Chapter 6: John

Chapter 6 – John

I’m restless when I step into the barn. After I see to the horses, I decide to clean all the tack. All of it. Because that’ll take me hours and I need somethin’ to do. Somethin’ besides fixating on the hot redhead.

I knew I was in trouble when I wanted to flatten Ryan Emerson for calling Gabrielle hot. I was jealous and angry at a teenager when I had no right to be. First of all, it’s a free country, and he’s allowed to think what he wants. And secondly, it’s none of my damn business what Ryan—or any other guy for that matter—thinks of Gabrielle. As long as they’re respectful of her, of course. I’d never stand for any disrespect.

But that’s where it ends. She’s none of my business. Not one damn bit.

I shouldn’t have had that beer at Ruth’s, because now I want another one. And then another. Or maybe something stronger. I remember what it felt like to drink myself into oblivion. God knows I did that often enough when I got out of rehab, once my burns had started to heal.

But burns like these—no matter how many reconstruction surgeries I had, the evidence remains, visible to anyone with eyesight.

And now I’ve got Gabrielle looking at my scars. I’m sure she wonders what the hell happened to me.

I shake myself mentally. “Stop whining.”

No more alcohol.

Clean the damn tack.

Then clean it again.

Then muck all these stalls and lay down fresh straw. Change out the water buckets in the stalls, then change the water in the troughs. Maybe if there’s time before dark, I’ll saddle Zeus and ride up to the Murray Trailhead—just to inspect the path. I’m takin’ a group up that way next week. We had a lot of rain earlier in the week, so I should make sure none of the trail has been washed out. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll take Zeus out.

Six-thirty p.m. rolls around, and I’m starving. I’ve been working hard nonstop since getting back from town, and now my stomach is eating a hole in itself. That slice of pie at Jennie’s didn’t hold me for long. I should go to the lodge for dinner, but I don’t want to face Gabrielle.

Most women I meet avoid my gaze. Hell, they avoid looking at me altogether. But not Gabrielle. She looks. Sometimes she stares. And the unsettling thing is, it doesn’t seem to be out of morbid curiosity or disgust. No, she looks at me like a woman looks at a man she thinks she might be interested in. And that scares the shit out of me because, honestly, I’d give my left nut for her to be interested in me.

As I’m mucking one of the stalls, I hear a brisk knock and turn to see Killian standing behind me.

“How’s it goin’?” he asks.

“Fine. Just muckin’ some stalls.”

“Gabrielle made fettuccine Alfredo with grilled chicken for dinner tonight.”

“So I heard.”

“Word’s gettin’ around fast, so you’d better get in there before it’s all gone.”

The temptation is great, but mostly because I want to see the chef again. “Thanks, but I’ll grab something in my cabin. I was thinking of taking Zeus up the Murray trail a bit, to make sure none of it’s washed out.”

“Seriously, Burke, it’s fettuccine Alfredo. She made garlic bread, too.”

“That’s okay. I’m good.” My stomach proves otherwise when it lets out a deep growl. Hopefully Killian didn’t hear that.

“How was the trip into town?” he asks.

“Fine.”

“Gabrielle met Maggie? And Jennie and Ruth?”

“Yep. And Ed, too. Oh, and Ryan Emerson. Let’s not forget Ryan.”

Killian gives me an odd look. “Ryan Emerson?” he asks, obviously confused.

“Don’t ask.”

“Gabrielle mentioned you’re driving her to the farmers market in the morning.”

I shrug. “Somebody has to. Did Micah say when he’d be done with the Jeep?”

“He said Monday at the earliest, maybe Tuesday. Why?”

“She needs her own damn set of wheels, that’s why. So I don’t have to be her personal chauffeur.” Those words came out a bit harsher than I’d intended.

“You don’t want to drive her?” Killian frowns. “All right. I’ll do it.”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll do it.”

“Good. And don’t forget about driving her into Denver to the kitchen supply store. I don’t want her makin’ that trip alone. Not until she knows her way around the area.”

“I said I would.” I lean my shovel against the stall wall, probably harder than was necessary. “Killian, is there somethin’ you need? Because I’m busy working here.”

“No, dat’s it.” His Cajun accent slips through. “I was just checkin’ on ya.” He crosses his arms over his chest and gets that mulish expression I’m so familiar with. The one he wears when he’s arguin’ with Hannah. “Go get you some of dat fettuccini, Burke. It’s not a suggestion. It’s an order.”

Yep, his Cajun is comin’ through loud and clear. He’s riled up.

“Fine!” I stalk past him as I head for the exit.

Killian follows me out of the barn and across the parking lot to the front entrance of the lodge.

When I stop at the doors, he stops too. “I don’t need an escort to dinner,” I say.

“I’m hungry, too. I thought I’d eat with you. Hannah and I were tied up all evenin’ with the accountant, so I haven’t eaten yet.”

“All right, fine.”

We walk inside and head straight for the restaurant. As we get close, the hum of chatter fills the air. It sounds like the restaurant is doing a good bit of business this evening.

Tammy’s on duty at the host podium. “Just you two handsome fellas?”

“Yes,” I say, making a point of not biting her head off. What I want to say is, Do you see any other people with us? But I don’t. Because that would be rude. And I don’t want to be rude in Gabrielle’s restaurant—she might hear me.

“Just us,” Killian says, giving Tammy a friendly smile.

“Come with me, guys,” she says, and she leads us to a corner table near the French doors that lead out onto the deck, where there are lots of picnic tables for those wanting to dine outside.

“Aren’t you going to take your hat off?” Killian asks as we take our seats.

I shake my head, but don’t say anything.

“Things are looking up,” Killian observes. “Pasta tonight. And who knows what she’ll make next. Gabrielle said she’s going to get some of Jennie’s pies.”

“That’s right, I am,” Gabrielle says as she walks up to our table. “Why reinvent the wheel, right? I’m a chef, not a baker.” She bites back a grin. “Hello, gentlemen,” she says in a cool, professional voice. “I’m Gabrielle. I’ll be your server tonight.”

“You sure are a multitasker,” Killian says. “Both chef and server. I’ll have the fettuccini. Please tell me there’s some left.”

When Gabrielle smiles, her entire face lights up. Her soft pink lips curve up, revealing little dimples in the corners. “You’re in luck,” she says. “Do you want grilled chicken with that, steamed broccoli, and garlic bread?”

“Please, God, yes,” Killian says.

Then she turns to me. “And you, sir? What can I get you?”

I bite back a smile. I like this playful side of her. “You had time to make all that just since we got back from town?”

She nods. “Pasta and grilled chicken don’t take long.”

“I’ll have the same as Killian, thanks.”

“What can I get you guys to drink?” she asks.

“I’ll have a Coke,” Killian says.

She watches me expectantly, waiting for my answer. I’m tempted to ask for a beer, but I know I’d better not. During my rehabilitation period, I got in trouble relying too much on alcohol to get me through the rough patches. Now I’m afraid it might be a slippery slope for me, and I can’t risk it. It’s one thing to want a drink from time to time, but when I think I need one—that’s scares me. “I’ll have the same.”

Gabrielle brings our Cokes out right away. And fortunately, we don’t have to wait long for our dinners, which is good because my stomach is turning on itself.

I take a bite of the pasta Alfredo and moan. It’s incredible. The chicken is tender and grilled to perfection. The garlic bread is warm and crusty.

Killian takes a bite of his food and groans in appreciation. “Oh, man. I’m lookin’ forward to seeing her new menu. Hiring her is the best decision we ever made.”

I take another bite of pasta. “No argument there.”

Near the end of our meal, Gabrielle returns to tell us about the dessert options: blackberry cobbler with vanilla ice cream and brownies.

We both opt for the cobbler.

When I’m nearly done with dessert, I glance over at the podium to see Gabrielle standing behind there, and a man standing on the other side, facing her. He’s tall, slender, and tan, with blond hair parted on the side. He looks like money. He looks like a man used to getting whatever he wants. I recognize him as a guest, but he’s never gone out on a trail ride. I think he’s here for the fishing.

He says something to Gabrielle, and she laughs. Then she says something, and he laughs. He says something else, and she smiles politely as she shakes her head. When he reaches out to touch her, she steps back abruptly. Her smile quickly fades, and again she shakes her head, this time with more determination.

“Who’s that?” I ask Killian, pointing to the podium.

Killian follows the direction of my finger. “That’s Tom Anderson, an investment banker from L.A. He’s here for the fly fishing.”

“He’s bothering Gabrielle.”

Killian stills as he watches them. “How can you tell? She looks fine.”

“She’s not.”

When Anderson reaches for Gabrielle’s hand and she pulls it back behind her, I shoot to my feet. “I told you.”

And then I’m across the dining room in two seconds flat, stepping close beside Gabrielle behind the podium. When she tosses me a relieved glance, I know my instincts were right. “Can I help you?” I ask the man.

He narrows steely gray eyes on me. “No. I was talking to the lady. Do you mind?”

“Yeah, I mind.” I check the clock on the wall. It’s ten ‘til eight. “Dinner’s over. We were just leaving.”

“We?” The guy stares at me in disbelief. “She’s leaving with you?” He sneers at me. “I don’t believe that for a second, pal.” His gaze zeroes in on my face. “In fact, I’d bet against it.”

When I take a step toward him, Gabrielle grabs my right arm and pulls me back. “I need to grab a few things from the kitchen, John. Would you mind helping me?”

“Of course not,” I say, gloating at Anderson as he scowls at us, then walks away. I turn to her and notice her cheeks are flushed. “What did he say to you?”

She shakes her head. “It’s not worth mentioning. I do need to grab a few things from the kitchen and take them upstairs to my apartment. Do you mind walking me up?”

“Nah, I don’t mind.”

Before she can take a step, a familiar face appears. Sheriff Nelson is dressed in his uniform, hat on his head, gun in his hip holster.

He walks right up to us and tips his hat. “Hey, Burke. How’s it going?”

I nod in return. “Fine, sheriff.” Nelson looks pointedly at Gabrielle, reminding me of my manners. “Sheriff, this is Gabrielle Hunter. She’s the new kitchen manager here at the lodge.”

Nelson tips his hat to her. “So I heard from Ruth this afternoon. Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

“Don’t call her that,” I say. “She doesn’t like it.”

“Sorry.” Nelson grins at her. “Nice to meet you, Gabrielle.”

She returns his smile. “It’s my pleasure, sheriff.”

“Please, call me Chris,” he says.

Great. She’s on a first name basis already with the town’s golden boy. I clear my throat in an attempt to redirect his attention away from Gabrielle. They’re about the same age—late twenties—and Nelson is a damn good-looking man with his thick blond hair and blue eyes. He’s also single. And as far as I know, he likes girls. “So, what brings you here, sheriff?” The sooner he leaves, the better.

Nelson’s grin widens. “I heard there was fettuccini Alfredo tonight. Am I too late?”