Holly Jolly Cowboy (The Wyoming Cowboy #7)(16)

Carson just held the whole thing out to him.

“You sure?” His stomach rumbled. That sandwich looked . . . mighty fine.

“Yeah.” Carson shrugged. “She sent a bunch of cookies in my bag, too.”

He crammed a mouthful of Carson’s sandwich into his face. Didn’t matter that it was cold and snowy out and so the sandwich was ice-cold, too. It was still delicious. “Cookies, too? What kind?”

Carson pulled one out to show him. It was a white cookie with sugar-crusted cracks on top, and an enormous chocolate kiss in the center. When Carson held it out to Adam, he took it, too. Carson just shrugged and drank some more of his soup. “Never argue with the kitchen.”

Adam snorted. “I’m just supposed to ignore the fact that she’s acting like this? She’s supposed to be here to feed us.”

“She’s feeding you what you asked for. Doin’ her job. You don’t like it, go tell ’er.”

Damn it. “Really prefer not to talk to her at all,” Adam muttered.

“Children, both of you,” Carson said again and drank his soup.



* * *



? ? ?

When they finished up for the day, Adam took a long, hot shower, played with Hannibal for a bit, and then headed into the main house. He couldn’t resist the lure of whatever food she’d been making. And since it was dinnertime, she’d be at work, which meant he could raid the fridge as much as he wanted. Her yappy little dog met him and Hannibal at the door, and he scooped it up and tucked it under his arm as he went into the kitchen. “You’re not going to tell on us, are you?”

He thought about feeding the dog again, but he didn’t like the thought of making it sick just to get revenge on its owner. He already had regrets from the other day when he’d found out he’d made it puke. The dog wasn’t at fault, and it was a cute little thing, gazing up at him with those bright button eyes. He rubbed the small, fluffy head and circled the countertop. “Let’s see what your mom left out for us.”

There were a few muffins left over from yesterday, and he tossed one down to Hannibal before taking one for himself and eating a big bite. He set it down on the counter and headed for the fridge, but when he opened it up, he didn’t see food waiting to be eaten. There were a lot of bowls in there, sure, but they looked like a bunch of junk. One was a big wad of bright red dough, another in white, another in green. What the heck? He poked at the plastic film covering one, wondering if it was something he wasn’t familiar with—

“What are you doing?”

Busted. Adam froze, then turned around slowly. His nemesis stood there in her work clothes, her tight red Christmas sweater showing off her curves. She had on the half apron that she wore at the restaurant, and her hair was in its typical high ponytail with the Christmas bow across the top of her head. Today, she had Christmas lights for earrings and bright red lipstick on. She looked festive and sexy . . . and he hated that he’d probably jerk off to the sight of her again tonight.

Her gaze slid to the dog he had tucked under his arm, and she frowned.

“I was looking for something to eat since you’re determined to starve me,” Adam told her, setting the little rat of a dog down on the ground carefully. “I know you think your joke is funny, but I ain’t laughing.”

She strode forward, closing the refrigerator door on him. “Don’t touch that stuff. It’s for a cake I’m making.”

Well now, Carson was going to get cake, too? She really knew how to twist the damn knife. “I’m tired of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.” Adam glared at her. “I want real food, and I came in here looking for it. You know, the food you’re supposed to be making for us?”

She tossed that ponytail of hers, defiant. “I asked you what you wanted to eat. I’m giving you exactly what you asked for. It’s not my fault you’re choosing to be stubborn.”

He was the one being stubborn? Holly was downright impossible. “Then lemme be clear. Whatever you fix Carson, I want the same. I want the soup. I want the hoagie. I want the cookies.”

“No more peanut butter and jelly?” She fluttered her lashes.

“You can include one of those. Hannibal likes ’em.”

Her gaze slipped to his dog, who was seated in the corner of the kitchen, watching them argue. As she glanced over, Hannibal’s tail began to wag, the traitor. A sweet smile curved her red mouth and she brushed past him over to a cookie jar on the counter. “I made dog biscuits. Hannibal’s a good boy and deserves the best.” She pulled out a bone-shaped cookie and the dog practically whined with excitement, but remained in his spot.

With a sigh, Adam nodded at Hannibal. “Go on.”

The dog immediately went to her feet and sat politely, his tail wagging a mile a minute.

“What a good boy you are,” she cooed sweetly to his dog as she gave him the treat.

Adam just shook his head in disgust. Traitor.

She turned back to Adam, her arms crossed under her breasts. “So you’re tired of these little games of yours? Dare I hope you’ve learned your lesson?”

He stiffened. “You’re pushing it, sister—”

“Sister,” she sputtered. “What are you, some cartoon villain?”

“I am a man who has been starved for the last few days and I work too long and too hard to put up with your sandwich bullshit.” He was tired of her games. He wasn’t the one farting around on the job. Adam opened the fridge again and stared at the contents. There was a foil-covered dish at the bottom and he lifted the cover off it. Snowman cookies. Fine. He was hungry enough to eat just about anything. Adam grabbed one and bit the head off.