Page 3 of A Mustang River Christmas

Something sharpened in his eyes then, and it was like a knife turning between her ribs. Oh. She had the sudden urge to take a step back and say yes, chef, and that was not an urge that overtook her very often. She had been the boss for a good long while. People said yes, chef, to her, not the other way around.

“I might be,” he said.

Shit. People didn’t say it like that if there was a possibility they weren’t an expert. She was well familiar with the sort who postured and tried to make a case for the fact that they were the best in whatever field they were in. Pike didn’t do that. And maybe that was why all along she had sensed there was something more to him. Maybe that was why, all along, she had sensed that he had hidden depths.

“Seriously, are you? Because I have gotten myself into a very deep hole.”

“That is a shame. And, I want to talk to you about the favor that I’d like, and then we can talk about your gingerbread house.”

“I kind of need to talk about the gingerbread house first.”

“Okay. I know how to make a gingerbread house. I don’t mean, like, a little gingerbread house that is going to sit on a table. I mean the kind they do at theme parks. The kind they do at massive, luxury hotels.”

“You agreed to take that on by yourself?”

“The team is going to help.”

“There is a fair amount of mathematics and engineering involved in that kind of thing.”

“I get that. I’m actually pretty good at that part.”

“But you’re not a pastry chef.”

“No. I’m not.”

“Isn’t that always the way. Your kind always thinks that you can just step right in and bake a cookie, because how hard can it be? Cooking is often a science experiment, culinary finger paint. Baking is a hard science. You have to have a firm understanding of that science if you’re going to make it work.”

He looked like a different person. Like an entirely new entity as he stood there lecturing her on the exacting nature of the art of baking. “I need you to agree to do the favor for me first. Because that’s time sensitive. And then afterward, you can look me up, and you can tell me if you want my help.”

“That feels out of order.”

“Chloe Malone,” he said, breezing right past everything she’d just said.

“Yeah, she’s coming in for a job interview today. Do you know her?”

“Yeah. I know her. She’s my daughter.”

For the second time in the space of thirty seconds, her perception of Pike was completely turned on its head.

He had a twenty-two-year-old daughter. Someone who was old enough to work in her kitchens. She supposed she was physically old enough to be Chloe’s mother, but as she was nobody but one cranky orange cat’s mother, she didn’t really think of herself that way.

Pike was only a few years older than her; she was pretty sure. Which meant he’d been a young father, and the number of follow-up questions she had was monumental.

“She’s your daughter?”

“Yes.”

And then she felt... embarrassed. “I didn’t know you were married. Sorry. I probably shouldn’t tease you the way that I have been.”

He lifted a brow. “I’m not married. Like so many things in life, that story is complicated. But I’m not here to talk to you about that, I’m just here to talk to you about Chloe. I would really like for you to give her a chance. I want her here. On the ranch. I want her to be able to live with me in Mustang River.”

“That’s great. But what if it doesn’t work out? Because that’s going to make things very complicated.”

“If it doesn’t work out, or you’re having issues with her, I just need you to tell me. Because if you’re having issues with her, I can probably help her figure out what she needs to change.”

Underlying this whole conversation was the obvious truth that Pike had experience in kitchens. Which meant that she could level with him.

“You know how high stress these environments are, I assume.”