Come Sundown, Page 25

  highlight you and the event beginning the first of the month.”

  When she just sat back, closed her eyes, made mmm-hmm sounds, Callen poked into her cooler, took out a couple of Cokes. He opened one, put it on her desk, opened the other, sat down with it.

  “I can promise you’ll find our kitchen and our staff worthy of our five-star rating. I’m afraid we can’t pay for that. If you feel you need your own sous chef, you’re welcome to bring one, at your own expense. Yes, yes, that’s firm, and is so stated in your contract. As I said, we’re delighted to have you as our guest chef for the event. I expect it to be sold-out. Please let us know your travel arrangements when you have them. We’ll have you picked up from the airport.”

  As she listened again, her gaze narrowed, went just a little fierce.

  “I’m sorry, Cheryl, let me just pull your contract up, see if it says anything about providing a limo. Uh-huh. Why don’t you send me an e-mail on all that, and I’ll run it right by legal. Anything else I can do, personally, to make your visit with us more enjoyable, you be sure to let me know. Bye now.”

  Bodine hung up very carefully, drew a breath. “Arrogant, snootified bitch.”

  “I admire that. I admire how your tone stayed absolutely polite and reasonable, even when you covered it with enough frost to crack a tree branch.”

  “Cheryl’s contracted as our guest chef for next month’s Spring Bounty Banquet. She’s head chef at this swank place in Seattle, and when we invited her, did the contract, she was thrilled and cooperative. Since then she had an appearance on America’s Top Chefs, and now she’s a prima donna, wants her own people—and for us to pay for them—wants to bring her own herbs, went on about her own tit soy—”

  “Tatsoi, more likely. California,” he said, and she stared holes in him. “You pick things up.”

  “Tit or damn tat, I don’t care. She’s being a pain in my ass, and is suddenly insulted we aren’t providing a limo for her during her stay.”

  “Tell her to kiss off.”

  More fire flamed into her eyes—he admired that, too. “I’m not breaking the contract and giving her an excuse to sue. If she breaks it, I’ll deal with it. She and her tats and tits can be replaced. So…” She lifted the Coke, drank. “What can I do for you?”

  “I think about that a considerable lot, but right now, it’s me for you. I’d like to take you up on the job.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. Really glad, Callen.”

  “I’m glad about that. Especially since I’ve got some asks of my own.”

  “All right.” She picked up her pen, nudged a tablet in front of her as if prepared to note those asks down. “It never hurts to ask, unless you’re an asshole chef from Seattle.”

  “Happy I’m not. I’m assuming there’s a contract involved here, too, though.”

  “There is. We do yearly contracts for managers, with reasonable outs for either party should the relationship not work satisfactorily. I can have one printed out for you, so you can look it over.”

  “I’d like you to add in if Chase or your father needs me at the ranch, and I’ve got things covered here, it’s not a problem.”

  Sitting back again, she sipped the Coke. “I can do that, Callen, but that doesn’t have to be written and signed. It just is. I hope my word’s enough on that.”

  “It is.”

  “So you talked to Chase about this?”

  “First thing this morning.”

  “And the … other factors?”

  “Yeah. He took a little more time coming around there.” Callen smiled at her. “Anytime you want my ass kicked, you just have to tell him I screwed up with you, and he’ll take care of that.”

  “I expect no less from my brother,” she said sweetly. “But I can do my own ass-kicking. Still, nice to know he cares.”

  “He does. I’d like to look over the evaluations of the seasonal hands you plan on bringing back. I’m not saying I’d try to outthink you on them, as you’ve already worked with them. I’d just like to know who I’ll be dealing with.”

  Sitting up again, she noted it down. “I’ll have that sent to you.”

  “Last, I’ve got a couple ideas for add-ons we could offer.”

  “Such as?”

  “Some people just want to get on a horse, ride around a little, get off again, and go have a drink. Others might like to learn something, and take more active parts. Saddling, grooming.”

  “We offer equine education for the kids’ club in the summer.”

  “It’s not just kids might want to learn something, or groom a horse. You do a whole thing for cooking, right? Shopping, teaching, tasting. I’m saying sort of do that for horsemanship. Learning, feeding, watering, grooming. Not just the ride, the full … cowboy experience.”

  “Write it up,” Bodine invited as she made a note. “Once you do, run it by Jessie. It’ll go through Rory and Mom and me, but Jessie’s the one who’ll put a shine on it before it gets to us.”

  “All right, I’ll do that.”

  “We’re not only open to fresh ideas around here, Skinner, we like them. Got any more?”

  “A couple I’m still formulating.”

  “Okay. Meanwhile, I’ll have that contract printed out for you.”

  “Good enough.” He rose. “I brought Leo up.”

  “Oh, I’m not…” She trailed off as she checked her watch, saw she might not have been ready to leave, but she should’ve been. “I need about fifteen minutes.”

  “I’ll wait. I said I’d take you dancing come May.”

  “I recall that.”

  “The way things panned out, there’s no point in waiting. How about Saturday night?”

  She started to smile, then angled her head. “Are you talking about actual dancing?”

  “What else? You got sex on the brain, Bodine. It’s hard to fault you for it, but I’m thinking the Roundup still has dancing on Saturday nights. I can pick you up at eight, but we could make it seven, have some dinner first.”

  “Dinner and dancing at the Roundup? All right.”

  “Good. I’m going to check on the horses.”

  Dinner and dancing, she thought when he left her. Who knew Callen Skinner would turn into such a traditionalist?

  * * *

  Though she faced a busy Saturday, Bodine calculated she could wrap up her workday by about three. Four latest.

  Not that she needed a lot of fussing time to put herself together for a night at the Roundup. Though she might wear a dress, she considered, just to keep Callen off-balance. She liked dancing, and hadn’t taken the time to go, either with a date or with girlfriends, in … Lord, she couldn’t even remember.

  But as much as she liked dancing, she wanted that extra time to fuss and polish up for after. She intended to do some of her own rounding up once the band packed it in.

  She’d already tucked the key to the Half-Moon Cabin in her pocket, and had a list of what she wanted to stock it with in her briefcase. All things being equal, she could take care of that, freshen up the linens, and be home to groom and dress with time to spare.

  She had her maybe-I-will underwear tucked in her dresser. If things continued with Callen, she’d need to invest in more, but what she had would do. She’d already checked to be sure, as it had been thirteen full months since the last time she’d had cause to put it on.

  While a busy year played a part in that, it didn’t play the main role. Sex didn’t have to be complicated, but a woman had her standards. She had to feel a spark and have a real liking for a man before he rated the maybe-I-will underwear.

  Before most of the staff arrived for the day, she selected a bottle of wine from the wine cellar, a couple of beers and Cokes from the Saloon—making a note on inventory, and adding them to her personal tab.

  She’d pick up coffee at the Longbow General Store, and though she doubted they’d need them, a few snacks.

  She tucked what she had in a burlap tote, stored it in her office, and had just settl
ed in to work when Jessica came in.

  “I didn’t expect you in so early.”

  “I’m hoping to leave the same way today. I have a date.”

  “Well.” Taking that as an invitation, Jessica stepped up, leaned a hip on the desk. “Who, where, what?”

  “Callen Skinner, dinner and dancing at the Roundup.”

  “If there’d been an office pool, I’d have put money on Cal. What are you wearing?”

  “Haven’t decided. I might shock his sensibilities and break out a dress. I do have a few.”

  “Is this a first date?”

  “I guess you could call it that.”

  “Definitely a dress. The Roundup’s on my list to recommend to guests who want to venture out. It’s casual, right?”

  “It’s good for a burger, a cold beer, and dancing on the weekends. You haven’t been?”

  “No.”

  “Well, you should. It’s good to know the places you have on the list, and this is a fun one.”

  “Oh, Jess, there you are. Sorry, should I catch you later?” Chelsea hovered in the doorway.

  “Now’s fine.”

  “I was just telling Jessie she should go to the Roundup some weekend.”

  “You haven’t been?”

  “Apparently I have a hole in my personal activities list.”

  “You should go,” Chelsea told her. “It’s fun. The food’s pretty good. Not like you get here, but it’s good. And the music’s always local. It’s a great spot for a night out if you don’t want to go all the way into Missoula.”

  “What is?” Rory wondered as he wandered in.

  “What are you doing here?” Bodine asked him. “You’re off today.”

  “Carlou’s wedding. Carlou Pritchett. I’m invited, so I figured I’d come in, give a hand with setting up the event. What’s a good spot?”

  “We were talking about the Roundup.” Chelsea executed a slow, subtle hair flip. “Jess hasn’t been.”

  “Well, you gotta. Bitterroots are playing tonight.”

  “Oh, I love the Bitterroots!” Chelsea added a quick, flirty eye bat to the hair flip. “I dance my feet off when they’re playing.”

  Now Rory executed a quick, charming smile. “Let’s go. It’s a small, afternoon wedding, right? We’ll be done in plenty of time.”

  “Oh, well, I’d like to…”

  Leaning back in her chair, Bodine watched her clever brother seal the deal. “We’ll all go. Blow off some steam. Hell, let’s get Cal and Chase in on it. Come on, Jessie, you can’t go better than the Roundup and the Bitterroots on a Saturday night.”

  “I’m not sure I—”

  “Oh, come, Jess,” Chelsea insisted. “We’ll have a party without having to plan it or work it.”

  “We’ll teach her to line dance.” Rory gave Chelsea a little shoulder bump, making her laugh.

  While Rory and Chelsea wandered out again, making plans, Jessica sent Bodine a panicked look.

  “Don’t think twice,” Bodine assured her. “It will be fun.”

  “But now you’re going to have a bunch of people crowding in on your date.”

  Bodine only shrugged. “We’ll get a bigger table. She forgot what she came in for. That’s Rory Longbow magic.”

  “I’ll find out. Honestly, Bo, I can explain to them about you and Cal having a date.”

  “No.” Appalled, Bodine held both hands up, palms out. “Big Montana no. It makes it too important, which is something I’d like to avoid with the family, and around here. And, the fact is, I haven’t hit the Roundup with Chase and Rory for months. We’re due. Get yourself ready for a genuine Montana night.”

  Once she’d shooed Jessica out, Bodine sent Callen a text.

  Word got out on the Roundup. Dinner and dancing for two just expanded to six. More dance partners. But don’t make any plans for after closing. I’ve already made them.

  Minutes later, he texted back.

  I’m good with a crowd. Before closing time.

  “Good enough,” Bodine said aloud, then made a note to contact the manager of the Roundup when it opened for lunch and sweet-talk him into reserving a table that could hold six.

  * * *

  Callen got home later than he’d planned, but with plenty of time to shower off the horses and change into something clean. Maybe he had planned for a one-on-one night of dinner, conversation, dancing—and whatever happened next—but he’d grown up learning how to adjust both plans and expectations.

  Besides, the way he looked at it, the party atmosphere might take some of the pressure off what happens next.

  She said she had plans. He was pretty sure, the way they’d left things, what those plans would focus on.

  He’d taken time that morning to rotate his sheets—stripping off the one set, putting on the second. One thing he knew for absolute certain: If their plans aligned, he wouldn’t spend his first night with Bodine in her bedroom in her family home.

  That was just disrespectful to her family.

  He stepped into the shack, took a quick glance around. Other than the sheets, already seen to, he didn’t have any picking up to do before entertaining a lady. He knew how to keep a small space neat enough: washing up dishes as he went, hanging up clothes.

  He skipped his post-work beer. He’d have a couple at the Roundup, but since he was driving, he’d hold it to that. Heading toward the shower, he pulled his ringing phone out of his pocket, noted the display.

  “Hi, Ma. Sure I got a minute. Plenty of them.”

  He listened as he shrugged out of his coat, tugged off the bandanna around his neck. He tossed his hat on the chair, scraped his hand through his hair.

  She didn’t ask for much, and never had. A son couldn’t say no even when it put a shadow over him.

  “I’ve got time on Monday. I could come for you about four, if that works, drive you to the cemetery. How about I take you out for dinner after? Now, why would it be a bother to me to take my ma out to dinner? If Savannah and Justin want, I’ll take you all. The rug rat, too.”

  He flipped open the buttons of his shirt as she talked.

  “No, that’s fine then. Just you and me. How’s she doing? Not much cooking time left on the new one.”

  He sat, pulled off his boots while his mother chattered on about his pregnant sister. When she’d wound down, thanked him one more time, he set the phone aside.

  She didn’t ask for much, and never had, he thought again. So he’d take her to visit her husband’s grave. He would never understand her love and devotion to the man who’d gambled away his life, and the lives of his family, but he’d take her to lay her flowers, to say her prayers—and keep his thoughts on it to himself.

  He reconsidered the beer, then shook his head. Grabbing one now was weakness not want. He stripped off his jeans, headed in to shower in the tiny bathroom.

  And reminded himself that tonight and Bodine were a lot closer than Monday and graves.

  * * *

  About the time Callen stepped out of the shower and Bodine stood in front of the mirror doing a testing turn in the dress she’d decided on, Esther, who’d forgotten Alice, laid a cloth, as cold as she could get it, on her bruised jaw.

  She’d already wept a little, knew she might weep again, but the cold helped ease the throbbing.

  Sir had been so angry. She’d heard him shouting, and someone shouting back before he’d stormed in on her. She hadn’t finished her scrubbing, and that made him only madder. He hadn’t hurt her in a long time, but he’d hurt her then, dragging her to her feet by her hair, hitting her face, punching her stomach, taking his husbandly rights in a hard, mean way—harder and meaner than usual.

  Someone had made him mad—a part of her knew that, but the other parts, long since indoctrinated, blamed herself.

  She hadn’t finished the scrubbing. Though her internal clock