Книга - The Texan’s Second Chance

The Texan's Second Chance
Allie Pleiter


Wrangling Her HeartThere’s a lot riding on Witt Buckton’s fresh start in Martins Gap, Texas. His cousins at Blue Thorn are counting on him to make the new arm of their ranch business a success. First, however, he’ll have to figure out how to work with Jana Powers. The petite, energetic spitfire immediately locks horns with the blue-eyed rancher. But she doesn’t just challenge him—she captivates him. As they work together, Witt and Jana discover common ground…and something more. Sweet Jana has left her brand on Witt’s heart, and now he faces his greatest challenge yet: convincing her that love can be worth the risk.Blue Thorn Ranch: New beginnings, Texas style







Wrangling Her Heart

There’s a lot riding on Witt Buckton’s fresh start in Martins Gap, Texas. His cousins at Blue Thorn are counting on him to make the new arm of their ranch business a success. First, however, he’ll have to figure out how to work with Jana Powers. The petite, energetic spitfire immediately locks horns with the blue-eyed rancher. But she doesn’t just challenge him—she captivates him. As they work together, Witt and Jana discover common ground…and something more. Sweet Jana has left her brand on Witt’s heart, and now he faces his greatest challenge yet: convincing her that love can be worth the risk.


“I’m not talking as your boss right now, Jana.”

Witt tapped her head, making her look up at him. She knew she’d be lost when she did, for the look in his eyes seemed to go right through her. There wasn’t any hope of hiding what had grown between them at that point. Whether it made business sense or not hardly mattered. “I’m talking as your…friend,” he said, the hesitation speaking volumes. After a moment, he leaned in and left a soft kiss on her cheek. She felt herself dissolve under the tenderness. “As someone who…cares about you.”

She didn’t even realize that her hand had lifted to the spot where he’d kissed her until she followed his gaze. “Witt…”

“Yeah,” he said softly, touching her hand as it lay against her cheek. “We’re going to have to figure out what to do about that. But not now.”


ALLIE PLEITER, an award-winning author and RITA® Award finalist, writes both fiction and nonfiction. Her passion for knitting shows up in many of her books and all over her life. Entirely too fond of French macarons and lemon meringue pie, Allie spends her days writing books and avoiding housework. Allie grew up in Connecticut, holds a BS in speech from Northwestern University and lives near Chicago, Illinois.




The Texan’s Second Chance

Allie Pleiter







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


“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.”

—Jeremiah 29:11


To Elizabeth

Because great partnerships

truly are hard to come by


Contents

Cover (#ue0658545-5272-511c-8146-0069d37ec3c0)

Back Cover Text (#u3a7b8b36-c94d-5060-8340-f9a007318e42)

Introduction (#uc8b77868-b141-54c6-addf-fc3e7e40b5f9)

About the Author (#ube62dc1c-519e-5b03-af15-973ad37f8e11)

Title Page (#ub3e852de-798d-5a02-bd8d-a71dfbb9c7bb)

Bible Verse (#u6ad9275d-c504-521f-8e90-5f91b198375a)

Dedication (#u90c5f8ff-81f7-5516-b140-affc45500619)

Chapter One (#ufcbd6fa7-4425-5c44-935e-911ef1c3f61c)

Chapter Two (#u7c69f3a4-f5f7-5d27-8219-7552276d9dbe)

Chapter Three (#u6a34a7b2-8a20-5ed7-a8e7-2bce4da59bbf)

Chapter Four (#u7e13041a-0df5-5f8d-8444-29760a6d28b3)

Chapter Five (#u4f7b9f3e-67fc-545e-96d9-176f129f8261)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#ulink_e01334d9-1ba9-578b-89ff-9e488dce8eba)

Jana Powers stared at the truck in front of her. “It’s blue.”

Her new boss, Witt Buckton, didn’t seem to especially mind. “Yes, it is.”

Jana pushed up her sleeves. She’d tried to dress professionally for this first meeting with her supervisor, wearing her chef’s coat, but even in October Austin was still too warm for it. Texas could still hit ninety degrees on a daily basis in the fall. “No, I mean it’s really blue.” The food truck was, in fact, an alarmingly bright turquoise. Brilliantly blue. One might accurately say “loud.” Uh-oh. Was Witt Buckton one of “those” kinds of restaurant owners—the kind who put public relations above everything and cared more about gimmicks than quality?

Keep an open mind. Ellie said this guy was smart and nice. Then again, this guy was Ellie’s cousin, and Ellie was really more colleague than friend.

She stared at the vividly hued truck again. From a marketing standpoint, the color might make sense—it certainly stood out, and was memorable—but who would want to eat in a glow that intense? She might have to don sunglasses just to work inside the thing. Please, don’t let it be that color on the inside.

“It’s a marketing thing.” Jana was glad to note a touch of apology in Witt’s voice that hinted maybe his priorities weren’t totally skewed toward PR. “The color is a trademark for the Blue Thorn Ranch.”

Jana looked at him. He was part of the Buckton family—the clan who had owned the Blue Thorn Ranch for several generations and to which her former coworker Ellie belonged—but he was a cousin, not one of the immediate family. Still, a long look allowed her to connect the dots almost instantly. Ellie was a Buckton, and her eyes were the same brilliant turquoise as Witt’s. If those eyes were a family trait, then she could understand why the ranch had adopted that shade as its trademark. “I get it,” she offered. “But—” here she applied her friendliest smile “—don’t you think you went a bit overboard on the paint job?”

Oops. Witt’s eyes went a touch cold, and Jana fought the urge to whack her own forehead. Not everyone needs to hear every opinion you’ve got. Especially not your new boss. Remember how much you want this job?

“I told you to meet me at the blue truck,” Witt said in a crisp, mildly annoyed tone. He tucked his hands in his pockets. “Tell me, did you have any trouble finding the blue truck?”

He had her there—she saw it from three blocks away. “No.”

“My point exactly. To patronize a food truck—a mobile enterprise by definition—you have to be able to find it, don’t you?

Jana swallowed her distaste for people who used business buzzwords like enterprise.

“True, but a color never sold a hamburger or a steak sandwich. Food is what attracts customers. Good, quality food.” Good, quality food was what Jana did best. Let all the fancy chefs have their fusion cuisines and trendy menus. Jana’s passion—why God put her on the earth, as far as she was concerned—was comfort food. The ordinary, memory-laden food people turned to when a day had gone bad or a boyfriend had split or life had kicked them in the teeth some other way. Supposedly, that was why the Bucktons had hired her. If it wasn’t, best to settle that right now. “You’re not expecting adventure-burgers out of me, are you?”

That popped his turquoise eyes wide. “Adventure-burgers?”

Jana started walking toward the truck, eager to confirm that her new workspace wasn’t screaming blue on the inside as well as the outside. “You know what I mean. Bison ranches like the Blue Thorn are pretty unusual, which means the bison meat from the ranch is unique enough on its own. I’m not going to invent crazy toppings or obscure ingredients just to draw attention. That’s not what I do.”

“And that’s not what we want,” Witt assured her. “Blue Thorn produces high-quality, delicious meat that we want to share with the community by way of this food truck. Nobody wants you to hide it under Ugandan spotted goat curd or anything like that.”

She eyed him, surprised he could name an ingredient she’d never heard of.

“Okay, I made that one up,” he admitted. “But you get the point.” He produced a set of keys from his pocket and unlocked the back of the truck. Jana bit back a comment about the vehicle being even brighter at close range. I won’t need coffee to wake up—I’ll just stare at this for thirty seconds, she mused to herself. She braced herself as her new boss pulled open the doors...

To reveal a blessedly white interior, brand spanking new and immaculately clean. “Wow,” Jana gasped involuntarily, struck—in the best possible way—by the perfectness of it all. Her own kitchen. It didn’t matter one bit that it was small, mobile and wrapped in a neon aqua paint job. This would be her kitchen, where she finally got to call the shots. A fresh start she very much needed. The thrill of it sparkled all the way out to Jana’s fingertips as she touched the gleaming counter.

“Ellie made sure the basics were here, but we’re going to go to the restaurant supply place this afternoon so you can pick out whatever else you need.”

Free rein in the restaurant supply store? Jana could think of few things that would make her happier. “Absolutely fine by me.” Her hand went involuntarily to the messenger bag at her side, which not only held the usual purse contents, but her chef’s knife set—the pride, joy and personal treasure of anyone who cooked for a living. The knives seemed ready to climb out of her bag and spread themselves on the counter. She looked back at Witt, hoping the eagerness thumping in her chest showed in her eyes to make up for her earlier crack about the color. “You’re off to a good start. This is a really good setup.”

“I thought so.” Witt pulled open the refrigerator under the back counter to reveal several packets wrapped in brown paper. “Today we’ll get to try her out. I want to be the one to eat the first burger made in this truck.”

The demand bugged her. Did he expect her to audition for a job she already had? “I have cooked for Ellie and Gunner, you know.” Surely he knew Ellie’s brother Gunner—the current owner of the Blue Thorn Ranch, and the one who had made the decision a few years ago to switch the ranch from cattle to bison—had approved her as chef two weeks ago. Witt had been called out of town that night, which was why today was the first day she met her new immediate boss.

Witt walked around the truck, opening empty cabinets and drawers. “I know, and I’m sorry I missed that. There’s no question you’re already hired. This is more of an...indulgence.” His face tightened just the slightest bit. “You don’t have to do a ton of stuff to the kitchen before you can cook in it, right?”

As confident as he’d been before, defending the decision to paint the truck blue, that’s how uncertain he sounded now. He really didn’t have a clue about what was involved in running a kitchen, did he? Jana had worked for too many restaurant owners who thought they knew everything about cooking but were really only checkbooks. Lots of owners pretended at expertise and talent, getting in the way of good cooking when all they really needed to do was to play host. Management had its place, but so did cooking. Right now Jana still wasn’t sure Witt Buckton recognized the difference.

You don’t want to go back to Atlanta. Make this work. Jana pulled her knife kit from her bag and set it on the counter, the act feeling like a blessing of the space. “I won’t need too much at first.”

“You don’t think it’s weird that I want to give the truck a private inauguration?” His face softened from its “I’m in charge” expression that had dug under her skin. Now it showed just a bit of the anxiety she was already fighting.

He’s not like Ronnie. This business seemed to have heart, and heart was what Jana loved most in cooking. Maybe this gig wouldn’t be bad after all. “Nah. I think I’d do the same thing.”

“You will, technically. You didn’t think I was going to make you just sit there and feed me, did you?”

Actually, that’s exactly what she’d assumed.

“No,” he corrected, “We’re going to eat a meal together, you and I.”

Jana had to admit, she liked what his eyes did when he said that. He wasn’t wearing a suit—quite the contrary, Witt Buckton wore brown jeans and a light blue chambray shirt that did un-boss-like things to his eyes. His shirt was crisply ironed, but his jeans and boots were more down-home than corner office.

“Oh, wait,” he said as he reached into one of the upper cabinets and pulled out a package. “This first. Ellie said you ought to have one of these, and it couldn’t be just any old one.”

Jana pulled open the package he handed to her. What unfolded out of the wrappings was the nicest, most stylish chef’s coat Jana had ever seen. Made of a mercifully light fabric—perfect for the hot, tight confines of a food truck—the coat had three-quarter-length sleeves with a clever row of off-center buttons. Turquoise piping, shoulder panels, buttons and collar gave it just enough of what she now interpreted as the Blue Thorn signature color.

Best of all, the coat wasn’t the usual boxy cut, but fitted to a woman’s physique. It was, by all accounts, pretty. Feminine, yet serious, right down to the “Chef Jana” embroidered above the stylized “BT” that was the Blue Thorn logo.

“It’s fabulous,” she exclaimed, meaning it. “Really, you have no idea. Some of these things can be real sacks. I was expecting an apron or something, but this...” She touched it again, a little bit stunned. She hadn’t expected anything like this, especially from a setup as small as Blue Thorn seemed to be. “Wow.”

“Why would you expect an apron? Chefs don’t wear aprons. Chefs wear coats. You’re not just any old food server, Jana. You’re going to be the force behind Blue Thorn Burgers. You will be the only face most people ever associate with everything we’re trying to do.”

Jana had learned to be suspicious of guys who laid it on quite so thick. Still, it was better than being dismissed as just the hands holding the spatula. “I’m up for it. I’ll build you a following so loyal you’ll have to start buses running out to the ranch for tours.”

He laughed. “Ellie would probably love that. Gunner, not so much.” Witt had a nice laugh that made her laugh, as well. “By the way, Ellie said she will deck you out in knitted scarves, hats and fingerless mitts—whatever those are—to match if the weather gets too chilly in here.”

Hardly a surprise there—Ellie was known for her love of knitting. She’d even turned her hobby into a new career. When they’d first met, Ellie had been working in marketing for a restaurant chain in Atlanta, but it was well-known that she always had a knitting project in her bag. Now that she was settled back in Texas, she worked part time for the Austin Restaurateurs Association, and she also ran a newly developed yarn business for the ranch, branding and marketing knitting yarn made out of bison hair.

Witt fiddled with a stove knob. “Can’t really picture it getting cold enough to need a scarf in here. We’re more likely to have the opposite problem. It’s a good thing we’ve got almost a year to learn how to cope with how this place will swelter starting in May. What do you say we fire up the engine so we can turn on the air-conditioning?” Buckton held up the keys—on a little buffalo-shaped key chain, no less. “You got your commercial license so you’re cleared to drive this, right?”

Jana stowed her bag in a little compartment behind the driver’s seat and slipped behind the wheel. “Yes, Ellie told me to take care of that as soon as I moved here.” She looked at her boss. “How’d you get it here?”

He grinned. “I got a commercial license, too. I figured it was best if we had at least one person from the company brass who could drive this thing.”

So this “company brass” wasn’t afraid to get hands-on. She remembered Ellie saying his branch of the family were ranchers as well, so maybe that wasn’t so hard to believe.

Jana twisted the key in the ignition, the truck chugging to life with a solid sound. The wheel felt satisfying in her hands. From inside, she could almost forget the truck’s circus color and feel powerful at the helm. She noticed—gladly—that he hadn’t insisted on driving. When will you stop thinking all men behave the way Ronnie did? “I take it we’re going to Allen?” she called over her shoulder. The southern part of Austin had one of the best restaurant supply shops in the area. Anyone who cared enough to get that sharp a chef’s coat knew enough to be shopping at Allen Restaurant Supply. She’d been known to pore over their website for entertainment.

“Where else?”

Jana smiled, feeling the warmth of it spread right down her throat like a cup of the most excellent coffee on a chilly morning. “Well, then, let’s go shopping.”

* * *

What were you expecting?

Witt stared at the feisty brunette behind the wheel. Whatever he’d been expecting, Jana Powers wasn’t it. She was...feminine. He felt ashamed that his cowboy sensibilities had imagined that a burger-food-truck chef ought to be a bit rougher around the edges, and generally much less...what? He couldn’t produce the correct adjective, and maybe that was for the best. Witt got the distinct impression that voicing the thoughts currently buzzing in his head might earn him a swift kick in the shins from his new chef. Jana was what Gran would most definitely call a spitfire.

Jana was different, all right. Would that be good? Would the burger crowd—something he considered a decidedly male customer base—go for someone like her? Why not? Guys like burgers. Guys like girls. A girl—a woman—who could cook a great burger? He couldn’t have planned a better public relations platform if he’d tried.

In the restaurant supply store, Jana came positively alive with energy and purpose. “These,” she said, hoisting up a pair of frying pans with such a look of triumph that it was as if they were gold-medal trophies, “are the ones we need. They cost a bit more, but they’re worth it.” He could tell it was a test—would he spring for the good stuff or cut corners?

He nodded. “If that’s what you need.”

“You want simple food exquisitely done, right?”

He chose her term. “You got it. No adventure-burgers.”

Jana’s face broke into an electric smile. Honestly, she looked half kid in a candy store, half rock star spinning drumsticks as she gave the pair of pans a celebratory twirl before placing them in the cart he was pushing through the aisles. Her thick, curly brown hair bounced around her face as she selected implements, tubs of condiments and other supplies. Sure, he was watching funds fly out of the company checkbook, but he had to admit it was rather fun.

“I wonder if we can get those custom made,” Witt ventured as Jana placed a tall stack of paper serving baskets into the cart. “You know, in blue with our name on them?”

The disapproving nose-wrinkle that had accompanied her earlier crack about the truck’s paint job returned. “I wouldn’t.”

Well, points for honesty. “Too much?”

She sat back on one hip, eyeing boxes of plastic forks, knives and spoons. “It’s not bad idea in and of itself—the visual of someone enjoying their burger with your logo close by is a good tactic. But you need to be careful with the color. Studies have shown that blue serving ware can actually be an appetite suppressant.”

She really did know her stuff. “Now there’s something they don’t teach you in business school.”

“The stuff next to the food?” she continued. “That ought to be white—or even yellow. Yellow makes food exciting and memorable.” With that, she picked up a case of lemon yellow napkins. “Have you got a business card?”

“What?”

“A Blue Thorn business card. They’re screaming blue, right?”

Screaming? Witt fished one—yes, definitely blue—business card out of his wallet and handed it to her. It occurred to him that he had not yet had any made for Jana. “Do chefs need business cards?”

“Not this chef. The coat’s a perfect touch, but I don’t need too many of the other bells and whistles. I don’t want them, actually. My food does my networking for me.” She eyed him. “Only I expect you’ve got an extensive marketing plan all laid out, don’t you?”

He did—three versions. Witt had run his family’s wholesale meat business—Star Beef—for years before his sister Mary’s new husband had come in and taken over. That branch of the family business may not need him anymore, but he was ready to show what he could do with this branch.

He’d done his research, and he knew the basics of how food trucks operated. A loyal customer base following the truck’s location was key to success. A surprisingly pretty chef wouldn’t hurt that effort, either. “As a matter of fact, I do.”

Jana held the business card up next to the yellow napkins. Even Witt could see that the blue and yellow went together well. The black and turquoise of the card popped against the yellow, while the yellow balanced out the bright hue of the blue card. “What do you think?” she said, squinting one eye in artistic consideration.

“I like it.”

She raised a dark eyebrow. “Do we need to get approval from the rest of the company brass?”

“Huh?”

“Can I choose yellow napkins on my own or is that a corporate culture decision?”

This felt like another test as to how much artistic freedom she would have with the truck. He’d best step with care.

He made his voice dramatically formal. “Speaking as one-third of the executive branch, I’d say we can grant you authority on paper products.”

Jana grunted as if she didn’t find the joke as amusing as he did. After a sideways glance, she gave the color combination one final assessment and then put three more cases of yellow napkins in the cart. She put her hands on her hips. “That’s it for basic supplies. Now let’s get some ingredients.”

Watching Jana browse through the grocery section of the store was just plain fun. She inspected every tomato and discarded two types of buns before choosing a third. “These are just for now, naturally. We’ll want to choose a bakery vendor and get most of our produce from the market, that sort of thing.”

“Of course,” he said, only half understanding what she meant. He hadn’t really thought about where cooks got their ingredients. While he had plenty of experience selling beef, it had always been in bulk quantities to major vendors, not smaller sales to individuals. But like other things, that was changing now that he was at Blue Thorn. Witt was already well underway firing up the Blue Thorn Ranch Store back in Martins Gap. While established in the wholesale business, Witt planned to have the Blue Thorn brand growing fast in local retail, and online, as well as expanding the wholesale market. His idea for a food truck presence selling bison burgers in downtown Austin was going to take everything to the next level. Sure, he was moving fast, but fast was his natural speed. Based on Jana’s passion for basic but exceptional food, she was definitely the right chef for the job.

Back on the truck, the tiny space seemed to come alive once the supplies and ingredients were stowed on board. “Up until now, it just looked like a vehicle,” he said as he tucked the aforementioned yellow napkins into the cabinet Jana selected. “All of a sudden, it looks like a restaurant.”

Jana pulled an apron out of her messenger bag and spread her knife kit on the counter. With gleaming eyes, she said, “Now let’s see if she acts like a restaurant. Regular burger or cheeseburger?”

Music to any hungry man’s ears. “I like them both. You pick.”

She leaned over to the below-counter fridge, pulling out the packets of ground bison meat and running her hands over the three different kinds of cheeses she’d purchased before settling on the sharp cheddar. “Cheese. With grilled onions. And a special fix or two of my very own. Delicious,” she added with something close to a wink, “but not adventurous.”

“No Ugandan spotted goat curd?”

“Not on your life.” She pulled out an onion and the monstrous brick of butter they’d purchased. With deft fingers, she turned the dial on the grill, changing the setting twice over the next two minutes. Then whatever she was waiting for seemed to arrive, and she tossed a spoonful of water on the grill.

The smile on her face at the sizzling sound matched the glow in his chest. It had begun.

Jana took a pair of burgers out of the packet, seasoned them with what could only be called a dramatic flourish, and set them on the grill. The scent that filled the truck was nothing short of sublime.

“Get ready, boss. I’m about to grill your socks off.”

Watching her work, watching her move and test and turn and putter around the tiny kitchen, Witt believed her.


Chapter Two (#ulink_4f0f9ea0-3926-5870-9c0a-bd3350b4941e)

“I’ve got to admit, it was incredible,” Witt told Gunner and Ellie as he had dinner with them back out at the ranch forty miles northwest of Austin. “It was just like she said—a basic burger perfectly done. Charred just enough around the edges, the cheese at the perfect point of melting, mustard with just a bit of kick—everything.” His mouth salivated just at the memory of the burger. If he could convince her to try just a few trendy items, go just a little beyond the basics, they’d be a hit for sure.

“I knew she’d be great,” Ellie gloated. “Sure, she’s an unknown now, but she won’t stay that way.”

“A pretty girl who can grill a great burger?” Gunner remarked. “Guys will line up around the block.”

Ellie nudged him in reply. “Whoa there, brother. That’s a rather sexist remark for a married man with a daughter and a new son. You make sure you teach Trey and Audie that it’s what a woman does, not how she looks, that matters.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Or Aunt Ellie will come over there and do it for you.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Gunner nodded with a smile. “But come on, you can’t argue that Jana adds to the appeal. Working a food truck, she needs to be as much saleswoman as chef. I know you’re the one working the PR campaign, Witt, but folks have to like whoever’s behind the counter.”

“She can sell, I’m sure of it,” Witt agreed. “She’s easy to promote—I’m sure she looks great on camera, and that’s an asset.” Witt glanced over at Ellie. “Am I allowed to say that?”

“Yes, you’re allowed to say that,” Gunner answered before Ellie could. Sometimes the brother-sister tension with those two ran a bit strong. Gunner was clearly the boss—and always had been—but Ellie wasn’t shy about asserting herself.

“You’re right there. Jana’s got loads of personality. She’s the whole package,” Ellie said as she sat back. “And yes, I will admit, most of the servers and even lots of the corporate staff back in Atlanta thought she was a looker.” She pointed at Witt. “But that’s not why we hired her. We hired her for her skills.”

“Yes, we did,” Witt agreed, the sensation of the perfectly melted cheese on his tongue still a vivid memory. Of course the food was the first priority. And he would have happily shared that tiny space with a burly guy who could cook as well as Jana. Still, any man with a pulse would concede that the scenery inside the Blue Thorn Burgers truck only added to the charm. “She has her share of opinions, too. And she isn’t shy about sharing them. Kind of like the other woman in this company.”

“Funny.” Ellie gave Witt a look as she took another biscuit from the plate at the center of the table. “Did you have discussions, debates, or full-out arguments?”

“All three, I think, but it was okay. More like creative tension.” He didn’t mind being challenged if it led to better ideas and stronger business practices in the end. And he had a feeling most of Jana’s ideas would be good ones. If they could strike a good working partnership, everything would work out fine. He was going to make this work, no matter what it took.

“Jana will take another couple of days to get the truck up and running, I’ll hire one or two support workers...”

“Like Jose?” Ellie cut in. She’d insisted Witt hire one of the high school kids she and her fiancé, Nash, had met while running an after-school program for local at-risk teens. Ellie and Gunner cared a lot about what they did and how they did it. The Blue Thorn Ranch was about much more than the bottom line, which was what made it so satisfying to work with them.

“Like Jose,” Witt replied. “I think he’s coming down tomorrow. Are you sure the kid is okay staying with his brother down in the city? I mean, I’m all for giving kids opportunities, but a start-up food truck is going to call for long hours and hard work. Jose knows it won’t be like some episode of a Food Network show, doesn’t he?”

“Jose will be great,” Gunner confirmed. “That kid’s not one bit afraid of hard work. He’s really grown up since graduation. I’d hire him on the ranch if we had work for him.”

Despite Blue Thorn’s long history, most of the recent changes—converting it into a bison ranch and expanding Blue Thorn Enterprises—made it feel more like a start-up. Blue Thorn had run into some difficult times in the past few years under Gunner and Ellie’s father, but the new generation of Bucktons were working hard to right the ship. It had its stresses, but Witt found it far more satisfying than the situation he’d left behind at home, watching his role at Star Beef get chiseled down to nothing by his sister and her ambitious new husband. Business was booming, as it had been for years, but he didn’t feel wanted or accepted. And this was still family, after all—Witt’s dad had been brother to Ellie and Gunner’s father, Gunner Senior. This opportunity with his cousins at Blue Thorn had been an answer to his prayer, a place to show the world what he could do at a time when he was feeling truly stalled.

“If the food truck is successful, we could think of other mobile ventures,” Ellie added. “I know of at least one yarn company that has a mobile store just like a food truck. We could do that here, you know.”

“One expansion at a time, Els,” Gunner said as he rolled his eyes. He turned to Witt. “The truck’s own website and all that stuff is nearly ready?”

“It links right up with the ranch and store sites,” Witt answered. Ellie did all the public relations for the consumer side, and the wholesale piece had been up and fully running without a hitch. “Two-thirds of your customers have converted to the online ordering system, and I’ll be visiting the rest after we get the truck settled in. We’re ready.”

“And the social media? Twitter, Facebook, Insta-whatever, all that stuff?” Gunner asked.

“Instagram. Yes, we’ll be hitting all that at full speed as soon as Jana gives the all clear,” Ellie explained. “And Jose said he’d help, too. That kid would cut off his own arm before he’d put down his cell phone.”

“We agreed—after a lively discussion, mind you—on a soft opening,” Witt went on. “Showing up unannounced at a variety of places until we both are sure the product and the system are perfect.”

“How close are you?” Gunner asked.

Witt took another biscuit himself. “That depends on who you ask. There was some debate—” he gave the word emphasis as he looked at Ellie “—as to the merits of long lines.”

“Long lines?” Gunner questioned.

“I think long lines are great marketing. Makes you look like you’re in demand.”

Ellie raised an eyebrow. “And Jana?”

“She says a line can be long enough to put someone off. We settled on a goal of no more than six people waiting for the first two weeks, with an option to renegotiate.”

Ellie frowned. “I know you. You’ve calculated a burger-per-hour profit ratio, haven’t you?”

Witt stalled. “Well...maybe. We do need some benchmarks to shoot for. You can’t tell me you didn’t have goals like that back at GoodEats.”

Ellie’s expression told Witt just what she thought of such goals. “You’ve got nothing to worry about,” she said. “That woman knows her stuff. You’ve already arranged to shoot some photos and videos the first week, haven’t you? I predict Jana’s going to be a hit.”

“Like our burgers,” Gunner chimed in.

“Exactly like our burgers,” Witt agreed.

There was a pause in the conversation before Gunner shifted uncomfortably in his chair and said, “Your mom called.” He said it softly, slowly, which told Witt he knew exactly what the admission implied.

“No kidding.” Witt said. “Checking up on me now that I’ve jumped the family ship?”

“I told her you’d only jumped to a related shipping line. But yes.” Gunner ran a hand across his chin. “She said your dad asked a lot of questions.”

“What’d you tell her?”

“The truth,” Gunner replied. “I told her Star Beef’s loss was our gain. I told her I think Uncle Grayson will regret letting you leave.”

“I still don’t think he gets it,” Ellie offered with compassion in her eyes. They’d talked long and hard about his moving to Blue Thorn. Ellie knew what it was like to grow up with fathers like the Buckton brothers and how chilly it could be in the shadow of the Eldest and Heir. His sister Mary had always been the eldest, but Witt had always dared to think he was at least partial heir to the ranch until Mary’s high-powered husband, Cole Sullivan, entered the picture.

“Oh, I know. Dad thinks I ought to be thrilled to fall in line under Cole’s breathtaking five-year plan.” The bitterness in his own voice surprised him—Witt thought he’d made more peace with the issue than that. “It’s not a bad plan,” he admitted. “It’s just that I’m not anywhere in it.”

“Gran grabbed the phone out of my hand and gave your mom a piece of her mind,” Gunner said with a smirk.

“I’d like to have been there for that.” Witt could just picture Gran telling off her daughter-in-law. She’d have told off her son in stronger terms, come to think of it. Some days it was hard to imagine how two men as hardheaded as Gunner and Grayson Buckton had been the sons of the tender, caring woman all the cousins called Gran. Then again his grandmother Adele Buckton had a hard head and a stubborn will of her own to match her big heart—she just had the grace and compassion to be a lot more forgiving. “Gran will like Jana. They’re made of the same stuff, I think.”

“I agree,” Ellie said, leaning in. “Why don’t you invite her out to the house for a barbecue this weekend? She can meet the whole family. And see the bison.” She suddenly reached for her handbag, rummaging through it until she produced her cell phone. “Never mind, I’ll text her myself right now.” After a minute of furious typing, Ellie smiled. “Done. Six o’clock, Saturday night. Jana’s bringing coleslaw. You have not lived until you’ve tasted this woman’s coleslaw.”

* * *

Jana looked around the ranch Saturday night, taking in the scene spread out before her. She and Ellie were acquaintances—not good friends but friendly enough back when they’d worked together in Atlanta—but even though they hadn’t been especially close, Jana had heard a few stories about the legendary Buckton family. Nothing had prepared her for this.

“You know,” she said as she helped Ellie with a tablecloth, “I sort of get the whole color thing now.” She’d seen the Buckton blue eyes before, of course, but seeing Gunner, Ellie, Grandmother Adele and Witt all together in one place, the family trait stood out like a neon sign. She’d tried not to fixate on the stunning nature of Witt’s eyes, but with his hair—Gunner and Ellie had tawny-colored hair but Witt’s was a darker shade, closer to brown—they were extraordinary. It made her disobedient brown curls and brown eyes feel mundane.

“I hated my eyes growing up,” Ellie offered, shrugging. “Everywhere I went in town, everybody knew I was a Buckton, and I didn’t always think that was such a good thing. Now,” she said, her eyes straying to the man she’d introduced as her fiancé, “I find myself hoping that when Nash and I have kids, the blue shows up. At least in some of them.”

“I’m glad it all worked out so well for you,” Jana said. She remembered how worried she’d been about Ellie when she’d heard about the woman’s spectacular breakup with star chef Derek Harding. Not that Jana blamed her—if she’d caught her own fiancé kissing her best friend, she didn’t know what she would have done. At least Ellie had had a place to go—back home to Blue Thorn. And it was Ellie’s exodus from the trauma that she had to thank for the chance to meet Nash.

Jana was glad to make her own exodus away from Atlanta and the painful memories of Ronnie, even if it did mean leaving Mom behind. “I suppose I even owe my job to that happy outcome.”

“I hope you get a happy outcome of your own. I think you’ll do fabulously at the wheel of the Big Blue Bus.”

Jana balked. “The Big Blue Bus?”

“Oh, that’s just what my niece, Audie, called it the first time Witt brought it around. It sort of stuck. Don’t tell Witt—he hates the nickname. It’s the Blue Thorn Burgers truck—and maybe the first of many—as far as Witt’s concerned. Has big dreams, our Witt does. He can be a bit too driven, if you ask me, but I think he’ll settle down.”

The last thing I need right now is another overdriven male, Lord. Keep me safe out here, Jana prayed as she began walking around the table setting out plates—turquoise plates. She caught Witt’s eye when she first saw them. He shrugged as if to say, I know what you said about eating off blue plates, but what are you gonna do?

“Did you like the chef’s coat?” Ellie asked, planting a big blue jug of yellow flowers in the center of the table. See? Jana wanted to say to Witt. See how yellow balances all that blue out?

“I’ve been meaning to thank you,” Jana replied. “It’s perfect. Really, just the right touch. The embroidery, the female fit, everything.”

Ellie smiled. “You’re welcome. I didn’t want to leave that task to the boys. Who knows what you might have ended up wearing if I had?”

Dinner was a rowdy, pleasant family affair straight out of Country Living magazine. Gunner and his wife, Brooke, doted over their baby boy, the whole family making guesses as to whether one-month-old “Trey”—their nickname for Gunner Buckton III—would dare to have his mother’s brown eyes instead of the family blue. Jana declined to vote when asked by Audie, Brooke’s daughter, who adoringly called her stepfather “Gunnerdad.”

“You’re gonna drive the Big Blue Bus, aren’t you?” the girl whispered as she slid onto the picnic table bench beside Jana.

“I heard that,” Witt, seated across from her, teased with mock seriousness. Well, mostly mock.

Audie rolled her big brown eyes. “The food truck.”

“The Blue Thorn Burgers food truck,” he corrected as he reached for the big bowl of coleslaw Jana had brought. “Ellie says your coleslaw is out of this world. Based on your burgers, I’m inclined to believe her.”

“Do you like to cook?” Jana asked the little girl.

“I help Grannie Buckton with the cookies and brownies sometimes. I mostly like to draw, although Aunt Ellie taught me to knit and I like that, too.”

Jana smiled. “Your aunt Ellie would teach everyone to knit if she got the chance. She taught lots of people back where we worked in Atlanta.”

Audie scooped out a big helping of the coleslaw when Witt handed her the bowl. “Did she teach you, Miss Jana?”

“I haven’t had time to learn yet. Besides, I’m not much for sitting down. I stand most of my day at work, and I like to run when I have free time.” She threw a quick glance at Witt. “I’m thinking I won’t have a lot of free time for a while.”

“You can stand while you spin with a drop spindle. Aunt Ellie taught me that, too. I can show you after dinner if you like. We use the bison fur to make the yarn you can buy at our store in town.”

Jana laughed. “I see you have your cousin Witt’s gift for public relations and persuasion.”

Audie’s cheeks turned pink. “That’s what Gunnerdad says.”

“Chef Jana’s food is really good,” Witt added. “Ellie was dead on about the coleslaw. What’s in there to give it that...” he searched for a word “...zing?”

It never got old hearing people praise her food. She gave Witt a sly smile. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Secret family recipe?”

“Secret Jana recipe. I don’t come from a cooking family.” She didn’t come from much family at all—divorced parents, an only child, no strong connections to aunts or uncles, no living grandparents. Yet when Jana discovered cooking through a high school class, the kitchen became the place where she felt most at home. Any kitchen where she could make her food. This whole big-family dynamic felt like a foreign country to her.

“You didn’t eat in your family?” Audie asked, eyes wide.

Jana grinned at the girl. Looking around at the crowded table heaped with food, Audie must have found the concept impossible. “I didn’t mean it that way. The people in my family cooked to feed themselves, but not much more.” She picked up a piece of cornbread and held it up. “To me, cooking is art and science. It’s a gift and an experience for people to share. I’m happiest when I make meals for people. Meals that make them smile and marvel and delight in the pleasure of great food.”

“I like food,” Audie replied. “And Cousin Witt’s right—this is really good. If I were a cabbage, I’d be happy to be in this coleslaw.”

Jana couldn’t help but smile. “Well, that’s about the best review I’ve ever had. Maybe we should post that on the side of the Big Blue Bus. ‘Our coleslaw makes cabbages happy.’” She raised an eyebrow in challenge to Witt.

His eyes slanted. “How about we just tweet that one? By the way, we’ve got a photographer scheduled on Wednesday to take some shots of you and the truck. Promo stuff. You okay with that?”

Jana tried not to stiffen. Yes, it had been years since she’d had to deal with Ronnie and his harassment, but the fear remained, and the instinct to hide, to avoid putting her face or her name out there in a public way that might draw his attention again. “I’m not one for photos. Take all you want of the food or the truck, but skip the ones of me if it’s all the same to you.”

“Nonsense. We need at least a few shots of you. The pretty woman behind the burger grill? You’re one of our best marketing hooks. We’ll need three or four shots we can use. It won’t hurt, I promise.”

Jana tried to stifle her reluctance to being anyone’s “hook” with the compliment he’d just paid her. It didn’t work. “One.”

“Two?”

“You’re the prettiest chef I’ve ever seen,” Audie offered, oblivious to the tension. “I think everyone should see your picture.”

Jana tried to sigh rather than scowl. “Thank you, Audie, but I’m not big on publicity. I’d rather let my food get all the attention.”

“So Wednesday’s okay?”

It annoyed her how much he pressed the point, but she wasn’t going to win this one. Not when surrounded by Bucktons. “Yes, Wednesday will be fine.”


Chapter Three (#ulink_c30363f9-89f1-53b1-91f4-60651f4dffac)

Tuesday afternoon, Witt looked around at the full trash can and the truck’s empty cupboards. “I think that went pretty well.” They’d set up unannounced outside a group of office buildings at lunch hour, launching a two-hour “test run” to see how things worked.

“It could have gone better.” Jana sat with her legs dangling out of the truck’s open back door, her chef’s coat unbuttoned to reveal a bright orange T-shirt, and a big mug of coffee in her hand. She wore a bright yellow scarf like a headband in a failing attempt to control the wild curls that kept escaping her piled-up hairstyle. Jana’s hair held a troublesome fascination for him—the curls seemed to have a mind of their own, framing her face in a different way every time he looked at her. Right now they were plastered to her neck in a maze of circles that should have looked messy and sweaty but instead looked more mesmerizing than he would like to admit.

“Did you see how those guys ate your food?” Jose asked as he finished loading trash into a plastic bag. “You were a hit, Chef Jana.” While Witt had harbored some doubts about Jose as kitchen help—the kid wasn’t even six months out of high school—the boy had proven a hearty worker. He also spoke Spanish, which ended up being very useful with some of the office workers and many of the landscape workers from the park across the street. “I heard ‘delicioso’ more times than I can count.”

“The lines were too long. We need to streamline the prep process a bit.” Jana squinted one eye in thought, as if already pondering tactics in her mind.

“No, no—the lines were great,” Witt countered as he popped open a soda can and offered a second to Jose. “Lines let people know Blue Thorn Burgers are worth waiting for. Didn’t we agree six people in line was okay?”

“For the first two weeks,” she reminded him. “And we had more than six a lot of the time.”

“That’s not so bad, is it? This is our first real operational test.”

Jana wasn’t convinced. “Any more than six, and a customer’s got too much time to change their mind.” She swirled the last of her coffee and then drained the cup. “I think we can speed things up, though I have to admit, you were pretty fast at the cash register there, cowboy.”

Working the register was the easiest way to track their sales per hour, but he wasn’t going to tell her that. “That’s me, master button-pusher.” He sat down next to Jana. “I worked the counter at the local hardware store through high school. I work the counter at the Blue Thorn Store every now and again, too, just to get a feel for the customers. I was watching the customers today.”

“I’d expect no less of you.” It wasn’t quite a jab, but close. “And what did you get a feel for?” She sat back against the door frame, defensive but clearly curious.

“I think we need a few more things to appeal to female customers.”

That brought a look from her. “Watching the ladies, were you?”

“Watching the ladies eat, actually. The burgers seem too big for them. I was thinking maybe we need sliders.”

Her head tilted dubiously to one side. “Sliders are trendy.” It wasn’t a compliment.

“Sliders are smaller, easier to handle. Same basic food, just a slightly different delivery. A plate of three sliders and slaw would sell well. We could play up the low-fat health benefits of bison meat, too. Do a two-slider or one-slider version as a kid’s meal, even.”

“Whatever you do, don’t mess with the fries,” Jose remarked as he leaned against the open door. “Those are awesome. What is that you put on them?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Jana teased. Hadn’t she said the same thing to Ellie’s inquiry of her coleslaw recipe? “Seasonings are my thing. It’s what makes good, simple food great.”

Jose preened the collar of his shirt. “I like a lady who knows how to be spicy.”

Jana tossed a dishrag at the boy. “Every once in a while I forget you are a teenager—and then you remind me. I’ll have none of that in my kitchen.”

“Okay, okay.” Jose held up his hands.

“Yes, Chef,” Witt corrected.

“Yes, Chef,” Jose relented.

Witt turned to Jana. “You’re all set for tomorrow’s photo shoot?”

Her eyes lost any sparkle. “I suppose.”

“You act like I’m making you go to the dentist.” With Jana’s natural beauty, Witt couldn’t imagine what would make her shy away from cameras.

“It’s not my thing, that’s all. Like I said, I prefer to let my food do the talking.”

“I get that, but people connect to people as much as they do to food. The way you look, the way you talk about food, the connection you make with customers? All that is just as compelling as a great burger. You’re highly promotable, Jana. That’s a good thing. It’s a strength we can use.”

“That’s marketing talk for ‘you’re pretty and guys’ll like you,’” Jose said.

Jana gave Witt a dark look. “Is it?”

Witt knew this was thin ice, but he did want to get his point across. “Not in the way Jose thinks.”

“So how does Witt think?”

Witt searched for the right words to compliment her beauty without insulting her talent. “You’re unique. You don’t look anything like the other guys hawking burgers around here. You are a beautiful woman and I’d like to think we can use that without getting stupid or exploitive about it. The fact is you look as good as you cook. Why can’t that be a strength we can build on?”

“My man’s got a point,” Jose said as he leaned up against the truck door.

My man? Witt threw Jose a “don’t get cocky” glare.

“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 (#ulink_7b6b3d7c-9e2b-55a6-b8d1-20aae1ebead3)

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.

“It worked.” Witt exhaled. For all his confidence, his tone held the same relief she felt. “Customers.” He looked back over his shoulder as he pulled the truck into position, his eyes glowing as bright as the truck’s paint job. “So, Chef, you ready to feed some people?”

She had already turned on the grill. “Am I ever. You ready, Jose?”

Jose grinned as he started unloading condiments from the cabinet. “Yes, Chef!”

The next two hours flew by in seconds. Witt worked the cash register, feeding her tickets with orders. Her brain slid easily into the place where cooking became everything—where the sizzle of the meat met the warming bread under her hands and she orchestrated the movement of ingredients into place. There was nothing like this, no other place or activity that seeped so deeply into her soul and made her feel larger than life, vibrant, physically tingling from excitement and purpose.

The truck broiled from the grill heat and the strong fall sunshine. The little fans set up around the truck tried in vain to keep the air moving. She should have been miserable, hot and sweaty as she was, but Jana never noticed the heat. Only when she slid the last meal—a set of three “sliders” she’d relented and added to the menu at Witt’s insistence—across the counter, did she recognize her body’s exhaustion. It wasn’t the bad, emptied-out kind of weary, however. Instead, it was a satisfying, used-up kind of tired. The sensation of giving all she had to give in the one place she knew she was meant to be.

Jana leaned against the back counters, her headband soaked, her chef’s coat spattered and sticking to her arms. “Wow.” She laughed, downright giddy at the thought of so many happy mouths fed. “It worked.”

Witt slid the cash register drawer closed, practically slumping over it himself. “It did.” He was sweaty, too—and smiling and laughing, clearly as pleased with how their first “announced appearance” had gone. His eyes held a playful challenge as he asked, “We sold out of sliders, didn’t we?”

“That was the last one,” she admitted. He’d been right; she could craft a basic trio of the smaller burgers without feeling like she’d given in to some trendy fad.

Jana waited for him to crow, I told you so, but instead he merely offered her a warm smile and wiped his forehead with a sleeve. “I knew you could do it.”

It proved the perfect thing to say. Suddenly the long negotiations over whether to offer the sliders melted away, and she saw a glimpse of what she had hoped to find all along: a partnership. There was a long moment where they simply looked at each other, both soaked and exuberant, each a bit stunned that the whole thing had gone as well as it had. This was the last step, the truck’s final test before they went into the full swing of daily operations next week. Blue Thorn Burgers was here. They had done it. Jana wanted to dance in the tiny truck corridor, to fling herself into a group hug with Witt and Jose, and to fall into an exhausted heap against the coolness of the refrigerator, all at once. Instead, she just stood there, alternately glancing at Witt and closing her eyes, laughing softly as she tried to get her hair back up off her neck.

Jose, who’d been ping-ponging his glance back and forth between his two bosses, finally threw up his hands. “Is anyone gonna check the feed?”

He grabbed the truck’s tablet from its bracket on the wall and swiped through the menu until he found the Blue Thorn Burgers social media page. “We’re up to eighty-five followers on Twitter, a hundred and twenty-six on Instagram. People have posted three videos, and there are sixty-two mentions on Facebook. And twenty-one...wait, now twenty-two five-star reviews on Yelp!”

Witt gave a whoop worthy of a rodeo cowboy. Jose high-fived Jana with a string of Spanish exultations, and Jana felt her chest glow in gratitude. She’d worked at restaurants before, but here, now, was the first true public applause for specifically and exclusively her cooking. For her as a chef. She’d been so afraid to be “known,” to be out in the public eye for so many years, that she’d forgotten how gratifying the spotlight could feel.

Thank You, she prayed silently, her hand falling to cover her thumping heart. Thank You.

She opened her eyes to see Witt staring at her. The gratitude, the jubilant satisfaction that sparkled within her, was there in his eyes, as well. After all, he had as much at stake today as she did. “Thank you,” she said, thinking the pair of common words entirely insufficient.

“My pleasure,” he said. He held her eyes for one long moment more before sending a smirk Jose’s way. “Hang on tight. I’m thinking it only goes up from here.”


Chapter Five (#ulink_d55feb28-d41d-56fa-8f45-094d8af76993)

Boring. The word gaped out like a sinkhole in the center of Jana’s phone screen Tuesday morning. Of all the criticisms she thought she could stomach, this was the one that cut deepest. Boring. Could internet food critic “Spatula Dave” have said anything worse? They hadn’t even invited any critics or bloggers this weekend just to avoid this kind of thing. She sank down onto the truck floor with her back against the counter. The coffee beside her tasted sharp and sour where five minutes ago she’d found the blend particularly smooth.

She scrolled through the other comments from Dave’s followers, several of whom had visited the truck during its weekend operations. There were compliments scattered among the responses from people who disagreed with his assessment. And Dave didn’t hate everything—he thought the coleslaw was particularly well-done. She noted, with an extra-sharp sense of annoyance, that he found the slider trio “a near miss.” Witt would surely note that the most positive comment about a burger was given to the sliders. Her own creations? They hadn’t fared nearly as well. The “I’m all alone here” feeling that had been fading now roared right back up with this setback.

Jana told herself to put the phone down, to stop hurting her heart by scrolling and re-scrolling across the article as if she were grabbing a hot pan over and over. It’s one person’s opinion, she told herself. Yeah, one person who has an audience of—she made herself scroll down to where the blog’s fifteen-thousand-member following was listed—too many.

They’d done a bustling business their first official weekend, and there had been plenty of positive comments from satisfied customers on various restaurant review sites. Until this morning, Jana had felt she was riding on a wave of success.





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