Holly Jolly Cowboy (The Wyoming Cowboy #7)(19)

“And who’s going to be here to work with Bonnie if we get slammed?” He crossed his arms over his chest. “You have the day off.”

Holly bit her lip, thinking. If he let her do this, she’d be up all night baking. She’d have to run to an all-night grocery store to get last-minute supplies, but . . . well, she was going to be up anyhow, right? Her cake wouldn’t assemble itself, and it had to look perfect. She needed to grab at every opportunity afforded her. She could sleep some other time. “I can come in and help out, if you don’t mind me swinging out for the baking contest. I’ll need to drop off my cake and be around for the judging, but I’m sure I can help out after that.” She brought the dishes to the counter. “And I can make the treats—and some mulled wine and hot cider—if you let me set up a special table at the front. I’ll man it myself and give you half the profits.”

“Half?!”

“Well, it’s like you said. If it doesn’t work, I won’t be all that busy.” She tossed her ponytail and grinned at him. “And if it does, we’ll both make a pretty penny.”

“We’ll see,” was all he said, but Holly considered it a win. She’d just given herself a boatload of work to do at the very last minute, but it was an opportunity.

And she never turned those down.



* * *



? ? ?

It was three in the afternoon—an hour before Wade’s saloon opened and two hours before the baking contest began—when Holly realized her two tier-cake wouldn’t fit in her car. She couldn’t exactly seat-belt it in—the delicate marzipan snowflakes would crumble at the slightest touch and the fondant would show the slightest impression. She couldn’t exactly put it in her lap, either, and expect to drive.

Holly was going to have to ask for help.

Groaning, she bit her lip and considered the carload of ingredients she still had to take in. There were the candied “festive” apples she’d made all night long. The gingerbread men. The tiny apple tarts in the shapes of stars. Ingredients for mulled wine and apple cider, plus disposable cups with Christmas themes on them. Napkins. Paper plates.

And of course, her cake. Her double-decker, the size of a small tire, glistening with sugar snow and festive snowflakes cake. The beautiful cake that had turned out so pretty that she didn’t even care that she hadn’t slept in twenty-four hours. She could sleep later. This was too important.

Which meant that she needed to ask for help, because sitting around wasn’t going to get her cake into Painted Barrel in one piece. She considered her small car again, and then left the cake on the countertop and went in search of one of the cowboys.

Holly never ventured out into the actual ranch itself. She kept herself confined to the kitchen of Sage’s house and the guest bedroom. Sometimes she went into the laundry room, but she kept all the other doors in the house completely shut. It didn’t feel right to intrude on someone else’s home, even if she was living there temporarily. She knocked on the doors of the small cabins, but no one answered. Holly checked her phone. She was running low on time. Biting her lip, she headed out to the enormous barn.

To her relief, both men were inside. Carson was doing something in one of the horse stalls, while Adam was . . . doing something with hay and a pitchfork. She didn’t know what he was doing, honestly. She didn’t know squat about ranching. But she put on her brightest smile, clasped her hands in front of her, and ventured inside. “Hi, guys.”

They both paused.

Adam groaned. “Oh no. What do you want?”

She wanted to make a face at him, but she couldn’t afford to. So she kept her bright smile up. “Are you two by any chance heading in to the Winter Festival? If so, can I bum a ride?”

“Don’t you have a car?” Adam asked, ever surly.

“Well, I do, but my cake won’t fit.” She continued to smile brightly. “I figured if you guys were going, maybe we could all ride together.”

Carson—that sweet, kind man—grunted. When she looked at him blankly, he continued. “Gotta finish chores and then we’ll be going.”

“I hate to ask . . .” She hesitated.

“But you’re going to anyhow, right?” Adam leaned on his pitchfork, the picture of dismissiveness. His beaten-up baseball cap was perched atop his head, his hair sticking out ever so slightly underneath, and when he posed like that, it made his shoulders look impossibly broad. She hated that, because he was probably the most attractive man in their small town.

The most attractive man with the worst attitude, which was why she was going to be permanently single. She could worry about that some other time, though. She just kept smiling brightly, ignoring his rudeness. “I have to have my cake at the baking contest in about forty minutes. I hate to bother you, but it’s really important to me.”

Adam frowned. “Cake?”

She turned her charms on Carson. “Please, Carson. Please. I know it’s an inconvenience, but if my cake does well, it could be a real opportunity for me. Please.” She moved to the stall door, where he was standing. “I will bake you a dozen things tomorrow, only take me in to town today. I’ll pay for gas. I’ll pay extra. I just need to get there.”

Carson gave her a thoughtful look, then put a gloved hand on her shoulder. “Adam’ll take you.”