overall prize too.”
Clemencia rubbed her hands together. “And may the best stove jockey win.”
Joe shook his head as Clem’s words finally registered. “Tolly Berenger isn’t a chef. I doubt he’s ever been in a kitchen in his life except to chew out his staff. He’s a restaurant owner, not a cook. How’s he going to represent the Silver Spur?”
Clemencia shrugged. “From what I hear, he’s looking for somebody to take over his kitchen. He just fired the guy he had doing steaks. Right now he’s got some short order cook filling in, but he’s trying to find somebody who can do something besides burgers and fries.”
MG gave him a tentative smile. “This sounds like great publicity for the restaurant.”
“Assuming we win,” Joe growled. He was beginning to lose that warm glow he’d felt in his chest ever since he’d seen MG standing in her doorway. Damn contest.
“Doubts so soon?” Clemencia’s eyes sparkled. He half expected her to start rubbing her hands in glee. “Well, you should have doubts, buddy. I plan on sweeping the whole thing.”
The corners of his mouth edged up. He could never stay mad at Clemencia, no matter how hard he tried. “Okay, Ms. Rodriguez, go for it. I’ll be snapping at your heels all the way.”
Clemencia glanced back between him and MG again. “So you want dinner or what?”
“Yeah, we want dinner.” He shrugged. “What’s good?”
Clemencia narrowed her eyes, but Joe gave her a guileless smile. “Besides everything, that is. Maybe I should have said, what’s best?”
“Yeah, that’s definitely what you should have said. I’ve got some spinach enchiladas that will knock your socks off.” She ticked off on her fingers. “ Queso Fresco from a new place in San Antonio and fresh spinach from Les Corrigan’s farm. And some chilies from a supplier I’m not sharing.” She gave him a narrow-eyed look.
Joe raised his hands, palms out. “Sounds great, darlin’.” He turned toward MG. “Okay by you?”
She nodded. “Sure. Sounds great to me too.”
He put his hand on her elbow, steering her gently to a table at the side as Clemencia headed back for her kitchen. “Don’t worry. She does fantastic stuff. It’s not what we do at the Rose, but it’s still fantastic.”
“I’m not worried. I love enchiladas.”
“Believe me, you haven’t had any enchiladas until you’ve had Clem’s.” He pulled back a chair for her, then dropped into a seat on the other side of the table.
MG glanced around the room again, then stopped, staring. “Good grief,” she blurted. “That’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life.”
Joe glanced in the direction where she’d been staring, then grinned again. “That’s Deirdre Brandenburg. I mean, Deirdre Ames. Sorry. She and Tom got married a few weeks ago, and I haven’t gotten used to the change yet. That’s Tom behind the bar. He owns the place.”
MG peered around the people standing between them and the bar. “So you know all these people? Do they come to the Rose?”
He shook his head. “I come here usually. It’s a good place to kick back after work—they’re open late.”
As if she knew her bar was the subject of conversation, the world’s most glamorous bar maid appeared at their table. “Hey, Joe.” Deidre Ames broke into a grin. “Good to see you. You here for dinner tonight?” She smiled at the two of them, running her fingers through her short black hair. Today she was more Audrey Hepburn than Elizabeth Taylor.
“Hey, Deirdre.” He nodded toward the rapidly filling bar area. “Good crowd for a Sunday.”
“Yeah. Having music on Sundays was a great idea, although it sort of cuts down on our time off.” She shrugged. “I guess I shouldn’t complain. It’s better than not having enough people.”
“It is.” He turned toward MG. “MG Carmody, Deirdre Ames.”
Deirdre gave MG the kind of smile that probably caused heart palpitations in most of the men in the
Clemencia rubbed her hands together. “And may the best stove jockey win.”
Joe shook his head as Clem’s words finally registered. “Tolly Berenger isn’t a chef. I doubt he’s ever been in a kitchen in his life except to chew out his staff. He’s a restaurant owner, not a cook. How’s he going to represent the Silver Spur?”
Clemencia shrugged. “From what I hear, he’s looking for somebody to take over his kitchen. He just fired the guy he had doing steaks. Right now he’s got some short order cook filling in, but he’s trying to find somebody who can do something besides burgers and fries.”
MG gave him a tentative smile. “This sounds like great publicity for the restaurant.”
“Assuming we win,” Joe growled. He was beginning to lose that warm glow he’d felt in his chest ever since he’d seen MG standing in her doorway. Damn contest.
“Doubts so soon?” Clemencia’s eyes sparkled. He half expected her to start rubbing her hands in glee. “Well, you should have doubts, buddy. I plan on sweeping the whole thing.”
The corners of his mouth edged up. He could never stay mad at Clemencia, no matter how hard he tried. “Okay, Ms. Rodriguez, go for it. I’ll be snapping at your heels all the way.”
Clemencia glanced back between him and MG again. “So you want dinner or what?”
“Yeah, we want dinner.” He shrugged. “What’s good?”
Clemencia narrowed her eyes, but Joe gave her a guileless smile. “Besides everything, that is. Maybe I should have said, what’s best?”
“Yeah, that’s definitely what you should have said. I’ve got some spinach enchiladas that will knock your socks off.” She ticked off on her fingers. “ Queso Fresco from a new place in San Antonio and fresh spinach from Les Corrigan’s farm. And some chilies from a supplier I’m not sharing.” She gave him a narrow-eyed look.
Joe raised his hands, palms out. “Sounds great, darlin’.” He turned toward MG. “Okay by you?”
She nodded. “Sure. Sounds great to me too.”
He put his hand on her elbow, steering her gently to a table at the side as Clemencia headed back for her kitchen. “Don’t worry. She does fantastic stuff. It’s not what we do at the Rose, but it’s still fantastic.”
“I’m not worried. I love enchiladas.”
“Believe me, you haven’t had any enchiladas until you’ve had Clem’s.” He pulled back a chair for her, then dropped into a seat on the other side of the table.
MG glanced around the room again, then stopped, staring. “Good grief,” she blurted. “That’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life.”
Joe glanced in the direction where she’d been staring, then grinned again. “That’s Deirdre Brandenburg. I mean, Deirdre Ames. Sorry. She and Tom got married a few weeks ago, and I haven’t gotten used to the change yet. That’s Tom behind the bar. He owns the place.”
MG peered around the people standing between them and the bar. “So you know all these people? Do they come to the Rose?”
He shook his head. “I come here usually. It’s a good place to kick back after work—they’re open late.”
As if she knew her bar was the subject of conversation, the world’s most glamorous bar maid appeared at their table. “Hey, Joe.” Deidre Ames broke into a grin. “Good to see you. You here for dinner tonight?” She smiled at the two of them, running her fingers through her short black hair. Today she was more Audrey Hepburn than Elizabeth Taylor.
“Hey, Deirdre.” He nodded toward the rapidly filling bar area. “Good crowd for a Sunday.”
“Yeah. Having music on Sundays was a great idea, although it sort of cuts down on our time off.” She shrugged. “I guess I shouldn’t complain. It’s better than not having enough people.”
“It is.” He turned toward MG. “MG Carmody, Deirdre Ames.”
Deirdre gave MG the kind of smile that probably caused heart palpitations in most of the men in the
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