Cowboy All Night

Her obvious mastery impressed him and her calm instruction struck a chord. After all, that was how he worked. Under her watchful eye, he took the onions and bacon out of the pan and put them on a plate while she got the chicken ready.

“When the chicken’s browned,” she said, “that’s when the flaming brandy comes into play.”

“Do you mean brown like a buckskin or brown like a bay?” He’d spent all his adult life on ranches where someone else had done the cooking and he’d done the eating. Although he’d helped Rosie in the kitchen because she’d required all the boys to take a turn, she’d never attempted something this complicated. He found the process almost as fascinating as the cook.

“Somewhere in between those two. It’ll take about ten minutes.” She carefully flipped the pieces of chicken in the pan as she glanced over at him. “Do you want to pour the brandy or light it?”

His macho instincts kicked in. “Light it, of course. Even though I can’t cook, I know my way around matches.”

“I’ll just bet you do. And we should probably warn everybody what’s about to happen. They won’t be expecting flames.”

“I thought Rosie and Herb had this once before.”

“They did, but the flaming part was probably done in the kitchen. Rosie might know because she checked out the recipe years ago, but I can picture Herb dousing it with the fire extinguisher.”

Brant laughed. “That would be—” Then he caught Aria’s thunderous expression. “Terrible. Absolutely terrible.”

“Exactly.” She met his gaze and gave him a sunny smile. “Why don’t you tell them?”

“Okay.” One look into those violet eyes and he was a goner. No point in fooling himself. He wanted her. But if she didn’t want him, or did want him but wasn’t happy about that, he’d recalibrate.

“I’d suggest you explain it to them now, though,” she added. “We’re minutes away.”

“Right.” He reluctantly stopped gazing into her eyes and walked over to the kitchen table.

Herb glanced up. “Don’t tell me it’s done already.”

“Not yet.” He realized he had incomplete info and turned back toward Aria. “How much longer before it’s ready to eat?”

“After the flaming part, it needs to simmer at least another forty-five minutes.”

Cade got out of his chair. “Then how about some more champagne and maybe some munchies?”

“Just don’t spoil your appetite, hotshot.” Brant had become protective of this meal prepared by a woman he admired. “The food will be primo.”

“I have no doubt,” Rosie said. “But cheese is very French.” She left the table and in moments was back with a cutting board, a knife and a block of cheddar.

She offered some to Brant but he shook his head. “No, thanks. I’m saving my taste buds for the main event. But we’re about to pour brandy over the chicken and light it. When flames shoot up, we don’t want anybody to panic.”

“Flames?” Herb straightened in his chair. “Is that absolutely necessary?”

“It is if you want the real deal,” Aria called over.

“She’s right.” Rosie passed the cheese board around. “The torched brandy was the reason I never tried it. That’s not in my repertoire.”

Lexi stood. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I want to watch this flaming chicken trick.”

“Me, too.” Cade put down the champagne bottle he’d been about to open.

Herb scooted back his chair. “I should probably get the fire extinguisher.”

“No, you will not.” Rosie gave him a look. “Aria knows what she’s doing.”

“She absolutely does,” Brant said. “She’ll pour the brandy and I’ll light it. Easy peasy.”

Cade gazed at him. “You’ve done this before?”

“No, but how hard can it be?”

“Like I was saying.” Herb headed for the pantry. “Nothing wrong with having the fire extinguisher handy.”

Brant joined Aria at the stove while the rest of them gathered in a semicircle behind them. If his foster father tried to use the extinguisher, Brant was prepared to stop him. Whether Aria wanted one or not, she had a knight in shining armor. “Nothing like cooking with an audience, huh?”

She sprinkled some flour on the chicken and continued to turn it in the pan. “I do it once a week. My friend Camille lets me use her restaurant kitchen to give cooking classes every Monday night.”

“No kidding? That’s great.” And it explained her teaching skills.

“Aria’s a busy lady,” Rosie said. “Works forty hours a week at the bank, teaches the class on Mondays and makes deliveries for Camille’s restaurant on the weekend.”

“Wow.” Having her participate in Linus’s training might not be easy to arrange. Maybe that explained her hesitation where he was concerned. She was too damned busy. “When do you have fun?”

“Having fun isn’t a priority.”

He noticed that she didn’t sound resentful. Apparently she liked being under pressure, whereas he avoided it like the plague. He might want her, but they were a total mismatch. The next couple of weeks could be interesting.

She studied the pieces of chicken as they gradually turned a golden brown. “I’m ready to pour the brandy. Do you have the match?”

“Right here.” He held up the long match he’d found in a can by the fireplace. “And some extras, although I won’t need them.”

“And something to strike it on?”

“I’ll use my thumbnail.” When she frowned at him he felt the need to defend the practice. “It’s something my brothers and I taught ourselves when we lived here. I’m good at it. We all are.”

“And let me add that I disapproved back then and I still do,” Rosie said. “But they’re convinced it makes them manly.”

“Which it absolutely does,” Brant said. “Whenever I strike a match with my thumbnail, I grow extra chest hair.” He glanced over his shoulder at Cade. “Right, bro?”

“Yep, and my pecs get bigger, not to mention my—”

“That’s enough,” Rosie said. “We don’t need to hear about that.”

“I do,” Lexi said. “I had no idea. Cade, strike those matches any time you get the urge. I’ll buy you a few extra boxes.”

Brant laughed. “Let’s just say that a cowboy who can strike a match with his thumbnail gets respect. Ask anyone.” He paused. “Except Mom. She doesn’t get it.”

“Neither do I,” Aria said. “But strike that match however you care to.” She doused the chicken with brandy. “Just do it now.”

Naturally the first match wouldn’t cooperate. The second one wasn’t any better. “Guess I’m out of practice. Hang on a sec—”

“Here you go.” Herb appeared at his side with a butane lighter.

“Uh, no.” Aria looked panicked. “Just a match, please.”

“Then light the match with the butane,” Herb said.

Brant hesitated. “Let me have one more try.” From the corner of his eye he saw Cade smirking. There would be payback for this.

“Do it this way, son. The brandy’s waiting.”

“I guess you’re right.” He lit the match with the butane and eased it toward the chicken. The brandy caught with a whoosh and fire leaped from the frying pan.

Everyone gave a little gasp—everyone except Aria and Herb. She watched the flames with a smile of satisfaction.

Herb picked up the fire extinguisher. “Shouldn’t you put the lid on the pan to smother that?”

“It’ll burn down in a minute,” Aria said.

Rosie gestured toward the flames. “See, Herb? This is why I never tried to make coq au vin.”

“For which I’m grateful.” He lowered the fire extinguisher as the fire gradually died.

Lexi stepped closer and peered into the frying pan. “That was cool.”

“I like a little drama in my cooking. Keeps things interesting.”

Brant filed that statement away as another clue to her personality. So far he’d pegged her as somewhat driven, a trait that he associated with his dad’s workaholic behavior. But unlike his father, she wasn’t a martyr. She’d found a creative outlet that gave her a joyful purpose.

That still didn’t leave room for him to approach her other than as the owner of the foal he’d agreed to train. He hadn’t come here expecting anything else. But he hadn’t pictured working with Aria, either. She was damn near irresistible and he’d have to resist. Somehow.

“That’s the showiest part.” Aria added the cooked onions and bacon to the pan. Then she poured some red wine over everything.

“I was wondering where the wine came in,” Lexi said. “Have you taught your students to make this?”

“Last Monday.”

“I didn’t realize a cooking class could be so exciting.” Lexi turned to Cade. “How about you and me signing up for some classes?”

“Sure, I’m game.”

“I’d love to have you.” Aria sprinkled in some herbs and more wine. “But just so you know, there’s no class this Monday. Camille always stays open on Memorial Day, so I’ll be making deliveries for her.” She put the lid on the frying pan. “That needs to simmer for about thirty minutes before I put in the mushrooms.”

“Hallelujah! Time to head for the watering hole.” Brant gestured toward the table. “After you, ma’am.”

“You go ahead. I need to sauté the mushrooms.”

“I’d offer to do it for you but sauté sounds like a square-dance move to me.”

“I could do it,” Lexi said, “but I hesitate to meddle with such an elaborate concoction.”

Rosie nodded. “Same here.”

“I’ll be done in a few minutes.” Aria dropped some butter into another frying pan.

Her comment had a familiar ring. His dad used to promise that the business call he had to make would only take a few minutes and then he’d be available to play catch, or go to a movie, or take a hike. Those promises had rarely panned out.

Maybe he should douse this flame of lust before it got him into trouble. “Your bubbly will be waiting for you.” He picked up her champagne flute along with his and walked over to the table.

“’Bout time you showed up.” Cade slid open a box of kitchen matches and dumped it in the middle of the table.

Rosie groaned. “Here we go.”

“Brant Ellison?” Cade looked up, his green eyes sparkling.

“Dear God, you’ve gone senile. You don’t recognize me anymore.”

“I recognize you just fine, and I hereby challenge you to an official Battle of the Sacred Flame.”

“A Battle of the Sacred Flame.” Lexi grinned. “I haven’t heard those fateful words in years. Takes me back.”

“Doesn’t it, though?” Rosie shook her head. “Ah, for the good old days filled with testosterone and the smell of sulfur. I’d love to know what bonehead started this activity but nobody will say.”

As Brant sat at the table and reached for the champagne bottle, he avoided looking at Herb. Rumor had it that Herb had taught Cade how to light a match this way. Then Cade had taught Damon Harrison, the second boy to arrive, and so on. The trick had spread like...well, wildfire. “What’s on the line?”

“I would say your reputation.” Cade folded his arms and smiled. “But you obviously don’t give a damn about that if you’d surrender to a butane lighter, so let’s make it interesting. First guy who fails to light a match will wash the other guy’s truck in the morning.”

Brant thought of his mud-spattered vehicle. Old Bessie hadn’t been near a hose and a bucket for at least a month. “Have you seen my truck?”

“Not up close, but it doesn’t matter. Judging from your recent performance, you’ll be washing my truck.”

“And if it’s a tie,” Lexi said, “you can both wash my truck.”

“My van could use a wash,” Aria said as she stirred the mushrooms. “I planned on driving out here in the morning, anyway, so I can see Linus.”

Brant perked up at that announcement. Logically she should have tomorrow morning free and he’d planned to ask her if she’d come to the ranch. Instead she’d volunteered to come back, so she was making the foal a priority. Good news for Linus.

“That works,” Lexi said. “I’ll share.”

“I like this bet now.” Rosie sipped her champagne. “Puts a different spin on things. Too bad Herb just washed our truck or I’d get in on it.”

Herb leaned forward. “I won’t tell you not to have this contest, but that’s a full box. I’d advise you to set a limit on the number of matches per contestant. You can’t be lighting matches while we eat.”

“Might be sort of festive,” Brant said. “Take a bite, light a match. Take a bite, light a match.”

“Might be sort of stupid.” Cade gazed across the table at him. “What do you think? Thirty?”

“Thirty it is.” Brant dug a quarter out of his jeans pocket and flipped it in the air. “Call it.”

“Heads.”

“And it’s tails, my friend. Which is a sign that my luck has turned.” Brant counted out thirty matches and leaned back in his chair. “Light ’er up, loser.”

“Wait.” Aria hurried over to the table. “I want to see this Battle of the Sacred Flame.”

“Then allow me to be your champion.” Brant stood and pulled out her chair.

“Hang on.” Cade paused, a match in his hand. “She only said she wanted to watch. She didn’t say anything about making you her champion.”

Brant shrugged. “Seems only right. You have a fair maiden rooting for you, so I should be able to—”

“I’m actually rooting for a tie,” Lexi said. “I want my truck washed.”

“That’s my stake in this, too.” Aria took her seat.

Oh, really? Brant reevaluated the situation. A woman who didn’t want to have anything to do with a man wouldn’t jump into a contest that might cause that man to wash her vehicle. Would she?

“Right on, girlfriend.” Lexi exchanged a high-five with her.

Brant decided to go with it. “Looks like we’re on our own, bro. No fair maidens cheering us on like in the good old days.”

“Just as well. This won’t take long.” Cade leaned forward and locked his gaze with Brant’s as he flicked the match with this thumbnail. It ignited. “And that’s how it’s done.” He blew it out and tossed it on the plate he’d been using for cheese. “You’re up.”

Brant didn’t care if he won or not. He never had cared. But early on he’d figured out that winning mattered to most guys, especially when it came to things like championship basketball games. So he’d pretended to be competitive as hell. Besides, Aria was sitting at the table, and while he didn’t personally mind if he lost, winning might be better with her watching.

So he concentrated more than he would have normally and lit match after match. Cade kept pace with him and eventually they each had only one left. Brant held his up. “Let’s go for the big finish. On the count of three, we’ll both light our match...or not.”

“Just so you both end up with the same result,” Lexi said.

“My thoughts exactly.” Aria finished off her champagne. “Matilda is filthy.”

Brant glanced away from the match in his hand. “You named your van?”

“Yep. I always name my ride.”

“Me, too.” He liked knowing they had that in common. Somehow there had been a subtle shift and Aria was no longer quite so resistant to...what? He wasn’t sure, but the situation was more promising than it had been.

“Are you counting or conversing?” Cade waved his match in the air.

“Counting.” Brant dragged out the process because at this stage of the game dignity was gone, anyway. On three he scratched the head of the match with his thumbnail. Nothing. He looked over at Cade.

His brother held an unlit match and had a goofy smile on his face. He tossed his match on the table. “Looks as if we’ll be washing vehicles for the ladies.” He didn’t seem particularly upset about it, either. Brant had the distinct impression Cade hadn’t tried to light his match.

“Excellent!” Aria clapped her hands together. “How early do you want me here?”

“Early.” He couldn’t remember when he’d anticipated anything more. Between washing Aria’s van and working with her foal, he’d spend the bulk of his morning with her. He wondered if Cade had figured that out and had decided to play Cupid.

“Everybody be sure to forward your pictures to my phone,” Aria said. “I’m going to show them to Josh so I can convince him to come with me.”

“Yeah, I hope he does,” Brant said immediately. He’d forgotten about her brother, and he couldn’t let himself do that.

Linus was supposed to be Josh’s colt and if a wheelchair would be part of the mix, that should be introduced early. Yeah, the prospect of seeing her tomorrow had lost a little of its shine because Josh might be there. So what? He’d comfort himself by picturing how happy she’d be if Josh fell in love with the foal the way she had.

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