Holly Jolly Cowboy (The Wyoming Cowboy #7)(15)

Damn it, Adam loved fried chicken. It had been a long time since he’d had some, too. He didn’t know what a twice-baked potato was, but it sounded good.

Make extra, he wrote on the whiteboard, and then signed it with Carson’s name. It’d be something to look forward to at the end of the day tomorrow, at least. He grabbed a few more muffins and went back out to the barn. If Carson noticed that Adam was eating her muffins, he didn’t say anything. That was the good thing about Carson—he wasn’t much of a talker. Adam knew he was being a hypocrite, but Holly brought out the worst in him.

After all, she was there to make their work easier, right? Except her presence—and the fact that she was starving him—did anything but make his day easier. He had a hard time concentrating on work and his task list when he was wondering what she’d pull next. Surely she wasn’t going to feed him peanut butter and jelly for the next month? She was probably waiting for him to apologize first, and then she’d feed him like she was feeding Carson.

Yeah, well, she’d be waiting a while for that apology.

By the end of the day, he was tired and hungry and it had started to snow, so he was cold to boot. Hannibal whined as Adam devoured all of his sandwich and the apple, not sharing it with his dog. He scoured his cabin for snacks, too, but all he found was a couple of breath mints . . . which he also ate. He tried to ignore the rumbling of his gut, too. He was hungry, damn it, but he was also stubborn.

Didn’t help that Carson was eating like a king right next to him. It just made the peanut butter and jelly sandwich feel even drier and less appealing.

He snuck in at dinnertime and crept out with the extra servings, feeling like a damned idiot and a thief. He lived there, too. She was supposed to be cooking for him, too. He didn’t know why he felt guilty, but he thought about it all night long. He tossed and turned in bed, unable to fall asleep. Visions of fried chicken danced in his head, which was stupid. It was just food.

No, he decided. It was more than food. It was a pissing contest between the two of them, and he’d be damned if he let her win.

Adam got up from bed and checked the clock. One in the morning. Hannibal got excited, running for the door and circling, wagging his tail. “No walks,” he groaned, shaking his head at the dog. “It’s too late.”

Hannibal just got more excited, lowering his head, tail moving a mile a minute.

Well, great. He’d said the W-A-L-K word and now Hannibal thought for sure that they were going for one. With another groan, Adam got to his feet, shoved his boots on, and opened the door. “Make it a quick one.”

It was damn cold outside, and Adam crossed his arms over his chest as he stood in the snow like an absolute moron while his dog picked the perfect spot to relieve himself. Hannibal was fussy about this sort of thing—hilarious in a dog as big and brutal as a Belgian Malinois—and when he didn’t immediately get down to business, Adam found himself glancing up at the main house. The lights were still on despite the fact that it was late.

Of course, Holly was a waitress and the saloon didn’t close until eleven or so. Maybe she was a night owl. Not that he cared.

To his surprise, he saw a light click on upstairs, in one of the rooms. As he stared up at it, he saw a female figure move past the window and pull her shirt over her head. He couldn’t see much more than a profile, but what he did see was . . . well, it was impressive.

And it made him ache. How long had it been since Adam had had sex with someone? How long since he’d felt a woman’s soft body next to his? Not that he’d ever want to touch Holly the Annoying Waitress. She might have a good body, but she had the heart of a viper as far as he was concerned.

He was not going to admire her form as she moved in front of the window. He was not going to picture her breasts bouncing as she pulled off her bra.

His cock was not stiffening. And he was absolutely not going to go back into his cabin and jerk off to the thought of her. No, sir, he was not. There was a war going on between them, and he was determined to be the victor.



* * *



? ? ?

On Thursday, Adam decided that if he saw another peanut butter and jelly sandwich, he was going to scream. The weather was decent for the next few days, so he and Carson were moving the cattle to a less muddy pasture slightly further out. He watched as Hannibal rounded up the last of the cattle, then slid off his horse to close the gate behind them. Now that they had a moment to themselves, it was time for a break. He pulled his lunch sack out of the saddlebag and stared at it in disgust. Then he tossed it down to Hannibal, who wolfed it up with excitement.

“I hate that woman.”

Carson just looked over at him from atop his horse with a smirk on his face. He tipped his thermos back and took a long swig; the thing was no doubt filled with all kinds of delicious soup, just like it had been all week. She’d been absolutely spoiling Carson, leaving Adam to chase down the scraps, and he was tired of it. As he watched, Carson took out his brown bag for lunch and unwrapped what looked like a club sandwich on a baguette, smothered in bacon and sliced meat. And . . . were those fresh tomatoes?

Well, now he really was hungry. “Damn woman’s trying to starve me to death.”

Carson offered him the thermos. “You’re both being children.”

Adam ignored that. He lifted his chin at Carson. “I can’t drink from your thermos if you’ve got a cold, but I wouldn’t mind if you shared that sandwich.”