Page 17 of The Outlaw and the Heir

"Huh, that's news to me."

"The cook in the house doesn't know how to cook for more than a few people at a time. So, the men at this ranch take turns cooking for everyone. A lot of them here are hardworking men who just know how to cook the basics."

"That's very, uh...okay, I don't have anything nice to say other than that's nice of them to take turns. But damn, why not pick a few who don't cook the worst and have them take notes from the one who cooks for you and your family? At least then you could have better meals for your workers."

His brow furrowed, grip around a roughly carved ladle tightening until his knuckles were white before grunting and dumping some of the food into a bowl. “It feeds them, gets them what they need."

"Their bodies, sure," I said as I took a helping of some sort of stew that looked more like the congealed remains of dirt mixed with something that might have been cactus. "But we both know this kind of food isn't going to help them where it counts."

"And where's that?"

"Their hearts, their minds, whatever you want. Nobody here will come to these tables looking forward to a good meal to start or end the day or enjoy halfway through. They're going to eat because they need to and eventually spend their hard-earnedmoney on...better food. Or drink to wash down the taste of the food when no one is looking."

A grunt brought my head up, and I saw a tall man with a litany of scars on his face frowning at me. “You sayin' our food is as bad as what y'all got in jail?"

"Nice going," Garret muttered behind me, and I rolled my eyes.

"No," I said with a sigh. "I've definitely had worse, but...it's not much better either."

The admittedly fierce and mean-looking man looked all the meaner as his eyes narrowed to slits. “That so?"

I shrugged, sensing that if we had a problem, it would have started. Why he was continuing to look intimidating was his business rather than mine, though. "Take it from someone who's eaten a lot of different food in his life, this isn't very good."

The man jerked his head toward Ambrose, lip curling. "Told you."

"Donotmake the outlaw in our custody feel like his opinion counts around here," Ambrose growled, turning to glare at him to make his point.

"Well, last I checked, breakin' the law just means you broke the law. Don't say nothin' about knowin' how to cook."

"Woah, now," I said, holding up my hands. "I never saidanythingabout knowing how to cook."

"You made all those complaints and don't even know how to cook?" Ambrose asked in irritation and then rolled his eyes. "Of course you don't."

"Not the wayhe'sasking," I said. "I know how to cooksomethings, but I never got to learn more than a few. I wouldn't know how to start to cook for a bunch of people. My mo…I didn't learn much, and being out in this part of the country didn't teach me more. Except that food tastes much better if you've got some bacon fat, lard, or if you're lucky, butter to cook things in."

My mother had taught me other things when it came to cooking, like how toproperlyget the browning on the bottom of the pan to get more flavor into a meal or how to use herbs and seasonings. We hadn't been a rich family, not by some standards anyway, but my father's prosperous mercantile affairs had afforded us a comfortable life for the most part. Enough for us to have a steady home, with a small staff to clean and care for a few animals.

It had been my mother, though, who had taken care of raising the children. At least, it would have been children, except for her health. She had nearly died giving birth to me, and the doctors had sworn she would never make it through another birth. She had always told me that having me as a son was more than enough, though, and she was happy the way she was. Except, sometimes, I had seen the shadow that passed quietly over her features when she said that to me, and I remembered the happiness on her face when she spoke of growing up with so many siblings.

Deep down, I always wondered if my mother had wanted more than one son, one to take over the family business, another to perhaps go to school, and maybe another to raise a little hell and keep everyone honest...or at least on our toes. Had she also wanted daughters who knew how to care for animals, cook delicious food, mend and make clothes, and raise the children that would come to them one day?

Except there had only been me, and there were only so many roles I could take on without a disaster...or more than I already was. I'd never been much for making clothes, but I could repair them just fine. I had a good head for numbers and running a business, but I’d always been so busy with other things that I'd never focused on honing those skills to see if they were worthwhile. I was good with most animals, horses mostly, and cats, but I didn't know much about their care, only whereto scratch them to get the best results...which wasn't all that important with husbandry.

Though if my hunch was right about my mother's expectations, wherever she was, if she could see me, that was, at least she got a son who raised hell. Of course, it wasn't with my family since they were no longer part of the equation, but it was something. And if I was wrong, she was just going to shake her head, her lips thinning as she raised her brow, the clearest sign that she was over my tomfoolery.

"I don't know...much," I said with a shrug, feeling more awkward now I realized I’d put myself in that position and didn't have an easy way out. It wasn't like anyone like Ambrose or Garret would come to my rescue. "Just...some things."

The man grunted. “Sounds like you know more than the rest of us."

"Don't let him get to you, Leon," Ambrose said and I didn't have to look at him to know he was scowling heavily in my direction. "He's just?—"

"Someone who knowssomethingmore than what we know...unless you wanna make us that famous mush of yours again, Ambrose," Leon said, cocking his head.

There was a moment of pure silence from Ambrose, which usually wasn't a good sign for whoever had made him quiet. Or at least that was my experience dealing with Ambrose the past week. Admittedly, that wasn't a long time, but I considered myself a good reader of people. Then again, I'd also learned a long time ago not to gettooattached to my powers of observation and evaluation; otherwise, I could find myself working on an assumption that proved fatal.

A lesson I learned the hard, but not quite fatal way a few times before and wasn't interested in having to learn again.

"Fine," Ambrose said after a moment. "I'll give you a couple of hours every Saturday to pick his brain and see if anything comes of it. Maybe a couple of weeks’ worth."

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