Page 12 of Cowboys & Hot Sauce (Festival of Hearts #5)

Scarlet

The morning sun blazed down as I checked my phone for the third time in fifteen minutes.

Burke should have been here by now. We'd arranged to meet at the food truck at nine to prep before the festival opened at eleven, but it was nearly ten—just an hour before the final judging—and I'd had to handle everything by myself.

"He's just running behind," I muttered, arranging sample cups for the judges. My stomach was in knots. Today was everything—the final hot sauce competition that could change my whole life.

I'd called Burke twice, but both times it went straight to voicemail. After everything we'd shared at the barn dance, that kiss on my parents' porch, and our late-night planning session, his absence felt wrong. Something had shifted between us, but I couldn't put my finger on what.

The door of my food truck swung open, and I spun around, relief washing over me.

"Burke! Where have you—"

The words died in my throat. It was Burke alright, but not the same man who'd held me close under the string lights last night. His face was blank, those green eyes flat and distant. He wore a fresh shirt and his usual cowboy hat, but everything about him screamed "keep away."

"Sorry I'm late," he said, his voice unnaturally even. "Got tied up with festival business. What needs doing?"

I fumbled with the sample tray, knocking three cups sideways. "I've got most everything ready, but the refrigeration unit's gone wonky. Temperature's bouncing all over the place."

Burke nodded and moved past me, keeping a good six inches between us in the narrow space. The cold spot where his shoulder should have brushed mine made my skin crawl.

"Hand me that toolkit under the sink," he said, crouching to look at the unit.

I passed it over, making sure our fingers didn't touch. "Burke, did I do something wrong?"

"Nope." He didn't look up, focusing entirely on the metal box. "Loose wire, looks like."

For twenty excruciating minutes, I watched him work. His hands moved quickly and efficiently, but the easy back-and-forth we'd shared yesterday had vanished. The refrigeration unit hummed back to life, and Burke stood, wiping his hands on a rag.

"Should work fine now," he said, putting the tools away. "Temperature'll even out in about ten minutes."

"Thanks." I hesitated, then reached out to touch his arm. "Burke, seriously. What's going on with you today?"

His eyes flicked to my hand, then back to my face. "Nothing's going on. We both know what this is, Scarlet. Let's just get through today."

Before I could dig deeper, Mayor Davidson's voice crackled over the loudspeaker: "All hot sauce finalists, please report to the judging area! Competition begins in fifteen minutes!"

Burke stepped back. "You should go. Good luck with the competition."

"You're not coming with me?"

"I'll be there. Need to check with Rhett about cleanup schedules first."

I watched him walk away, confusion bubbling in my stomach. What had happened between last night and this morning? The man who'd stayed up late helping me craft a business plan, who'd kissed me like I meant something to him, had turned into this human ice cube.

With the clock ticking, I gathered my Texas Tornado sauce and hustled to the judging area.

A small stage stood in the middle of the fairgrounds, with three chairs for the judges and two podiums for the contestants.

Bethany Sue was already there, her "Haute Heat" sauce displayed in fancy glass bottles with gold-embossed labels.

She wore a pastel pink dress with matching heels, her lips painted the exact same shade of pink—lips that pouted just a bit too perfectly to be entirely natural.

"Morning, Scarlet," she called with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Ready for the final showdown?"

"As I'll ever be," I replied, setting up my display.

Mayor Davidson, Loretta Wilkins, and Chef Rafael Rodriguez took their places at the judges' table.

Festival-goers crowded around the stage, fanning themselves against the heat.

I scanned the gathering and spotted Burke hanging back near a cotton candy stand, arms folded tight, face giving away nothing.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Mayor Davidson announced, "welcome to the final judging of our Summer's End Festival Hot Sauce Competition!

Today, our distinguished panel will conduct a blind taste test of our two finalists' signature sauces.

The winner receives five thousand dollars and a feature in Texas Taste magazine! "

The crowd clapped and cheered. I tried to focus on the competition, to push thoughts of Burke's weird behavior out of my head. This was why I'd come home—to prove myself, to win MeeMaw's trust, to save Smokin' Lurline's.

A festival volunteer collected samples of our signature sauces, placing them in identical unmarked cups labeled only with numbers on the bottom. The judges wouldn't know which sauce belonged to which contestant until after they'd made their decision.

Loretta Wilkins went first, sampling each sauce with a small chunk of cornbread, taking a sip of water between tastes.

Her expression remained neutral. Chef Rodriguez followed, analyzing each flavor carefully, eyes closing as he concentrated.

Mayor Davidson made a show of it, eyes watering with each taste.

Minutes crawled by slowly. I found myself untying and retying my apron strings, arranging and rearranging the display bottles, anything to keep my hands busy. Across the stage, Bethany Sue stood perfectly still in a pageant pose, hands clasped at her waist.

My eyes drifted back to Burke. He was watching, but when our gazes locked, he turned away. That little rejection stung.

"We have reached our decision," Mayor Davidson announced, holding up an envelope. The crowd hushed, and my heart hammered in my chest.

"And the winner of this year's Summer's End Festival Hot Sauce Competition is... 'Texas Tornado' by Scarlet Landry!"

For a split second, I couldn't move. Then the crowd erupted, and suddenly folks were swarming around me, congratulating me. Through the sea of faces, I caught sight of MeeMaw, her eyes shining with something that looked a lot like pride.

Bethany Sue glided over, her smile tight. "Congratulations," she said, extending her hand. "Your sauce has... personality."

"Thanks," I replied, shaking her hand. "Yours was amazing too."

As people started to drift back to the festival attractions, Mayor Davidson handed me a giant check and a certificate for the magazine feature.

I grinned for photos, fielded questions about my cooking secrets, and tried my best to look like someone whose professional dreams were coming true—not someone whose heart was breaking.

When I finally broke free, I spotted Burke at the edge of the thinning crowd. He gave a quick nod and what might have been a hint of a smile.

"Congratulations," he said stiffly. "You earned it."

"Burke," I said, stepping closer despite his obvious retreat. "We need to talk."

"I should really help with—"

"No." I grabbed his arm, surprising both of us with how firm I was. "You're going to tell me what changed between last night and this morning. I deserve that much."

He glanced around at the stragglers still hanging near the stage, then nodded toward my food truck. "Not here."

The short walk felt endless. Inside the truck, the space that had felt just right yesterday now seemed cramped. Burke stood with his back to the counter, twisting his hat in his hands.

"Congratulations again on winning," he said. "That should help with your plans for the restaurant."

"Stop it," I snapped, my patience gone. "Stop talking like we're strangers. What happened?"

"I heard you," Burke said abruptly. "Last night on the phone. Saying how 'the plan is working perfectly' and I've been 'exactly what you needed' and how 'after the competition, it will be all over.'"

My mouth fell open. "You heard that?"

"Kind of hard to miss," he said, looking somewhere past my shoulder. "Don't worry, I understand. You needed someone to convince your grandmother you were settled. Mission accomplished."

"Burke, no." I shook my head, my face heating up.

"That wasn't about you—well, not the way you think.

I was talking to Josie, my friend from culinary school.

She's the one who encouraged me to develop the Texas Tornado recipe.

I was telling her how well the festival was going, how you'd helped me with the business plan for MeeMaw. "

His eyes finally met mine, doubt mixing with a flicker of something warmer.

"When I said, 'after the competition, it will be all over,' I was talking about the uncertainty with MeeMaw and the restaurant," I explained. "Not us."

Burke's hands stilled on his hat. "So you weren't just using me as part of some strategy?"

The question hurt, but I understood why he'd ask it. "No. I wasn't."

A flush crept up his neck. "I thought... I don't know what I thought."

The quiet between us was heavy. I wanted to say more, to ask if what had been building between us was real for him too, but pride and uncertainty held me back. If he'd thought so little of me, that I'd just manipulate him and walk away...

He ran a hand through his hair, knocking his hat askew.

"I've never been good at this part. Numbers make sense.

People..." He shook his head. "When I heard what you said on the phone, it just confirmed what I've always figured—that someone like you wouldn't be interested in someone like me for real. "

"Someone like me?" I echoed.

"Creative. Full of life," he said. "The girl who painted the high school mascot on the water tower just to make people smile. Who never met a rule she didn't want to bend. You and me—we're opposites, Scarlet."

I looked down at my hands, not sure what to say. Were we really so different? Or was he just looking for reasons to cut and run after last’s night kiss?

"I need some time to think," he said finally. "This weekend has been... a lot."

My stomach dropped, but I nodded. "I understand."

Burke tugged his hat back into place and moved toward the door. "For what it's worth," he said, pausing with his hand on the handle, "I'm proud of you. For the competition. For everything."

Then he was gone, leaving me alone in my food truck with a championship sauce, a five-thousand-dollar check, and the hollow feeling that winning meant nothing if I'd lost him in the process.

Through the service window, I watched Burke's tall figure disappear into the festival crowd. The trophy beside me caught the sunlight, seeming to mock me.

"Stubborn cowboy," I muttered, even as my eyes started burning.

I leaned against the counter, trying to untangle the mess of feelings inside me. For the first time in my life, I didn't want to run when things got complicated. I wanted to stay and see this through. But the ball was in his court now.

Either Burke Tate would realize what was right in front of him, or I'd have to accept that some recipes, no matter how promising, just ended up being hot messes.