Steal Me, Cowboy (Copper Mountain Rodeo) by Kim Boykin

Author:Kim Boykin [Boykin, Kim]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The Tule Publishing Group, LLC
Published: 2013-12-28T06:00:00+00:00

The whole house smelled delicious. I was officially starving, and food seemed to be a safe subject, unless we were talking grilled cheese. “So, what’s for dinner?”

“The house specialty. Pan seared elk chops.”

Well, maybe this wasn’t a date, because elk sounded like the least sexy food on the menu. “Elk?”

“I wanted to give you something you’ve never had before.” Oh shit, there he goes again. “Who knows—you might like it.”

“How do you know I’ve never had elk before? Maybe it’s a southern staple like grits. Maybe southerners like grits and elk. Together. All the time.”

“Have you ever had it before?” He turned on that flirty grin that said he had me.

“Open my wine for me? Please?” He opened the red and the white and gave me a little taste of the Scarecrow. It really didn’t taste anything like the cheap reds I’d tasted before. It was good, but the not-expensive chardonnay was buttery and delicious.

While Beck was busy in the kitchen, I grabbed my phone out of the car and checked my messages, earning an I told you so smirk. I sat at the bar and watched him cook, with my phone at the place beside me, like it was Adam’s place. I sipped my wine and nibbled on a little brioche Beck had put out for me. It was topped with some things I didn’t recognize and some things I did… like lobster and a yellow thing that looked like a little tiny fried egg.

“This is wonderful, Beck. What is it?”

“Toasted brioche, lamb prosciutto we make at the restaurant, foie gras, with a little poached lobster and finished with truffle hollandaise sauce.”

I popped another piece in my mouth. “What’s the little fried egg-looking thingy?”

“A sunny side up quail egg.” Quail egg? As in little baby birds? Part of me wanted to spit the little yellow thing into my napkin, but the way all the flavors came together made that impossible. “Good?” he asked.

“You always ask questions you already know the answer to?” He grinned and turned his attention to plating our dinner. “What can I do to help? Can I set the table?”

“Already have. Take your wine into the dining room.” He nodded toward a pocket door off the kitchen. “I’ll be there in a sec.”

I opened the door and sucked in my breath not knowing what was more beautiful, the stunning view of the mountains and the lake or the room itself. The room had the same vaulted ceiling and rustic beams as the rest of the house. A long antique farm table sat atop a gorgeous rug of turquoise, reds, and browns woven in an intricate Native American design. The two end chairs were upholstered in a soft nubby turquoise fabric. The six side chairs were all different, all antique and perfectly restored in varying shades of natural finishes to complement the deep rich honey-colored beams.

In the middle of the table was a huge round wooden tray with a dozen flickering oil lanterns of various sizes. The chandelier that hung over the table was a tangle of antlers wrapped in tiny white twinkling lights.

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