Tanya Michaels - Tamed by a Texan

“Yeah, the Jalapeño was my second home. By the time I hit elementary school, Ben and Vic were already busy with middle-school extracurriculars. While Mom was running them to and from practices and games, I’d go to the restaurant to do my homework and stuff myself on sopaipillas. One of the waiters used to help me with math, and Mac, our bartender before he retired, used to drill me on spelling words. But the best part was being in the kitchen, getting to taste-test for my father.”

Ty squelched a pang of envy, trying not to recall his own lonely, hungry childhood. It doesn’t matter now. That’s not who you are.

Shoving aside his past, he kept the conversation on her family. “Your dad must be proud of you, following in his footsteps and becoming a chef.”

Grief contorted her features, and he could see her struggle to regain composure. Her face was almost painfully expressive. Just looking at her could feel like an invasion of privacy. He turned toward the window, watching tourists walk across intersections. He’d deduced that her father was dead long before she spoke.

“Dad passed away three years ago. I thought I’d finished mourning him, but then when Mom…”

“You lost her, too?” Ty was horrified by the Pandora’s box he’d unwittingly opened.

She swallowed hard. “No, not the way you mean. She has early-onset Alzheimer’s.”

“Sorry.” He wasn’t sure if the trite word was meant to be a condolence for what she was going through or an apology for bringing up her family in the first place.

His usual talent for effortless small talk deserted him. Claustrophobia gripped him. He wished he could be anywhere but inside this car. Or, if he had to be here, he wished Stephen was, too. Ty excelled at flirting, getting his way and perfectly searing meat. He could look into a camera and make an unseen audience feel as if he were connecting with them, but it was a superficial illusion. When it came to actually relating to anyone, his business manager was far more skilled.

With a sniff, Grace swiped the side of her hand beneath her eye. “This is the longest I’ve ever heard you go without talking.”

“I do like the sound of my own voice,” he agreed. He was more than happy to discuss his character flaws if it kept them out of the quicksand of her personal tragedies.

“Well, if you’ve been stewing because you’re afraid the weepy chef is too emotional to carry her weight on this challenge, I promise you, I’m up to the task.”

He blinked, startled by her perception of him. He might not be deep, but he wasn’t heartless, either. “That honestly hadn’t crossed my mind, Grace.”

“Really?” She assessed him with a sidelong glance. “Sometimes, with my brothers…they treat me as if having feelings is a liability somehow, makes me fragile. I’m going to prove them wrong when I win this competition.”

Hopefully second place would be enough to make her point to her siblings. Because Ty had every intention of beating her. He said nothing, glad that for now at least, for this one challenge, they could work toward a joint victory. But after that, it would be a return to the philosophy he’d clung to since adolescence.

Every man for himself.

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