The Maverick's Christmas Homecoming Read online

  “Actually, I love it.”

  “Seriously?” She stared at him as if he had two heads.

  “Cross my heart. If it’s not at the top of my list, it’s very close.”

  “But you’ve been all over the world, no?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where did you go to culinary school?”

  “CIA.”

  “Does that mean you could tell me but you’d have to kill me?” The corners of her full mouth turned up.

  “The Culinary Institute of America. Hyde Park, New York. About two hours from Manhattan.”

  “Convenient.”

  He nodded. “I got a degree in Culinary Arts management because I always wanted to open my own restaurant. But I went to Paris to learn baking and pastry arts. I’ve traveled to Italy and Greece to experience various cooking techniques like liquid nitrogen chilling, and experience different cuisines. CIA also has a campus in Napa where they specialize in a different area of food preparation and wine pairing.”

  “So you’ve got a well-rounded culinary education.”

  “Yes. My parents are well-to-do. I didn’t have to worry about student loans and could indulge every aspect of my curiosity about business trends and cutting-edge themes in the food-service industry.”

  Her eyes filled with a little wonder and a lot of envy. “That sounds so exciting. How can the town square in Thunder Canyon, Montana, compare to the Eiffel Tower? The Louvre? The—everything—of France?”

  “Paris is something to see. No question. But it’s not fair to compare places in the world. The favorites just speak to your heart.”

  “And Thunder Canyon speaks to yours?”

  “Yes.” It was true, but she probably thought he was a poetic idiot.

  He didn’t understand his instant connection to this small town in Montana so far off the beaten path. It crossed his mind that the answer could be in his DNA, but that didn’t make sense. Not really. Arthur Swinton was a greedy opportunist who only cared about himself and that had nothing to do with the place that filled up his son’s soul.

  “I’d like to hear about you,” he said. “Are you from here?”

  “Born and raised. My mother, father, sister and her family are still here.” She put the fork down on her empty plate. “After getting a business degree, I went to New York.”

  “And?” He poured a little more wine in her glass. “What did you do there?”

  “I opened a travel agency.”

  “So, you took a bite out of the Big Apple.” Brave girl. He was impressed. His first business venture had been close to home in L.A. She jumped right into the big time. “Apparently I’m not the only one who’s been all over the world.”

  She lifted her shoulder, a noncommittal gesture. “I was pretty busy getting the company off the ground.”

  “It’s a lot of work, but incredibly exciting turning a dream into reality.”

  “Speaking of reality,” she said, clearly intending to change the subject. “You certainly turned your appearance on that reality cooking show—If You Can’t Stand the Heat—into culinary success.”

  “I was lucky.”

  “Oh, please. If you call talent, charm, good looks and a clever way with a wooden spoon luck, then I’m the Duchess of Cambridge.”

  He laughed. “So you think I’m not hard on the eyes?”

  “Are you kidding? You’re gorgeous.” She looked a little surprised that the words had come out of her mouth. “But, for the record, really? That was your takeaway from what I just said?”

  It was better than wondering where his looks had come from. “Beauty is as beauty does.”

  “What does that even mean?”

  “You got me. Do you have someone running the travel agency?” Which begged another question. “Why are you here in Thunder Canyon?”

  “Personal reasons.” The sparkle disappeared from her eyes and she frowned before quickly adding, “I’m only here for a little while. Not much longer.”

  Shane understood personal reasons and the reluctance to talk about them so he didn’t ask further. “Are you anxious to get back?”

  “Who wouldn’t be?” She took the stem of her wineglass and turned it. “There’s a rumor that your contract here at The Gallatin Room is only six months.”

  “Yeah.” He’d thought that would give him enough time to find out what he wanted to know, but he’d only found out half of it. Now the question was whether or not to keep going and what to do with the information he already had. “So it seems both of us have a time limit here in town.”

  It was weird, probably part of the pathetic, poetic streak kicking in tonight, but talking to her had made him realize that since coming here he’d been a loner. And suddenly he was lonely. But the last thing he needed in his life was a long-term romantic complication. She was beautiful, funny and smart. He wanted to see her again and she wasn’t staying in town. That made her the perfect woman.

  “I guess you could say I have a time limit here,” she agreed.

  “Then we shouldn’t waste any time. Have dinner with me.”

  She looked at his empty plate. “Didn’t we just do that?”

  “Sassy.” He grinned and added that to her list of attributes. “I meant something away from work. Monday is the only day the restaurant is closed and every place within a twenty-mile radius is, too. How about I cook for you at my condo? It’s not far, here on the resort grounds.”

  “I know. But—”

  “It’s just a home-cooked meal. How does six-thirty sound?”

  “I don’t know—” Her expression said she was struggling with an answer.

  That’s when he gave her the grin that reality show enthusiasts had called his secret ingredient. “Doing double-duty tonight deserves a double thank-you.”

  “When you put it that way... How can I say no?”

  “Good. I look forward to it.”

  * * *

  Gianna had been looking forward to this evening since Shane Roarke had invited her to dinner. She took the elevator to the third floor of the building on Thunder Canyon Resort grounds where his condo was located. After five months of nursing a crush on him she could hardly believe he’d finally asked her out. Or in. It felt surreal, with a dash of guilt for good measure.

  What she’d told him about herself in New York was a little sketchy. She hadn’t so much taken a bite out of the Big Apple as been chewed up and spit out by it. Apartments were small and expensive. The travel agency didn’t survive, a casualty of the internet, with more people looking online, eliminating the middle man. And the recession. And she’d seen no point in sharing with Shane that she kept falling into the trap of choosing men who had no intention of committing.

  She hadn’t lied about personal reasons bringing her back to Thunder Canyon. It was the elaborating part she’d left out. Being unemployed and penniless were personal and her primary motivation in coming home. A job at The Gallatin Room was getting her back on her feet. She had a small apartment above the new store Real Vintage Cowboy and the only car she could afford was a fifteen-year-old clunker that she hoped would hold together because she couldn’t afford a new one. Sharing all of that with a sexy, sophisticated, successful man like Shane Roarke wasn’t high on her list of things to do.

  After stepping out of the elevator she walked down the thick, soft carpeted hall to the corner apartment, the one with the best views.

  “Here goes nothing,” she whispered, knocking on the door. Mome
nts later Shane was there. “Hi.”

  “You’re very punctual.” He stepped back and pulled the door wider. “Come in. Let me take your things.”

  She slipped out of her long, black quilted coat and handed it to him along with her purse, then followed as he walked into the living room. It was stunning. The wood entryway opened to a plush beige carpet, white overstuffed sofa, glass tables and twelve-foot windows on two sides. High ceilings held recessed lighting and the expanse of warm, wheat-colored walls were covered with artwork that looked like it cost more than she made in a year.

  “Wow.” Gianna had been nervous before but now her nerves got a shot of adrenaline. “This is beautiful.”

  “I think so, too.” Shane’s gaze was firmly locked on her face.

  Her heart stuttered and skidded. His eyes weren’t the color of sapphires or tanzanite, more like blue diamonds, an unusual shade for a stone that could cut glass. Or turn icy. Right this second his gaze was all heat and intensity.

  “I’ve never seen you in a dress before. Green is your color,” he said. “It looks beautiful with your hair.”

  Outside snow blanketed the ground; it was December in Montana, after all. But this moment had been worth the cold blast of air up her skirt during the walk from her clunker of a car. She’d given tonight’s outfit a lot of thought and decided he saw her in black pants most of the time. Tonight she wanted him to see her in something different, see her in a different way. The approval on his face as he glanced at her legs told her it was mission accomplished.

  “’Tis the season for green.”

  She’d never seen him out of work clothes, either. The blue shirt with long sleeves rolled up suited his dark hair and brought out his eyes, she thought. Designer jeans fit his long legs and spectacular butt as if made especially for him. For all she knew they might have been.

  “Would you like some chardonnay?”

  “Only if it pairs well with what you’re cooking,” she answered.

  “It does.”

  She followed him to the right and into the kitchen with state-of-the-art, stainless-steel refrigerator, dishwasher and cooktop. It was most likely top-of-the-line, not that she was an expert or anything. Ambience she knew something about and his table was set for two with matching silverware, china and crystal. Flowers and candles, too. The ambience had date written all over it.

  “Good to know. Because I’m sure the food police would have something to say about nonpaired wine.”

  “I kind of am the food police.”

  “That makes one of us.” She took the glass of wine and sipped. Not too sweet, not too dry. It was delicious. The man knew his wine and from what she’d been able to dig up on him, he knew his women, too. She was really out of her depth. “And it’s kind of a relief that you know your stuff. Because you know that thing about actors wanting to direct? I don’t think it works the same in food service. Waitresses don’t want to be chefs. At least I don’t. Boiling water I can do. Ham sandwich, I’m your girl. Anything fancy? Call someone else. Call you. You’re famous in food circles for—”

  He stopped the babbling with a finger on her lips. “Call me for what now?”

  “You tell me.” She took a bigger sip of wine and nearly drained the glass.

  “You’re nervous.” He was a master of understatement.

  “I didn’t think it showed.”

  “You’d be wrong.” He smiled then pulled chicken, vegetables and other ingredients from the refrigerator—all obviously prepared in advance—and stuff from a cupboard beside the stove, probably seasoning or spices. Or both. He took out a well-used frying pan and placed it on the stove. “But I’m pretty sure I understand.”

  “What?”

  “Your nerves. Thanks to reality TV, exposure about everything from bachelors to swamp people, we chefs have earned something of a reputation.”

  “What kind of reputation would that be?” She finished her wine, then set the glass on the granite countertop.

  “Bad boy.” The devil was in the blue-eyed glance he tossed over his shoulder. “And I’m no exception.”

  “Oh?”

  “Think about it. What I do involves sharp knives and fire. Very primitive.” As he lit the burner on the stove, the fire popped as the gas ignited.

  “I see what you mean.” And how.

  “On top of that I invited you to my place for dinner. But let me assure you that I have no intention of making you the dessert course.”

  “That never crossed my mind.” But why not? she wanted to ask. It hadn’t been on her mind until just now. Well, maybe a little bit when she saw him in that shirt and those jeans because that kicked up a curiosity about what he’d look like without them.

  He glanced over his shoulder again while tossing in the air over the hot flame everything he’d put in that frying pan. “In spite of what you may have heard, I’m not that type. I like to get to know a woman.”

  If he really got to know her, chances were pretty good that he’d lose interest. And speaking of types, she probably wasn’t his. She wasn’t a businesswoman now, more the still-trying-to-find-herself variety.

  “So, what are you doing for Christmas?” Changing the subject had seemed like a great idea until those words came out of her mouth. Would he think she was hinting for an invitation? The filter between her brain and mouth was either pickled or fried. Or both.

  “My holiday plans are actually still up in the air,” he said.

  There was an edge to his voice that demanded another subject change so she did. “What are you making for dinner tonight?”

  “It’s something I’m experimenting with.”

  “So I’m the guinea pig?”

  “Think of yourself as quality control.” He grabbed the two plates off the table, then slid half the contents of the frying pan onto each one and set them on a part of the cooktop that looked like a warming area. Then he put liquids into the sauté pan and stirred, fully concentrating on the job. After spooning what looked to her like rice from a sauce pan, he said, “Dinner is served.” He glanced at her. “More wine?”

  “Please.”

  After filling her glass and setting plates on the table, he held the chair for her to sit down. If a guy had ever done that before, she couldn’t remember. Then he sat across from her. The star lilies and baby’s breath with candles in crystal holders on either side gave it all a romantic feel.

  Suddenly her appetite disappeared, but she was here to eat and figured she’d better do that. She took a bite of the chicken and the flavors exploded on her tongue. “Oh, my. That is so good. It’s like a party in my mouth and I thought only chocolate could do that.”

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  “What’s in here?” She chewed and swallowed. “Can you tell me or would you have to kill me?” At his wicked look she shrugged. “Bad-boy rep, remember? CIA. Fire. Sharp stuff.”

  “I’ll make an exception for you.” He picked through the food on his plate. “Chicken. Asparagus. Mushrooms.”

  “This looks like rice, but the consistency is wrong.”

  “It’s risotto.”

  “Ah.” The gleam in his eyes started pressure in the vicinity of her chest and she hoped it was nothing more than pre-indigestion.

  They ate in silence for several moments before he said, “So how was growing up in Thunder Canyon?”

  “It was great, but keep in mind that I didn’t know anything else.” She put down her fork and wiped her mouth o
n the cloth napkin. “The pace is slower here and kids don’t need to grow up so fast.”

  “It’s slower for grown-ups, too.”

  Gianna nodded. “Not everyone is happy about that. Maintaining the balance between status quo and development has been and probably still is a source of conflict here in town.”

  That started a discussion about everything from population growth to weather to large holiday groups scheduled at The Gallatin Room the following week. It was interesting to hear about restaurant management, all that went into a successful business besides just preparing food. Time seemed to both fly and stand still.

  Finally Shane looked at her. “Would you like more?”

  “No, thanks.” Her plate was empty and she was so full. “I guess guinea pig was the correct term.”

  “I don’t think so. Clearly you enjoyed the food. In some cultures burping is high praise and a compliment to the chef.”

  “And in some parts of the country it’s a competitive sport.”

  He laughed, then stood and picked up his plate. She followed his lead and carried hers into the kitchen, where he took it from her and set them in the sink.

  “What can I do to help?” she asked.

  “Nothing. You’re a guest and I have a housekeeper. Why don’t we sit in the living room?”

  “Okay.” But when they walked in, the tall windows were filled with the sight of lights winking in the valley below and she walked over. “That is a pretty amazing view.”

  “I think so. Would you like to see it from the balcony?”

  “Oh, yes.” She might never have another chance.

  Shane opened the French door, then let her precede him outside. The cold air hit her immediately, but when they moved to the railing and he stood beside her, his nearness and the warmth from his body took the edge off.

  “Oh, Shane, this is so stunning. Is it always like this?”

  “Well, the mountains are permanent and don’t change.”

  “Duh.”

  He grinned down at her, then pointed. “See the spotlights over there? That’s the slopes and they’re always illuminated for night skiing. But in the last few days since Thanksgiving, people are putting up Christmas decorations so everything is even more beautiful.”