Chapter 3

Chapter Three

N athan was fixin’ to die.

He’d be damned if he let a single one of these assholes know it, though.

Six hours on a horse was sheer hell, and his thighs were blistered, and he had to create supper and get the kitchen put together.

He wanted to lie down and expire.

“You need a hand?” That was one of the older guys. Ned, maybe? He thought that was the man’s name. It was hard to remember. They called the horses by name more than they did each other.

“I’d appreciate it. That takes a lot out of the legs.”

“You did good for your first time. You stayed standing when you stepped out of the saddle.”

“Go me.” He chuckled, but he remembered the first time he staged for a certain famous chef in France, and he worked the first three days without stopping, then slept four hours and got back up and did it again. That was a few years ago, but he did that then, and he would do this now. “Seriously, thank you for the offer. There’s a lot to unload.”

“No problem.” Ned helped him unload the pack animals, and someone had gotten the fridge and freezer combo turned on and going by the time they had everything ready to put in it. Ned grinned at him. “I got a word of advice. We’ll be setting up and tending animals for at least an hour and a half. Heat some water while there’s still sun to run the solar heater and shower. Then cook.”

He gave a wry chuckle. “I think I might at that.”

“I know you have to be hurting. Tonight will suck, but the rest of the job should be a breeze. Ames is in charge of the rotation, so you’ll have a hand on KP duty.”

“Good deal.” Woo. Ames seemed to think he was an asshole, but the simple fact was, he’d almost pissed himself when he’d seen Lobo walk out.

He’d never even had a goldfish. He’d grown up in an apartment in downtown Austin. He’d gone from culinary school to New York, then Paris, then Lisbon, then Los Angeles, and back home.

And Lobo was huge. He stood a foot above the other horses at the shoulder, and his dapple-gray back was wide as a frickin’ Winnebago.

On the good side, he had seemed way more sedate than the other horses, and when Nathan had been so tired he could only hold on and not steer, Lobo had put himself nose-to-tail with the mare in front of them and plodded on in line, never showing any sign of bad temper.

He had an hour and a half, and if he took fifteen minutes to wash up, then he could make up a quick and dirty chicken piccata with angel hair pasta and green beans. Kase had guaranteed him that there would be a new load of produce and dairy in a week, so he was going to plan accordingly.

But he had canned goods. Durable fruits and veggies. And a fridge full of meat and such. So he was good to go right now.

He grabbed his pack and headed the way Ned had pointed him. The shower was in a lean-to like at the beach, and it was pretty easy to figure out how to heat the water someone had pumped in. So he took a shower, much shorter than he wanted, but hot enough to melt his muscles, and took some Tylenol as he dressed. The only one who stuck around to watch was one of the old-timer’s dogs, a one-eared heeler named Fred.

He refused to sit down. He started the process of creating his mise en place, using the familiar rhythm of the knife on the board as a comfort.

Lemon. Capers. Garlic. Parsley.

It smelled heavenly already.

He dried the chicken, then seasoned it before setting up his flouring station. He didn’t bread piccata, but it needed the flour to crisp it up, and to thicken the sauce when he deglazed the pan. He could do this. He’d cooked on propane, fire, electric. None of that mattered when he was in the zone.

The water was on the stove, then he started trimming green beans before tossing them with shallots and a little black salt.

“What’s for supper?”

He damn near sent the chicken flying when he jumped, his hand hitting the platter. Ames had startled the hell out of him.

“Please don’t sneak up on me in the kitchen,” he snapped. “Someone could get cut or burned.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Chef, sir.” Ames shot back in a heartbeat. “I was coming to see if you needed anything.”

He took a deep breath, then let it out. “No. Wait, yes. I need a basic schedule.”

“Sure. I’ll write one out for you. But for now, all the guys will be in for supper in an hour or so. Then half of them will head out to work the night with the herd. They’ll need sandwiches and such. At seven in the morning, shifts change at breakfast, and the day guys will need lunch.”

So he’d make twelve sandwiches for today, and then the clanger experience would start tomorrow night.

He’d start with chicken, spinach, and cheddar on one side and apple with cheddar on the other.

“No problem at all. Supper will be on time.” And he’d manage to do a steel-cut oatmeal in the morning with a berry compote.

“Good deal. I’ll leave you to it.” Ames left, and he shook his head. There were three cowboys who had to be twice as old as Ames here. How did he get to be the manager?

“I’m setting up the dishwashing station,” Ned told him, coming in to grab a little container of bleach. “Anything you need scrubbed right now?”

“No. I’ll do my own knives, but do you guys do the pans?”

“Yep.”

“Cool. Nothing scratchy on these two, okay?”

“You got it.” Ned winked.

“So can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” Ned paused, reaching down to rub Fred’s ears.

“Are you not upset that Ames is the boss up here?”

“Shit no. No one likes the trail boss job. I mean, he gets paid more. But it’s thankless. I would still be a day laborer if I could.”

“Ah.” He sort of got that. Not everyone wanted to be the head chef.

Especially once they realized that they paid for everything.

“Fair enough.” What else was he supposed to say? He didn’t love being the asshole on the bottom rung, so he’d fought and bit and scratched his way to the top. “Ames kind of seems like he would like the top rung, though.”

“He does a damn good job. And he’s fair. That’s a great quality. And he’ll cut loose with us now and again, but never in a bad way. The boys respect him.”

Huh. Were they talking about the same guy? “Well, thanks for washing up. It will make my life easier.”

“That’s how we do it. The guy who feeds us does no dishes.”

“Well, I intend to give y’all the best meals of your lives.” It was all he did, day in and day out. Feed people.

“I can tell. It smells damn fine already. I reckon we’re used to cans of chili and hot dogs.”

“Oh, there’s definitely a place for that. But not after a long day on the trail. You need a much tastier meal.” And healthier. Starch, Protein. Veg. It would stick to the guys’ ribs way better than soy-filled canned chili and fake meat logs.

Ryder had given him his instructions there.

“Fruit, Nathan. Fruit and vegetables and whole grains. No crap.”

So that was what he intended to do. Feed the guys delicious, healthy food. And maybe the occasional treat. Hamburgers could be great since they had grass-fed meat. And he wasn’t afraid of dessert. While he intended that to be fruit and such, for the most part, he could make a mean cobbler or dump cake, and s’mores were on the list. One of the guys had a birthday coming up this week, and that had been his request.

He put the chicken away and started boiling the noodles. The green beans wouldn’t take long at all.

After he dropped the noodles, he began organizing the kitchen to his liking. He had a nice stock of canned goods from last week, and no mouse droppings, which was great. The flour, sugar, and other dry goods were in airtight containers, as were the spices. All in all, it wasn’t bad for a camp kitchen.

He approved.

Before he knew it, he had twelve perfectly portioned plates. He’d eat off what was left. They appeared healthy, appetizing, and Insta-worthy.

“What is this?” Ames asked, peering at the plates as he walked into the kitchen.

“Chicken piccata. Enjoy.”

“So it’s fancy food?”

“Come on, even you have to know what chicken piccata is.”

Ames made a face at him. “I do. But I guarantee Ned doesn’t.”

“It’s okay. He’ll learn.” Lemon, chicken, yumminess. It was good.

The expression on Ames’s face could have defined skepticism, but Nathan ignored it. This man was not going to get him down. Not one little bit.

His food had never been the problem, and it wasn’t the problem now.

“Something smells damn good.” One of the younger hands, or drovers, or wranglers—since they seemed to call them all sorts of things—drifted in, nose working.

“Chicken piccata,” Nathan said.

“Should I ring the bell?”

“Is there really a bell?” He’d seen that in movies.

“Oh, hell yeah.”

“Ring away. It’s ready.”

“Yay!” Well, someone was looking forward to his food, at least. The guy went out to the overhanging porch of the trail cabin and rang the triangle, just like on TV.

Okay, that was cool. He’d have to tell his buddy Kev about that. That would crack the man up.

The cowboys trooped in, all of them thanking him politely, a few making happy noises as they smelled the air. Ned beamed. “Chicken piccata. My momma made this.”

“Yeah? Hopefully I’ve done it well enough.” Food memory was a powerful thing. And so much for Ned having no idea what it was…

Ames gave Ned a glare, eyebrows raised.

“I would know that smell anywhere. Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”

“Of course.”

“Your momma, Ned?”

“Uh-huh. Her momma was Italian.” Ned beamed. “Capers and lemon.”

“You know it. It’s my quick and easy go to.”

“This is damn good,” one of the guys said, forking up a bite.

Ames took his plate, then frowned. “Where’s yours?”

“Hmm?” His what? He had angel food cake and berries for dessert, if anyone wanted it.

“Your food. You don’t like this?” Ames waved at the chicken piccata.

“Love it. I have been nibbling, and there’s enough left here.” He wasn’t used to meals. He spent his days tasting.

“Well, you need to eat with us.” Ames sent a meaningful glance at the cowboys, who were sitting all over the main room of the cabin, chowing down.

Oh, for fuck’s sake. One, he was busy. Two, he had to cut strawberries.

Three, and most important, if he sat down, he’d fall asleep and possibly never stand up again.

“Let me get the strawberries ready. I wasn’t aware of that and didn’t schedule accordingly.”

Ames gave him a searching kind of look, then nodded. “It’s good to have that feeling of camaraderie,” he said, keeping his voice low. “That way if there’s an emergency…”

“Got it.” That was fair. “I’ll work on it. I’m not used to leaving the kitchen. I never thought about it.”

And that was true. Almost as true as his poor ass.

“Well, you’ll have dessert with us, right?”

“Absolutely.” He summoned a smile, because Ames seemed less growly.

He started hulling strawberries, chopping them to macerate them. The angel food cake had been pre-made so he wouldn’t have to bake his first day, so all he had to do was whip cream.

At least his arm wasn’t as tired as his ass.

He chuckled at that thought, but then he was done with dessert, and the guys were trading supper plates for bowls of berries. Nathan sat nearby to eat his.

It wasn’t too sweet; it wasn’t too tart. Actually, it was perfect.

He could feast on this, and he wasn’t even a dessert guy.

“Yum.” Ned licked his spoon. “Thanks, Chef. I loved that. I’m gonna go get the water working again.”

“You’re welcome.” He was going to make up twelve sandwiches—goat cheese pesto chicken—and then a jar of rice salad and a lemon bar, which he’d made up yesterday. Then he was going to fall asleep and die.

Clangers would just have to wait.