After we cleaned up the kitchen, it was time to pay Damon a visit. Tyler insisted on coming with me.
“Meet me at the hammocks in case he’s still there,” I told him grimly. “I need to get something first.”
Amazingly, Chef was in the same place Tyler had found him earlier, curled up on his side and snoring peacefully under a tree near Cottonwood Cottage. That only lasted until I took my bucket of water and doused him with it. He sputtered into consciousness like a rodeo bull whose flank strap had been tightened and then cussed at me with some colorful language. It took a few more seconds for reality to set in.
“Oh my God,” he muttered. “What time is it?”
“It’s eleven at night. You missed dinner service, and I’ll fire your ass before the end of the season if you ever do this to me again, Damon. I’m serious. Get sober for good or get gone.”
I wasn’t bluffing. I should have canned him right then and there, but who would I find to cook for the Titans on such short notice? I had no choice but to pray he would stay on the straight and narrow until the end of the season.
“I’m sorry. I fell asleep.” He rubbed his trembling hands over his face, and a twinge of guilt fluttered in my gut. The guy had problems, and if I lost Gigi, I’d probably try to smother my pain in some less than ideal way too. Then again, I had a business to run, and I needed a sober chef to do it.
“Sorry is nice, but it doesn’t change the fact that everyone had to pitch in to help me tonight because you weren’t there.”
“I’m not surprised it took that many people.” He looked up at me with bloodshot eyes. “Have you ever wondered how I pull off meals with so little help? I prep the food, cook it, plate it—you have no idea.”
“I have no idea?” I snapped. “I’m plunging toilets and patching fences, so don’t talk to me about doing things that are below your pay grade.”
“And you don’t think that’s a problem?” he said sourly.
I stuck my hands in my pockets and nodded. “I absolutely think it’s a problem. It’s a problem that weighs on me night and day. Do you have more booze in your possession?”
“No.”
I wasn’t even going to ask him where he got it. That didn’t really matter. Lauren had been right. I couldn’t control Chef Damon. He had to want to stay sober on his own.
“Then go to bed and don’t screw up again. You owe it to me and everyone else on staff to stay clean for a few weeks until we can wrap up the season. If you want any kind of good reference from me, you better get it together.”
He seemed surprised by my harsh words, which was understandable. Typically, I handled his bouts of drunkenness with more disappointment than anger, but tonight he’d hit a nerve. He was right about us being understaffed. Trying to keep this ranch going wasn’t only foolish, it was selfish. Lauren had tried to tell me that things needed to radically change around here, and she’d made a plan to do it. And how had I responded to her? I was ashamed to think about that now…
CHAPTER26
LAUREN
When Tyler brought out dessert, he mentioned a storm was coming in from the west.
“It’s gonna be a gully washer,” he said. “You probably want to stay indoors.”
I’d waited all evening to ask him the question on my mind, and I couldn’t hold it back any longer. “Is Matthew okay? He isn’t at dinner.”
“Yes.” Tyler looked around, shifty-eyed. “He’s in the kitchen tonight.”
I’d suspected that much based on the simple meal we’d eaten. “He cooked, didn’t he?” Tyler resisted giving me an answer so I told a small lie. “The food was excellent. Tell him I enjoyed it.”
Dinner had been fine, but certainly not excellent. It was the type of comfort food you’d cook for yourself at home, not what you’d expect from a resort, even one with the word ranch in its name. The chicken was bland and the cheesecake on the plate in front of me looked solid and a little bit frosty, as if it had recently been taken out of a freezer.
Tyler lit up with his usual happy glow. “Great! I’ll let him know.”
As he slipped back into the kitchen, the dining room went completely silent. All of the other guests had gone back to their cabins for the evening, and there was no reason for me to stick around except for the slim hope that Matthew might come out and speak to me. I hated that things were unresolved between us, especially when I had a divorce and a syndication deal in a similar state of limbo. Maybe in his mind we’d come to a resolution, but I didn’t know what it was. Were we going to keep in touch or was our relationship ruined by my offer to purchase the ranch?
Now that I’d had time to reflect, I understood that selling his family business to a stranger might be less painful than selling it to me and staying on as manager. The worst part was that he seemed to feel betrayed, like my feelings for him were a sham. Nothing could have been further from the truth. I wanted at least one more chance to speak with Matthew to make peace with him and leave on decent terms. I’d had enough of unresolved relationships to last a lifetime. This one would get closure, even if it wasn’t the ending I wanted.
* * *
Later that night,alone in my cabin, sleep wouldn’t come. I tossed and turned in my bed, replaying my argument with Matthew, resentful that he hadn’t sought me out to apologize or talk things through. These feelings were familiar. In the earlier years of my marriage to Freddy, when our troubles first began, I waited for him to come to me with apologies and explanations. Many nights, I went to bed angry or upset, refusing to be the one to start the hard conversations.
And look how that turned out.
