Six Guns and Six Strings: 13 Book Excite Spice Cowboys and Rock Stars Mega Bundle (Excite Spice Boxed Sets) Read online

  “If you say so,” I respond before resting my chin in the palm of my hand, inhaling the tantalizing aroma surrounding me. “Are you cooking up a storm again?”

  “I’m not making anything fancy. It’s only the two of us tonight since Gaven is hanging out with his buddies and I thought you’d enjoy some spinach and ricotta stuffed shells. I’ve made enough so we can take the leftovers to work tomorrow.”

  “That sounds delicious and for the record, it does sound fancy,” I say, licking my lips in anticipation. “So how was your day?”

  “It’s been so busy. Believe it or not, I’m already buying for Christmas and since business has been booming, that means I have to search high and wide for the most original gift ideas for our elite clientele.”

  “It still sounds like so much fun.”

  “Oh, don’t get me wrong, I love what I do, but there’s always pressure to do better than last year.”

  Gwyn Davidson and I have been best friends since we both moved to New York to study at the Fashion Institute four years ago. She’s one year older than me at twenty-four years old and has enough ambition to fill a stadium. When it comes to dream careers, she lucked out. She’s been a buyer at Modern Crates since she graduated. She works at one of New York’s most stylish lifestyle décor emporiums and she always manages to surprise me with the most original gifts. We share so much in common—we’re both from Chicago, we both have three older brothers, we both have long hair to our waist, we’re both home décor junkies and we both love to cook. I’ve had many friends throughout high school, but I’ve never been as close to another girl as I am with Gwyn. She’s model-thin and her straight long mane usually leaves me in awe. She has nearly jet-black hair, which contrasts dramatically with her light blue eyes. The second her fiancé, Gaven Henson, met her sparkling aquamarine gaze, he fell head over heels in love.

  “You’re so good at what you do, Gwyn. I admire you finding your passion right out of school and you’re insanely well paid to do what you love every single day.”

  “You’ll get there, Ali.” She drops the knife she’s holding and focuses her attention on me.

  “Yeah, I hope so.” I know I’m feeling sorry for myself, but how can I not be a little self-conscious that my best friend has the perfect life while mine is marred with bad ex-boyfriends, uncertainty and change?

  “Do you have a cooking class tonight?”

  “No, thank God. I’m way too tired. My teacher had to attend a wedding in Milwaukee and he won’t be back until Saturday. I’ll have class next week.”

  “Are you enjoying the lessons?” Gwyn places the pasta in the oven and walks to the sink to wash her hands.

  “Are you kidding me? It’s the best gift you and Gaven could have given me.”

  My best friend and her boyfriend were afraid I was going to end up moping around their home at the end of my day, so they enrolled me in a cooking class at Bonne Bouche Culinary Institute’s recreational cooking school. The institute is a Godsend because it allows people who love cooking, like myself, to take our skills to the next level even though our end goal isn’t to become the next bigshot chef. Since I’ve been talking of making money with my passion, Gwyn suggested I combine my love of food and photography to try to find a new path in life. I jumped at the opportunity. I used to prepare elaborate meals for Clark, but I’m self-taught. It’s incredible what an indecent numbers of hours watching Food TV and months reading food blogs can do. I’ve considered taking classes, but money was always short since Clark’s trading courses cost an arm and a leg. Since his prospects for an extraordinarily high-paying job were better than mine, we decided to focus on his education. Bad move on my part.

  “The stuffed shells are going to take about forty minutes to cook. Do you want some appetizers?” She’s already rummaging inside her fridge before I’m able to answer.

  “You prepared appetizers? I thought you said we were having a simple meal.”

  “I didn’t need to fuss much. It’s only a plate of Italian cured meats and some Italian cheese and olives I bought earlier. I got us fresh Calabrese bread and it should hold us off until the meal is cooked.”

  “Sign me up,” I say, looking forward to this impromptu midweek feast.

  “We can’t have appetizers without wine.” Gwyn smiles, pulling her head from the fridge. She places the plate of meats on the counter in front of me before walking back to the cupboard to pull out two glasses. She tucks a bottle of wine under her armpit and comes to sit on the stool next me. “Since we’re having Italian, I think we should keep it all Italian. That’s why I selected a bold Chianti for tonight,” she says, pouring wine in our glasses.

  She’s such a wine fanatic.

  “I love the way you think.”

  We lift our glasses and nod. “Cheers,” we both chime in at the same time before dipping into the nectar of the gods.

  Gwyn puts her glass down on the granite counter and narrows her blue eyes. “When is your last cooking class?”

  “I finish in two weeks. I’ve already been looking at the midsummer semester. I’ve been saving some money and I think I’ll continue learning. I’m enjoying myself and it’s done wonders for my self-confidence.”

  “I’m happy to hear that, Ali, but I think you might have to put your plans on hold.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You might not be in New York during the next semester.”

  “Huh? What are you talking about? Of course I’ll be in New York. Where else would I be?”

  She’s not making sense right now. It can’t possibly be because of the wine, since we just started drinking.

  She scoots her little butt to the edge of her seat before grabbing my hands in hers. “Do you remember the contest you entered three months ago?”

  “Contest?” I ask, trying to jolt my memory. “Honestly, Gwyn, there’s so much that’s happened in my life… I’m sorry, I don’t remember.”

  “Let me help.” Gwyn looks very serious and my heart sinks. I truly can’t take another blow. “Do you remember how you spent the weekend here when Clark was away at a conference and you had so much fun you considered—although briefly—dumping Clark’s sorry ass and moving in with us?”

  “Sort of,” I answer, vaguely remembering.

  “You were sitting right here as I was preparing dinner and you were going on and on about this contest your favorite food blogger was having.”

  “Yes! I do remember now. Riley Carrington’s assistant, Cynthia Tilley, is going on this missionary trip to Africa to help build wells to pump clean water in Uganda. Riley needed to find a replacement for her and decided to call on her readers to fill the position,” I let out enthusiastically before squeezing Gwyn’s hands.

  “Exactly. Did you hear back from Riley?”

  There goes that moment. I grimace. “Nah. I had two Skype video calls with her a few months ago and I was certain I had nailed both interviews, but I didn’t hear back from her. In an attempt to keep in touch, I sent her a few emails to congratulate her on getting her own show on Food TV and I also emailed her about my new culinary journey. I even sent a few of my photos from my New York at night collection, but she hasn’t shown any signs of life. It was a fun idea, Gwyn, but with my luck, there’s no way I was going to be the one selected.”

  “Oh, why’s that?”

  “Puh-lease.” I roll my eyes. “I never get what I want out of life. I’m used to settling. I mean, think about it—me becoming Riley Carrington’s assistant and working side by side with the celebrity blogger in her state-of-the-art Colorado studio? Like that’s ever going to happen.” I click my tongue against the roof of my mouth. “Really, Gwyn?” I slip my hands from hers to grab my wine.

  “You haven’t been reading Riley’s blog lately?”

  “No. Not for the past three weeks. I knew she was going to announce the winner anytime now so I’ve been ignoring her latest posts and emails. I don’t need to deal with another disappointment. In any case, when I get ho
me, I’d prefer to watch TV than read,” I lie. “It was a nice dream, but I’m sure another lucky winner must be having the time of her life.”

  “So I guess the hunormous basket that’s sitting pretty on the credenza near the dining room table with a handwritten envelope with your name on it straight from Colorado is a mistake?”

  Huh?

  My glass of wine freezes in mid-air.

  At first I think Gwyn is playing a trick on me, but I follow her amused gaze and stretch my body to catch a glimpse of this fictitious basket she’s talking about. I blink a few times before my eyes land on the biggest gift basket I’ve seen in my entire life.

  “Ahhh,” I gasp, bringing my free hand to my mouth. “When did this come?”

  “It came this morning. I left late today because I was working from home before a meeting with a new vendor at their offices. It arrived an hour after you left for work, but I didn’t tell you because I wanted it to be a celebration. I wanted to see your elated reaction to the big news. I sent Gaven away for the evening so we can have the place to ourselves.”

  “But wait, we don’t know if I’ve been selected,” I interrupt. No point in getting my hopes up yet.

  “You’re right. I’m sure Riley sent this kind of arrangement to all the runner-ups. Seriously, Ali? What are you waiting for? Go open the basket and that big envelope over there,” she says, whooshing me away with her manicured finger.

  I’m so charged with adrenaline, my feet don’t hurt anymore. I leap to my legs and sprint to Gwyn’s credenza. I rip off the smaller envelope stuck to the basket and I read the note aloud.

  Dearest Allison,

  I know you’ve been a fan and a reader for a long time. Your latest culinary photos rock and you obviously know how to use a camera. You photographic skills impressed the heck out of me. Don’t even get me started on your New York at night photos. Fierce. If you’re still interested, I’d love for you to become my summer assistant while Cynthia travels to the other side of the world to lend a helping hand to those who are less fortunate.

  Please accept this little basket as a token of appreciation for your loyalty. In the larger envelope you’ll find all the details, a ticket and some paperwork for you to sign. I can’t wait to meet you in person.

  Riley

  “Are you kidding me? Riley Carrington selected me?”

  “I told you.” Gwyn comes running and we both hug each other and jump up and down in the middle of her house like schoolgirls.

  After a few minutes of laughter, I burst into tears.

  “Ali, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?” My best friend cradles me inside her arms and I unleash the ball of sadness that’s been eating at me over the past few weeks. So far, I’ve been able to keep it together, but this monumental news breaks me.

  “Gwyn, the last six months living with Clark were soul-crushing. He barely looked at me. He’d rather spend the evening in our home office watching porn. He thought I was deaf, but I could hear the moaning from the computer speakers and I could hear him take pleasure without me. When I walked in on him and Paula…” I stop, unable to speak the words, and take a breath to settle my nerves before continuing. “Then I lost my job a few days later—it’s like adding insult to injury. I felt like the biggest loser in America. I had nothing left. Although I can never thank you enough for coming to my rescue, these past ten weeks have been so hard because I felt I had lost my compass. This insane opportunity is a renewal for me.”

  “It is, sweetie. Come on, let’s go back to the kitchen for more wine,” she says, dragging me away from the dining room table. “You didn’t even want to send in your application because you were too afraid of leaving Clark behind while you pursued your dream.”

  “I know. I didn’t want to admit it, but I didn’t want to leave and give him a reason to have an affair. He’s proved me wrong—he can have a flaming affair right under my nose.”

  “Did you really love him, Ali?”

  “What kind of question is that? We were together for eighteen months.”

  “You didn’t answer my question,” she says, tilting her head to the side and pressing her lips together.

  Gwyn’s question doesn’t entirely surprise me. She’s asked me the same question over and over and I’ve never been able to give her a straight answer. I know what I had with Clark has nothing to do with what she shares with Gaven, but I was happy not to be alone.

  “I’m not sure I’d know what it feels like to love someone and to be loved in return.”

  “You settled big time with Clark.”

  “But—”

  “Ali, I already know what you’re going to say,” she interrupts, crossing her arms over her chest. “Yes, this is New York, and yes, a lot of guys only date models and wafer-thin socialites, but there are plenty of good and honest men who love women with Salma Hayek curves like yours. Clark has been lying to you for the last six months of your relationship—if not longer.”

  “You can’t understand,” I let out, irritated. “You’re super-thin and you’re tall. You don’t have to contend with enormous 32DD breasts that seem to have a life of their own half the time, hips and a tummy on a tiny five-two frame like mine.” I yank myself up on the stool, sulking.

  “Honey, I’m sorry, but just in case you still haven’t received the memo, your curves are all at the right places. Even my boyfriend agrees. As far as I’m concerned, you’re ignoring the real issue here and we both know it has nothing to do with you gaining a few pounds over the past few months or you having boobs.” She casts me a stern look and her dark gaze immediately quiets any rebuttal.

  One week after I stormed out on Clark, Gaven drove me back to my former home to pick up the remainder of my belongings. Contrary to our agreement, my ex-boyfriend was there waiting for me. I couldn’t even bring myself to look at his sorry ass. Before leaving the home we had shared for one year, I asked him two questions. I wanted to know how long he’d been having this affair with Paula. He admitted he had been sleeping with her since right after he got his big promotion. I mustered up the courage to ask my second question. I was dying to know if there had been others. He only lowered his gaze and whispered, “A few.” I had to bite my tongue to avoid crying in front of him.

  “I guess you’re right,” I concede.

  “I think this opportunity with Riley Carrington is far more than just a job. I honestly believe being away from the city will help you reconnect with yourself. I’m certain you’ll come back from this journey transformed.”

  3

  Allison

  I’m expecting economy class, so I’m thrilled when Riley buys me a business-class ticket for my trip to Fort Collins, Colorado. The trip is a breeze and I spend most of my time going back in Riley’s blog archive to know as much as I can about my new boss.

  When I retrieve my luggage and pass through the main doors leading outside of Denver airport, I immediately spot a chauffeur holding a big sign with my name in black marker. Riley is giving me the royal treatment.

  At that moment, it all feels so real. Nerves start to dance inside my stomach, but I inhale deeply to suppress them. There’s no going back. Although I’m here, I still can’t believe Riley Carrington selected me as her assistant for the summer.

  After quick salutations, the chauffeur grabs my luggage and I follow him to the black limo. The hour trip north to Riley’s place is more beautiful than I ever suspected. Let’s face it, I’m a city girl. I grew up in the Windy City and I’ve been living in the Big Apple for the past four years. I’ve never ventured into the countryside and this rural experience is quite new to me. I’m a fish out of water, but I’m so looking forward to this opportunity of a lifetime.

  I spend most of the ride surfing on my iPad, obsessed with learning as much as I can to make a good first impression. I’m so immersed in my research, I’m surprised when the stretched car slows down. I lift my head to find out what’s causing the change of speed. A large sign reads, Grand Valley Colorado Grass-Fed Ang
us Beef & Natural Meat Ranch.

  Angus Beef Ranch?

  I don’t think I’m at the right location. Riley is a food blogger, not a cattle rancher. She lives in a beautiful home on spectacular land overlooking a magnificent organic garden. None of the photos on her blog post ever suggested she lived on a ranch. Confused, I lean in to ask if the chauffeur has made a mistake.

  “I’m sorry, but are you sure we’re at the right address?” I ask as I show him my iPhone with the last message Riley sent me.

  “Yes, ma’am. Miss Riley lives here with her brother. He’s owned this land for a few years now.”

  “Oh. I see.”

  Riley talks about her kids and she also talks about her nanny-slash-housekeeper Isadora Bennett, but she never mentioned her brother.