Holly Jolly Cowboy (The Wyoming Cowboy #7)
Jessica Clare
CHAPTER ONE
Painted Barrel was all around a decent place for a girl to live, but it was terrible for desserts.
Holly Dawson gazed into the window of the town’s lone bakery-slash-doughnut shop. Glazed doughnuts were in the window. Glazed doughnuts, of all things. And apple fritters. A window was there to advertise your wares, to show off what you could do. You didn’t put apple fritters in the window, or glazed doughnuts. That was like a cowboy showing that he knew what a horse looked like. They were basics. They were boring.
She passed this window every day, looking for new things. Holly loved baking. It was her favorite hobby, and she dreamed of opening her own pastry and sweets shop someday. Not here, of course. Painted Barrel had less than three hundred people. They had one bar-slash-restaurant and the doughnut shop that also passed as a café. That was it, foodwise, and it really couldn’t support more. Holly couldn’t afford to open her own place, either.
But she liked to dream. In her dream, it was her shop with a window on Main Street, and she’d fill it with all kinds of darling, enticing-to-look-at sweets. Pink cupcakes with chocolate stars on top. Trays of fluffy profiteroles with gooey crème oozing out of them. Mini cakes and fruit-laden tarts. Shortcakes puffed with whipped cream and colorful macarons in every shade. Exciting things. Fun things. Delicious things.
Not glazed doughnuts.
Hands in her pockets, she stared at the window for a minute longer, and then checked her phone for the time. She had a few minutes before she had to be at work. She glanced down the street at Wade’s saloon, Painted Barrel’s lone restaurant. The parking lot in front of it was empty, other than Wade’s truck, so she could afford to dawdle a little. Holly took one last look at the window and headed inside.
The bell clanged, announcing Holly’s presence, and the girl behind the counter got off the stool she was sitting on, putting her magazine aside. Geraldine wasn’t the most enthusiastic employee, but Holly had heard that she was related to the owner, and that was how she’d gotten the job here despite being a high school dropout. Not that Holly was jealous. Sure, she was a high school dropout, too, and running a sweets shop was her dream. She doubted Geraldine made more than minimum wage and Holly barely stayed afloat with the tips she made at the saloon. So, no, she couldn’t have Geraldine’s job.
Even if it irked her that she wanted it.
She smiled overbrightly at Geraldine and gazed at the offerings behind the glass. Pigs in a blanket, doughnuts, doughnuts, more doughnuts, and some sad, stale-looking cupcakes shoved to one end. A couple of chocolate chip cookies that were too flat and had clearly been made with the wrong kind of sugar. Figured. Still, now that she was inside, she supposed she should buy something and support local business. “Anything new today?”
Geraldine grinned and leaned on the counter. “You say that every time you come in. Nothing new, no.”
Did she? Maybe it was because she always hoped they would see the opportunity right in front of their eyes. “You know, I’m something of a baker myself. I could make some stuff and sell it on consignment if you’d give me a chance.”
The look in Geraldine’s eyes grew frosty, as it always did every time Holly brought this up. “I’ll talk to the boss about it. Again.”
Yeah, Holly knew that wasn’t going to go anywhere. She’d pitched it multiple times, only to be shot down every time. People didn’t like change. She had to try, though. Not only because her baking was something of a source of pride for her, but also because Holly desperately needed the money. “Just let me know. Can I get two cookies?”
Holly took her purchase—Wade would like the sweets—and headed back onto the street. Just in time. There was a truck pulled up in front of the saloon now, likely waiting for the lunch rush, and as she watched, another pulled up, too. A busy day wouldn’t be so bad. Hopefully people would be generous with their tips. She doubted it, though. People got stingy during the holidays, which was tough. It was like, because they were spending money on presents, everyone else should go without. Considering Holly lived on tips, it wasn’t her favorite time of year, workwise.
She blanched when a third truck pulled up, because she recognized it and the two dogs hanging out in the back of the bed. One was a great big, beautiful Belgian Malinois, and the other was a retriever wearing a bright yellow vest with emotional support animal in black lettering along the sides. They both wagged their tails as she walked past, looking for pets. Holly loved animals, but she was not a huge fan of the owner of that truck.
Sure enough, three guys piled out of the truck, all of them wearing hats. One was Jason Clements, the mayor’s lanky husband and a real nice guy. She liked him as a customer—he tipped well. Then there was Carson, a guy with salt-and-pepper hair and a grim expression. He worked at Price Ranch—Jason and Sage’s ranch—and since most of the guys they hired were ex-military, Holly suspected he’d seen some shit. He was polite, though, which was all she asked.
And then there was the driver. Adam.
He was tall and gorgeous, dressed in jeans and a puffy vest over his long-sleeved shirt, and wore a worn baseball cap over his dark hair instead of a cowboy hat. Thick slashing brows added to the sardonic look on his face, as if he was always laughing at you. And he had the most perfect mouth, framed by a goatee that made him look dangerous and just a bit dashing. Too bad he was a jerk and a shitty tipper.