The Texan's Second Chance

“Look, I don’t want you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. I don’t want to cross any lines here. But the truth is that I can promote you just as easily as I can promote the food—maybe even easier. You make us unique in a way that people can see even before they taste your cooking.”

He could see she was skeptical. “I promise, you’ll have approval on every promotional shot that goes out,” he went on. “This photographer, Mica? I’ve used her before. She can get shots that really let your personality shine through. We want to promote you for who you are—not just for the way you look. No one wants to turn you into a spokesmodel.”

“But you could,” Jose offered. “I mean, the whole hot-chef thing could...”

Witt cut Jose short by yanking the door, nearly sending Jose tumbling. “That’s quite enough of that. You’re done here. Why don’t you head on back to your brother’s and we’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Hey, sure. I’m gone.” With that, Jose pulled off his apron, hopped on his bike and headed off down the street.

“Maybe I should have listened to my gut and not hired him,” Witt said as he watched the boy pedal off.

“He’s fine,” Jana dismissed. “He’ll be good, actually. Hard worker, quick on his feet, and just the right amount of misplaced machismo to appeal to customers. We just need to tamp down the teenage-hormone factor.”

Witt laughed, then turned to give Jana a serious look. “So we’re okay on the photo thing?”

She rubbed a spot of sauce off her arm. “I’ll get used to it.”

“Mica will get it right, I promise you. It’ll be as much about the food as about you.” He paused before he added, “But really, you’ve got nothing to be nervous about for the pictures. You’re...” He stopped short of paying her another compliment. He definitely found her attractive, but if that wasn’t a recipe for bad choices in this setup, he didn’t know what was. He settled on “You’re just what we’re looking for.” Standing up, he retrieved his notebook and files from the truck’s back counter. “You got the email from Mica to bring the chef’s coat and two changes of street clothes? She wants some personal shots as well as some cooking ones.”

“I got it.” He sensed she still wasn’t totally comfortable, but chose not to press it. Lots of women he knew got weird about having their picture taken, but none of them with less reason than Jana Powers. She was lovely, and Mica was friendly and encouraging. Tomorrow would be fun—Jana just hadn’t realized it yet. He got the feeling that once she got over her needless self-consciousness, she would glow for the camera the same way she glowed behind the grill—vibrant and engaging.

He changed the subject. “Did you get the parking rental agreement from your building?” To his complete and delighted surprise, Jana had negotiated a great deal on parking the truck in her apartment building’s lot in exchange for opening up on-site the first Saturday of each month. Marketing combined with operational savings—music to a number-cruncher’s ears. Plus, it was much better than having to haul the truck back and forth from an industrial lot by his own apartment farther out of town where Witt had been parking it before.

“Right here.” Jana pulled an envelope from her bag.

“This is an amazing deal,” he remarked as he scanned the papers. “I would never have thought of this.”

She smiled, some of the earlier tension leaving her face. “Makes for a blissfully short commute. And I can fuss around in the kitchen at midnight if I get a new idea.”

“Night owl?” Most people in the restaurant business were, according to Ellie, who worked with lots of chefs and other food professionals.

“More like insomniac. I have one of those brains that rarely shuts down when it’s supposed to.”

There seemed to be a bit of a story behind that remark, but Witt chose not to pursue it. “I know how that goes. I’ve kept a notebook by my bed for years, and another one next to my rowing machine. I seem to get all my best ideas away from my desk.”

“You crew?” she asked. “Or row just for exercise?”

“I was on the crew team all four years in college. Despite my height, I was never any good at basketball. Crew was the next-best place for a guy of my size.”

“I had a friend who rowed in high school, and she got me involved, too.” She met his surprise with a smirk—at her height she clearly wasn’t tall enough to row. Maybe coxswain, though—those people who sat at the back of the boat and called out the strokes and directions were often small. “I got into it as a coxswain, not a rower,” she added, confirming his guess. “That’s where I honed my talent for barking orders.”

His brain tried to conjure up an image of Jana perched on the edge of a rowing shell, gliding through the water on a misty morning, but he shut that attempt down as quickly as possible. Instead, he offered “Something else we have in common,” then wanted to swallow back the remark. Time to leave before you say something else stupid. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Tomorrow.”

Get your head in the right place, Buckton, Witt scolded himself as he walked to his SUV. He needed to make this food truck a success, to show his family—both at Blue Thorn and at Star Beef—that he could do this. An attraction to Jana put that goal at risk. He’d had employees before. He knew how to manage a staff without getting too attached. He had a feeling, however, that managing someone as strong-willed, attractive and off-limits as Jana Powers was going to be a whole new challenge.

* * *

Jana pulled in a deep breath Wednesday morning as she turned the truck into the parking lot of the address Mica had given her. It wasn’t the turn that made her stomach tighten—she’d been surprised at how easily she’d picked up maneuvering the large truck—it was the task ahead of her.

Mica’s studio was in a more industrial part of town, a renovated loft space that made for the perfect interior and exterior shots Jana knew Witt wanted. Witt was right; Mica sounded warm and artistic even in her emails. Someone she might even come to call a friend in this new city. So it wasn’t the photographer that made her uneasy. In fact, it wasn’t even the photographs. It was the prospect of publicity. Of being known by strangers. Coming back up out of the shadows where she’d hidden herself for years—that felt hard. Maybe she should have told Witt—or at least Ellie—about all the Ronnie business when they’d first talked about this job.

Why? It’s not part of your work life. It’s personal. And anyway, it’s all in the past. You can do this. You need to do this, she told herself as she grabbed the extra clothing and opened the truck’s back door. Promoting is a huge part of Witt’s overall plan, and you don’t want start off messing things up with the new boss. She’d paid her dues for years making boring food or pandering to owners who jumped on the latest food fad—this truck could be her chance to truly establish herself and her own personal style. It was worth a trip outside her comfort zone. You’ve let Ronnie keep you in hiding long enough, she chided herself as she stepped out of the truck. I know You laid this opportunity at my feet, Lord, she prayed. Help me trust You with all of it. I don’t believe You want me to live in fear any more than I want to keep looking over my shoulder.

“Hey there!”

Jana jumped a foot before realizing it was Jose that had come around the corner of the truck. She’d been so startled she’d almost dropped her clothes onto the dirty asphalt.

Jose caught her bag just as it slipped from her shoulder. “Whoa, there. Didn’t mean to freak you out. Witt told me to meet you here at 10:30 to wash the truck.”

“I know. Sorry.”

“Hey.” Jose grinned. “It’s only 10:28. I’m shocked that I’m early, too.”

Jana tried to paste a casual smile on her face. “Good for you.” She tossed him the truck keys. “There’s a bucket and some sponges under the sink, and a ladder behind the door. Get her all ready for her close-up and come up to Mica’s loft on the third floor when you’re done, okay?”

Jose caught the keys in one hand. “Sure thing, Chef.” Witt had insisted Jose use classic kitchen protocol and reply “Yes, Chef” when responding to all her requests. It came out lots of different ways—things like “Sí, Chef,” “Gotcha, Chef,” and “Yep, Chef,” which continually amused her. Sure, she’d been a bit put off by his wild-guy look with crazy long hair, and a large tattoo down one arm, but the truth was the kid had a sweet nature and a soft heart. He loved being here. He worked hard, too. She’d been startled at Ellie’s recommendation of kitchen help at first, but could truly grow to like the guy.

“Go stun ’em in there,” he called, waggling his eyebrows and even adding a wolf whistle as she turned toward the loft.

Jose’s teasing struck an already raw nerve. She had to get over the way she dreaded this photo shoot. Restaurants were a PR-driven business—through advertising, social media, word of mouth, or hopefully all three. It was clear Witt expected her to give interviews, and pose for photos with her burgers and the bright blue truck. Witt had every right to expect her to be ready and eager to do all those things. And really, what was there to be so upset about? She was about to get her hair and makeup done by a professional stylist and enjoy the glamor of a photo shoot—most woman would relish this experience.

You’re not shy, she told herself as she pulled open the large metal doors to Mica’s building. You were scared once, but that’s not the same thing. And you don’t have to be scared anymore. Ronnie Taylor is hundreds of miles from here and years in your past. Don’t you dare let that that creep steal your present or your future. You walk in that room as Chef Jana, Austin’s next food sensation.

As the metal box of an elevator groaned its way to the third floor, Jana straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin and inhaled all the way to her toes. I will live in fierce expectation of all God has planned for me, she recited, a favorite quote her mom had sent her in card after card during cooking school and beyond. Right along with the verse from Jeremiah 29:11—“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”

Jana’s hope and future were waiting up there on the third floor, and in the bright blue truck that stuck out like an aqua sunbeam in the parking lot below. She yanked open the elevator’s cage door with a deliberate gusto and let herself feel excited at the scene before her.

Mica’s loft looked exactly as Jana had imagined—a huge industrial space strewn with equipment, drapes, fans and props as well as an artfully decorated living space tucked in one corner. Swingy, energetic Americana jazz filled the sunlit space. Mica looked up from a tripod to wave eagerly at Jana.

“And there she is,” Witt called out from a counter where coffee and some bagels were set out. “Our star.”

“Her and the dozen burgers she’s going to make me,” Mica offered. “Oh, I do love the jobs where I can eat the props when we’re done.” She walked up to Jana. “Hang those clothes on the rack and grab yourself some coffee. Linda’s just getting set up over there.” The stylist looked up from her bag and waved just as Mica had done. “That woman’s a wonder,” Mica said as she leaned in. “I’d give anything to have her in my bathroom every morning doing my hair and makeup.” She winked. “I’d probably be on my fourteenth wedding proposal by now if I did. Not that you need much primping, sugar. Witt wasn’t lying when he said you were the whole package. That hair...” She ran her eyes over Jana’s mass of unruly curls as if they were strewn with diamonds. “Linda, honey, will you come look at this hair?”

“I can see it from here,” Linda replied. “Finally, the Good Lord sends me something I can work with!”

The pair of them plied Jana with compliments and encouragement for the next half hour, until Jana rose from the chair feeling like a beauty queen. She was going to have to get Linda to show her how she could do her eyes like this at home, because they looked twice their size and doubly bright. As she slipped on the chef’s coat, Jana felt beautiful. She tried to ignore the way Witt looked at her as she settled onto an ornate wrought iron stool sitting in front of a bright blue drape, but it was almost impossible.

“Va-va-va-voom!” Linda called as she stood behind Mica. “If you can cook as good as you look right now, honey, Blue Thorn Burgers is bound for success.”

“She can,” Witt replied. “And we are.” The resolute tone in his voice sent a little flip through Jana’s stomach that had nothing to do with anxiety.

“Turn the music up a notch,” Mica said, pointing Witt over to the stereo in the corner. “Let’s have some fun.”

She did have fun. Jana surprised even herself by enjoying the whole morning. She laughed, posed, climbed up on the truck, even got a bit goofy by the end as she mugged behind the line of twelve burgers she’d cooked up during the shoot. Jose was singing along with the radio by the end of the shoot, flirting with Linda, who was old enough to be his mother. When they all five of them sat down at the big table in the loft to “eat the props” as Mica had said, it had the feel of a family picnic rather than a dreaded promotional task.

“You were amazing,” Witt exclaimed just before his eyes fell closed in carnivorous bliss as he bit into a burger. “This is amazing,” he said after chewing. “I keep thinking I’ll get used to it, but your burgers are still incredible every time I eat one.”

“A gorgeous woman who makes burgers like these? It won’t be me getting fourteen marriage proposals—you’ll be getting a dozen a day.”

Jana felt her cheeks color. “I doubt that. I’ll settle for regular customers, thanks.”

“Oh, you’ll get ’em,” Mica said, licking stone-ground mustard from the corner of her mouth. “Trust me, they’ll be lining up for these.” She peered at the burger. “I’m eating buffalo? Really?”

“Bison,” Witt replied. “It’s better for you than beef, you know.”

Jose rolled his eyes. “Don’t let him get started. He can go on for hours.”

Everyone laughed. Jana looked around the room and allowed herself the pleasure of seeing her new friends enjoy her cooking. A hope and a future indeed. Look out, Austin. Here we come.

Chapter Four

Thursday afternoon, Witt took Jana back out to Martins Gap to see the ranch again. It was fun to watch her take in the spectacular scene that was the Blue Thorn Ranch bison herd out in their pasture. He’d borrowed Gunner’s field truck to take her out into the fields—one simply didn’t stroll out into the open fields to pal around with thousand-pound animals—so she could really see what made the ranch unique. It’s the one thing they hadn’t had time to do when she’d come for the earlier dinner, and being out in the open fields was a whole different experience than sitting around the family ranch house.

“Wow,” she exclaimed, fighting to keep the breeze from sending her hair over her face as they sat in the back of the pickup and watched the herd. “They really are amazing.” He knew Jana was a city girl, but he could tell she caught the splendor of ranch life. It was all over her face as they watched the large brown-furred creatures meander among the tall grasses.

Witt tipped his hat back as he took in the wide horizon. “I could recite paragraphs to you about how the family groups are preserved, or how the harvesting is done in deliberately stress-free ways, and a bunch of other organic industry buzzwords, but I figured this was better. Whenever the business gets to me, I come out here for a few hours and get my head back on straight. Used to do it on my family ranch, too.”

Jana fished a hair elastic out of her jeans pocket and pulled her curls back into a haphazard ponytail. A tiny bit of Witt regretted the confinement—Jana’s hair in the wind was an enthralling thing, tumbling around her face and neck in a most distracting way. On second thought, maybe it was for the best that she’d tied it back. He should be glad her hair always had to be up and controlled in the food truck. When she’d worn it down for some of the more personal shots back in the photo studio, he’d had to force himself to stop staring.

“This isn’t your family ranch?” she asked once the curls were under submission.

He’d wondered when he’d have to explain the course of events that had brought him to Blue Thorn. This seemed as good a place as any to tell the tale. “You know Gunner and Ellie are my cousins. My dad, Grayson Buckton, was Gunner Senior’s younger brother. At one time they both lived on this ranch, back in the days when this was a big cattle operation.”

“Gunner said something about revitalizing the ranch when he brought the bison on. So it used to be a cattle ranch?”

“Yes. And back then, it was twice, maybe three times the size it is now.”

Jana let out a low whistle. “That must have been a sight to see. Like something out of a Hollywood Western.”

“Exactly like that. The Bucktons go back four generations in these parts. Gran could tell you stories from back in the day that sound as if they came straight out of an old movie.”

Gran had taken to Jana right away during that first dinner on the ranch. The 85-year-old matriarch of the family, who still lived on the land with Gunner Jr., welcomed Jana into the Blue Thorn fold with her trademark hospitality. “She seems like quite a woman, your grandmother,” Jana remarked.

“Oh, she is,” Witt agreed. “Strongest woman I know. It tore her up when her boys fought and my dad took his part of the herd and split off to make his own way.” He waved off an insect that buzzed beside him. “Bucktons can be a headstrong, stubborn lot.”

Jana gave him a sideways smile. “Can they? I hadn’t noticed,” she teased. The day of the photo shoot had gone wonderfully, but yesterday not so much. The weather had been hot and humid, and the truck’s close quarters had fermented a spat between them over menu pricing. It was threatening to break out into an open argument when he’d called a truce and announced that they needed a “field trip” out here. The whole disagreement seemed petty now that they were out in the breezy pasture, where the glory of God’s nature put everything in perspective.

“So your dad raises cattle, too?”

There was the sticking point. “And he’s really good at it—to be honest, he was always better at it than his brother. Dad went off to grow Star Beef into one of the largest ranches in the next county while his elder brother, Gunner, stayed on the Blue Thorn and slowly ran it into the ground.” He shot Jana a look. “You can imagine the family arguments that spawned. The tension between the brothers just grew worse and worse. By the time Gunner Senior died, I don’t think he and my dad had said three words to each other in five years. They never reconciled, and I think it breaks Gran’s heart to this day.”

There was a bit of a pause before Witt continued, “Go ahead, ask it.”

“Ask what?” she said, unsuccessfully hiding the question he could see in her eyes.

“Why am I here and not there?”

She looked down at her boots. “I wasn’t sure it was any of my business.”

Witt shifted against the side of the truck and looked out at the herd. “I had always planned to stay. My older sister, Mary, and I ran a lot of the day-to-day operations as Dad stepped back.” He reached for the right words to relay the next part—it still wasn’t easy to tell. “Then Mary married a guy from another huge ranch nearby, and, well, he sort of stepped right into the helm of Star Beef like he owned the place.”

“Ouch,” Jana said softly. “Didn’t your dad have anything to say about that?”

Ouch indeed. Jana had hit on the most painful part of the story. “He had the opposite reaction, actually. Cole is very driven and comes from a powerful family. Cole’s older brother runs his family’s ranch, and I think Cole was as bent on outdoing his brother as Dad was determined to outshine Gunner. Dad and Cole took to each other right away, as you can imagine. My role in the company got downgraded over and over again, and pretty soon it wasn’t hard to see the writing on the wall. I wasn’t that keen on spending my life playing second fiddle to Cole. When Gunner and Ellie came to me and asked about working at Blue Thorn, I saw it as a chance to make my own mark.”

“How does your dad feel about that?”

Witt shifted his weight. “Let’s just say it’s not everyone’s favorite topic of conversation. I don’t think we’ll see him lining up at the food truck, that’s for sure. My guess is that he’s waiting for it to fail and for me to come back with my tail between my legs. I reckon he thinks the whole thing is a silly fad for gullible city folk, and that it’ll never amount to a real business.”

“That’s not true,” she shot back. Witt liked the defiance in her voice. She really was the best person for the job. God sure had sent him exactly what he needed—even if it was nothing like he’d expected—with Jana Powers, hadn’t He?

“No, it’s not,” he agreed. “I think the one truck is just the beginning. I think Blue Thorn could be the best thing to ever happen to Martins Gap. It was, once, and I hope we make it that way again.”

Jana sat back. “That’s a lot to heap on a butcher shop, a yarn shop and a burger truck.”

“Well,” Witt replied as he looked out over the pasture, “nobody said we were gonna do it the easy way.”

* * *

Friday morning, Jana held up the truck’s smart phone, the message typed in and ready to go. “Are you ready?”

Witt actually looked as anxious as she was. “As ready as I’ll ever be. I’ve got sixteen people lined up ready to pass it along the minute it goes out.”

Jana bit her lip. “I’ve got seventeen.”

Jose piped in from the computer tablet mounted the truck’s back wall. “And we’ve got a total of twenty people following our page so far.”

“That’s...” Jana fought the urge to count on her fingers—math had never been her specialty.

“Fifty-three people ready to spread the word,” Witt finished for her. “Not much, but it’s a start. Do it.”

Jana held her breath, shot up a wordless plea to the Lord, and pressed Post. She imagined the message Blue Thorn #Burgers 7th & Brazos 11:30 winging its way through cyberspace to the small band of people they’d recruited to resend the truck’s daily location out across several social media outlets.

After the photo shoot, Witt had arranged for Blue Thorn Burgers’s social media addresses to be painted beside the truck’s side counter window. Jana had come up with the idea to have the information printed right on the yellow napkins. If everything worked the way it was supposed to, the internet “word of mouth” would build their customer base—if they could deliver on a great eating experience to those who showed up today. They’d arrive at the stated destination in enough time to throw the counter windows open at 11:30 and serve whoever was waiting.

If anyone was waiting at all.

The whole thing made Jana’s stomach churn with a mixture of energizing excitement and paralyzing fear.

Witt caught her expression. “It’ll work,” he said, as if he could hear the unspoken doubts clanging around her brain. “You’re ready.”

“I know I’m ready,” Jose said, flexing his biceps. “Vamanos. Bring it on.”

Witt slid behind the wheel. “Bring it on indeed.” With that, he twisted the keys in the ignition and the truck roared to life.

The ten-minute drive to the intersection they’d chosen felt like it took ten hours. Jana mentally ran through preparations and menu items, praying for...she didn’t really know what. People to be there? People to like the food? No mishaps? Not to run out of food? All of the above? It was as if her brain could concoct so many scenarios requiring God’s immediate intervention, she didn’t know which to form into prayers. She finally settled on “Just be there,” breathing it in and out, letting it shape her focus as the truck turned the final corners.

Witt let out a low whistle. Was that good or bad?

Before the truck came to a stop, she launched up out of her seat to peer at the intersection through the truck’s wide front windshield. The joyous sight of two dozen people pointing and waving sent a surge of relief through her body. Hungry, excited people. Waiting for her food. There wasn’t a better sight in all the world.