Page 5 of Saddles & Suits

Dave stares back at me, the wooden spoon in his hand dripping on the floor. “Well, fuck. He wouldn’t, would he? I mean, Warwick always ate with you. Half the time he asked me to stay too. And we ate in the kitchen.”

My skin gets hot and itchy as I try to decide what to do. “Yeah, but he’s not Warwick. He seems nice enough, but we don’t know him. We don’t know anything about him. Fuck.”

Shaking his head, Dave turns back to the stove. “Set for two and tell him you thought you could go over business during dinner or something.”

That could work. “Good plan.” I go into the dining room and finish setting the table. I’ve brought out the good linens but decided not to use the best china or the really good crystal. And definitely not the silver, because that shit is a bitch to clean. The medium-good stuff is all really nice, anyway; better than my mum’s best.

Standing back, I study the table. It looks pretty good.

“This is nice,” a deep voice says behind me, and I barely stop myself from yelping as I spin around. Jack’s in the doorway, a small, nostalgic smile on his face as he surveys the room. “You didn’t have to set the dining room for me, though. I would have been okay in the kitchen. Or on the couch in the family room. Or… do you usually eat in here?” he finishes on a worried note.

I laugh. “I usually eat in the office. We weren’t sure what you’d prefer, and figured this would be nice anyway,” I offer. He seems a little more clear-headed now.

“We?” he asks.

“Yeah, me and Dave. He’s our chef for the evening. Come back and meet him.” I lead the way into the kitchen, although thinking on it, Jack probably knows his way around. I need to stop treating the man like a guest. This is his home, a home that’s been in his family for several generations. He isn’t a stranger here.

Dave’s just plating our meal when we walk in, and he looks up and flashes a surprised smile.

“Hey! Uh, hello. You must be Jack— I mean, Mr. Tarrant. I’m Dave—David Grant. I, uh…” He shoots me an imploring look, and I take wicked satisfaction from it. Dave was all dismissive when it came tomynerves, but things are different when the shoe’s on the other foot.

I let things hang awkwardly for another second, then say, “Dave is a commercial cookery student at Chisholm. He used to prepare dinner for Warwick, and I asked him to come back for the weekend, since my cooking is barely basic. He also works part-time in the stable.”

“Great to meet you, Dave,” Jack says smoothly. “Please don’t call me Mr. Tarrant. It makes me nervous.” We all laugh, although it’s a bit desperate on Dave’s part. “Dinner smells divine.”

Dave perks up. “Thank you. It’s nothing special, really. I thought you might like something plain after driving down. I’ve got bigger plans for tomorrow night.”

I bet he does. Considering the cooking budget he asked for, there’ve got to be threads of gold involved. If it was anyone else, I’d suspect the money went to pay for a night at the pub.

A few minutes later, Jack and I have been ushered back to the dining room and are being served bowls of chunky beef stew laden with vegetables and thick gravy. And is that bacon? Jack was right when he said it smelled divine, and I bite the inside of my mouth to keep myself from just diving into my plate. Dave delivers a basket full of warm, crusty rolls, then smiles and backs out of the room. “Just let me know when you’re ready for dessert.”

Jack picks up his spoon, and I take that as a cue to do the same, and silence follows.

Finally Jack speaks. “Fuck, he’s a good cook.” He tears apart another roll and begins mopping up the last remnants of gravy in his bowl. I watch wistfully; I’ve already done that and am kind of sad that there’s none left. Knowing Dave, there actually is some left in the kitchen, enough for lunch tomorrow, but if I eat it now, I can’t eat it then… plus there’s the matter of dessert. Dave’s very good with desserts.

“Do you think there’s any more?” Jack asks, and I purse my lips.

“Maybe, but if you have a sweet tooth, you may want to hold off.”

His eyes widen, and something about the eager, endearing expression has lust stabbing in my stomach. “Dessert?”

I nod, trying not to panic. Lust? No, that’s bad. “Dave’s a genius with chocolate.”

Casting one last, longing look at his plate, Jack leans back in his chair. “I guess it would be rude for me to fill up on the main course and have no room for dessert. Okay, well, while we’re letting dinner settle, why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

Fuck.

What? Why? Ugh.

I force a smile. “Not a lot to tell. I grew up locally, worked here in the stables while I was at school. Went to uni in Melbourne, worked in concierge services, then moved back here to work for Warwick.”

“You used to work in the stables? I had no idea.” He sounds surprised. “Uncle Warwick never said. It’s kind of weird that we never met before.”

I’m not going to mention that wehavemet before—it barely counts. Instead, I shrug and say, “I guess we never crossed paths. I met Malcom a few times.”

“Lucky you,” Jack jokes, and I remember Warwick saying that the two of them have grown apart since becoming adults. “So, concierge services? Like in a hotel?”

I explain about my old job, which leads to a discussion on luxury services in general, and then somehow morphs into a comparison of Melbourne’s eateries. We’re in the middle of picking apart the menu at Jack’s favorite restaurant when Dave comes in with dessert. I glance down in surprise. When did Dave clear our dinner plates? I grimace apologetically at the kid, who’s grinning broadly.

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