Holly Jolly Cowboy (The Wyoming Cowboy #7)(30)

A boyish grin curved his mouth. “My cake’s ready? Really?” When she nodded, he patted his leg, calling Hannibal to heel. “If you don’t mind some company, I’ll eat at the main house, if that’s all right with you.”

“Oh.” Surprised, she hesitated only for a moment. “Company for dinner would be great, actually. It’s been a while since I’ve had a sit-down meal.”

They walked toward the house, Holly noticing that he shortened his long strides to keep pace with her. Hannibal bounded between them with excitement, and Adam gave her a sheepish look. “He’s starting to associate the big house with treats. Thinks he’s getting fed.”

Aw. “Well, I’m sure we can find something suitable for a good boy like him.” She cooed at the big dog in a baby voice. “Because you’re such a good boy, aren’t you?”

Hannibal whined and chased his tail with excitement, which made her laugh all over again.

He glanced over at her, and she wondered if he was bothered by the baby-voice thing. She did that to Pumpkin constantly and it slipped out the moment she saw a wagging tail. “So,” Adam said, moving to get the back door before she could touch it. He opened it for her and held it as she stepped inside. “Hope you didn’t go to too much effort with the food.”

“Define ‘too much effort.’?”

Adam followed her inside. “Working all day?”

“I’m being paid to work all day on cooking for you guys.”

“Yeah, but you said today was your day off, right?” He gave her a rueful look. “Ask a ranch hand how precious that kind of thing is.”

“I guess you guys don’t get a lot of time off, then?” She headed for the kitchen and saw Pumpkin was in her little bed under the Christmas tree. She lifted her head, smacked her lips, and then went back to sleep. She supposed her return didn’t merit excitement to her own pup. She headed for the microwave, where she had Adam’s roasted chicken warming. He didn’t answer her, and so she turned around.

Adam was in the kitchen, still, Hannibal at his side with his paws up on the counter and tail wagging. She wanted to point out that the dog needed to get down from the counter, but the look on Adam’s face distracted her. He was staring at the big, decorative covered cake plate in the center of the island that held his birthday cake. The look on his face was nothing short of utterly flummoxed.

“You okay?” she asked softly.

He rubbed his goatee. “Is . . . that my cake?”

She blinked. “Oh yes. Is it not what you wanted? I’m so sorry. I figured you weren’t a confetti-sprinkle kind of guy so I veered away from vanilla cake and went for something a little more decadent.” Holly moved toward the island and pulled the top off so he could get a good look at it. “I didn’t get birthday candles, though. I might be able to scrounge some up. Sage might have some—”

“It’s okay,” he said, interrupting. His gaze was glued to the cake. “You made this from scratch? For me?”

“I thought it turned out pretty nice,” she admitted, and hoped it didn’t sound like boasting. “Do you want to eat dinner first? Your chicken’s ready.”

He glanced up at her. “Right. Dinner.”

“I wasn’t sure what you wanted for a birthday dinner so I hope roasted chicken is okay?” Why was she asking what he thought? Normally she didn’t give a crap what Adam thought about her cooking. If he didn’t like it, she’d make him a sandwich. But here she was, practically groveling for praise. Ugh. This is what happened when you entered into public competitions and got thoroughly thrashed—it destroyed your self-esteem. “There’s also mashed potatoes and macaroni and cheese.”

“For my birthday?” He still sounded surprised.

“Well, I had to feed you anyhow,” Holly teased as she pulled the roast chicken out of the microwave, which was keeping it warm. “I figured you can’t go wrong with a chicken dinner.” She headed to the table with the chicken, nodding at him. “Come sit down and I’ll fix you up with a plate. You want coffee? Soda? Water?”

“Coffee’s fine.” He pulled off his beat-up hat and ran his hand over his hair, recently shorn shorter than usual. “I just . . . Thanks, Holly. I guess I didn’t expect all this.”

“Birthdays are important,” she told him, even though she was blushing a little at his praise. “I always pulled out all the stops for my sister Polly’s birthday when we were growing up so she’d feel special. It’s the one day out of the year that’s truly yours, and I wanted her to know it. If you have something in particular you ate when you were growing up, let me know in advance and I can make it happen. I haven’t cooked everything but I’m willing to give most stuff a try.”

Instead of sitting at the table, he began opening cabinet doors. “It’s been a long time since someone fussed over me. Kinda forgot how it feels.” He pulled out two plates and turned around. “Silverware?”

“That drawer,” she said, pointing to the one in question. They worked together to set the table, Holly filling serving bowls with completely inappropriate amounts of macaroni and mashed potatoes. There was a gravy boat too, and butter for the rolls. She didn’t think it was too much, but clearly Adam was touched, and it made her feel good.