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trained chef. I just like to cook.” She sat across from him, her expression anxious.
    He raised his wineglass, which he hadn’t touched because he’d been waiting for her to sit down. “Here’s to your passion for cooking.”
    “I guess I can drink to that. It has brought me pleasure over the years.” She touched the rim of her glass to his and took a sip of her wine.
    He followed suit before setting the glass down and picking up his fork. He could feel her apprehension from across the table and knew that even if the food tasted like swill, he’d praise it to the skies.
    It didn’t taste like swill. Closing his eyes, he savored the first bite of gourmet food he’d eaten in some time. Then he looked at her. “This is awesome.”
    The tension went out of her shoulders and her smile lit up the room. “Really? You’re not just saying that to be nice?”
    “Hell, no. You have a gift, and I plan to enjoy it, so pardon me if I don’t make conversation for a few minutes.” He tucked back into the meal.
    Her sigh was audible. “I’m so relieved. You know, I’m probably too sensitive, but I’ve had the feeling since I got here that not everyone loves my cooking. But, like I said, I’m probably imagining it.”
    No, you’re not. But he said nothing. He had a mouthful of food, and besides, he hadn’t quite decided on his approach.
    “I did see one of the kids smuggling his lunch into a plastic bag once, and I heard another one saying something about the dogs.”
    “Mmm.” He couldn’t eat and talk, but he could eat and admire the way her shoulder-length blond hair caught the light from the lamp hanging over the kitchen table. That glorious hair would look terrific spread out on a pillow.
    “I’ll bet the boys think it’s fun to give the ranch dogs a treat,” she said. “We’re not allowed to feed table scraps to Sarah’s bassett hound because he’s a couch potato. The other two, though, Butch and Sundance, get tons of exercise so a few handouts are okay. The kids are always playing with them.”
    Matthew was beginning to come up with a strategy. He took another bite, partly because he liked the food immensely and partly because he’d read somewhere that chewing helped a person think.
    But he took a moment between mouthfuls to get in a comment. “It seems a shame for wonderful food like this to be given to a dog.”
    “They’re kids, and disadvantaged kids at that. They don’t know it’s special.”
    “I’m not sure the cowboys do, either.” He forked up another portion.
    “Maybe not, although they seem appreciative that I’m cooking for them, and the food all disappears, so they must like it okay.” She took a swallow of her wine.
    He watched the movement of her lovely throat and imagined brushing it with his mouth, then nuzzling… . Hell. Just like that, he’d drifted from his charted course. He finished chewing and pulled his focus back to the problem. “If the ranch hands were better educated about food, they’d be raving.”
    “Would they? I thought cowboys were the strong, silent type.”
    “Not when it comes to food.”
    She gazed at him, her green eyes serious. “Are you saying they really don’t like what I’m fixing?”
    “I’m not saying that.” And he wouldn’t say it even if somebody shoved slivers under his fingernails. “I only have Jeb to go by, because he’s the one I talked to on the drive from the airport, but since he didn’t brag about the food here, I think it might be a little too sophisticated for his taste buds.”
    “Hmm.” She took another sip of wine. “You could have a point.”
    “But maybe it’s just Jeb.” He returned his attention to his plate.
    “I don’t think so. Mary Lou left some recipes for me, but they were all so boring that I put them away. I know what you mean about the lack of enthusiasm from the cowboys, but I thought maybe they just didn’t care that much about what they ate.”
    He thought of Jeb’s rant about how much