Cowboy All Night. Vicki Lewis Thompson

I’m saving my taste buds for the main event. But we’re about to pour brandy over the chicken and light it. When flames shoot up, we don’t want anybody to panic.”

      “Flames?” Herb straightened in his chair. “Is that absolutely necessary?”

      “It is if you want the real deal,” Aria called over.

      “She’s right.” Rosie passed the cheese board around. “The torched brandy was the reason I never tried it. That’s not in my repertoire.”

      Lexi stood. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I want to watch this flaming chicken trick.”

      “Me, too.” Cade put down the champagne bottle he’d been about to open.

      Herb scooted back his chair. “I should probably get the fire extinguisher.”

      “No, you will not.” Rosie gave him a look. “Aria knows what she’s doing.”

      “She absolutely does,” Brant said. “She’ll pour the brandy and I’ll light it. Easy peasy.”

      Cade gazed at him. “You’ve done this before?”

      “No, but how hard can it be?”

      “Like I was saying.” Herb headed for the pantry. “Nothing wrong with having the fire extinguisher handy.”

      Brant joined Aria at the stove while the rest of them gathered in a semicircle behind them. If his foster father tried to use the extinguisher, Brant was prepared to stop him. Whether Aria wanted one or not, she had a knight in shining armor. “Nothing like cooking with an audience, huh?”

      She sprinkled some flour on the chicken and continued to turn it in the pan. “I do it once a week. My friend Camille lets me use her restaurant kitchen to give cooking classes every Monday night.”

      “No kidding? That’s great.” And it explained her teaching skills.

      “Aria’s a busy lady,” Rosie said. “Works forty hours a week at the bank, teaches the class on Mondays and makes deliveries for Camille’s restaurant on the weekend.”

      “Wow.” Having her participate in Linus’s training might not be easy to arrange. Maybe that explained her hesitation where he was concerned. She was too damned busy. “When do you have fun?”

      “Having fun isn’t a priority.”

      He noticed that she didn’t sound resentful. Apparently she liked being under pressure, whereas he avoided it like the plague. He might want her, but they were a total mismatch. The next couple of weeks could be interesting.

      She studied the pieces of chicken as they gradually turned a golden brown. “I’m ready to pour the brandy. Do you have the match?”

      “Right here.” He held up the long match he’d found in a can by the fireplace. “And some extras, although I won’t need them.”

      “And something to strike it on?”

      “I’ll use my thumbnail.” When she frowned at him he felt the need to defend the practice. “It’s something my brothers and I taught ourselves when we lived here. I’m good at it. We all are.”

      “And let me add that I disapproved back then and I still do,” Rosie said. “But they’re convinced it makes them manly.”

      “Which it absolutely does,” Brant said. “Whenever I strike a match with my thumbnail, I grow extra chest hair.” He glanced over his shoulder at Cade. “Right, bro?”

      “Yep, and my pecs get bigger, not to mention my—”

      “That’s enough,” Rosie said. “We don’t need to hear about that.”

      “I do,” Lexi said. “I had no idea. Cade, strike those matches any time you get the urge. I’ll buy you a few extra boxes.”

      Brant laughed. “Let’s just say that a cowboy who can strike a match with his thumbnail gets respect. Ask anyone.” He paused. “Except Mom. She doesn’t get it.”

      “Neither do I,” Aria said. “But strike that match however you care to.” She doused the chicken with brandy. “Just do it now.”

      Naturally the first match wouldn’t cooperate. The second one wasn’t any better. “Guess I’m out of practice. Hang on a sec—”

      “Here you go.” Herb appeared at his side with a butane lighter.

      “Uh, no.” Aria looked panicked. “Just a match, please.”

      “Then light the match with the butane,” Herb said.

      Brant hesitated. “Let me have one more try.” From the corner of his eye he saw Cade smirking. There would be payback for this.

      “Do it this way, son. The brandy’s waiting.”

      “I guess you’re right.” He lit the match with the butane and eased it toward the chicken. The brandy caught with a whoosh and fire leaped from the frying pan.

      Everyone gave a little gasp—everyone except Aria and Herb. She watched the flames with a smile of satisfaction.

      Herb picked up the fire extinguisher. “Shouldn’t you put the lid on the pan to smother that?”

      “It’ll burn down in a minute,” Aria said.

      Rosie gestured toward the flames. “See, Herb? This is why I never tried to make coq au vin.”

      “For which I’m grateful.” He lowered the fire extinguisher as the fire gradually died.

      Lexi stepped closer and peered into the frying pan. “That was cool.”

      “I like a little drama in my cooking. Keeps things interesting.”

      Brant filed that statement away as another clue to her personality. So far he’d pegged her as somewhat driven, a trait that he associated with his dad’s workaholic behavior. But unlike his father, she wasn’t a martyr. She’d found a creative outlet that gave her a joyful purpose.

      That still didn’t leave room for him to approach her other than as the owner of the foal he’d agreed to train. He hadn’t come here expecting anything else. But he hadn’t pictured working with Aria, either. She was damn near irresistible and he’d have to resist. Somehow.

      “That’s the showiest part.” Aria added the cooked onions and bacon to the pan. Then she poured some red wine over everything.

      “I was wondering where the wine came in,” Lexi said. “Have you taught your students to make this?”

      “Last Monday.”

      “I didn’t realize a cooking class could be so exciting.” Lexi turned to Cade. “How about you and me signing up for some classes?”

      “Sure, I’m game.”

      “I’d love to have you.” Aria sprinkled in some herbs and more wine. “But just so you know, there’s no class this Monday. Camille always stays open on Memorial Day, so I’ll be making deliveries for her.” She put the lid on the frying pan. “That needs to simmer for about thirty minutes before I put in the mushrooms.”

      “Hallelujah! Time to head for the watering hole.” Brant gestured toward the table. “After you, ma’am.”

      “You go ahead. I need to sauté the mushrooms.”

      “I’d offer to do it for you but sauté sounds like a square-dance move to me.”

      “I could do it,” Lexi said, “but I hesitate to meddle with such an elaborate concoction.”

      Rosie nodded. “Same here.”

      “I’ll be done in a few minutes.” Aria dropped some butter into another frying pan.

      Her comment had a familiar ring. His dad used to promise that the