Cooking For Cowboy (Stampede Sizzlers) (19 page)

Chad turned his attention to his man. “What’s the problem?”

“Robbie has the flu.”

“Budweiser flu?” asked Chad, sounding skeptical and annoyed.

“Hell, no. He’s really got the flu, sir. Been barfing all night, face is green as a pea pod, complaining about sore muscles and a headache. We’ve been feeding him pain medication and he’s been drinking water, but not much of it is staying down.” Chris shook his head. “Poor bugger claims he’s dying. He’s pretty sick.”

“I’ll have Charlie take him to a walk-in clinic and stay with him until a doctor sees him. We don’t want him getting dehydrated. I guess there’s no way Robbie can ride tonight.”

“Would be rather embarrassing for your horse, if Robbie puked all over him.” Chris grinned broadly.

Chad chuckled. “Yeah, right. If Robbie even got his butt in the saddle in time. I’m more concerned he’d fall off in the middle of the race if he got dizzy. He’d get his dang neck broke, trampled by a rig, or other outriders’ horses.” Chad shook his head. “Well, I guess Blaine will outride tonight.”

“Then we’ve got us another problem, boss,” muttered the cowboy holding the horse Sierra petted.

“What’s that?” inquired Chad, slipping his arm around Sierra’s waist.

She glanced over and met his eyes. Was that supposed to serve as a silent message to the guys from the boss?
Hands off. She’s mine!

“Um…Blaine is white as a sheet he’s so hungover. Been partying all night, and just stumbled back here a half hour ago. I can’t say when he took his last drink, probably been drinking well into the night. But he’s in no shape to ride a horse right now.”

“Well, then, we’ve got to get him recovered by race time. We’re in the last heat tonight, so that works in our favor.” Chad turned his attention to Sierra. “I don’t suppose you have a hangover remedy in your culinary bag of tricks?”

“As a matter of fact, I might be able to help you with that.” Sierra smiled. “Martin worked as a bartender before he decided to become a chef. I bet he’ll be able to suggest something.”

Chad dug his cell phone out of his pocket, texted furiously, and met her eyes. “Let’s hope you’re right. I could kill that outrider. If he’s tested and he doesn’t pass, he could get suspended and fined.”

“Why don’t you just fire him?”

“Fire him? Hell, no. Good outriders don’t just grow on trees. We’ve got years of training and experience invested in these guys. I could kill him but I’d never fire him. Do you know what these guys do?”

“They hop on the horse and ride around the track.” Sierra stood hands on hips. Her suggestion to fire the guy seemed reasonable to her. If a member of her kitchen staff didn’t measure up, his or her butt went down the road.

“Each rig has two outriders. One of these crazy guys holds the reins of two high-strung Thoroughbreds called lead horses keeping them properly in line with the barrel until the klaxon sounds.”

“You’d never catch me standing beside those horses.” Sierra shivered at the thought.

“The other outrider loads the stove after the horn sounds. Both outriders mount their horses using the saddle horn and skill and agility, forget stirrups. They complete the figure eight behind the wagon and then ride like the devil is at their heels in order to finish within a hundred fifty feet of the wagon. Oh, and God help an outrider if he’s late!”

“Okay, I get it.” Sierra hugged his arm. “He’s a valuable member of your team. But right now Blaine is an extremely hungover member of the team.”

“We need to remedy that. I’m calling Martin. To hell with waiting for him to read that text.” Chad punched in his friend’s number and walked away to complete the call.

Sierra turned in a half circle, taking in her surroundings.

“Would you like to meet more horses, ma’am?” asked Chris.

“Might as well.” Sierra stepped around a fresh pile of horse poop. “We won’t be hitting the midway any time soon.”

* * *

In the end, Martin’s hangover remedy proved ineffective, and Robbie and Blaine stayed in bed in the barn help’s RV trailer the rest of the day. Each of them propped up in bed, clutching a plastic garbage can like it was a priceless antique. It was a toss up who was sicker.

At least Robbie’s ailment wasn’t self-induced, and the doctor suggested an over-the-counter medication to help him with the nausea. Charlie bought a couple of extra bottles at the drugstore attached to the walk-in clinic. Blaine tried a dose or two as well as Martin’s hangover concoction.

Neither of the guys was improving.

Tag team puking.

Sierra suggested that perhaps Blaine had contracted the flu, and it wasn’t just the effects of the hangover. Her comment was met with a glare from Chad. If looks could kill.

“We’re out of here. Either they’re going to recover, or we’ll plan the funerals,” said Chad.

Both of his outriders groaned.

Chad returned to the RV’s living room and guided Sierra outside.

He treated her to a couple hours of fun on the midway. Even toted a huge two-toned brown teddy bear around all afternoon after he’d won it for her.

Sierra smiled. “Diane’s daughter is turning two-years-old at the end of the month. Guess what Catherine is getting for a birthday present from her godmother?”

“She’d better appreciate it,” teased Chad. “This thing weighs a ton.”

Rain had fallen for a couple hours early that morning, but the heat had returned with a vengeance. They popped over to the barns, deposited the bear in Chad’s RV and then checked on the outriders. Robbie had stopped puking finally, and despite his earlier prediction, he hadn’t died. Neither had Blaine. In fact, his color had returned and he seemed good as new. As they closed the barn help’s trailer door, they heard Blaine distinctly swearing ‘never again’.

“Can I get that in writing?” called Chad, through the open window.

Sierra and Chad enjoyed a barbeque beef supper, but neither of them washed the meal down with a beer despite the heat since Chad was racing later. Iced tea tasted mighty good as a substitute. After their early supper, Chad headed off to the barns to hook up with his barn staff and prepare for the race.

Bonnie refused to stay home and watch the races on TV and insisted that Celia drive her to the Stampede grounds. Celia sent a text asking Sierra to meet them at the main entrance gate. An hour later, Celia turned Bonnie and the minivan’s keys over to Sierra in the parking lot and then left on the C-Train to meet a girlfriend for a movie night.

“I would love a brief walk around the grounds. Would you mind pushing my chair?” asked Bonnie, her eyes peeking out from under an enormous floppy sunhat.

“No reason I shouldn’t,” answered Sierra, willing to comply.

The mild breeze carried the familiar scent of greasy midway food on the air but did little to cool the stifling heat. A half hour later, they encountered Charlie on their way to the grandstand to watch the chuckwagon races. Bonnie invited him to sit with them, handing him Celia’s unused ticket.

“Thank you, Mrs. Parker. I appreciate your kindness,” drawled Charlie, taking over the chair-pushing duties from Sierra.

Minutes later, they rode in the elevator together to the restaurant where the Parker family had purchased half a dozen seats for the duration of the Stampede. Chad distributed some of the tickets to his sponsor’s associates and to close friends, retaining some for Bonnie and family.

“I’ve truly enjoyed watching the races with you, Bonnie, from such a wonderful vantage point. Usually my friends and I purchase tickets for one night only when we aren’t working, and we watch from the nosebleed section.” Sierra chuckled.

Charlie bought everyone cold drinks and set the brake on Bonnie’s wheelchair before settling in beside her to watch the evening’s entertainment. Sierra sat on her other side where a white-haired gentleman’s copious use of men’s musk-scented cologne almost gagged her. Just as the first heat was about to start, the man extended a goodbye to the fellow he’d been conversing with and moved across the room where he settled himself beside a gray-haired woman, perhaps his wife. Sierra breathed deeply, appreciatively. And then she almost fainted when Martin slipped into the chair beside her, apologizing to the fellow for almost being late.

“What are you doing here?” inquired Sierra.

“Chad and I grew up together. He gave me two tickets for tonight’s races and grandstand show, and Dad and I came to watch him. Sierra, this is my dad, William. Dad, this is my former boss, Sierra Griffin.”

“Sierra. I recognize that name. You’re the talented executive chef my son told me about.” Martin’s dad shook her hand. “Pleased to meet you, miss.”

“Same here,” she responded, smiling.

Martin gaped at her. “What are you doing here?”

“I agreed to cook for Chad’s family and ranch hands until I found another job.” She shook her head.

“That was your car he totaled in the parking lot?” Martin grinned. “Chad told me all about it.”

“Yeah, well, small world. I assume you’re Romeo’s new executive chef.”

“Yep. I suspect I know why you left. Romeo is a total jackass. But I’m sure glad you quit. I love my new job,” he beamed.

“You’re welcome to it. I put out three dozen resumes, got a couple of interviews out of it, and you’re talking to the new Executive Chef at the Emerald Hotel downtown. I start on Monday!” She couldn’t contain her excitement.

“Wow, congratulations! Good luck with the new job. Oh-oh. It looks like they’re ready to start. Enjoy the races.”

“You, too.”

Martin turned his attention back to his father who’d been chatting with another old guy.

Sierra twisted back around in her chair and watched each race with rapt attention, patiently waiting for Chad’s heat. She wondered how Blaine was doing. Chad hadn’t said a word, but she could tell he’d been worried about his outrider.

Bonnie sat with her back surprisingly straight and a smile pasted on her face. Had she finally resigned herself to spending the rest of her life in that wheelchair, wondered Sierra? Knowing how much she hated it, Sierra was proud of her for sitting in the restaurant every evening, greeting old friends and conversing with those nearby as if she’d totally forgotten about the chair. And she’d chatted extensively a couple of nights ago with another lady, a tourist from the U. K., also seated in a wheelchair. Bonnie’s new outlook seemed promising.

“What heat number are we at?” asked Bonnie, drawing Sierra out of her musings.

“Just completed seven. One more heat and then Chad’s rig will race.” Sierra reached over and patted Bonnie’s hand. The older lady looked tired, but Sierra knew it was useless to suggest they head home early. “Do you need another cold drink or anything?”

“No, thank you, dear. I’m fine.” Bonnie smiled at her and then turned to Charlie, touched his arm. “Would you like something?”

“No, ma’am. Thank you kindly for asking,” said Charlie, returning his attention to the track.

“Sierra, I’m so happy you’re here with me. Isn’t this so exciting? Doesn’t matter how many years I attend. I still get a kick out of these races.” Bonnie beamed.

Sierra couldn’t believe the change in the woman over the past week or so. When she first arrived at the ranch, Bonnie Parker would have sent her packing if Chad hadn’t put his foot down. After the luncheon with Cathy Smythe, Chad’s mom had treated Sierra like family. The Parker family matriarch definitely had set her sights on Sierra for the position of daughter-in-law.

She could do worse than a kind-hearted sexy guy like Chad. And she’d fallen in love with him, she admitted to herself. But did Chad feel the same way about her?

“Here we go,” exclaimed Bonnie, reaching over and patting Charlie’s arm.

Sierra had daydreamed through the entire last heat. She straightened in her seat. When Chad’s rig rumbled past, she waved before she realized he’d have no way of seeing her, but it made Sierra feel good.

Chad’s rig was assigned barrel four tonight, and he’d mentioned this afternoon that it wasn’t his favorite start position. But he told her that he’d chosen the lead horses best suited for the tight right turn, and he felt confident in his outriders, Chris and Blaine. Sierra crossed her fingers, hoping they’d have another no penalty run and a good time tonight.

Chad and Sierra had decided they wouldn’t mention to his mother the problems they’d encountered this afternoon with the outriders. Charlie had kept silent on the matter, too. Robbie remained in bed but, to Sierra’s eyes at least, Blaine appeared totally in control and completely recovered when he rode past. Coming off barrel four, the guys were wearing yellow tonight.

“Please, Lord, keep them all safe,” whispered Bonnie, reaching for Sierra’s hand.

“I’ll second that,” added Sierra.

The announcer had completed his spiel, introducing the rigs and the drivers and the sponsors. Sierra held her breath, waiting for the klaxon. Finally, the horn sounded and Chad’s rig headed around the barrels in a perfect figure eight, penalty free and with both outriders mounted up and following behind like a well-rehearsed, choreographed dance routine. The few hours of rain this morning kept most of the dust down, and all four wagons thundered past the stands and headed toward the first turn.

“…
and we’re off to a quick start. That’s Chad Parker’s rig running a full wagon length ahead of the pack and taking the rail. The late Stuart Parker, Chad’s father and veteran racer, would be proud of his son, and I’m certain his mother, Bonnie Parker, is here cheering for Chad
…” the announcer continued his running commentary.

Sierra inhaled, unaware she’d been holding her breath while the wagon completed the figure eight. She peeked over at Bonnie and noticed unshed tears welling in her eyes. Were the tears due to the announcer mentioning her late husband? Or perhaps due to the reminder that her son was following in his father’s footsteps? Despite the tears, Bonnie beamed with pride.

“…
the Parker rig sponsored by Gray Accounting is holding onto the rail position but company’s coming. The Starbuck Oilfield wagon is closing ground, moving up quickly on the right. At the second turn, Gray Accounting and Starbuck Oilfield are running stride for stride
…”