“Smartass,” he retorted, because he had to say something.
“Would you show me where the pans are? I have some fresh beans to cook up, and I brought some fruit and stuff for dessert. I thought that you all would eat healthy here in the country. Besides, I need to watch what I eat.”
“You? There’s nothing to ya.” Sinclair was thin, with no meat on his bones. Not that Dawson didn’t keep watching him. There was something about the slight man that held his attention. Maybe it was the way he filled out those oh-so-tight jeans.
“If I overeat, I’ll never fit into these jeans again.” Sinclair sort of modeled what he was wearing.
Dawson rolled his eyes. “It already looks like those are painted on. Don’t they pinch and bunch in all the wrong places?” God, all he kept thinking was that there was no room for… well, anything. Not that he was really complaining. Dawson spent his life around men who worked physical jobs, so they built muscle and had some heft to them. He found himself wondering what it would be like to take someone like Sinclair to bed. The few partners he’d had had been guys like himself—larger and strong.
“If you got it, flaunt it,” Sinclair commented shamelessly, wriggling slightly as he seasoned the meat. “There’s no use being a wallflower where no one notices you. I’m careful about what I eat, and I work out four days a week.”
“What do you do for a job?” Dawson asked. Not many people could just take off and help someone plan a wedding for weeks at a time.
“My father started out working in the oil industry a long time ago, and he developed some of the technology that we now use to bring the stuff to market. Valves and pumps and things like that. I mean, with any pipeline, especially one that goes over a long distance, there are points when you have to move oil upward. You do it as little as possible, but it does have to happen. He was one of the people who made that possible—and figured out how to do it efficiently. He started a company to manufacture the equipment, and now the company makes parts that are used all over the world. He and Mom set up a trust fund for me and my sister, who was born with Down syndrome and passed away last year. When my parents died, I inherited everything. Dad had an amazing management staff, and they run the company. I oversee them and approve their plans for the future.” He shrugged.
“Basically, you have a ton of money and don’t need to work,” Dawson clarified.
“If you want to put it that way, then yes. But I work with a number of organizations in the Houston area. Mostly LGBTQ charities and initiatives. Things like that.” Sinclair checked the potatoes and put the beans on to cook. “Do you want to get these on? Medium rare to medium should be perfect.”
Dawson took the plate of steaks. “So if you don’t mind my asking, what about Lilly’s family? Are they part of the money too?”
Sinclair shook his head. “Lilly’s father thought my dad was crazy and could have stayed in the business with him, but didn’t. Instead, he badmouthed my dad to the rest of the family. That is, until Dad became a real success. The two men never really spoke after that. But Lilly and I remained friends, and now that both our fathers are gone, things are much easier.” Sinclair paused for breath.
“Then how does she afford her horses? They aren’t cheap.” Dawson asked, and got the answer from Sinclair’s cocked eyebrows. “Did you set up a trust for her?”
Sinclair nodded. “I wanted her to have some of the things she loves in her life.”
Dawson seemed to look at him different, and then he carried the plate out to the grill, started it up, and got it hot before putting on the steaks. By the time he was done with the meat and returned inside, Sinclair had the table set and was placing potatoes and veggies on the table. Dawson set the plate down and got a couple of Sam Adams’ from the refrigerator, hoping Sinclair drank beer and didn’t expect something fancy.
“What’s your family like?” Sinclair asked as he took the smaller steak and passed the platter over with an amazing T-bone.
“What family?” Dawson responded. “I don’t see my father and don’t even know where he is. Probably in the bottom of some barrel somewhere, soaking up the dregs. My mom is gone, and they didn’t have any additional kids to fight over in the divorce.” That was all he wanted to say in that subject. “I went to work on this ranch when I was just out of high school and worked my way up to foreman. Mr. Cantino took a liking to me and treated me well. So I guess he was the closest to a dad that I ever had.”
“Is that why you’re so… exacting? You want to do things the way he would?” Sinclair asked.
Dawson tried not to react even though he was too close to the bullseye for comfort. “I can’t do things the way he would. Times have changed and so has the business, but I try to make him proud of me.” There, that was a pat answer. He was never comfortable talking about himself, and he rarely asked people about their lives—they only expected him to reciprocate. Which meant he tended to have a lot of time alone.
Georgia joined them under the table, sitting right near his chair the way she always did. His little girl never begged because she knew she’d get a few choice morsels once their dinner was over.
“She seems really well behaved,” Sinclair commented.
“Georgia is a sweetheart. She doesn’t judge or complain, and she’s always excited to see me.” Dawson smiled down at her and then took his first bite of steak, groaning as the seasoning hit his palate. “This is awesome.” If someone had asked him a few hours ago if he thought he’d be having dinner with Sinclair and that it wouldn’t feel awkward, he probably would have said that they needed to have their head examined.
“I always try to season the meat well and then let it sit for a while so it takes in the flavor. You cooked it perfectly, by the way.”
“Thanks. My mother was a terrible cook. She did other things well, but cooking was not her strength. Mr. Cantino taught me how to grill and passed on the recipe for his famous barbeque. Rita doesn’t even know the recipe.”
Sinclair gaped at him. “You know, Lilly was talking about that the other day. We were trying to figure out the food for the wedding. She wants a barbeque dinner, something very Texan, and she was saying that Rita’s husband made the best there was.” He smiled. “Do you think you’d consider making it for her and Ben?”
“I….” Dawson wasn’t a cook, and not good enough for a wedding.
“Think of it as your wedding present to them. It would be something only you could give, and that would make it special.” Sinclair continued eating as though he hadn’t just asked Dawson to do something that was as hard as climbing Everest.
“I haven’t made it since his funeral,” Dawson said softly. “Rita asked me if I would, but after that….” Losing Oliver Cantino had been yet another blow that he hadn’t been prepared for. He’d had a heart attack in the saddle while out checking on the herds. Dawson had been with him, and by the time he managed to get Oliver back, an ambulance was waiting, but it was already too late. He hadn’t even realized that he had been cradling and trying to calm a dead man for the last mile or so. Oliver was never going to be nominated for sainthood; Dawson knew that. Oliver tended to drink too much. He and Rita had had a difficult relationship most of the time, and he knew a lot of that rested on Oliver’s shoulders, but Oliver was always good to him.