Summer at Mustang Ridge (30 page)

GRAN’S GREEN RANCH CHILI

(The Easy, Do-at-Home-with – Grocery-Store-Ingredients Version)

Takes ~ 8-10 hours, but most of the time you’re ignoring it in the Crock-Pot. I like to cook the meat the night before and then throw things together sometime before lunch, for a fabulous chili dinner.

SERVES 6–8 PORTIONS, MAKES GREAT LEFTOVERS.

INGREDIENTS:

pork loin, beef pot roast, or similar meat, ~ 3–4 lbs.

two cloves of garlic, skinned and crushed

one packet of chili seasoning

one yellow onion, diced

1 Tbsp. butter or oil

2–4 Tbsp. flour

two 4-oz. cans of chopped fire-roasted chili peppers

one 7-oz. can of chopped jalapenos (use more chilis instead for a milder flavor)

salt

Crock-Pot

REPARATION:

1. Place the meat in a pot, cover it liberally with water, add garlic and
¹
/
₃
of the chili packet to the water, and bring it to a boil. Reduce the heat until the water is just barely boiling. Let the meat simmer for ~ 1 hour. (Don’t let the water boil off!)

2. Let the meat sit until it’s cool enough to handle. One easy way is to put it in the fridge overnight. Alternatively, take the meat out of the liquid (called “stock liquid” below) and put it in the fridge for 30 minutes. (Save the stock liquid, though.)

3. Cook the diced onion in the butter/oil on medium heat until the onion pieces turn clear. On low heat, mix in ~¼ cup of the stock liquid, then slowly stir in the flour until the mixture thickens. Remove the pan from the heat, add the chili peppers and jalapenos, and mix it all together. Put the mixture in the Crock-Pot.

4. Shred the meat with your fingers or a fork. Discard the fat, and mix the shredded meat with the onions and peppers in the Crock-Pot. Add more of the stock liquid if you want to adjust the consistency. Season it to taste with salt, pepper, or more of the chili packet (remember, you can always add more seasoning but you can’t take it away, so be a little cautious!)

5. Set the Crock-Pot on low and cook for at least 5 hours.

6. Ring the dinner bell!

Serving suggestions:

Layer the chili in a bowl with shredded cheese and refried beans, top it with cilantro, scoop it up with nacho chips.

Roll the chili into a corn or flour tortilla with shredded cheese, shredded lettuce, diced tomatoes, sour cream, beans, and the sides of your choice for a whopping burrito.

And above all . . . have fun with it!

W
i
th his assistant gone for the day and no overnight guests of the small – or large-animal variety, the veterinary clinic was quiet by six. After a quick phone call to his father—their usual “Yep it’s cold. Nope the fish aren’t biting. How’s the clinic?” routine—Nick focused on banging out the last of the day’s paperwork.

“Want some?” He broke a corner off the pizza slice he’d been working on, and held it out to Cheesepuff.

The fat orange tabby gave the offering a suspicious sniff, then turned away with a sidelong look that said,
Hypocrite.

Okay, so maybe he’d given Ted Dwyer a lecture on feeding his hunting dogs table scraps not an hour ago. And, yeah, the Puffmeister wasn’t exactly svelte. But still.

“What’s a little pizza between friends? No? Your loss, and more for me.” Nick downed the last of the day-old DiGiorno, washed it down with some root beer, and let out a satisfied sigh. “I think that does it for today. Don’t you? Want to roll upstairs?”

The cat flicked one ear back, then yawned.

“Your call. I’m heading up.” Sure, another guy might be worried about getting caught talking to his cat, but a vet could get away with stuff like that without losing his man card.

After three-pointing the soda can in the recycling bin, Nick shucked off his “I’m in the office being all official” lab coat and headed across the office to hang it up. He was halfway across the room when the buzzer rang, letting him know someone was coming down the long driveway. A moment later, headlights crested the hill and lit the picture window out front.

“Guess I spoke too soon, huh?” But, hey, at least he was still downstairs and not in the shower wearing nothing but soap. Been there, done that. And besides, this was part of the deal when you ran a one-vet clinic and lived in the apartment upstairs. “Let’s see what we have.”

He pulled the coat back on, got it buttoned, and headed out into the reception area just as snow boots thudded on the front porch and the door swung open. A blast of frigid air swept in, haloing a bundled figure as sparkling ice crystals caught the light. The furry pink boots and five-foot-something height said female, possibly young, but the rest of the details got swallowed up in a huge pink parka, a blue wool hat, and a striped scarf.

But more important was the sight of the big, blanket-wrapped dog in her arms and the smears of blood on her coat.

Never a good sign.

Adrenaline kicked in. “Come in, come in. You can go straight back to Exam One.”

Instead, she spun back at the sound of his voice, her bright blue eyes widening in the gap between hat and scarf. “You’re not Doc!”

•   •   •

Maybe it was the adrenaline coming from the near miss with the truck plus a too-fast drive to the clinic, or the relief of getting there in one piece with the stray dog still breathing, but Jenny’s mind blanked at the sight of the stranger standing in Doc’s office.

Brain freeze. Did not compute.

He looked like a young Harrison Ford, with tousled brown hair, a square jaw, and sparkling hazel eyes. He was wearing jeans, a lab coat, and worn hiking boots. Okay, so maybe he didn’t look all that much like Indy—there was no leather, fedora, or bullwhip in sight. But there was something about him that rooted her in place. And she wasn’t one to grow roots.

Slightly uneven teeth flashed behind a charmingly crooked smile. “Doc Lopes retired and handed the practice over to me about six months ago. I’m Nick Masterson.” Nodding to the blanket-wrapped bundle, he added, “Who do we have there?”

The question kicked her brain back into gear, bringing a flush and sidelining her surprise that Doc wasn’t Doc anymore, and the new guy was hot.

“I don’t know. He was up by our driveway. I was trying to get him, almost had him, but”—her voice cracked—“he got away from me and wound up under an eighteen-wheeler. I don’t know how bad he was hit.”

His eyes sharpened on her. “Are you okay?”

She shook her head no, then changed it to a nod. “I’m okay. But the dog—”

“I’ll take him back and see what we’ve got.” He held out broad, competent-looking hands to take the blanket-wrapped bundle. “Do you want to come with us?”

Swallowing a hard lump of emotion, she shook her head. “No. I’ll . . . ah . . . I’ll wait out here. Unless you need help?”

“Not for the initial look-see.” He took the dog gently in his arms, showing none of the strain she had felt at lugging the fifty-some pounds of deadweight. “I’ll be a few minutes.”

He disappeared into one of the exam rooms, leaving her alone in the waiting area, surrounded by empty chairs, well-thumbed animal magazines, and posters that alternated between cutesy propaganda for adoption and menacing blowups of the life cycles of fleas.

Gravitating to the fleas, which looked like something out of
Aliens
, she stuck her hands in her pockets and read up on third-stage larvae. When she was done with the short paragraph, she couldn’t have repeated any of it—her mind was stuck on the
varoom
of the truck and the way things had gone to hell in a split second.

If she had just held on to the dog, they’d be back at Mustang Ridge, sitting next to the woodstove right now. Or maybe tucking into Gran’s chicken and biscuits.

“Hang in there, buddy,” she said softly.

Part of her wished she had followed them into the back room, but it wasn’t like her being there would have helped. Besides, she needed a minute to regroup. She’d driven up here expecting old Doc Lopes, and instead got a guy who looked like he’d be right at home in her world.

Flea eggs take two to fourteen days to hatch. Hatching occurs only when the environmental conditions are exactly right for their survival.

“No problem there.” Jenny sighed. “Winter in Wyoming isn’t right for anything except making daiquiris.” Not that she would want a frozen drink right now. She was only just beginning to thaw out in the clinic’s warmth.

When conditions are hot and humid, the flea egg hatches and the larva emerges.

“They’d like Belize,” she commented.

“Never been there.”

“Oh!” She spun, flushing inside her layers when she found the vet standing behind her, looking amused.

“I talk to the cat all the time. Never tried the posters before.” Taking pity on her, he continued. “I’ve had a look at the dog, and wanted to talk to you before we go any further.”

The flush cooled. “Is it bad?”

“He’s actually in pretty decent shape. It doesn’t look like the truck wheel rolled over him, which is good, but I won’t know how good until I take some X-rays and run a few blood tests. Beyond that, he’s got a healing wire cut on a front paw and he’s skinny as heck. I’d say it’s been a while since he saw any love, though he’s friendly enough that he must’ve had a family at some point.”

Jenny’s chest tightened. “Poor old guy.”

“He’s actually not that old. I’d say three or four years, which is going to be in his favor for recovery.”

“Good.” Relief came out of her in a whooshing breath. “That’s good. Do what you can for him. I’ll cover the bill and give him a home.” Granted, she was making a promise that Krista and the rest of her family at the ranch would be keeping when she left, but any of them would’ve said the same thing.

The vet hesitated. “It could get expensive if the damage is worse than it looks.”

“I’m good for it. X-rays, tests, surgery, whatever he needs.”

“Is there someone you should check with first?”

“Are you trying to talk me out of it?”
Or fishing for info on whether I’m taken?
He wasn’t wearing a ring, but she didn’t think that was where it was coming from. Either way, the conversation was starting to feel out of sync, like she was missing something.

“I’m just making sure you know what you’re getting into.”

That was when she realized what was so strange. He wasn’t treating her like she was an extension of Mustang Ridge, wasn’t assuming that she knew as much as a lot of vet techs by virtue of being ranch born and bred.

Wow. Weird. And kind of nice, actually. “I can handle the dog and the bill. Run a tab, Doc, and let’s get this party started.”

A crooked smile crossed his face, making her think of Indy again. “Yes, ma’am.” He turned away and headed for the reception desk. “I’m going to need you to fill out some paperwork. You can leave it on the desk, along with a number where I can reach you with an update.”

“Can I wait here until the X-rays are done?” She didn’t know where the impulse came from, but it felt right.

“It’ll take some time.”

A glance out the window warned that the snow was still falling, but the Jeep had four-wheel drive and there was no rush getting back. “Like you said, it’s been a while since anybody cared about him. I’d like to wait.”

He handed over a clipboard with a pen stuck at the top. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be out with updates as warranted.” With a half wave that wasn’t quite a salute, he disappeared into the exam room.

Not letting herself glance back over at the fleas—Gawd, had he really caught her talking to a
poster
?—Jenny dropped into a chair and fumbled for the pen. It wasn’t until her gloves got in the way that she realized she was boiling, and not just from embarrassment.

How had she not noticed that she was overheating inside her marshmallow of a coat and six-mile-long scarf?
Because for the past three days, you’ve spent way more time shivering than sweating,
she thought, and shucked off her vest, hat, and hoodie, piling them off to the side. Which left her sitting there in jeans and a clingy turquoise thermal that had come out of the high school section of her closet.

Suddenly feeling like something out of some fashion-intervention show—
next, we perform a fashion intervention on a twenty-seven-year-old videographer who still dresses like she’s a teenager
—she dragged her fingers through her hair, like that was going to fix anything. She had asked for Audrey Hepburn, and with a little work she could come close to that mark. Add in some hat head, though, and she was more Sonic the Hedgehog than Hepburn.

And she was primping. Which was ridiculous.

Okay, so Nick Masterson was seriously yummy and he seemed like a nice guy, but she was back home at Mustang Ridge to work, not play. And he was a local.

“So not going there,” she
said, and got busy filling out the forms.