Cooking For Cowboy (Stampede Sizzlers) by Brenda Sinclair

the ranch.
    “Well, I’m turning in for the night.” Celia stood and headed toward the kitchen. “Sleep tight, dear. See you tomorrow.”
    “Goodnight, Celia,” she called. “See you in the morning.”
    Sierra considered the mornings she had so far experienced on the ranch. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d seen six a.m. on purpose. Cowboys, she’d soon discovered, believed in starting the day with the rooster. She recalled being wakened by that darn rooster her first morning on the ranch. She could laugh now, but the damn bird frightened the daylights out of her when it started crowing at five a.m. She’d lain in bed considering fried chicken as an option for dinner when Celia tapped on her bedroom door and called, ‘You have time for a quick shower before preparing breakfast, Sierra. I’ll start the coffee for you’.
    She’d needed coffee to jumpstart herself, especially at six a.m. She’d drunk four or five cups every morning by the time the cowboys wandered into the kitchen, all washed up and eager to eat. Grubby boots were left at the back door and Stetsons were hung on hooks in the mudroom, never permitted at the table. Charlie always muttered a quick grace before everyone tucked into their meals.
    Occasionally at her previous jobs, a happy restaurant customer had sent word with a waitress that a particular dish was the best they’d ever tasted. Or someone insisted she come out front to their table to receive a hearty thank you for cooking a steak perfectly. Now, after every meal, no matter how simple, she received several choruses of ‘thank you, ma’am’ and ‘that was mighty tasty, miss’ from the guys she considered ‘her cowboys’. As a chef, she’d never received such volumes of immediate feedback. Often, she caught herself beaming with their praise.
    Who'd have thought she would love cooking for cowboys? And these ones had somehow wormed their way into her heart—particularly the man who always sat at the head of the table.
    Sierra glanced at her watch. Ten fifteen. Mrs. Parker had retired to her bedroom for the night a couple of hours ago, and Celia was probably watching a bit of television in her room off the kitchen before turning off her bedside lamp. Sierra had no idea where Chad was. Most nights she was in bed reading when she heard his footsteps in the hallway outside his bedroom door. She closed the cookbook in her hand.
    Just as she was about to stack up her cookbooks and call it a night, Chad poked his head into the dining room. “What on earth are you doing?” he asked as he entered, his eyes roaming over the books scattered around her.
    “Revising recipes to accommodate cowboy palettes,” answered Sierra with a smile. “What were you working on so long? It’s past ten o’clock.”
    “One of the mares had a colt this evening. He’s a beauty. She didn’t have a problem, but Charlie and I and a third-year vet student working for us this summer sat with the mare through it anyway.”
    “I bet his help was appreciated tonight.”
    “Her help. And yes, she’s going to be one hell of a good vet when she graduates. She worked all her life on her family’s cattle ranch, about fifteen miles west of here. Overseeing the birth of that colt didn’t faze her in the least.” Chad stifled a yawn.
    “You must be tired after such a long day.” Sierra stood. He looked exhausted but happy, too. She hadn’t seen him smile so much since she arrived here. “Can I get you a snack or something before you head off to bed?”
    “No, I’m still stuffed from that beef stew and dumplings you served for dinner. The men were still talking about it out in the barn when they came in to check on the mare.” Chad smiled the lethal smile that made her knees weak.
    “I’m glad they liked it. It’s so nice to be appreciated.”
    “Oh, everyone appreciates you,” whispered Chad, reaching for her hand. “And no one more so than me.”
    “Thank you,” she whispered, as her