1. Chapter One

Chapter One

Hermie

November 2024

“Fire three specials. Did you hear me, Luther?”

I glanced up to see the server calling out to the cook at the pass-through.

Luther popped up in the small pass and surprised the server who dropped the flatware she was holding before she giggled. “Firing three specials, my sweet.” The man then winked at her.

I sipped my coffee and scrolled through restaurant jobs available in the Kingsley area, finding nothing to my liking. While attending culinary school in San Antonio, I’d worked in three different four-star restaurants in area. Since graduating, I’d worked in Dallas, Fort Worth, and Austin, each job shorter than the last. The bottom line: I couldn’t cut it in a commercial kitchen because it was too chaotic. Being on the autism spectrum, I was easily distracted and had a difficult time adjusting to the chaos.

I was horribly clumsy because I startled easily. It only took dropping an entire tray of beef tenderloins on the dirty floor to be physically hauled out of a workplace during the dinner rush.

My brain took longer to process verbal instructions, which was a nail in the coffin of someone working in a commercial kitchen. I’d been called some ugly names because of my brain’s inability to quickly hear instructions and convert them into actions.

I’d been told I didn’t belong in some of Texas’ most awarded kitchens, even though I’d done well in culinary school and had glowing recommendations from my instructors who understood my issues and believed I still had a place in the industry. Unfortunately, they didn’t work in the kitchens where I had.

When someone hears they’re worthless enough times, it becomes easier to accept the negative than try to find the positive. Or that’s what I’d found and it almost caused me to give up completely.

I had some learning differences, sure, but that didn’t put in the effort. There were times when I had the attention span of a gnat and had trouble staying on task, but I wasn’t incapable. I just had to find the right fit—or so I’d been told.

Even with a detailed list or a recipe, I’d start out so well, and then things would go to hell midway through because something would distract me, and I’d lose my place. Usually there wasn’t enough time for me to start over, but again, I tried my best.

When I cooked familiar foods, or better, was given the freedom to cook things the way I wanted, I did great. I could make any number of dishes if I didn’t have to follow an unfamiliar recipe, but with a head chef at a four-star restaurant standing over my shoulder shouting instructions at me, I melted down.

Sometimes they’d find me hiding in the cooler or the pantry, curled up into a ball. The last time I’d freaked out was in Dallas at an elegant steak house. They called the cops, who admitted me to a psychiatric ward at Dallas General Hospital on a seventy-two-hour hold, the head chef claiming I was a danger to myself and others.

I’d had no intention of harming myself or anyone else. I’d been butchering steaks and had a knife in my hand when the chef screamed at me that I was cutting the steaks too thick.

I attempted to reason with the unpleasant man, explaining that if the steaks were cut thinner, they’d be dry, what with the method he’d planned to use for preparation. He called me every name I could imagine, and I panicked, cutting my palm in the process. Ten stitches in my palm and three days’ worth of evaluation later, I was finally released, though I was definitely out of a job.

A western omelet with biscuits and sausage gravy landed on the countertop in front of me, drawing me from those dark thoughts. The server, Shirley, refilled my cup of coffee. “You okay, honey?”

A weak smile was the best I could do. “I’m fine, thanks. I’m dreading an upcoming holiday visit.”

I would be in Kingsley to surprise my mom and hoped she’d be happy to see me. I hadn’t been back there since I’d left for culinary school, and our phone conversations were infrequent at best. Mom didn’t seem to have much interest in what was happening in my life, not that I’d told her the truth.

When we talked, it sounded as though my mother was relieved to be out from under the burden of me , and returning home with nothing to show for my hard work would remind her how awful it was to be my parent. I wished there was another choice for me, but I couldn’t find one except maybe becoming a sex worker.

Shirley nodded. “I used to hate going to Detroit to visit my grandparents for the holidays because it was boring as hell at their house. We kids were only allowed to play on the floor without making any noise. Children were to be seen and not heard. I feel for ya, honey. Eat up. Luther doesn’t like it if his food goes to waste.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I dug into my food, which was delicious. The place was busy, likely with travelers since it was the week before Thanksgiving and people were headed to enjoy the holiday with family. I was going home for a different reason—I had nowhere else to be.

Just as I finished my breakfast, a tall, muscular man took the stool next to me. I glanced to the right to see him grab the paper menu from between the napkin and condiment holders. His hands were as large as both of mine.

I didn’t want to stare, but I had to see the rest of him. When I did, my breath caught to the point that he likely heard it too.

“How you doing?” His face was stunning, and he had a warm smile that had danced behind my eyes since I’d seen it last.

I offered a nod and a smile but didn’t open my mouth. The only time I’d been anywhere near the Barrett family, I’d stuttered nonstop, and I wasn’t about to repeat the same embarrassing scene. I had a better handle on it now, but I didn’t want to take a chance.

“You look familiar. Have we met before?” Decker Barrett still had the ability to take away my breath as he had the only time I’d seen him through the glass door at his family’s ranch. The former center for the Houston Riggers had left the NBA after an ACL injury in 2022, but he still had a commanding presence.

After Decker retired, I never heard what happened to him. As he sat next to me, I could see he hadn’t let himself go to hell. He didn’t look like a basketball player now, though. In my opinion, he looked like a sexy cowboy, which I was finding I liked a lot.

I gathered my thoughts. “We met in 2020 at Bare Ranch. I worked for your family over the holidays that year in the barn.”

I’d spoken slowly as my childhood speech therapist had taught, and fortunately, being in Texas made it sound natural. I didn’t have the twang like a lot of my fellow Texans because I hadn’t grown up there. Based on Decker Barrett’s expression, he didn’t notice a difference.

Decker chuckled. “That’s right! You were there with Chuck Flora for the holiday season. You left Kingsley to go to school somewhere, right?”

It was a good guess. I took another sip of my coffee. “Yes. I went to culinary school in San Antonio.”

Decker smacked his hand on the counter. “That’s right! Chuck told my mom about that. Are you home for the holidays?”

I wanted to lie and say yes and that I was excited about being back, but that wasn’t true. I had enough to think about without having to keep lies straight. “Yes. I’m here to see my mother. How’s your family?”

Decker sobered quickly. “Mom and Dad were killed in a car accident, so I’m running Bare Ranch these days. My brothers have their own families and busy lives, so I took on running the ranch to keep it going out of respect for the family legacy.”

The nerves came forward contrary to my attempts to contain my anxiety. “I-I’m sorry.”

His large hand touched my shoulder. “That’s nice of you to say.” His eyes were like golden Christmas lights.

I nodded. As far as I knew, my mom was still alive and well. Still living in Lone Star Trailer Park, though she’d moved into a double-wide, or so she told me that was her plan the last time we’d spoken. It had, though, been a while.

“I’ll take my check, and do I smell cinnamon rolls? Can I get two to go?” I reached into my back pocket and grabbed my wallet, picking out the last few bucks I had. I needed a damn job, but I had no idea where to look.

“Sure, honey.” Shirley went to the kitchen. A moment later, a bloodcurdling scream echoed though the small restaurant.

Decker jumped over the counter, and I hurried behind it without a single thought. When we went into the kitchen, we found Luther on the ground with Shirley holding his head on her lap. He had blood gurgling from his mouth and running down the front of his apron.

“Shit!” Decker pulled out his phone to call 9-1-1. After he finished, he dropped to his knees next to Shirley and checked Luther’s pulse. “His heart is still beating.”

When the paramedics arrived five minutes later, they assessed Luther and put him on a gurney. “We’re going to St. Luke’s in Abilene. Follow us. There’s no room for anyone else in the bus.”

I glanced at Luther, who was wearing an oxygen mask, and noticed he wasn’t a small man. I understood what they meant.

Decker spoke first. “Shirley, I can stay here and watch the diner for you. I can’t cook, but—”

I swallowed hard. “I can. I mean, I can cook. Things might not be exactly the way Luther would make them, but you don’t need to close the diner and lose money.”

Shirley offered a watery smile. “Honey, I don’t care what you make. I’ll be back as soon as I know that man isn’t going anywhere without me.” Shirley pointed to the ambulance that was leaving.

Decker hurried her out of the diner, and I glanced around, not quite sure what to do. I took a moment to calm down because panic had never been my friend and turned to address the room—something that usually terrified me. It must have been the adrenaline coursing through me that gave me the idea in the first place.

“H-Hi. I’m Hermie. I’ll do my b-best to get your food r-ready, but I beg your f-f-forgiveness. I don’t know exactly h-how Shirley and Luther prepare their d-dishes, but I’ll t-try.”

I didn’t think I’d ever said so many words with minimal stuttering in my life, but I’d been through hell in other kitchens, so maybe I’d learned to handle the stress? Or maybe I was so damn scared to see a man bleeding out on the floor that I was in shock and acted on instinct.

A young woman walked up to the counter with a big smile. “You need some help?”

I had no idea who she was, but I was sure I needed her help. “I do. You are?”

“I’m Grace, Luther and Shirley’s niece. I called my mom, Luther’s sister, and she’ll meet them at the hospital. I’m a server here and was just about to come on shift for lunch. You think you can cook food anything close to Uncle Luther? These people are picky as hell.”

Stone-cold fear gripped me. No way was I a good enough cook to make breakfast or lunch or whatever people were ordering after eleven in the morning. I was sure Luther had his own recipes but I was convinced I couldn’t begin to recreate them.

“Grace, I’m not sure—” Bare seemed to be coming to my defense, though I wasn’t sure why.

“What’s your name?” Grace stepped forward, bold as anything.

“I’m Hermie Grassley.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Hermie. I’m guessing Uncle Luther’s a lot like you. He never makes a dish the same way twice. I’m sure you’ll be just fine. Come with me.”

I followed Grace into the kitchen, and she showed me around. Suddenly, Decker stuck his head through the window. “You got customers out here.”

For a moment, I was startled. “I-I-I can’t—”

“I’m sorry. I was talking to Gracie. I have faith in you, Hermie. You’ll do just fine. Now, Gracie, come take orders. I’ll come back to the kitchen and help the cook.” He winked at me just as he’d done years ago when I worked for his family.

For the rest of the morning, Grace took orders, and Decker cleaned tables, poured coffee, and chatted with the guests that he clearly knew. I cooked the food in Luther’s place, and the customers seemed to enjoy it. I was too busy to think about how Luther might have made his dishes, which appeared to be going in my favor.

When the diner closed at three thirty that afternoon, I was exhausted. Grace looked exhausted, and Decker was loading the dishwasher in the back of the kitchen before he leaned against the large prep table, seemingly exhausted as well.

“I’ve got a whole new respect for folks who do this every day. My back is killin’ me.” Bare put his hand on his lower back as if he was an old man. Grace and I laughed.

I made my way to the back of the kitchen where the dishwasher was located to unload some dish racks, ready to help set things up for Friday morning if they chose to open the diner. When the front door was locked, Grace came into the kitchen with a sweet smile.

“I can’t thank you enough for jumping in to help. I talked to Aunt Shirley a few minutes ago. Uncle Luther had a bleeding ulcer, and they had to operate as soon as he showed up at the hospital, but he’s going to be okay. She said he’ll be home by Friday. He won’t be able to work for six weeks, and she wanted me to ask if you wanted a job.”

My eyes grew wide. “Sh-She wants me to work here? Doing what?”

“Cooking, of course. A few customers called her to check on Uncle Luther, and they said the food was fantastic. Aunt Shirley wants you to cook here while Luther recovers.”

“What’s going on? Is Luther gonna be alright?” Bare interrupted before I could answer, though I wasn’t sure what to say. He was returning from the men’s room and hadn’t heard what Grace had said.

Grace gave him a sweet smile. “He had a bleeding ulcer. You know Luther—he probably knew about it and ignored it. Anyway, they operated on him earlier today, and Aunt Shirley says he’ll be fine and hopefully going home on Friday evening. Are you coming to the club this weekend?”

“I’m taking a break from the club for now. How’s Connie?” Bare asked.

“He’s great. He’s picking me up in a little while, and I’m going to his place for the holiday weekend. Mom’s working Friday and Saturday for me if Aunt Shirley decides to open. I know the two of them need the money, but you know as well as me that they like to be here when the doors are open.”

I went to check on the last load of dishes Bare had put inside, happy to see they were finished. I pulled them out of the dishwasher and put them on the rolling rack, pushing it out into the restaurant to restock the glassware for Friday.

Bare and Grace turned to study me when I returned to the kitchen, waiting for me to give them an answer about Shirley’s offer.

Oh, no!