Cowboy Logic - B.A. Tortuga Page 0,29
Biskits. That was a little too much salt for Jericho, but to each his own. He liked Ritz crackers better.
“Then let me try.” Anderson got himself a cracker and a bite of cheese ball.
“What do you think? Ellie helped make it.” It was just cheese and ranch mix and green onions with bacon, but Jericho was proud of it.
“I like it. Love the green onions—that makes it.” Anderson took another bite. “I haven’t had a Chicken Biskit in a hundred years.”
“I love them!” Travis bounced, so tickled his hero liked his favorite combo.
“We used to eat them with pimento cheese.” Anderson smacked his lips.
“Dad makes a wicked pimento cheese.”
When he stared, Travis shrugged. “I like it. Here’s your pan.”
“Thanks, son.” He looked at Anderson. “I make a wicked pimento cheese.”
Anderson grinned. “How’s your lemon bundt?”
“Empowering,” he intoned. He was loving Anderson’s damn funny bone.
Oh, that smile just got bigger and bigger. Damn.
He felt tingly all over, but proud too. Anderson didn’t seem to find him quaint or bumpkiny. He was interested. The attention made Jericho ridiculously proud. As if he was important enough to snag someone as wildly talented as Anderson.
“Okay, so vinegar. Dill. Sugar, only a little. I like it sour. And water.” He showed Anderson the pot. “Up to a boil.”
“Just red wine vinegar?” Anderson leaned down and sniffed. “God, that smells good.”
“Yep. And it does, huh? Then you pour it over the seeds and onions and let it sit until supper.”
“Perfect. I think this will make dessert seem like a dream afterward.”
“What did you make for dessert?” Travis asked.
“Pavlovas or sundaes, depending on what each person wants. I wanted to give everyone options, you know, man?” Anderson winked at Travis. “The last thing I need is for y’all to hate my food.”
“What’s a pavlova?” Travis took the pan to the back door to put on the grill.
“A meringue cake with lemon curd and berries. It’s crunchy and sweet.”
“Oh. Okay, I’ll try it.”
“Dude, thanks. I appreciate it. Seriously. I worked on it all afternoon.”
Travis turned bright red and ducked his head. “Sure. Sure.”
“Okay. That’s going. Let’s turn those ribs, Trav.” Somehow it seemed so damned cool to have Anderson here with his family, hanging out like they did it every day.
“Yes, sir.”
Anderson watched them go, a warm smile on his face.
“Dad! Dad! Have you ever tried one of those desserts? Are they nasty? What do I do if it’s nasty?”
“You remember Aunt Patty’s meringue cookies? The crunchy white ones she dyed green and put chocolate chips in?”
“Uh-huh. Those are good.”
“Right? Well, this will have lemon bar stuff in it instead of chocolate and mint. You’ll like it.” His boy was pretty adventurous, and he had to admit, it felt pretty damn good to hear his son coming to him for advice, for help.
“Cool. I can handle that.” Travis grinned at him, relaxing. “Thanks.”
“You got it, kiddo. Thanks for defending the cheese ball.”
“It’s a great cheese ball. He’s cool, huh?” Travis jerked his head toward the house.
“I like him a lot.” Travis never asked about his sex life, or lack thereof, but he wanted to be honest. And if Travis asked him what he meant by like, he would answer truthfully.
“Me too. Do I turn now?” Suddenly Travis had the tongs and was interested. Mr. Logic must be watching.
“Turn one for me, and I’ll show you how to tell if it’s ready.” He used the touch test every time, because inevitably if he used the thermometer, he touched it to the grill and ended up with raw pork.
“Okay.” Trav turned it, the look on his face so serious. “What now?”
“Okay, so feel the skin between your thumb and forefinger. If it feels like that, it’s not quite done. I don’t believe in rare pork.” That was fine for chefs, but he had kids to worry about.
“You touch it with your finger? It won’t burn me?”
“Not now. That’s why you turn it and wait a few seconds.”
Travis went wide-eyed and nodded, then felt his hand, the pork, his hand, the pork. “Not even close, Dad.”
“Turn the others over then, and close the lid.” He kept an eye on Travis, glancing at the back door to see Anderson, leaning and watching them with a sweet smile on his face. He gave the man a thumbs-up, and once Trav had turned all the pork, they headed inside.
“Who wants to taste the potato salad to make sure it’s good?” Jericho asked.
“I’d be tickled to. Where are the spoons kept?” Anderson moved to the