Read Online Sunset Ranch by A. Destiny - Free Book Online

issued from the opening. “Miguel,” I called, leaning over the service counter, “can I come in and get—”
    I stopped short, the words still in my mouth. Zach was standing at the long stainless-steel prep table, an apron around his neck, kneading a huge pile of dough. Nora stood beside him, wearing those plastic-bag gloves, scooping handfuls of the dough as Zach kneaded it, rolling it into discs.
    â€œNice apron.” I grinned at Zach, recovering myself. “I thought you were scrubbing water troughs.”
    â€œI was, but Nora needed a volunteer for these tortillas. I was the natural choice, of course.”
    I raised my eyebrows. “Oh, of course.” He had a dab of flour on his cheek and more in his hair. “Miguel, do you mind if I get a glass of water?”
    Miguel nodded from his post at the eight-burner stove, where he was sautéing beef and onions together. The aroma made me want to go over there and stuff it all in my mouth with my hands.
    I eyed Zach as I took a glass from the cupboard. His hair was tousled boyishly, and the apron contrasted with his tanned, muscled arms.
    I wandered over and leaned on the counter as Nora handed Zach the rolling pin. “Here now, Zachary, enough of the lesson. You try it.”
    â€œYou both just want to see me mess up.” He took the pin, holding it like a club. “I’m outnumbered here.”
    I giggled but then stopped as he deftly rubbed flour on the rolling pin, then flattened a scoop of dough with his palm and rolled it flat with a few swift strokes. Nora raised her eyebrows. “Zach, you don’t have too much to learn. Here I was, giving you a lesson for half an hour, and I can see you already know plenty.” She laughed and pushed the bowl toward him. “You two finish this up. The delivery truck is here anyway.” She walked toward the back, chuckling.
    An apron flew through the air, hitting me in the face. “Hey!” I pulled it from my head.
    â€œStop slacking off, McKinley. I need an assistant.” He tossed a ball of dough lightning quick, and I just managed to catch it.
    â€œAre you playing with your food?” I threw it back and slipped the apron over my head, then stared at the pile of dough. “Okay, so what do I do with this?”
    â€œJust knead it.” Zach rolled out another tortilla.
    I gave the dough a tentative punch with my fist. “Like this?”
    â€œWhat, are you mad at it? Here.” He pressed the heels of his hands into the dough and tromped them up and down.
    I tried the tromping motion too, but apparently I wasn’t doing it right, because Zach sighed and shook his head. “Dude, you need to put some muscle into it.” He leaned over my shoulder and covered my hands with his. My pulse zoomed up at his closeness, but I tried not to stiffen up. His hands were much bigger than mine, the skin of his forearms darker. I could feel the muscles of his chest pressing against my upper back. And I could smell him too—a cedary scent, like some kind of soap.
    His hands pressed down on mine, much harder than I had been pressing. “There, see? You have to really get into it.” He took his hands away and looked toward the doorway, running the back of his hand over his forehead. I looked down at the dough, trying to calm my breathing.
    Miguel switched on the vent fan, and the background noise helped me recover myself. I flopped the dough over and started dividing it into smaller balls. Zach began on another tortilla, his hands flying. “All right, so confess. How come you know how to do this?” I nodded at his deft movements.
    He shrugged with one shoulder. “My mom had a little café in Charleston when I was like ten—just for a couple years.” A rueful expression crossed his face. “We were between stepfathers.”
    â€œWhat was it like?” I rolled a wad of dough between my palms. “The café, I mean. Not