Holly Jolly Cowboy (The Wyoming Cowboy #7)(17)

Of course it was utterly delicious, he thought with disgust. He shoved the entire thing into his mouth and reached for another.

“Hey! You can’t eat that!” Holly rushed over to the fridge and slapped his hand before he could pull another out of the container. “Those are for Carson.”

Of course they were. “Carson would want me to eat it,” he explained around the mouthful.

She put a hand on his chest and pushed, as if she could physically shove him away from the fridge. That was cute, given that she didn’t even come up to his chin. The look she gave him was utterly indignant. “No, he wouldn’t. His daughter has a wheat allergy so I made those with almond flour. He’s supposed to taste them for me and if he likes them, then I’m sending them home with him as a gift.”

Almond . . . flour? That was a thing? And . . . wait. Adam finished chewing. “He has a daughter?”

She gave him an exasperated look. “You work with the man. Don’t you know? Do you even talk to him?” When he didn’t move away from the fridge, she tried to wedge her body in between him and the thing, as if she could protect the cookies from him bodily. “Who did you think he was going to visit for Christmas, you nitwit?”

He scowled at her and racked his brain, trying to think of what Carson had said about the holidays. Visiting . . . someone. Family? It was hard to imagine silent, surly Carson with family, much less a daughter. “I’m not the bad guy here!”

“Really? Because you kind of seem like a dick to me.” She pushed him away from the fridge.

He pushed back, just a little, and then her body was wedged against his, her backside pressing against him in the most obvious spots. Adam bit back a groan, because the last thing he wanted was to think about her in any way other than irritation. Didn’t matter that she fit against him perfectly—she was a monster.

“Are you done being like this?” And he placed his hands on the top of the fridge, caging her there if she chose to keep fighting like an idiot. “Or are you determined to keep going?”

She flung herself backward with force, making both of them stumble.

Her pipsqueak of a dog barked.

Adam caught himself on the island counter and managed to keep his footing. That was . . . a surprise. So was the unearthly glare she was sending in his direction. Why was she so damn mad at him?

“You just have no respect for people’s boundaries, do you?” She straightened her sweater with a huff. “Don’t eat those cookies. In fact, don’t touch anything unless it has your name on it. I have plans for all that stuff, and if you go in there eating everything, it’s going to set me back hours.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said sarcastically. “I thought you were here to cook for us. My mistake.”

Holly gave him a dirty look. “I am. But I bought some of that with my own money and I don’t want you touching it. It’s for a cake. And I’m doing some baking for Carson, too. Not for you. So just tell me what you want to eat and I’ll make it for you. I have . . .” She paused and checked the phone she’d set on the counter. “A little over forty minutes before I have to be back at work.”

He wanted to argue some more but . . . he also wanted to eat. “What are you making Carson for dinner?”

“He asked for tacos.”

It had been a long time since Adam had had any kind of Mexican food. There wasn’t much in this neck of the woods, and Wade’s saloon didn’t serve anything of the kind. He’d grown up near a family-owned Mexican restaurant that served the best damn food, and sometimes he missed their cooking. Now was one of those times. “Tacos are good. I’ll have what he’s having.” He thought for a moment and then added, “Can we do enchiladas tomorrow night?”

She shook her head. “Tomorrow night is the Winter Festival in town. I’m heading there. Carson is, too.”

So much for cooking for him, then. Here he’d asked for something just like she was always preaching, and she’d said no. He rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

She gave him another look of flashing irritation. “Will you leave now? I need to get to work on the food and I can’t if you’re going to sit here and bother me. I’ll bring you a plate when I bring out Carson’s food, all right?”

“Suit yourself.” Why did he even bother? He’d tried to do things her way, and she’d been just as uncompromising as ever. It bothered him.





CHAPTER EIGHT





The fact that he’d compromised continued to bother him all damn night. Why was it every time he ran into her, no matter the situation, he felt like the one that ended up losing? It ate at him. It ate at him even as he thought about those bright red lips of hers and the way she’d felt pressed up against him in front of the refrigerator.

He hated that his damn cock was hard for her. She should have made it wither away, but no, here he was contemplating stroking himself to thoughts of her, just to get it out of his system. He hadn’t, though. It would have felt like a betrayal to himself. You didn’t jerk off to women you hated, no matter how pretty they were or how rounded their butt was in a pair of jeans.

At least dinner had been decent. She’d left the tray on his doorstep and hadn’t bothered to knock to let him know, so when he finally figured out it was there, everything was cold. It was just another way she pricked at him, another way to get his goat and have the upper hand. He’d eaten his cold, delicious tacos and stewed. He wanted to do something to get one over on her. He wanted to get control back, somehow.