Coyote Cowgirl by Kim Antieau

Author:Kim Antieau
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: family, secrets, food, las vegas, restaurant, cooking, arizona, kim antieau, women in jeopardy, crystal skull, wij, chefs, green snake publishing
Publisher: Green Snake Publishing

Hermano, Can You Spare Some Thyme?

“Jeanne?”

I opened my eyes. Paul was leaning into the room.

“Oh, sorry. Didn’t know you—”

I got up quickly, dressed only in my long T-shirt and underwear.

“He’s just my brother,” I whispered, glancing at my sleeping sibling. “The motel was closed. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not.”

We went into the hallway.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” he said, glancing at my bare legs, “but a business associate of mine is in town. I told him about you, and he’ll be gone tomorrow.” He shrugged and took my hand. I wondered if I would get another kiss. I wasn’t certain I really wanted one.

“Sure,” I said, gently taking my hand back. “I can make eggs, or something. I’ll be right out.”

I dipped back into the room to change clothes and grabbed Crane.

“He’s got a lot of nerve asking you to cook on your day off!” Crane said.

“Hey, I’m paying off a debt,” I whispered as we went into the kitchen. I set Crane on the island. “Any ideas?”

“Let’s be simple but scrumptious,” he said.

“French toast?”

“Exactamente.”

“I might even know how to do that,” I said.

Crane instructed me to beat together eggs, milk, cinnamon, nutmeg, clove, and zest of an orange. I soaked pieces of Vesta’s thick spongy bread in the mixture, then took them out and fried them in olive oil. While they cooked, I pushed orange halves down onto the juicer until I filled four glasses with orange juice. I garnished two plates with twisted slices of orange, then flipped the toast out of the frying pan onto the plates. I tapped powdered sugar and cinnamon over the toast and carried the plates out to the dining room along with the maple syrup.

When I brought the orange juice to Paul and his associate, the stranger looked up and grinned, his mouth full. Paul hadn’t touched his French toast. I set the glasses on the table and returned to the kitchen. I made Antoine and myself French toast, too. I put the toast and juice on a tray, along with Crane, and carried it all into the office.

Antoine moaned when I set the tray on the desk. “Get up, lazy bones,” I said.

I went back into the dining room. The stranger’s plate was empty.

“This was magnificent!” the man said.

Paul still hadn’t eaten his breakfast. I frowned.

“Excuse me, Paul. Are you finished with the syrup?”

“Sure, go ahead,” he said, smiling.

As I took the syrup back to the office, I wondered what was wrong with Paul’s breakfast.

I sat on the bed with Antoine, and we ate breakfast silently.

“Gee, Jeanne, this is really superb. I mean it’s just French toast, but it’s great.”

“Vesta made the bread.”

When Antoine was finished, he leaned against the wall and patted his stomach.

“So why are you here, sister?” he asked.

“I started off paying a debt,” I said. “Now I kind of like being here. The owner seems to need me. He counts on me. Nobody here knows I’m considered incompetent by my family.”

Antoine made a noise. “You’re

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