Page 6 of Grumpy Biker's Bride
Locks turn, the door opens, and the warm kitchen air rolls out around her. The smile that breaks out of her could run the town's grid for a week. Stupid as it sounds, I want to make her smile like that all the time.
“Hawk!” She leans on the doorframe, takes in the wrapped packages in my arms, and raises an eyebrow. “You brought me presents.”
“I brought Marvin venison,” I say. “You're going to want to cook it.”
Chapter Five
TARYN
I step back to let Hawk in and he ducks his head coming through the door.
He sets the packages on my worktable and I peel back the butcher paper. The backstrap inside is deep red, trimmed clean. I've handled a lot of meat in my years of cooking, and nothing this good has ever come into my kitchen.
“Hawk, this is gorgeous.”
“It’ll taste better than it looks. Took him in November.” He sets a jar down next to it: huckleberry preserves, the date written on the lid in neat block letters. The man dates his preserves; Grandma June would adopt him on the spot.
“Does Marvin know about this?”
“Marvin's getting the shoulder. The backstrap's for you.” He shrugs off his jacket, hangs it on the hook by the door and rolls up his sleeves. “Show me what you can do with it.”
He's staying. A warm glow spreads through me as I light the burner under the cast iron.
We fall into an easy rhythm. I cut the backstrap into medallions and season them while he takes the shoulder to the far board and breaks it down for the freezer. His knife work is clean and quick, the best I've ever stood next to.
“Where does a forest ranger learn to butcher like that?”
“The government taught me some of it.” He stops for a second, rubbing his beard. “The rest I picked up on the mountain… the winters are long here.”
There's a story there, but I don't push. I sweat shallots in butter and splash in some stock. When I open his preserves, the smell is like August sunshine. I build the pan sauce a spoonful of huckleberry at a time, tasting as I go.
“Taste this.” I hold the spoon out across the worktable.
He leans in and tastes, then his brow creases.
“That's my fruit?”
“It is. Turns out it likes butter and a happy cook.”
The corner of his mouth lifts for a second and it makes me determined to get him to smile.
I plate two portions and we eat standing at the worktable. The venison is everything that ruby color promised. We clean our plates in minutes, and the kitchen settles into a warm hum, the oven ticking as it cools.
“Marvin needs this on the menu,” I say. “Venison and huckleberry, weekends only, while it lasts. People will drive over the pass for it.”
“ I bet he’ll want to call it something dumb.”
“Hunter's Special.”
“Told you.”
I laugh and bump him with my shoulder. He doesn't move an inch, which makes it funnier. “Speaking of specials, Viv's roped me into baking for this big engagement party on Saturday. Striker and Bethany? Six pies and a cake. She says some of the town are going too.” I look up at him, batting my eyelashes. “Even grumpy rangers, I'm told.”
He stares down at me.
I don’t drop my gaze, although my cheeks start to flush. “Will you be there?”
Hawk doesn't answer. There's a smudge of the sauce in his beard and I reach up and brush it away with my thumb. His hand catches my wrist. His grip is gentle but firm.
