Insatiable

Chapter 21

Rhett

“Come on in, y’all.” April waves us in.

We didn’t even have time to ring the doorbell. I texted her to tell her we were close, but I didn’t expect her to be waiting for us.

“Thanks,” Carina says stepping inside.

They do this girly kiss thing on both cheeks, and I watch in amusement.

Carina and I have been going strong for a month now and in that time April and her have grown close. I wouldn’t call them best friends, but they’re partners in crime. Funny, considering their work hours didn’t allow them to interact that much.

Things are different now.

Since Jenkins and April are family, we hang out together quite a lot. They were over at Carina’s place three weeks ago for dinner. Last Friday, I invited them over to christen my farmhouse.

Tonight, we’re hanging out at their place.

“Hey, April,” I say.

She rushes over to give me a hug before stepping away and returning her attention to my girl. “My God, I love this dress on you, Carina. And the jewelry… you have to tell me where you bought your necklace.”

“I got it from the most adorable little shop in Dallas,” Carina says. “We must go one day.”

“You’re on.” April’s eyes sweep the length of my girl’s body. “Love, love, love how the beads pick up on the color of the intricate detail on the lower part of your dress.”

Carina is wearing a turquoise bead necklace with a silver cross dangling from a leather string. It complements her pretty black off the shoulder western-style dress to a T.

“Someone said I couldn’t leave the store without it,” Carina says. “This tall guy over here spoiled me rotten when we were in Dallas two weeks ago.”

I wink at her.

April’s eyes drop to my girl’s feet. “And let’s talk about those killer boots.”

“I know, right?” Carina says, extending a leg out.

“I see you got the expensive ones?”

“Someone said I shouldn’t compromise,” Carina says.

I chuckle.

It took longer than I’d like, because I was pulling a lot of extra shifts at the ranch when three guys become first time fathers in the same week—their babies all came earlier than expected.

Still, I held my promise to my girl. We drove out to Dallas a couple weeks ago so I could make her a bona fide small-town girl.

I bought Carina three pairs of Justin boots—one pair of dressy turquoise leather ones that are distressed for a weathered effect. A casual two-toned pair for every day, and the polished all black ones she’s wearing now.

“Nice.” April nods, visibly impressed.

Carina blushes, as her gaze slides to meet mine. “I love all my gifts.”

“Glad you do.” I nod.

“It’s good to be you, Carina,” April says. “I need to find me a Rhett.”

I shake a finger at her. “Not ‘til you’re thirty, remember?”

“Carina isn’t even twenty-five, and she has you,” April says.

“Squirt, you’re not even twenty yet. There’s plenty of time.”

April shakes her head with an eye roll.

Carina laughs.

“Whatever y’all are cooking sure smells good,” I say, taking in the tangy smell permeating my nostrils.

“Jenkins is manning the barbecue. The ribs are still cooking and he has a few other things out there. It’s a production. I hope you brought an appetite.”

“Sure did,” I say. “It was a long day. I spent most of it herding Angus and breaking young colts and fillies under the blazing sun.”

Even though it’s different from my previous career, I enjoy what I do. My coworkers are great and the bosses are amazing. The best part is when I stay over at Carina’s, I’m just a step away from work.

“It was crazy today at Happy Belly,” Carina says to April. “I didn’t have time for lunch until four… and by that, I mean a quick pear and blue cheese salad. Translation: I’m starving.”

“Tell me about it,” April says. “It’s Friday night, and our only preoccupation should be to kick back, stuff our faces silly, and enjoy the company.”

“Hear, hear!” Carina says at the same time as I say, “Amen to that.”

We all have a good chuckle.

“Be prepared because you’re in for a treat,” April says, “My brother went a little overboard with his fancy recipes. He wanted to impress the city girl… who happens to be a chef.”

“Little ol’ me?” Carina says in a coquettish way. “I’m sure it will all be finger-lickin’ good.”

“He might not have any accreditation, but my boy Jenkins knows how to barbecue,” I say. “The guy takes marinating meat seriously.”

“I know I’m biased, but my big brother rules the grill.” April grins from ear to ear. “Let’s go out to the backyard.” She waves. “It’s time for a beer.”

“Excuse me?” My eyes widen like saucers. “Since when does Jenkins let you drink?”

“Calm down, Dad. I was talking about you adults. I know better. I’ll stick to Coca-Cola until I’m thirty… when I’m finally allowed to have a boyfriend.”

“Music to my ears.” I chuckle. “Let me run back to the truck and grab all the stuff Carina prepared.”

“I’ll help,” Carina says.

“Nonsense. I can handle it. You go with April.”

She nods, and they’re off.

A couple of trips is all it takes for me to bring in two large bags weighed down with appetizers, sides, and bite-size desserts. I make a third one to grab the delicious looking Hummingbird cake my girl made.

Carina always prepares enough to feed an army. She says she wanted April and Jenkins to have leftovers. Mission accomplished.

I drop everything on the kitchen counter and make my way to the backyard.

Jenkins lifts his head and smiles.

I stride his way. “How’s it going?”

“I spent my day off cookin’ and cleanin’, but it was worth it. We’re going to eat like kings tonight.”

“I don’t doubt it for a minute.”

“Food’s almost ready,” Jenkins says.

“Smells amazing.”

“I’m feeling the pressure.” His gaze slides to my girl.

“Quit worrying. She’ll love it.”

“Okay,” he says with a sigh of relief. “Beer?”

“I’d love one.” I move my attention to the table where April and Carina are already giggling. “What is she drinking?”

“Since I wasn’t sure beer would do it, I prepared some cocktails. While my little sister’s enjoyin’ her usual, your girl is sippin’ on a Dark ‘n’ Stormy—made with dark rum and ginger beer served over ice and garnished with a slice of lime.”

I cock an eyebrow. “Look at you. You’re almost domesticated.”

“You’d be surprised what you can learn on YouTube.”

We both crack up.

My phone rings, interrupting our laughter.

I fish for it in the back of my jeans and bring it to eye level.

“Don’t recognize the number,” I say, looking at the screen.

I let it go to voicemail.

“I got something different for us to try,” Jenkins says. “I finally decided to buy some craft beer since Jake and Hunter are always going on about—”

My phone rings again.

Same number.

“What the hell? It’s Friday night for God’s sake.”

“Why don’t you take it? Get it over with,” Jenkins says.

“Might as well.” I accept the call.

“Hello?”

“Rhett Sullivan?”

“Yes,” I say.

“I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”

“Can I ask who’s calling?”

“Sorry. It’s been a long day. Make that a long week. My name is Molly Goldberg-Braunstein. I’m a senior editor at the New York Times Magazine.”

“Okay.” I look up at the clock on the wall. “You’re calling pretty late.”

“I’m on New York time—figuratively and literally. It’s only seven here and I still have a solid two hours to go before I leave the office.”

“All work, no play,” I say.

“Not in publishing, I’m afraid.”

“How can I help you, Mrs. Goldberg-Braunstein, or is it miss?”

“I’m married and it’s Molly.”

“Molly.”

“About nine months ago you were in communication with one of my colleagues, Joyce Rabinowitz.”

“Joyce Rabinowitz?”

“She works in NYT’s Books division. She wanted to run a story on a few real life rodeo kings because of the rise in popularity of cowboy romance and small-town romance books among women… especially those living in big cities.”

It all comes flooding back to me.

“Oh yeah, I remember.”

I turn to Jenkins and point to the kitchen.

“I’ll be in there,” I mouth.

He nods.

I point to Carina.

He gets it.

“Joyce is on maternity leave. She’s the proud mother of twins.

Her replacement brought up your profile to her boss––who’s also a senior editor.

That’s how I caught wind of your story. It seems Joyce was planning on profiling you and a Dawson Fulton since you two dominated the rodeo circuit.

I was wondering why it never came to be. After a quick search, I had my answer.”

With a sigh, I hang my head low. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry for your loss, Rhett.”

“Thank you.”

“The video footage… is so… gripping… and tragic,” Molly says.

“It was a pretty horrific experience,” I say, feeling the twist in my gut.

“I have no doubt. Are you…? I mean…”

“Am I back on my feet?” I finish her sentence.

She lets out an awkward laugh. “For a senior editor, that was a poor attempt at finding my words. Yes, how are you holding up?”

“It was a long emotional recovery road, but I’ve come to accept I’ve lost a guy who was like a brother to me.”

“From what I’ve read, you’re no longer on the circuit. Is that right?”

“I couldn’t get back on the horse… pun intended.”

“I can understand that.”

I lean against the kitchen counter and cross my legs at the ankle.

“Maybe it’s a good thing Joyce never did that profile.

My rodeo days are well behind me. No more glory.

No more fans. No more adulation. No more big prizes.

I’m just a regular small-town boy these days.

In fact, I work as a ranch hand now. Nothing newsworthy about it. ”

“I disagree, Rhett.”

“I’m sorry?”

“We don’t often do these cross stories, but I think yours––if it’s something you’d consider––would be perfect.”

I frown at the phone. “I don’t understand.”

“Joyce wanted to do a profile on you specifically relating to books, but I think there’s a bigger story here. There’s this growing fantasy among women to leave the big city in search of a simpler way of life. And, in the process, they’d find the one… and in this case, the one is a small-town boy.”

“I still don’t follow.”

“Rhett Sullivan, you’re the ultimate poster child.”

“I am?”

“You jumped into a ring where you knew there was an aggressive and unleashed bull,” Molly says. “Rage. The name says it all, yet you didn’t hesitate––”

“I was trying to save my friend.”

“Exactly. Lesser men would’ve just stood by. Not you. And…”

“And?”

“Let’s just say, you’re pretty easy on the eyes. In a professional sense, of course, since I’m happily married.”

I chuckle. “Thanks for the compliment.”

“Seriously, in my world, many would say you’re hot.”

“Well, shoot. Stop it right there, lil’ lady, you’re going to make me blush.”

“I doubt a rugged guy like you can blush.”

She’s right.

“There you go again, layering it on.”

“I’m serious. Women will lose their effing minds over you.”

“I’m flattered, but I don’t want to lead anyone on.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m seeing someone. In fact, she’s one of yours.”

“She’s a senior editor?”

“No, she’s a New Yorker.”

“She lives in Summerville?”

“Yes, ma’am. She’s a chef. She won a Food Network competition not long ago. That’s how she ended up down here. She’s only been in town for two and a half months.”

“Is she working in Summerville now?”

“She works at Riley Carrington’s Happy Belly Eatery.”

“Riley Carrington? Why have I heard that name before?”

“Riley’s a big name. She has that popular food site and she’s done lots of guest appearances on Food Network. She has her own show now. She’s from around here. I should say she’s from LA, but she’s been living down here for a while now.”

“Wait a minute. Are you telling me you’re dating a chef from New York?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. She’s talented, too. Her name is Carina Callahan. Her family even have restaurants in New York.”

“Interesting.”

Seconds tick away, and Molly doesn’t say a thing.

“Hello? Molly, you still there?”

“I am. I’m thinking. I called because we wanted to fly you up to New York City––all expenses paid––for a full photo shoot and full story.

What you just shared flips this story on its head.

If your girlfriend is a New Yorker, and a chef, and a winner of the Food Network competition… we have a lot to chew on.”

“Is that industry talk or something?”

She lets out a boisterous laugh. “What I mean is we have an even bigger story than we ever imagined. I’d like to present this to our editor-in-chief and managing editor.

This is exactly the essence of the story we wanted to run, ‘BIG CITY GIRL LASSOS HUNKY COWBOY’.

Instead of it being a work of fiction, it’s happening in real life. It’s perfect.”

“Are you serious?”

“I am. This story is beautifully packaged, Rhett. It would be silly not to run with it. Give me a few days and I’ll circle back with you.”

I can’t believe this.

“Sure. No problem. Thank you for the opportunity.”