9
Straining under the weight, Zoë bustled into the kitchen, hands holding several reusable grocery bags. As she plunked the bags on the floor beside the island, about to return to her truck for the second, and, with any luck, last load, she saw Ethan. His butt resting against the counter, one hand on it—she sure hoped he’d washed his hands—a coffee cup in the other, she knew he’d been waiting for her. His casual pose didn’t relate his intention, but his expression certainly did. He looked pissed.
“You should have texted or called me,” he informed her, his tone stern, “I would’ve helped you bring that in.”
“There’s no need. I can handle it.”
“I’m sure. Still, I could’ve helped or sent one of the hands to.”
“I appreciate that, but I’m more than capable of handling this on my own.”
He undoubtedly wanted to talk about something and, unable to get the rest of the groceries, she hefted one of the bags onto the counter. No sense wasting time. She’d brought all the perishable items in first and set about unpacking the bag. Frig, it wasn’t the bag with eggs. Well, no matter, that one was in the kitchen, she’d get to it shortly. At the snort Ethan released when she extracted celeriac from the bag and placed it on the counter, she looked to him.
“I’m not even going to ask what the hell that is, but it looks like something the cows leave behind them in the field.” When she didn’t respond, he gestured to the coffee pot. “Why don’t you grab a mug? I’d like to talk to you.”
“I’ll have a coffee in a bit, but if it’s all right with you, I’d like to just talk so I can get back to work. I have a lot to unpack, and some of it is perishable.”
“Fine, then I’ll make this quick. The meals you’ve made so far have been, well, good, but they’re too fancy.”
“What do you mean?” She hadn’t made anything too ambitious, nothing unrecognizable, or avant-garde and didn’t get his objection.
“What are you planning for dinner tonight?”
“Chicken Ballotine, Duchess Potatoes, and a deconstructed Caesar Salad.”
He scowled. “This is what I’m talking about. I don’t even know what those are, aside from the Caesar Salad. Sure, the men will eat that, they’ve all had it before, at least I think they have, but the rest is ... The men lead simple lives. They have simple tastes. A burger, some fries and a beer make them happy. Your meals are good, they are, but, well, making gourmet food for farm hands is kinda like using a sledgehammer to crack a nut. It’s too much.”
Resisting unleashing a scowl of her own, she wanted to crack some nuts and certainly wouldn’t need a sledgehammer to do so. She reasoned a pair of stilettoes would do a nice job on Ethan’s. Furious he was questioning her menu choices, again, she inhaled deeply before answering him.
“None of that is truly gourmet, simply a bit more advanced than burgers and fries.”
“And something you learned to make in a family restaurant, is it? I’ve been to my fair share and never seen things I didn’t know on the menu.”
Where the hell had that come from? Had he not believed her? Sure, she’d lied about that, but she was a darn good liar. Using all her restraint to not narrow her eyes, she responded as calmly as she could.
“I never said it was a family restaurant. I said it was a restaurant run by my ex’s family. They served fairly ambitious dishes, but that’s not what I’m doing here. Take the Chicken Ballotine, for example. Now, in an upscale restaurant, it would undoubtedly be done with chicken breasts, perhaps even a whole chicken for a nice table presentation, but I’m doing it with chicken legs tonight. More economical, and it’s not as fanciful as you think. I’ll simply debone the pieces, leaving the leg and thigh attached and—”
“Just stop,” he interrupted, actually holding his damn hand up to her, an action that almost had her seeing red. “I don’t need a cooking lesson. What I need is a cook who prepares proper meals for my men. Normal ones. This is a ranch, not a five-star restaurant.”
Now she did see red. Blessedly, it only lasted for a second. She needed to stay here. It was safe, the perfect place to wait for word and, no matter how insufferable Ethan was, she couldn’t tank this. She required it too much. Biting back what she wanted to unload on him, she found the words she needed to say.
“I understand your viewpoint, but perhaps you could try to see mine. I love to cook and creating dishes for others is a gift from me. Yeah, you pay me to do it, I get it, and yes, you’re the boss. It’s your ranch, your business, and your house. I do cook because I love it though. But love doesn’t pay the bills, so here we are.” She inhaled sharply, still calming down, and grateful he hadn’t spoken again. Apparently, he was giving her what she’d asked for, the chance to speak. That was admirable, despite his initial asshole behaviour, and she focused on that, and not the burning desire to tell him to shove the job where the sun doesn’t shine. “I understand the men have simple tastes. You probably do too. However, sometimes it’s a good thing to try something out of the ordinary, and push boundaries a bit. The men are regular Joes, I get that, but I’ll bet now and then they enjoy a night out at a fancy restaurant, with their wives, or girlfriends, to celebrate something, maybe just to do something different. Food has an amazing ability to be ordinary or spectacular. It nourishes but it can do so much more. The term ‘comfort food’ came about because that’s what those dishes do: they comfort people. Those dishes feed the soul as much as they do the body. What I’m trying to do here—”
With a shake of her head, she switched gears. He didn’t seem all that interested in what she was saying, and still wore that authoritative look, the one that told her he wasn’t about to lift the foot he’d put down. Fine. It was time to address him in a manner he’d, if not exactly appreciate, at least fully understand. “You know what? I was going to say I was trying to give them something special, something that perked up their day, maybe lifted their spirits. That’s probably wishful thinking though, and probably sounds like bullshit to you. You think I’m just being stubborn, serving dishes I’m used to, and not the simple ones you requested. So, let me try to explain my standpoint in a way that might resonate with you a little better.”
Her tone had sharpened and that certainly grabbed his attention. While he appeared more pissed, his eye contact had intensified. That was good, he was listening more actively. He didn’t possess the somewhat glazed look of someone who was just waiting for their turn to shoot back. Somewhere inside her brain, a voice pleaded to take it easy on him, reminding her of the importance of remaining on the ranch. Yeah, she understood the importance, of course she did. Her very life might depend on it. Unfortunately, her ego came into play now, insisting she could get her own way and remain in Ethan’s employ, and she believed she’d devised exactly how to do it.
“As much as you go on about how simple you and the men here are, this is a ranch that provides high-end beef. You’ve accomplished that by being unrelenting in your practices here, insisting on the best feed for your cattle, the best conditions for them, and the best staff to care for them. You give this ranch your best, and rightfully demand the best from your employees. That’s what I’m trying to do here, give you my best. I’m a damn good cook and I provide the best food I possibly can. Instead of berating me for doing so, you should be happy your men are getting the best. Fueling their bodies with better food will allow them to perform better, much like better feed provides better beef. Like I told you during my interview, this is your ranch and you run it as you see fit. You can fire me and hire someone who’ll plunk food on plates for them. Maybe they’ll care about what they serve, but maybe they won’t. Maybe it’ll just be a job to them. To me it’s more, it’s an expression of caring, and something I take great pride in, just like you do with this ranch.”
She stopped and held his fiery gaze. Her rant could have an adverse effect on him. It was a gamble, one she probably shouldn’t have taken, but she’d never been one to pull punches. An all-or-nothing kind of gal, she wanted it all, even if he could ensure she ended up with nothing. Something flicked in his eyes, but she couldn’t decipher it. He placed his mug in the sink and then met her eyes again.
“No soufflés, crêpes, quiches, or anything else too fanciful.”
“Got it,” she replied, hardly thinking those dishes were fanciful. Huh, quiche. Haven’t served that yet. It would be a great lunch one day, with a vegetable-laden salad accompanying it.
“And—well, can you at least try to keep the meals simpler? Everything tastes great, and I appreciate your desire to provide nutritious meals, but this is still a ranch, regardless of the type of beef I raise.”
“I will.”
If she’d been ten years-old, she would’ve crossed her fingers behind her back. She had no intention of bending to his will but there was no point rocking the boat any further today. He still looked pissed, comparable to how he looked at the end of the interview, actually, and she imagined he didn’t care for her standing up to him, then or now. However, as much as she was pretending to be someone she wasn’t, she couldn’t completely smother who she really was.
Without another word, he stomped out of the kitchen, no doubt winged a bit. That was a stupid gamble to take. She smiled. Sure it was, but it had panned out and she’d gotten her own way. If he’d kept the sociable mood he’d had yesterday, their discussion wouldn’t have devolved into what it had. She liked yesterday’s Ethan more but could deal with surly Ethan. She’d just proved it.