Yummy Cowboy (Snowberry Springs Ranch #1) Read Online Ophelia Sexton

Categories Genre: Romance Tags Authors: Series: Snowberry Springs Ranch Series by Ophelia Sexton

Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 71280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)

Celebrity chef Summer Snowberry returns to Snowberry Springs to save the floundering Yummy Cowboy Diner. Secretly, she’s determined to redeem herself from a humiliating setback in the big city by giving The Yummy Cowboy a complete makeover. If it succeeds, she’ll be able to pay off her debts and make a fresh start in San Francisco. She’s not only going to help revive the dying small town, but even better, she’ll take on the diner’s cocky, handsome owner, prove him wrong, and make his place the hottest eatery around.
Should be easy for a professional like Summer but from the very start, she’s butting heads with her bull-headed nemesis. Even worse, she struggles to resist the sparks flying between them from each clash of wills.
Brock Michaels grew up on the wrong side of the tracks in Snowberry Springs. He’s spent years working his butt off for his very own restaurant. He can’t pass up the chance of a lifetime when his elderly business partner offers to turn over her share of The Yummy Cowboy Diner to him… if he agrees to work with her annoying but gorgeous granddaughter Summer for three months to revamp his operation.
Brock grits his teeth and tells himself that he can control his attraction to Summer’s lush curves and foil her high-falutin’ ideas for his homestyle diner. He’s determined to come out on top when the ninety days are up. And he sure as heck isn’t losing his heart to the woman who’s declared that she’s heading back to San Francisco soon. Right?


Chapter One – Summer

Snowberry Springs Ranch, Montana

Saturday, June 11

“Summer, I’m so happy that you agreed to stay for a while,” said Grandma Abigail as she entered the ranch house’s old-fashioned kitchen.

As usual, her frosted blonde hair was flawless and her makeup was impeccable above a severely cut blazer and pleated skirt of unrelieved black. But even skillfully-applied foundation and concealer couldn’t entirely erase the marks of sleeplessness and grief from her fine-boned face.

“Anything to help. I owe you so much,” Summer replied.

Her phone, tucked into the back pocket of her checkered chef’s pants, suddenly squawked like a chicken while simultaneously vibrating.

She’d found the ringtone hilarious when she first installed it, but now it sounded jarringly out of place.

She pulled out her phone and glanced at the number. Then she stabbed her finger at the screen, forcefully rejecting the call.

“Sweetie, are you sure you can stay until Labor Day weekend?” Grandma sounded uncharacteristically hesitant. “You really aren’t needed at your restaurant?”

Summer shook her head. She’d hoped to put off this conversation for a while longer. “It’s closed right now,” she said, sticking to the official story. “We’re making some major changes. Planning to reopen in the fall with a whole new look.”

Then the oven timer went off. Saved by the bell, she thought with relief.

Knowing that her mother’s vintage avocado-green wall oven ran hot, Summer hastily opened the oven door and pulled out a pan of mushroom caps stuffed with a mixture of breadcrumbs, Parmesan cheese, fresh herbs from the garden, garlic, and the ranch’s own Italian-style pork sausage.

She was relieved to see that the appetizers were perfectly browned on top. As the professional chef in the family, it had fallen to her to cater Grandpa Frank’s Celebration of Life here in her childhood home. And she had been happy to do it.

She loved feeding people. Especially people she cared about. And being able to cook like this felt like a tribute to the man who had paid to send her to the Culinary Institute of America in Napa, California.

As she set the baking tray down on a metal trivet to protect the old but well-kept desert gold Formica counter, she listened to the sounds of conversation drifting in from the living room and through the open windows.

Outside, on the ranch house’s wraparound porch, some of Grandpa’s longtime friends were drinking beer and sharing memories.

It was a beautiful June day in Montana. Much too nice for a funeral, thought Summer.

She overheard a few snatches of speculation about what would become of the Snowberry Springs Ranch now that Mom and Dad had inherited the place.

Truth was, Dad and Summer’s older brother Spring had been doing most of the day-to-day work of managing the property for a few years now, ever since Grandpa Frank’s first stroke.

“I mean, I do feel bad about keeping you away from San Francisco,” Grandma Abigail continued, “but I really need your help right now, Summer.”

Bullet dodged, Summer smiled at her grandmother. “And I’ll be happy to do whatever you need,” she said in her most reassuring tone.

Then she picked up a spatula and began transferring the mushroom caps and their savory golden-brown toppings to a serving dish.

“But your restaurant?” Apparently, her grandmother wasn’t ready to let go of the subject.

“It’s fine. Really,” Summer said, glad that she had her back turned. Grandma had always been sharply observant, and Summer didn’t want her expression to betray her. She added, “In fact, I can stay as long as you need.”