.

Twice as much work.

But twice the opportunity to showcase her skills, and worth it if she secured the position.

She located and mixed ingredients for spiced pork chops with butternut squash, filet mignon with twice-baked potatoes, orange-juice cake and caramel brioche. And to cater to the child Ryan had mentioned, she whipped up some fancy cupcakes that, she had to admit, were almost too pretty to eat. As she arranged them on a serving tower, she wondered if the little boy was his.

Not important.

The minutes ticked ever closer to six o’clock, but she squeezed them for all they were worth. By the time she was done, she had enough food to feed a platoon of hungry stomachs.

Only when she stopped to take a breath did she realize no one had entered the kitchen since Ryan had left. And she felt she knew the Teagues’ kitchen as well as the one she’d cooked in for the past year.

Now that the food was prepared and the table set, she had to make herself as presentable as she could in, oh, three minutes. She hurried to the bathroom located down the hall, smoothed her hair, dusted the flour off her red blouse, washed the sheen of exertion from her face and reapplied a touch of blusher.

When she looked at herself in the mirror, she didn’t think she showed any of the desperation rumbling inside her like a different type of hunger.

“Stop worrying,” she told her reflection. “You can do this.” With a deep, fortifying breath, she retraced her steps to the kitchen, arriving just as a little boy barreled through the back door.

The miniature cowboy skidded to a halt and stared up at her. “Are you Brooke?” he asked as several more people arrived for dinner.

“Yes, I am.”

He smiled. “You’re pretty.”

A few laughs bubbled up from a couple of guys who appeared to be a few years older than her.

“I thought you didn’t like girls yet,” one of them said, teasing evident in his words to the boy.

“But my nephew is right,” the other man said as he looked at Brooke.

She couldn’t meet the man’s eyes, so she focused on the little boy. “Thank you. You’re quite handsome yourself.”

He blushed and scuffed his booted toe against the floor. What an adorable kid.

The boy’s uncle scooped up the boy. “You gotta wait your turn with the pretty ladies, Evan.” The guy tipped his hat and winked at her. “Simon Teague, ma’am.”

She managed a smile, though she feared it wavered. “Brooke Vincent. Nice to meet you.” Simon topped her by several inches, and he had an air of command and authority about him that had her edging away, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

That’s when her gaze found Ryan stepping into the room alongside his mom and an older man who must be his father. The elder man was the spitting image of a lifelong cowboy—tanned, lines next to his eyes from squinting into the bright sun, gray hair but still handsome. Like the Marlboro Man when he became a grandfather.

Ryan was just as tall as the rest of the men, but his presence didn’t overwhelm her like Simon’s had. She couldn’t pinpoint why his appearance calmed her blazing nerves, especially when earlier he’d made her all kinds of nervous, but it did. She smiled at him in unconscious gratitude.

Merline Teague clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention. “Everyone, I see you’ve noticed we’ve got a new face in the kitchen. Brooke has applied to fill the cook’s post, and she’s giving us a sampling of her culinary skills tonight.”

“Looks like she’s planning to feed all of Blue Falls,” said the man who had teased little Evan about liking girls. By the way he stood close behind the other woman in the room, she’d guess they were a couple and maybe Evan’s parents.

“You do know this isn’t fair, Mom,” Simon said. “You never had Trudy cook on family night.”

“Trudy would have told me to go jump in the lake. I figure I have a narrow window of opportunity here.”

Everyone laughed, and Brooke felt she was the one person not in on the joke. Did Merline mean she was leaning toward giving her the job and she figured Brooke would soon set limits on her work? She resisted the urge to tell Merline that she’d cook every meal every day if the agony of not knowing could just end.

As the laughter died down, Merline caught Brooke’s eye. “Now, let’s quit the silliness and let Brooke tell us about what she’s made.”

Brooke took a breath and dived in. “I’ve prepared two types of menus—one simple and comforting, the other a bit fancier. You could use the latter for special occasions, like if you were hosting an anniversary party or wedding.” She proceeded to tell them about each of the dishes, drawing nods and sounds of appreciation. She hoped they liked everything as much after they tasted it.

“Let’s eat. I’m starving.” This came from the elder Mr. Teague.

As everyone filed through, filling their plates, Merline stationed herself next to Brooke and introduced her to everyone as they passed by.

“Simon’s already introduced himself,” she said when the flirty cowboy paused in front of them to nab a piping-hot yeast roll.

“What, you’re not going to tell her how wonderful I am?” He smiled as he wrapped his free arm around his mom’s shoulders.

Merline looked at Brooke. “This one doesn’t have a problem with self-confidence.”

“Hmm. I think I’ve just been insulted,” he said.

Merline patted his cheek. “Not at all, dear. Now quit holding up the line.”

Simon shot Brooke another smile and winked a blue-gray eye at her before heading for the table.

Next, she met Nathan and Grace, Evan’s parents, who were newlyweds despite Evan’s age.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Grace said. “It’ll be good to have another woman around here. We’re a bit overrun with testosterone.”

“And you love it,” Nathan said as he bumped the side of her hip with his own, causing Grace to smile up at him.

A pang hit Brooke at how in love these two obviously were. Once upon a time, she’d dreamed of that kind of love for herself.

“And this here is our youngest, Ryan,” Merline said as Nathan followed Grace to the dining room and Ryan took their place in front of Brooke.

She had trouble maintaining eye contact with him. Again, she wondered how a man could calm her and make her nervous at the same time.

“We’ve met,” she said.