bright turquoise. Brilliantly blue. One might accurately say “loud.” Uh-oh. Was Witt Buckton one of “those” kinds of restaurant owners—the kind who put public relations above everything and cared more about gimmicks than quality?
Keep an open mind. Ellie said this guy was smart and nice. Then again, this guy was Ellie’s cousin, and Ellie was really more colleague than friend.
She stared at the vividly hued truck again. From a marketing standpoint, the color might make sense—it certainly stood out, and was memorable—but who would want to eat in a glow that intense? She might have to don sunglasses just to work inside the thing. Please, don’t let it be that color on the inside.
“It’s a marketing thing.” Jana was glad to note a touch of apology in Witt’s voice that hinted maybe his priorities weren’t totally skewed toward PR. “The color is a trademark for the Blue Thorn Ranch.”
Jana looked at him. He was part of the Buckton family—the clan who had owned the Blue Thorn Ranch for several generations and to which her former coworker Ellie belonged—but he was a cousin, not one of the immediate family. Still, a long look allowed her to connect the dots almost instantly. Ellie was a Buckton, and her eyes were the same brilliant turquoise as Witt’s. If those eyes were a family trait, then she could understand why the ranch had adopted that shade as its trademark. “I get it,” she offered. “But—” here she applied her friendliest smile “—don’t you think you went a bit overboard on the paint job?”
Oops. Witt’s eyes went a touch cold, and Jana fought the urge to whack her own forehead. Not everyone needs to hear every opinion you’ve got. Especially not your new boss. Remember how much you want this job?
“I told you to meet me at the blue truck,” Witt said in a crisp, mildly annoyed tone. He tucked his hands in his pockets. “Tell me, did you have any trouble finding the blue truck?”
He had her there—she saw it from three blocks away. “No.”
“My point exactly. To patronize a food truck—a mobile enterprise by definition—you have to be able to find it, don’t you?
Jana swallowed her distaste for people who used business buzzwords like enterprise.
“True, but a color never sold a hamburger or a steak sandwich. Food is what attracts customers. Good, quality food.” Good, quality food was what Jana did best. Let all the fancy chefs have their fusion cuisines and trendy menus. Jana’s passion—why God put her on the earth, as far as she was concerned—was comfort food. The ordinary, memory-laden food people turned to when a day had gone bad or a boyfriend had split or life had kicked them in the teeth some other way. Supposedly, that was why the Bucktons had hired her. If it wasn’t, best to settle that right now. “You’re not expecting adventure-burgers out of me, are you?”
That popped his turquoise eyes wide. “Adventure-burgers?”
Jana started walking toward the truck, eager to confirm that her new workspace wasn’t screaming blue on the inside as well as the outside. “You know what I mean. Bison ranches like the Blue Thorn are pretty unusual, which means the bison meat from the ranch is unique enough on its own. I’m not going to invent crazy toppings or obscure ingredients just to draw attention. That’s not what I do.”
“And that’s not what we want,” Witt assured her. “Blue Thorn produces high-quality, delicious meat that we want to share with the community by way of this food truck. Nobody wants you to hide it under Ugandan spotted goat curd or anything like that.”
She eyed him, surprised he could name an ingredient she’d never heard of.
“Okay, I made that one up,” he admitted. “But you get the point.” He produced a set of keys from his pocket and unlocked the back of the truck. Jana bit back a comment about the vehicle being even brighter at close range. I won’t need coffee to wake up—I’ll just stare at this for thirty seconds, she mused to herself. She braced herself as her new boss pulled open the doors...
To reveal a blessedly white interior, brand spanking new and immaculately clean. “Wow,” Jana gasped involuntarily, struck—in the best possible way—by the perfectness of it all. Her own kitchen. It didn’t matter one bit that it was small, mobile and wrapped in a neon aqua paint job. This would be her kitchen, where she finally got to call the shots. A fresh start she very much needed. The thrill of it sparkled all the way out to Jana’s fingertips as she touched the gleaming counter.
“Ellie made sure the basics were here, but we’re going to go to the restaurant supply place this afternoon so you can pick out whatever else you need.”
Free rein in the restaurant supply store? Jana could think of few things that would make her happier. “Absolutely fine by me.” Her hand went involuntarily to the messenger bag at her side, which not only held the usual purse contents, but her chef’s knife set—the pride, joy and personal treasure of anyone who cooked for a living. The knives seemed ready to climb out of her bag and spread themselves on the counter. She looked back at Witt, hoping the eagerness thumping in her chest showed in her eyes to make up for her earlier crack about the color. “You’re off to a good start. This is a really good setup.”
“I thought so.” Witt pulled open the refrigerator under the back counter to reveal several packets wrapped in brown paper. “Today we’ll get to try her out. I want to be the one to eat the first burger made in this truck.”
The demand bugged her. Did he expect her to audition for a job she already had? “I have cooked for Ellie and Gunner, you know.” Surely he knew Ellie’s brother Gunner—the current owner of the Blue Thorn Ranch, and the one who had made the decision a few years ago to switch the ranch from cattle to bison—had approved her as chef two weeks ago. Witt had been called out of town that night, which was why today was the first day she met her new immediate boss.
Witt walked around the truck, opening empty cabinets and drawers. “I know, and I’m sorry I missed that. There’s no question you’re already hired. This is more of an...indulgence.” His face tightened just the slightest bit. “You don’t have to do a ton of stuff to the kitchen before you can cook in it, right?”
As confident as he’d been before, defending the decision to paint the truck blue, that’s how uncertain he sounded now. He really didn’t have a clue about what was involved in running a kitchen, did he? Jana had worked for too many restaurant owners who thought they knew everything about cooking but were really only checkbooks. Lots of owners pretended at expertise and talent, getting in the way of good cooking when all they really needed to do was to play host. Management had its place, but so did cooking. Right now Jana still wasn’t sure Witt Buckton recognized the difference.
You don’t want to go back to Atlanta. Make this work. Jana pulled her knife kit from her bag and set it on the counter, the act feeling like a blessing of the space. “I won’t need too much at first.”
“You don’t think it’s weird that I want to give the truck a private inauguration?” His face softened from its “I’m in charge” expression that had dug under her skin. Now it showed just a bit of the anxiety she was already fighting.
He’s not like Ronnie. This business seemed to have heart, and heart was what Jana loved most in cooking. Maybe this gig wouldn’t be bad after all. “Nah. I think I’d do the same thing.”
“You will, technically. You didn’t think I was going to make you just sit there and feed me, did you?”
Actually, that’s exactly what she’d assumed.
“No,” he corrected, “We’re going to eat a meal together, you and I.”
Jana had to admit, she liked what his eyes did when he said that. He wasn’t wearing a suit—quite the contrary, Witt Buckton wore brown jeans and a light blue chambray shirt that did un-boss-like things to his eyes. His shirt was crisply ironed, but his jeans and boots were more down-home than corner office.
“Oh, wait,” he said as he reached into one of the upper cabinets and pulled out a package. “This