Vicki Lewis Thompson - Cowboy All Night

Unfortunately, watching a beautiful woman prepare food was like foreplay. Her breasts shifted gently beneath her flowered dress as she stirred the onions and bacon. Heat from the skillet created a flush on her skin. Or maybe his presence did that.

If they’d been alone, he would have reached out to stroke a finger along the dewy curve of her cheek. He would have been able to judge where they stood from her reaction. But they weren’t alone, which left him with an ache that wouldn’t be satisfied now and might never be.

She was good at this cooking stuff, which probably explained her vanity plate. He’d never watched someone prepare a fancy dish like this, but Aria knew what she was doing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, but how hard can it be?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Having fun isn’t a priority.”

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

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

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

“And something to strike it on?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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