room. “Glad to meet you, MG. Any relation to Nedda Carmody?”
MG smiled back. Her smile probably wouldn’t cause heart palpitations in the male population, but it did some interesting things to Joe’s lower body. MG Carmody had one great smile.
“She’s my great aunt, although we always called her Aunt Nedda instead. She’s not too happy about the great part.”
Deirdre nodded. “Sounds like Nedda. Are you visiting her?”
MG shook her head. “I’m living on my grandpa’s farm outside town. Although I guess it’s actually my farm now since he left it to me.” Her expression turned slightly somber.
“Oh.” Deirdre’s smile dimmed a little in sympathy. “I’m sorry. How long have you been here?”
“A few months. I was taking care of Grandpa before he died.”
“Well, we’re glad to have you. Can I get y’all something from the bar?” Deirdre straightened, bringing her tray to her hip.
“Dos Equis for me. What about you?” Joe dipped his head in MG’s direction.
“Lone Star’s fine.”
“Coming right up.” Deirdre threaded her way back through the tables toward the bar again.
Leaving him to carry on a conversation with MG. There was a moment of silence while he did a quick inventory of possible topics, but she beat him to the punch. “So what’s with you and Clemencia?”
Joe stared at her for a stunned moment. Was it even remotely possible she was jealous of Clem? And him? The thought was oddly appealing. He gave her his best reassuring smile. “You do get to the point, don’t you, darlin’?” He glanced back toward the kitchen. “Clem and I worked together in the same hotel in New Orleans. I was a sous chef and she was doing pretty much what you’re doing now, learning the business from the ground up.”
“And you just both ended up here at the same time?”
He shrugged. “More or less. We both left New Orleans at the same time. She was homesick. I was New Orleans sick.”
MG narrowed her eyes. “I don’t know what that means.”
He gave her the easy grin that normally signaled bullshit. “Ah, darlin’, chefs are all crazy. It’s part of the business. Sometimes the craziness takes over, though. When that happens you’re likely to either burn out or burn up. I just got out of the way.” Which was a blatant attempt to deflect the conversation. He wasn’t about to get into all the sordid details of his crash at this point. In fact, he might not go into them for a long while. Not until he was sure she wouldn’t run as hard as she could in the other direction when he did.
MG looked like she was readying a new round of questions, but fortunately for him, Deirdre returned just then with the beers, followed immediately by Clem with the enchiladas. And then they did nothing but eat and enjoy for a half hour or so.
He had to admit it—Clem was good. In fact, Clem was really good. He tasted cheese and chicken stock in her sauce with a hint of garlic and an herb he was still trying to identify, maybe epazote . The spinach was bright green and mild, blending with the queso fresco into something mineral, herbal and creamy all at the same time. Even the rice on the side was superlative, each grain separate, bathed in a faint hint of tomato and cumin. He warmed himself in the glow of first-rate food in his stomach.
“Wow,” MG muttered after a few bites.
Joe gave her an approving grin. “Clemencia’s the real deal. Hell, I’m more worried about her in that cooking competition than I am about Lee Contreras. He does what I do and I do it better. But if Clem uncorks something, the judges might just decide down home beats uptown.”
“Are you really worried about this contest?” She sliced through her remaining enchilada, then divided it into smaller bits to make it last.
He shrugged. “I need to work on it. Fairley’s supposed to be coming up with some suggestions for the menu. And I’ve got a few of my own. Then we have to test it. It’s going to take a
MG smiled back. Her smile probably wouldn’t cause heart palpitations in the male population, but it did some interesting things to Joe’s lower body. MG Carmody had one great smile.
“She’s my great aunt, although we always called her Aunt Nedda instead. She’s not too happy about the great part.”
Deirdre nodded. “Sounds like Nedda. Are you visiting her?”
MG shook her head. “I’m living on my grandpa’s farm outside town. Although I guess it’s actually my farm now since he left it to me.” Her expression turned slightly somber.
“Oh.” Deirdre’s smile dimmed a little in sympathy. “I’m sorry. How long have you been here?”
“A few months. I was taking care of Grandpa before he died.”
“Well, we’re glad to have you. Can I get y’all something from the bar?” Deirdre straightened, bringing her tray to her hip.
“Dos Equis for me. What about you?” Joe dipped his head in MG’s direction.
“Lone Star’s fine.”
“Coming right up.” Deirdre threaded her way back through the tables toward the bar again.
Leaving him to carry on a conversation with MG. There was a moment of silence while he did a quick inventory of possible topics, but she beat him to the punch. “So what’s with you and Clemencia?”
Joe stared at her for a stunned moment. Was it even remotely possible she was jealous of Clem? And him? The thought was oddly appealing. He gave her his best reassuring smile. “You do get to the point, don’t you, darlin’?” He glanced back toward the kitchen. “Clem and I worked together in the same hotel in New Orleans. I was a sous chef and she was doing pretty much what you’re doing now, learning the business from the ground up.”
“And you just both ended up here at the same time?”
He shrugged. “More or less. We both left New Orleans at the same time. She was homesick. I was New Orleans sick.”
MG narrowed her eyes. “I don’t know what that means.”
He gave her the easy grin that normally signaled bullshit. “Ah, darlin’, chefs are all crazy. It’s part of the business. Sometimes the craziness takes over, though. When that happens you’re likely to either burn out or burn up. I just got out of the way.” Which was a blatant attempt to deflect the conversation. He wasn’t about to get into all the sordid details of his crash at this point. In fact, he might not go into them for a long while. Not until he was sure she wouldn’t run as hard as she could in the other direction when he did.
MG looked like she was readying a new round of questions, but fortunately for him, Deirdre returned just then with the beers, followed immediately by Clem with the enchiladas. And then they did nothing but eat and enjoy for a half hour or so.
He had to admit it—Clem was good. In fact, Clem was really good. He tasted cheese and chicken stock in her sauce with a hint of garlic and an herb he was still trying to identify, maybe epazote . The spinach was bright green and mild, blending with the queso fresco into something mineral, herbal and creamy all at the same time. Even the rice on the side was superlative, each grain separate, bathed in a faint hint of tomato and cumin. He warmed himself in the glow of first-rate food in his stomach.
“Wow,” MG muttered after a few bites.
Joe gave her an approving grin. “Clemencia’s the real deal. Hell, I’m more worried about her in that cooking competition than I am about Lee Contreras. He does what I do and I do it better. But if Clem uncorks something, the judges might just decide down home beats uptown.”
“Are you really worried about this contest?” She sliced through her remaining enchilada, then divided it into smaller bits to make it last.
He shrugged. “I need to work on it. Fairley’s supposed to be coming up with some suggestions for the menu. And I’ve got a few of my own. Then we have to test it. It’s going to take a
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