Holly Jolly Cowboy (The Wyoming Cowboy #7)(18)

He wanted her to feel just a twinge of regret for being an ass to him. Just a twinge.

Which was why he sneaked back into the main house once the horses were settled. He left Hannibal back in his cabin, curled up on his bed, and when her tiny dog came to the back door to greet him, he scooped it up and headed for the kitchen again. She’d been busy, he realized. The sink was full of dishes that had yet to be washed, and dry ingredients were scattered all over the counter. It looked as if she’d been baking again, then had to run off to work. Adam checked his watch. Nine at night. She wouldn’t be back for at least two hours, which meant he was free to do as he liked.

“So what have we got tonight, squirt?” he asked the dog, petting the tiny head. “Any new cookies?”

The dog just licked his fingers and nipped at them with excitement.

Adam didn’t see anything left out like she normally did. Whenever he raided the kitchen, she always seemed to have something available for him or Carson to eat if they wandered in—well, mostly Carson since he didn’t let her know that he was coming in to grab food. Tonight there were no muffins or cookies, no rolls or the small meat and cheese board she’d left out last night and they’d promptly demolished. He guessed she hadn’t had a chance to make anything yet—even her whiteboard menu was blank.

And for some reason, that irked him. She was there to feed them, right? Why wasn’t she feeding them, then?

He headed over to the refrigerator and opened it. Sure enough, the bowls of colorful baking stuff were all still in there, but she’d added Post-its to each one. The red one said cherry fondant and the green mint fondant. There were bowls of mixes, too, labeled layer one and layer two and so forth. It was all her cake stuff. She’d even removed the cookies he’d eaten earlier.

Well. Glad to see she had her priorities straight. The kitchen had a bunch of cake mixes for her project and nothing for him to actually eat. She was baking all this for Carson and nothing for him? It bugged him. It bugged him so much that he set her little runt of a dog down on the floor with a pat on the head, and then considered the lineup of spices she’d left out. Chiefly, the large shakers of salt and pepper in front of him.

Adam smiled to himself. He pulled one of the bowls out of the fridge and peeled back the covering. It looked like a chocolatey sort of mix, all rich and thick and decadent and absolutely not for him. She’d made that clear.

It was all for Carson and not for him.

An ugly feeling clenched in his gut. He’d been in this position before. In the weeks leading up to their divorce, Donna had started little games to tear him down quietly. She’d wanted Adam to file so she could tell everyone she was the injured party. So she’d made special meals and left them out so Adam could see the scraps, but kept nothing in the fridge. She’d spent all their savings buying presents for her boyfriend. She’d use an entire tank of gas going joyriding, just so when he went in to work the next day, he’d have to fill up. Microaggressions, the therapist had called it.

Well, he could play the microaggression game, too.

If Holly wanted to favor Carson, he could even the playing field. Unscrewing the top off the salt shaker, he dumped half of it into the bowl. He added some pepper, too, just because, and then mixed it all in with a spoon. When his additions couldn’t be seen, he covered the bowl again, put it back into the fridge, and pulled out the next one to give it the same treatment. If she was going to treat Carson like he was special and ignore Adam, he was going to teach her a lesson.

Was it a dick move? Yes.

Did she deserve it? Oh yes. She’d started it by baking all kinds of delicious things for Carson and not for him. If you were hired to cook for two people, you couldn’t just ignore half of them.

One dick move absolutely deserved another.



* * *



? ? ?

As if the restaurant customers knew that Holly was off tomorrow, they were determined to crowd in to Wade’s saloon tonight. She was so busy there was no time to breathe, much less take a quick break. Table after table was completely full, and she laughed and charmed her way into decent tips for the evening, but she knew she’d feel it in the morning. Her feet hurt by the time the last customer was ushered out with a to-go box and a smile.

Wade looked just as tired as she was. He sat on a stool behind the bar, shaking his head. “Here I thought the rush would be tomorrow, not tonight.”

A little twinge of guilt hit her. She locked the front door, flipping the sign, and peered out into the chilly Wyoming night. Some of the decorations for tomorrow’s festival had been hung—wreaths decorated the streetlights and strings of plastic ornaments had been hung high between some of the buildings. Tomorrow it’d be totally decked out, with banners hanging off the buildings and booths everywhere. “You think it’ll be busy tomorrow night?”

Wade snorted. “It was last year. Good money, too. Now that I think about it, I had a lot of people coming in looking for ciders and mulled wine. Maybe I should head by the warehouse tomorrow and stock up in preparation.”

“Christmas drinks are a good idea,” Holly told him brightly. “You know what would go well with that?”

“Chips and hot dogs?”

She grimaced. “No. I was thinking more like apple tarts or gingerbread men.”

He sighed heavily. “Holly—”

“I know, I know.” She held up a hand even as she moved toward the first table and began to clear it. “I’m always pitching desserts at you and this is a bar, not a patisserie. It’s just . . . people are looking for something special. Festive treats, you know? I think it might do well. You could even go simple and do caramel apples with Christmas sprinkles on them. Pull people in that want something a bit more than just snack food.”