Holly Jolly Cowboy (The Wyoming Cowboy #7)(29)

POLLY: I thought the cowboys were jerks to you? That you were avoiding them?

HOLLY: The older one (Carson) is nice, but very quiet. Very Clint Eastwood. It’s the younger one that’s kinda a dick . . . and the cake’s for him, heh.

POLLY: Oh, Hol . . .

HOLLY: I know, I know. It’s just . . . it’s a birthday, you know?

POLLY: So get a cake mix! If I know you, you’re going to spend six hours working on some elaborate creation he won’t even be thankful for.

HOLLY: Oh come on, I will not.

POLLY: What kind of cake then?

HOLLY: Peanut butter chocolate fudge?

POLLY: Uh huh. Sounds too simple for you. What’s the frosting?

HOLLY: Actually I’m doing a ganache sandwiched between the layers

HOLLY: And a chopped praline layer for crunch

HOLLY: And a mirror glaze on top

HOLLY: Decorated with more praline on top . . .

HOLLY: I know what you’re thinking.

POLLY: I’m thinking my sister doesn’t know what the term “day off” means.

POLLY: Or the fact that he won’t appreciate it!

HOLLY: But I enjoy making it. He didn’t ask for anything specific. It’s me that decided to do all that.

POLLY: And it sounds utterly delicious. And I know it will be. It’s just . . . take care of yourself, too, okay?

HOLLY: You’re one to talk! How are finals?

They texted for a while about Polly’s classes and the terrible professor she had in organic chemistry, the cute business major that sat in front of her and played games on his laptop through every lecture, and her tutor, who was several classes ahead of her and a year younger. Polly mentioned a party for a few of the chem students the following weekend, and Holly was thrilled for her. She made a mental note to send her sister a bit more money so she could get new clothes, if needed.



* * *



? ? ?

It felt good to connect with her sister, and when Polly eventually signed off to study, Holly focused on the birthday meal she was making for Adam, her spirits light. She’d made the right decision in spending every last penny on Polly’s future. At least she had one. Holly was happy where she was at, mostly, and she had plans.

If those plans took a little longer to come to fruition, so be it. She could be patient.

Dinner that night was roasted whole chicken with mashed potatoes, homemade macaroni and cheese, and fresh rolls. Yes, she was absolutely going overboard, but Holly didn’t mind. Being in the kitchen helped her think. It was relaxing to pull everything together and know she’d done an amazing job. The smells were heavenly, and while the chicken roasted, she worked on the caramel for her praline.

Holly had just finished putting the mirror glaze and the last few decorations on the cake when the first chicken was ready. She’d learned over the last week that whatever plans she had for food, she needed to double. Carson and Adam both ate far more than she’d anticipated, and so she kept one chicken for Adam’s dinner, and one chicken for Carson’s. For herself, she’d just have a little bit of macaroni she’d put aside. Once everything was ready, she put it all into individual containers with reheating instructions, carefully placed them in a warming bag, and took the first bag outside to place on Carson’s doorstep.

To her surprise, she ran into Adam, who was coming from the barn, Hannibal at his side. It was snowing, big, fat flakes floating down from the gray skies, and she wasn’t wearing a coat, so to be caught by him felt foolish. He was dressed warmly, in a puffy lined vest over a thick flannel shirt and gloves, along with that beaten-up old baseball cap.

He frowned at the sight of her, hurrying to her side. “What are you doing out here?”

“Dropping off Carson’s dinner,” she said, determined not to bristle at his tone. She told herself he didn’t mean it as abrasive as it sounded. “I want to make sure it’s ready whenever he comes home.” She moved toward Carson’s cabin, and the meal itself was heavy in her arms. Funny how the cabins seemed close to the house until you had to deliver a big, heavy meal.

She didn’t protest when he took the warming bag from her arms. “I can get that,” he said. “Carson’ll be here soon. He’s finishing up in the barn.”

“Thank you?” Holly crossed her arms over her chest, shivering as he jogged up to the cabin and put the bag on the doorstep.

Hannibal immediately tried to stick his face into it, and Adam pushed him aside. “Come on, boy. That’s for someone else.” Adam straightened and turned to her, glancing at his doorstep. “Am I getting peanut butter and jelly again?”

She laughed, the sound a little too braying in the quiet. “Funny.”

He gave her an awkward smile, and she realized he wasn’t joking. Oh. He really did think he was getting those sad sandwiches again? She felt terrible. For some reason, she was feeling a little fond of Adam that day. Maybe it was because he’d been surprisingly decent to her last night and she’d worked on food for him all day? Or maybe it was because despite her public humiliation, he’d still asked her for a cake, and that was a sign of faith in her baking.

Holly gestured at the main house. “Actually, I was just about to bag yours up and bring it out to the door. Everything’s ready to go except the cake. I wanted you to look at it before I cut it up.” God, just saying it made her sound like an arrogant idiot. He probably didn’t care what it looked like. He just wanted cake. She was the one that wanted to preen with pleasure when he tasted it. How silly of her. “But I can bring it out with the rest, actually . . .”