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Vanessa. “I dare you to find one better in Chicago.”
    “That’s a pretty bold bet.” She shot him a knowing grin. “We have hundreds of fine restaurants in the Windy City.”
    “I’ve sampled a lot of them. But none could compare with Yancy’s dressing.”
    She thought about arguing, but instead glanced around. “Will we eat at the table, or here at the counter?”
    “Let’s use the table.” He nodded toward a cupboard beside him. “Dishes in there. You’ll find silverware in that drawer.”
    While she set the table, he filled two salad bowls with greens and set the container of dressing beside them.
    Vanessa carried them to the table.
    Matt dropped the oven-warmed bread into a basket and snagged the bottle of wine before crossing to the table.
    After tasting Yancy’s dressing, Vanessa gave a sound of approval. “Oh, that’s wonderful.”
    “I thought you’d like it.” Matt broke off a piece of crusty bread. “This is home baked, too.”
    “Your cook could work in any fine restaurant in the country. What keeps him at your ranch?”
    Matt grinned. “You’ll have to ask him. He’s got quite a tale to tell. But I suspect Yancy wouldn’t be tempted to leave Montana for twice the salary.”
    He pushed away from the table and returned minutes later with two steaming bowls of chili. On a tray between them were dishes containing shredded cheese, red pepper flakes, snippets of green onion, and crispy crackers.
    “Before you start eating, I’ll bring you a glass of water.”
    When he set the glass in front of her, she shot him a look. “Do you think this is my first taste of chili?”
    “It’s your first taste of Yancy’s chili.” He dug in and was finishing his second spoonful when he heard the quick gasp of breath across the table.
    He looked up in time to watch Vanessa down the water in one long swallow.
    “That was—” she reached for a word to describe the eye-watering heat “—really spicy.”
    “The wranglers refer to it as Yancy Martin’s gut-burning masterpiece.”
    “An apt description.” She laughed as she attempted a second bite. This time, prepared for the quick burn, she merely smiled before adding a little cheese, onion, and cracker to the bowl. “But I have to say, this may be the best chili I’ve ever tasted.”
    Matt looked at her with new respect. “Any woman who can dig into Yancy’s chili has to be a lot tougher than she looks.”
    “Thanks.”
    While Matt polished off a second bowl, Vanessa finished her first before sitting back and sipping her wine. “That was incredible. From the salad dressing to the chili. A really unexpected treat.”
    “I’m glad you liked it. I hope you won’t take offense at the fact that the chili was a gift from the wild.”
    At her blank look, he smiled. “The meat was venison. A deer I tracked on the South Ridge a few months ago. Yancy managed to turn it into steaks, hamburger, and stew meat.”
    “Are you hoping to shock me?” She resisted touching a hand to her stomach, though the impulse was strong.
    “Maybe. A little. But in truth, I think you ought to realize that there’s another valid reason for killing animals in the wild. Though it may not be necessary in Chicago, here in Montana we not only care for the land, but we live off it. Deer are plentiful, and though some ranchers hunt them for sport, my family only kills enough to eat.”
    “Now that you’ve brought up the fact of sport hunting, I have to ask: Shouldn’t it be regulated, for the sake of preserving wild species?”
    He stared into his glass. “That sounds noble. But what about the rancher who can barely make ends meet by ranching? Is he to be denied the chance to open his land to hunters who pay very generously for the privilege of sleeping under the stars and stalking their prey on a range in Montana?”
    “Again, you make it all about profit.”
    He glanced over. His eyes narrowed slightly. “And you make profit sound like a dirty word. For every