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“You wanna try the first cut when I pull it?” I lift my eyebrows, already knowing the answer to that question.
“Damn right,” he tells me.
I look around him, and Kenzie gives me a thumbs-up. We’re on track to having the juiciest brisket to date. If I don’t win, I will swear until my dying day the judging was rigged.
Dad walks back to his seat, and Elle comes up to me. “Almost ready?” She checks the time on her smartwatch. “We have about two hours before we have to pull the meat and deliver the plates to the judge’s area.”
“I know. Actually, only one hour so it can rest beforehand.” I bite my bottom lip, knowing that the juices will run out without adequate time to sit, making the meat dry. The last thing I want to do after smoking it for twenty-four hours is to ruin it at the end, and damn, it’s so easy to do.
The twins are responsible for making sure it doesn’t get dry and checking the internal temperatures. Right now, it’s just a waiting game. I’ve done this process at least a hundred times since I knew I’d be competing, but it still makes me anxious. If something can go wrong for me, it usually does.
“Girl, you got this,” Elle encourages, noticing my mood. Kenzie walks up and bumps her hips against mine.
“Can we eat yet?” she beams.
“Not yet. I made an extra brisket just for y’all, though,” I tell her, knowing they’d want some after smelling it all day.
“Seriously, if I could cook like you, I’d probably already be married,” Elle says with a smile.
Her joke makes me laugh, and it’s exactly what I needed. “But then you wouldn’t be available for that hot boss of yours.”
She rolls her eyes. “Don’t even. He’s still being a total and utter dickhead. Because I took today off, I have to work the next three weekends. How in the fuck is that fair?” I can tell she’s upset.
“Oh no. I’m sorry,” I offer.
She shakes her head. “Not your fault. That’s just how rude he is.”
“Sometimes that attitude makes them even hotter,” Kenzie quips, giving her a nudge. When I hear Uncle Jackson and Kiera, I turn around with wide eyes.
“Oh my gosh, what are y’all doin’ here?” I ask.
“I had to come and see my honorary daughter kick some ass,” Jackson howls. He sometimes calls me his honorary daughter because I couldn’t tell Dad and Uncle Jackson apart when I was a baby. Honestly, though, some adults can’t tell them apart now, especially when Uncle Jackson reels it in and tries to trick people.
“I might not win, though. I’m trying not to get my hopes up,” I admit.
“You’re doing the best you can, sweetie. That’s enough,” Kiera says and grins. As we chat about the weather, I overhear Riley and Diesel talking to Grandma. “So when you gonna give me more babies?” She glares at Riley.
Immediately, his face turns red, and Diesel nudges him. “Oh, come on. Don’t pretend you’re not banging every day.”
Riley’s eyes go wide. “My grandma is literally right there.” He points at her, though she doesn’t look offended. She raised Jackson, who was a total hellion, so she’s pretty much immune to everything.
“And that’s why I didn’t say the f-word. I got respect for Grandma Bishop.” Diesel lifts his cowboy hat and gives her a curtsey. I snort and shake my head.
“Thank you, Adam. But we’re not done with this conversation, Riley,” Grandma continues.
Somehow, Riley finds his escape, and Diesel follows in his shadow. The two of them are hilarious together and will be best friends until they’re old and wrinkly. Now that Diesel and Rowan are more serious, so much more has been added to their friend dynamic.
I let out a calm breath, double-checking my phone, the meat, and starting all over. It’s the chef version of pacing. “Maize, why don’t you go check out the rodeo and walk away for a little while?” Dad suggests, noticing my unease. “We’ve got this under control. The boys are doing what they’re supposed to, and as long as Mama is over there watching them, they won’t mess this up. She’s literally your own Southern mob boss right now.” He chuckles.
I look at him with big blue eyes. “Daddy, you sure?”
“You need a break before you drive yourself crazy.”
Sucking in a deep breath, I nod. “You’re probably right.”
“Of course, I am, sweetheart. Fathers always know best.”
“Okay, okay, don’t go getting a big head or anything,” I say, then take off my apron and hand it to him. “The brisket needs to be pulled soon. Elle knows when.”
He salutes me, and I give a small wave, then walk past the rows of pits toward the main area. I make my way past horse trailers and temporary corrals.
In the arena, hooves pound against the ground, and when I’m closer, I see it’s barrel racing. The young teens’ age group is competing right now. It brings me back to riding when I was younger, and I realize how much I miss it. I can’t remember the last time I saddled up and took one of the trails. In high school, it was my escape and gave me a chance to think. Now, I spend most of my time in the kitchen.
