32
Instead of having dinner with the rest of the ranch, Talia wanted to cook for Gordon.
The thought came to her while she sat in the lavender suite with her laptop open, notes spread across the desk, and half of Elise’s roast sandwich still sitting beside her.
She was supposed to be working.
Technically, she had been.
For almost an hour, she had rearranged sections of the article, cleaned up her notes, typed and deleted the same sentence four different ways, and tried not to think about Gordon sitting beside her earlier, eating his sandwich while answering questions like they had not been pressed together in a storage building hours before.
He had not acted smug.
That was almost irritating.
He had not pushed. Had not teased. Had not asked her to define what had happened.
He had simply sat in the chair near the window with his long legs stretched out, one ankle crossed over the other, talking about ranch work, cattle drives, and how Malik had once tried to trade Luke a cookie for a horse.
And somehow, the ordinary ease of that had made her want to do something ordinary for him.
Something real.
Something that was not an interview.
She wanted to cook.
It was one of her favorite things to do, though she hardly ever had anyone to cook for.
In Houston, meals were usually functional.
Salads in containers. Soup reheated while standing at the counter.
Takeout eaten over a laptop. A meal cooked from scratch meant leftovers she would eat for three days and then regret because it reminded her how quiet her apartment was.
But cooking for someone else was different.
Cooking let her offer care without having to explain it.
Gordon’s cottage came to mind first.
His new cottage. His mostly empty kitchen. His refrigerator stocked only because Elise had taken pity on him and filled it with leftovers.
Talia closed her laptop.
She had no idea where the grocery store in town was. She also did not have time to find it, shop, return, cook, and still have dinner ready at a reasonable hour. Gordon had a list of things he still needed to do for the cattle drive and could not go with her.
Which meant she had no choice.
She would have to ask Elise or Edye.
The idea made her briefly consider abandoning the whole plan and eating whatever was placed in front of her at Luke Stanley’s table like a sensible guest with survival instincts.
Then she thought of Gordon’s face when he had talked about making the second bedroom into a reading room.
She got up.
The main house was quieter than she expected when she entered the kitchen.
Usually, there were people everywhere. Elise moving between stove and counter, Earl at the table with something to peel, Edye passing through with a child, Nia’s voice carrying from another room, someone laughing, someone asking a question, someone being told not to touch something hot.
But now the kitchen was empty.
Talia paused in the doorway.
“Hello?”
No answer.
She stepped inside, feeling as if she had wandered into a chapel after hours.
The counters were clean. A pot sat covered on the stove. Something savory simmered gently, rich with herbs and onions. The pantry door stood slightly open. A basket of vegetables sat on the island, and the refrigerator hummed softly.
Talia looked over her shoulder.
Still no one.
“All right,” she whispered to herself. “Just look.”
She knew enough kitchens to find the obvious things. Flour. Seasonings. Oil. Butter. A bag of potatoes. Onions. Garlic. A bundle of carrots. A pack of chicken wrapped neatly in butcher paper. She hesitated over the chicken for a moment, then set it on the counter.
She was not stealing.
She was borrowing.
No, that sounded worse.
She was sourcing ingredients from the ranch kitchen with the intention of feeding one of the ranch’s people.
That sounded almost official.
She found a bundle of herbs in the refrigerator, a jar of cream, and a container of mushrooms. After another minute, she located rice in the pantry and added it to the counter. She stared at everything, mentally building a meal.
Creamy garlic chicken with mushrooms. Roasted potatoes and carrots. Rice, because Gordon looked like a man who did not believe dinner was dinner unless it could support physical labor. Maybe biscuits, if she could find what she needed and not offend the spirit of Elise’s kitchen.
Talia was going through the items again, checking what she had and what she still needed, when someone cleared her throat behind her.
Talia jumped.
She spun around, one hand flying to her chest.
Edye stood in the doorway, one brow raised.
“What are you up to?”
Talia’s heart hammered. “Good Lord.”
“Not quite,” Edye said. “Just me.”
“You move quietly.”
“I live with children. It’s a necessary skill.”
Talia glanced at the counter, then back at Edye.
There was no point lying.
Not to Edye.
Not after everything.
“I wanted to cook dinner for Gordon,” Talia said.
Edye’s expression did not change.
Talia forced herself to continue. “I know I’m supposed to eat at Luke’s table, but Gordon said his refrigerator is basically empty except for leftovers Elise stored there for him. I thought maybe I could make dinner at his place. I don’t know where the grocery store is, and he’s busy, so…”
She gestured awkwardly toward the food.
“So I raided your kitchen.”
Edye came closer, moving to the island. She looked over the items on the counter without speaking.
Talia braced herself.
She expected a reprimand. A polite but firm instruction to put everything back. Maybe a reminder that guests did not help themselves. Maybe worse, that Talia had already taken enough liberties at Stanley Ranch.
Instead, Edye picked up the bundle of herbs and sniffed it.
“What else do you need?”
Talia blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“What else do you need?” Edye repeated. “You’ve got chicken, potatoes, carrots, mushrooms, rice, cream, onion, garlic. What are you making?”
“Creamy garlic chicken with mushrooms. Roasted vegetables. Rice. Maybe biscuits, if that’s not crossing a line in Elise’s kitchen.”
Edye’s mouth curved. “Biscuits are always crossing a line in Elise’s kitchen if she didn’t make them.”
“I suspected that.”
“Rolls might be safer. We have some dough in the freezer Elise made last week.”
“Oh. That would be perfect.”
Edye opened a lower cabinet and pulled out a sturdy cardboard box, setting it on the island. “And Luke never said you had to eat at his table every night.”
Talia paused.
Edye looked at her. “Sunday nights are required. The rest is expectation, not law.”
Talia filed that away.
Expectation, not law.
Gordon had let her think every dinner was mandatory. Or maybe he had not corrected the assumption because he wanted her at the table.
That was something she would talk to him about later.
Not now.
Right now, Edye was watching her, and Talia was standing in front of stolen chicken.
“I could use a lemon if you have one,” Talia said. “And maybe parmesan, if that’s not too much.”
Edye moved to the refrigerator. “We have both.”
She pulled open drawers and shelves, retrieving a lemon, a wedge of parmesan wrapped in paper, and a container of frozen rolls. Then she went to the pantry and found a small jar of paprika and another of black peppercorns.
“If you’re roasting the vegetables, use this too,” Edye said, handing her the paprika. “Elise pretends not to like it when people touch her spice shelves, but she likes food that tastes like somebody meant it.”
Talia took the jar, surprised by the laugh that escaped her. “That may be the best cooking advice I’ve ever heard.”
“It applies to more than cooking.”
The words were light.
The look was not.
Talia lowered the jar into the box.
Edye helped pack everything, fitting ingredients with efficient care. The chicken went into a small insulated bag first, then into the box. The vegetables followed. The rolls. The cream. The rice. The herbs were tucked on top.
Talia reached for the box, ready to close it and leave before she lost her nerve.
“Talia.”
She stopped.
Edye stood across from her, hands resting lightly on the counter.
“Do you know what you’re doing?”
Talia knew instantly that Edye was not talking about cooking.
The kitchen seemed to grow quieter.
Outside the window, a truck passed slowly, tires crunching over gravel. Somewhere down the hall, Nia laughed. Life moved on around them, but in the kitchen, Edye’s gaze was sharp enough to pin Talia in place.
Talia could have deflected.
She could have said she knew how to make chicken, or that Gordon was just hungry, or that dinner did not mean anything. She could have wrapped the truth in sarcasm and held it out like armor.
But Edye deserved better than that.
Maybe Gordon did too.
Talia let out a slow breath. “No.”
Edye said nothing.
Talia looked down at the box, then back up. “I have no clue what I’m doing.”
Edye’s expression did not soften. It did not harden either. She simply waited.
“I like him,” Talia admitted. “I told him that. I also made it clear that I’m here for the story and when the article is finished, I’m going home to Houston.”
“And Gordon?”
“He refuses to let this be just an interview.”
That almost made Edye smile. Almost.
Talia folded her arms, not because she was defensive exactly, but because she needed something to hold onto. “I’m not going to deny having feelings for him. That would be dishonest. And I’ve already been dishonest enough here.”
Edye’s gaze held hers.
It was unnerving.
Talia had interviewed politicians, grieving mothers, furious business owners, athletes, artists, liars, survivors, and people who wanted to be famous so badly they mistook attention for air. She knew how to sit across from intensity.
But Edye Stanley’s stare was different.
It felt less like being interviewed and more like being measured.
Not for weakness.
For truth.
Talia felt as if Edye were examining her soul, turning it toward the light to see where the cracks were and whether those cracks could cut Gordon.
“I don’t want to hurt him,” Talia said quietly.
Edye’s eyes did soften then, though only a little.
“I believe that,” she said.
The words were not absolution.
Talia understood that.
Believing she did not intend harm was not the same as trusting her not to cause it.
Edye looked at the box, then back at Talia. “Gordon has had enough people treat his heart like something they could use and walk away from.”
Talia swallowed.
“I know.”
“No,” Edye said gently. “You know some of it. Not all.”
That landed.
Talia nodded because there was nothing else she could do.
For a long moment, Edye said nothing more.
Then, just like that, she reached for the box flaps and folded them closed.
“I’ll make it a point to stock Gordon’s kitchen properly before we leave on the cattle drive.”
Talia blinked, thrown by the shift. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I know.”
“He can shop for himself.”
“I know that too.”
“Then why?”
“Because a person’s first home should have more in it than leftovers.”
Talia stared at her.
There it was again.
This ranch’s strange, dangerous tenderness.
No speeches. No declarations. Just food in cabinets, locks on doors, children guarded, keys handed over, rooms offered, and kitchens stocked because someone should not have to start a life with an empty refrigerator.
Talia’s throat tightened.
“Thank you,” she said.
Edye nodded. “You may want to put that chicken in the refrigerator when you get there.”
“I will.”
“And use a baking sheet under the rolls. The oven in Gordon’s cottage runs a little hot on the bottom.”
Talia almost smiled. “Noted.”
“And Talia?”
She paused with the box in her arms.
Edye’s gaze met hers again, steady and serious.
“Be honest with him. Even when honesty makes you uncomfortable.”
Talia nodded.
“I will.”
Edye held her gaze for another second, then turned and left the room.
Talia stood still until she heard Edye’s footsteps fade.
Only then did she relax.
Her shoulders dropped. Her breath came out in a rush. The box in her arms suddenly seemed heavier than it had a minute ago.
She looked toward the doorway Edye had disappeared through.
“I am wildly out of my depth,” she muttered.
No one answered.
Probably for the best.
Talia adjusted her grip on the box and carried it out of the kitchen. The main house hummed with distant voices and everyday movement, but no one stopped her as she slipped out the back.
Outside, sunlight lay warm across the yard. She crossed to her car and loaded the box carefully into the passenger seat.
For a moment, she stood there with one hand on the open door, looking toward the cottages.
Gordon’s cottage waited at the edge of the ranch’s newer growth, furnished but not yet fully lived in. A place with an empty second bedroom he might turn into a reading room. A kitchen with leftovers in the fridge. A home still learning how to hold him.
Talia closed the car door.
Then she went around to the driver’s side, got in, and started toward the cottage.