Her New Boss: A Rouge Erotic Romance (19 page)

Chapter Nine

ZOE COULDN’T HELP
but smile as she looked across the truck at Jackson. That morning, she had awoken to his kisses and breakfast in bed. The toast and eggs hadn’t been anything fancy, but the fact that he’d got up early to cook for her made her all giddy inside.

They traveled to the Thompson Ranch to see a new horse. She’d overheard several people talking about it at the diner. There was no doubt that horses were big business in Dabery.

Wide open fields spread out behind bright white fences. Horses grazed, their long tails swishing back and forth in rhythmic motion. Most of them were brown and black with a couple of spotted white mixed in.

‘Look at all this space,’ Zoe said, more to herself than Jackson. She thought of her cramped old apartment.

‘This ranch sits on about four thousand acres.’ Jackson turned the truck up a dirt road. Cars lined both sides of the road, parked along the fence. He pulled up behind them, taking his place in line.

‘What’s going on?’ Zoe asked, looking down the long line of vehicles. Parents walked with their kids, the children running around.

‘In the summer, everyone comes out to the ranches on Sunday to see the stock and sometimes picnic. The Thompsons have the newest stallion so everyone’s here.’
He
walked with her along the road. Her low white heels had been a pretty choice when she’d put them on, but now, as she walked through the dirt, she knew she’d made a mistake. At least she was wearing denim jeans and a comfortable pink floral baby-doll shirt with a thick ruffle along the bottom hem.

Jackson’s cowboy boots crunched over patches of gravel. He too wore denim jeans, though his were faded compared to her dark-blue ones. His brown T-shirt looked new. Looking up at his head, she suppressed a grin. The dark felt cowboy hat matched the shirt and boots. It didn’t look new but suited the chiseled lines of his features.

They walked nearly a quarter of a mile before reaching the large stables. The red barn stood two stories over the field, opening up to a gate that led to the pens. Many of the townsfolk stood along the fence, gesturing at the large black horse being led around by a man in an off-white straw hat.

‘This one’s going to need a firm hand,’ one man said to another.

‘Ole Thompson said he’s a wood chewer,’ the second man answered.

‘Small animal in his stall will keep him from doing that,’ the first said. The man glanced back, stopping his conversation as he nodded at Jackson and eyed Zoe. He frowned slightly in her direction and turned back to watch the horse in silence.

Zoe continued walking next to Jackson, not making public claim to him by holding his arm or hand. She waited for him to make the first move. He didn’t.

By the time they’d made it to the stables, she felt the cold stab of eyes on her, burning a hole through her face with their hostility and suspicion. Was it because she was
with
their golden boy? Because she was a lowly cook and he their town hero? Because she was a city girl and he their country boy? Zoe didn’t know and couldn’t ask. Jackson didn’t seem to notice their reaction.

He introduced her as the new chef at
Renée
. The news met with silent nods, a few grumbled greetings and one enthusiastic hug. Though the hug did come from a five-year-old girl who seemed to be hugging everyone, so Zoe wasn’t sure that counted as a true welcome.

The hours sludged on painfully slowly and a strange sort of coldness and discomfort grew between Jackson and Zoe. She didn’t know what to say to him, how to act. She tried to take her cue from him, but the standoffish way in which he walked beside her and talked about her wasn’t promising. By the time Jackson suggested leaving, she nearly tripped over her heels to get back to the truck. She felt miserable and alone and she wanted nothing more than to get to the restaurant and grab her cell phone so she could hear a familiar voice. She’d even settle for calling her mother and listening to her give a tea-leaf reading over the phone.

‘Maybe I should have her read my future,’ Zoe mumbled. ‘I’m not doing a very good job at arranging it.’

‘What was that?’ Jackson asked, opening the truck door for her.

‘Nothing,’ she lied. ‘I just said it was a beautiful horse.’

Jackson offered to drive her back to his home for dinner, but Zoe declined. Her bags were already in his truck and she needed to get back to reality. Giving the slightly untrue excuse of needing to plan a menu for the upcoming week, she had him drop her off at the bed and breakfast.

As she opened the door, he said, ‘Thank you.’

Blinking, she stared at him. ‘For what?’ The words came
out
harder than she’d intended in her nervousness. She didn’t know how to act and he wasn’t giving her any clues.

‘For this weekend. It was …’ He looked as if he were struggling for the right word, only to finally settle for, ‘diverting.’

Diverting? Like some trampy sexual diversion? She was something to pass the time and relieve stress? Zoe felt the color draining from her face at that single insulting word.

‘Glad I could be of service,’ she quipped angrily. She moved to get her bag and the box out of the back. Jackson was right there, helping her.

‘When can I see you again?’ he asked. His tone was low with obvious meaning. It was a meaning she refused to get.

Almost flippantly, she answered, ‘I work for you, boss. You can see me anytime you come into the restaurant.’ Before he could clarify himself and make her feel worse, she hurriedly added, ‘I should get going. I have menus to plan, recipes to research.’

She grabbed the box from him, silently refusing his help to carry her things as she marched toward the door.

Diverting
?!

Irritation and hurt kept the box locked under her arm, as if by sheer force of will it wouldn’t drop from its uneasy position. In the other hand, she carried the floral suitcase. Somehow, she made it up the stairs to the porch without falling. Marta was at the door as soon as she walked in, eying her like some high-and-mighty schoolmarm. Zoe glanced at her, biting her tongue to keep from asking about the opened and resealed box. She didn’t feel like facing the woman. Not now. Not when she felt like complete and
utter
crap. Instead, Zoe nodded once and went upstairs to rest.

Jackson walked around to get in his truck, stopping as he saw Marta in her bright-pink dress coming to greet him. He forced a smile he didn’t feel, trying to put on a pleasant face for the meddling gossip. It didn’t take a genius to see Zoe had hated every second of their afternoon at the stables. She had barely talked to anyone, no matter how many people he introduced her to, and she’d made a point of keeping her distance from him – a clear statement to anyone watching that they were absolutely not together.

What could Jackson do? Force her to take his arm? Force her to smile just once at him in encouragement? He’d watched her closely, waiting for a sign that she liked him, wanted him closer. She’d given him nothing.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

Any other time he was confident and strong. He swept women off their feet with one look, swept them into his bed with one glance. He controlled what amounted to a culinary empire, had a deal on the table to produce a bunch of cooking shows, had chefs lining up to give him whatever he wanted, new restaurant proposals given up like some sort of temple-god offering for his approval. But one petite, achingly beautiful, incredibly sexy woman knocked the wits right out of him. Zoe left him tongue-tied to the point where he doubted himself, and he
never
doubted himself. He found himself watching everything he said and did, and analyzing every one of her actions.

‘Hi, Marta,’ he called, lifting his hand in greeting.

‘How was your weekend?’ the woman asked, her eyes darting to the side as if she could see around her head back toward the front door where Zoe had disappeared.

Jackson frowned. The woman was up to something. ‘Fine. Lots of business. Keepin’ busy.’

‘Mm-hmm.’ The dry tone sounded like a parent scolding a child. ‘Fellows at your house, were they?’

Instantly understanding what she was about, he shook his head. Clearly, when the housekeeper had picked up Zoe’s clothes, she’d told Marta that no one else was at his home. ‘No, they canceled.’

‘Oh.’ Her dour face cleared with a look of surprise and she relaxed a little. ‘I thought that might be the case.’

Jackson let her have her lie. ‘I let Chef Matthews stay as my guest for the weekend so we could go over menu changes at the diner.’

‘Mm, good idea. I’ve heard things.’

Jackson didn’t encourage her. ‘I have all those guest rooms so I might as well get some use out of them. Callie and the boys don’t seem to make it out as much as I’d like.’

‘How is your sister?’

‘Just fine. I’ll tell her you asked.’ Jackson made a move to get into his truck. Marta pursued him. He paused, one leg inside. ‘Was there something else?’

‘You’re a good boy, Jackson. You’ve done a lot for this town and for me, so I feel obligated to warn you. That Chef Matthews is looking to cook up more than a fried chicken steak if you know what I mean.’

Jackson dropped his foot down on the ground. ‘I’m afraid I don’t.’

‘She’s after your money,’ Marta said.

‘That’s ridiculous.’ Jackson laughed. ‘Have you been watching soap operas again?’

‘A letter came from a woman named Kat, postmarked New York. It indicated that this Kat is Chef Matthews’ sister.’

Jackson nodded. He knew that. Zoe had told him all about her sisters.

‘She indicated that she’d sent some fancy clothing to help draw your notice so Chef Matthews could snag a rich man like this Kat had done.’ Marta reached out to touch his arm. ‘You should be careful.’

‘Kat wrote you this?’ he asked.

‘No, she wrote it to her sister.’

Jackson lifted a brow at the admission.

‘What?’ Marta demanded. ‘You can never be too careful when dealing with outsiders. You have to protect yourself. I need to know what type of person is staying in my home. What if she were some kind of criminal? Or a murderer? You know women can be murderers, too.’

‘Marta,’ Jackson stopped her, his tone urging her to focus.

‘She’s after your wallet, Jackson, and having her out at your house, alone, is a Her New Boss. No good can come of it. What if she gets you drunk and seduces you and then says she’s pregnant. You can’t imagine what some girls will do to trap a rich –’

‘Marta,’ Jackson said, ending the woman’s tirade before it could get going into a full rant. ‘Thank you for your concern and your information. I can assure you there is nothing to worry about. I hire chefs to cook all the time and know how to handle them.’

‘I know you do.’ Marta patted him again. ‘You’re a good boy, Jackson. Say hi to your momma for me.’

‘Will do.’ He climbed into the truck, automatically starting the engine and putting it into drive. He knew Marta to be a gossip, but she was a good person and wouldn’t deliberately make up stories to hurt someone. Zoe had succumbed to him rather quickly. Was it all part
of
an act? He knew she wanted a career, a career he could give her. Did she see him as an opportunity for more? Or was the career enough? He’d known she wanted something from him, but he hadn’t wanted to think too hard on it.

Feeling Marta watching, he took his foot off the brake and let the truck roll down the street. He didn’t look back as he took a long route out of town, needing time to think.

Zoe waited until she saw Marta outside by the clothesline hanging sheets before sneaking out the front door. She’d changed her shoes, opting for flat sandals. After heels on uneven dirt, her feet ached and the comfortable footwear was a welcome change. While she was inside the day had turned humid, causing her undershirt to stick as she walked down the block.

Nearing the restaurant, she slowed. Cars lined the street in front of it. Through the window, she saw every seat in the place was full. Almost hesitantly, she opened the front door. Lively talk assaulted her, punctuated by laughter and the sounds of people dining. As the bells rang over her head, eyes turned toward her and she imagined everyone stopped talking for the briefest of seconds.

Zoe nodded at the room in general, but for the most part everyone went back to ignoring her. She slowly made her way back to the kitchen, pausing when she saw Sheryl sitting at one of the booths with a couple of her regulars who came in during the week. The woman frowned at her, leaning toward those at her table to whisper something. Ignoring her, Zoe went back into the kitchen.

Rich smells wafted over her as she went through the door. It was hard to pinpoint exactly what was cooking, but she detected the aroma of fresh bread, beef and sautéed mushrooms. A woman came from the storage room,
holding
a bag of flour. Her short dark hair framed her pretty face. Small wrinkles lined her eyes and mouth. Her burgundy T-shirt and blue jeans were protected by a full white apron with little cherries embroidered on the right hip.

Seeing Zoe, she stopped. ‘Hello.’

‘Hi.’ Zoe held out her hand. ‘I’m Zoe Matthews, the new weekday chef.’

‘Ah.’ The woman nodded, laughing softly. The sound was amused, but not cruel. She pointed at her chest. ‘Constance. I’m the weekend cook – this weekend anyway. Next weekend I’ll be out of town and Maybelle will be here filling in.’

‘What is that delicious smell?’ Zoe asked, unable to keep from walking over to the range. Mushrooms sizzled in a brown sauce. She took a deep long breath.

‘Smothered steaks are warming in the oven. Big pot is goulash.’ Constance put the bag of flour on the counter where she already had ingredients in a mixing bowl. ‘And over here I’m making dumplings, which I’ll cook with the beef stock and mushrooms over there for dinner.’

‘Do you mind if I watch?’ Zoe asked, as Constance dumped flour into the bowl without measuring.

‘If you’re in the kitchen, you’ll have to make yourself useful. You can start by peeling potatoes.’ Constance motioned to the end of the table where a bag of potatoes waited. ‘We’re going to need a lot of them. I don’t cook like Bob.’ She paused. ‘That’s the guy you replaced. His secret was to mix instant potatoes with the mashed so the real potatoes went further. My momma would roll over in her grave, rise up and smack me if I were to do that.’