Holly Jolly Cowboy (The Wyoming Cowboy #7)(24)

As he sat by himself, he checked his phone, scrolling through his social media. He wasn’t much of a fan of that kind of thing, but boredom was hitting hard and both Holly and the other waitress were slammed, so it wasn’t like he had anyone else to talk to. He pulled up his ex-wife’s profile on a whim and saw her posting a few photos of herself. Curiosity got the better of him and he clicked on them.

The first one was Donna at some sort of vacation resort with a tropical drink in her hand, her face pressed to another guy’s cheek. best man i ever met was the caption. Didn’t surprise him. The divorce had started amicably and ended not so much, especially once he’d found out she’d been sleeping around for a while. Sure enough, a few more photos back and she had posted a picture of a big, ugly ring eighteen months ago. thanks, alimony payments! you’re good to this girl. xoxo lol.

Well, that was enough for one day. Gritting his teeth, he deleted the app off his phone. He didn’t need that shit in his life, just like he didn’t need Donna. He wasn’t going to let anyone use him again, ever. The alimony payments were done as of January, and Adam was free and clear.

And he liked being single just fine.

Around nine thirty at night, it was like someone flipped a switch in the restaurant. The crowded place emptied out, leaving no one at the bar but Adam, who was nursing his third cup of coffee at that point.

Holly moved to the bar, a slight frown on her face. “Did Carson leave? He offered me a ride.”

“We switched,” Adam said. “He had some stuff to do back at the ranch. I’ll give you a ride.” What, did she think he was just hanging out at the bar because he loved Wade’s terrible coffee so much?

Her gaze flicked to him, and she bristled. Adam did, too, expecting another argument, but she just shrugged. “I’ll get my coat.”

“You done working?” He pulled out a few dollars and tossed them onto the counter.

“Yeah.” Holly’s expression was carefully neutral. She glanced over at the tip he’d left but said nothing. “Night’s pretty much over. I’ll tell Wade he can hold my tips for me until tomorrow.” She walked away, untying her apron.

All right, then. He finished his coffee and grabbed his keys. Then he paused and stared thoughtfully at the money on the bar. It was something Holly had brought up when she was screeching at him—his tips. Did they all think he was a lousy tipper? Why did he care? He added a few more bucks anyhow, just because it was niggling at the back of his head for some damn reason.

He’d always thought of himself as a decent guy. Maybe a bit rough around the edges at times, but overall decent. Today, though, he was a cake saboteur and a shitty tipper, and apparently it was bothering him.

They were both quiet as she returned to his side a few moments later, her jacket on. He paused, because other than her purse, there was nothing in her hands. It was a drastic change from earlier today, when she’d had massive containers to bring with her and that ridiculous cake. “You got everything?”

“Everything that can’t wait,” Holly said in a crisp voice, stuffing her hands in her coat pockets. “Can we go? I’m expecting a phone call.”

And there was that sour attitude again, as if he hadn’t wasted all night waiting to pick her up. Adam’s jaw clenched and he held the door of the saloon open for her. “After you, my lady,” he said in a sarcastic voice.

With a toss of that ponytail, she headed out.

They were both silent on the ride home. Adam glanced over at her a few times, but she stared straight ahead, her back stiff, her mouth set in that same stubborn cast it always had when she was around him. He should have let Carson drive her home, he decided. It was clear she disliked him as much as he disliked her.

He sure as hell didn’t feel guilty about that cake, or the sight of it in the garbage. Or the fact that she’d worked on it for hours. She was just an unlikable person, he’d decided, and therefore she got what was coming to her.

Wasn’t his fault.

Adam kept telling himself that all through the drive back to the ranch. He continued to tell himself that as he pulled up to the house and she opened the door of the truck the moment he threw it in park.

“Thanks.” She didn’t look at him, but her voice was soft. Small.

And she didn’t look at him as she got out and walked carefully toward the house.

He told himself it was nothing. If she’d snarled at him as she got out, he wouldn’t feel an ounce of guilt. It was just that wobbly, fragile “thanks” that was eating him up as he headed toward his cabin. He thought about that stupid cake, and the glee he’d felt when he’d added the salt to the mixture, imagining her face screwing up as she ate it. He’d imagined humiliating her in private.

Not in front of the whole town.

Maybe that was the part that was eating at him. It wasn’t that she was an absolute jerk, or that she’d spent hours on that cake. She was, and she probably had. It was that she’d been incredibly proud of that cake—the pride evident on her face as she’d carried it toward the judging table—and he’d embarrassed her in front of absolutely everyone. Made her look stupid and incompetent.

That was the part that felt all too familiar. Hadn’t Donna done that to him? Hadn’t he felt the knowing, sympathetic looks of his buddies on base when he’d returned home, because they’d all known his wife had been catting around while he was overseas? He knew what it felt like to have everyone laughing at you. To have to put your chin up and soldier through despite it all.