Ted turned to her and set his hands on his hips. “This is real nice, but would you be willing to cook simpler food?”
Vivienne set the pear down, disappointment vying with practicality. “It’s not what I was trained to do.”
“But you can do that,” Ted insisted.
“I’m a professional chef …” As her words faded off, so did her anticipation at the thought of this job. Gourmet cooking was what she loved. What she was best at. “I suppose I could do what was required of me,” she continued.
Cody pulled on his chin with one hand as if this answer didn’t satisfy him either. “I’m still not sure—”
“She can go over the menus with us and make sure we think it’s okay,” Ted insisted.
Cody fiddled with his hat, his teeth working at one corner of his mouth. “I don’t think she’s the right person for the job.”
“We got no one else,” Ted insisted. “We kind of need her.”
That Ted had to argue Cody into hiring her raised Vivienne’s ire. Sure she wasn’t a beans-and-bacon cook, but she was, as she had pointed out to Ted, a professional cook. And the thought that someone didn’t want to hire her made her angry.
And, perversely, made her want the job even more.
“I’d like a chance,” she said quietly.
Vivienne watched Cody’s face, trying to get a read on where he was going. Then he looked at her, and as their gazes meshed Vivienne caught a glimpse of the young man who had asked her out all those years ago. Then his features tightened and any trace of that Cody Jameson disappeared, replaced by this hard-looking, uncompromising man.
“We need someone who isn’t afraid of hard work,” he said, his voice gruff as he addressed her. “We need someone who can live out on a ranch for weeks at a time and not think they’re in the middle of nowhere.”
Which, as far as Vivienne was concerned, was exactly where they were. But she sensed from the intensity in Cody’s voice that her comment wouldn’t be welcome.
“I need someone who can live out here when storms blow into town and cut us off from civilization for days at a time,” Cody continued. “Do you think you could do that?” His voice had taken on a puzzling, belligerent tone, but even as she held his stern gaze she tried not to wince at the thought of being stranded up here.
“I … think I could do it.” She lifted her chin and injected a note of steel in her voice. “I know I can.”
It was only a year, she reminded herself, even as her knocking heart belied her confident tone. Three hundred and sixty-five days out here was a small price to pay for a quarter of a million dollars. And maybe more, once she sold the land that was part of the inheritance.
After that, New York and her new restaurant.
Keep your eye on the prize, she reminded herself. This is only a necessary detour.
Cody’s gaze locked with hers, his hazel eyes probing, as if trying to find a weakness. She held him look for look, but as she did, her heart did a little unexpected flutter at his attention. She swallowed, willing the emotion away.
He’s good-looking. It’s a normal reaction, she reminded herself, forcing herself to keep holding his gaze.
He’s going to be your boss.
“No one else wants to live out here,” Ted said. “I think we should hire her.”
Vivienne caught the angry look Cody shot his uncle. Obviously, Mr. Jameson wasn’t happy with Ted.
“I’m okay with this,” Vivienne said, stilling the threatening note of panic. She’d just have to get creative. Maybe take out a loan to pay off her other debts. Sell some stuff. Live cheap.
“Look, Cody, you make the decision. You know where I stand. I’ll be out at the horse pen,” Ted said. He dropped his hat back on his head and spun on his heel.
After he left, Cody shoved one hand through his thick brown hair and blew out a sigh.
“We’re not looking for gourmet cooking or anything even close to that. I’m just looking for—”
“Someone who can do beans and biscuits.” Vivienne gave him a quick smile to counteract the faintly bitter note in her voice. “I get that.” She held her head high. She needed this job, but she wasn’t begging.
Cody dragged his hand over his chin, still holding her gaze as if testing her.
“It’s not just that,” he said, his voice grim. “Like I said, it’s a hard life out here. And if I think you can’t hack it, you’re down the road. I’m not risking anyone’s well-being again.”
She wondered what he meant by “again,” but before she could ask, he continued. “You got the job, okay?” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand at the food she had so carefully prepared. “Just don’t get carried away with that fancy stuff.”
Don’t get angry. Just smile and nod. You’ve got work for now.
“Thank you,” she said, unable to keep the prim tone out of her voice. “You won’t be sorry.”
Cody’s glance ticked over her hair, her dress and her high-heeled shoes that she had slipped on before he came. All in an effort to impress a boss who, it seemed, wasn’t impressed.
“I’m not so sure about that,” he said grimly.
Then the door of the cookhouse burst open and the young girl Vivienne had seen Cody with in town launched herself into the room. Cody’s head snapped around and Vivienne saw a look of frustration and … was that fear? … flit across his face.
“Where’s my makeup?” she said, pointing an accusing finger at Cody’s chest. “What did you do with it?”
“Why do you think I did anything with it?” Cody asked, dropping his hat back on his head and tugging the brim down.
“I know you hate it when I wear makeup.” The girl’s voice grew even more shrill, but then her eyes shifted past Cody. She frowned, pointing a crimson-tipped finger at Vivienne, suddenly distracted by her presence. “Isn’t that the woman you were talking to at the diner? Why is she here?”
Cody’s broad shoulders lifted in a sigh as he clenched his fists. “This is Vivienne Clayton. Vivienne, this is my little sister, Bonnie.”
Bonnie’s heavily made-up eyes narrowed and Vivienne understood Cody’s difficulties with his sister’s beauty regimen. The girl could use a lighter hand with the eyeliner and the mascara. And those bloodred lips. Way too harsh for her coloring and age.
“Vivienne Clayton?” Bonnie took a step closer, her frown deepening. “Are you related to all those Claytons who are coming back to town just for the money?”
Vivienne smiled, choosing to ignore her insult. “I’m George Clayton’s granddaughter, yes. And George Junior and Marion were my parents.”
“Uncle Ted said you were from New York,” Bonnie added, her dark-ringed eyes holding hers. Then Bonnie looked down at Vivienne’s shoes and her eyes grew wide. “The soles of your shoes. They’re red. Are they made by—”
“Christian Louboutin? Yes.” She held up her foot, angling it so Bonnie could see the signature red leather soles on her black pumps. “I bought them at Saks.” They had cost her a ridiculous amount of money, but they were her first purchase with her first paycheck. And a down payment on a promise she’d made to herself to bury her country roots deep in her past. She was now a New Yorker. And the shoes told people she was going somewhere, which was all the way to the top of her profession.
Bonnie’s face beamed at the sight.