Holly Jolly Cowboy (The Wyoming Cowboy #7)(31)

Even if it was just food, meals were important. You could show someone how much they meant to you with a home-cooked meal. And while they were enemies, sometimes that didn’t matter. Sometimes even the enemy needed a nice, hearty meal and a pretty cake to make them feel like they mattered.

Once she poured the coffee, she sat down at the table with him, her hands in her lap. It felt weird to be sitting down with Adam freaking Calhoun. She liked to think of him as “that dick Adam from Price Ranch” and “the jerk that tipped a dollar.” She always said most people had a reason for how they acted. Maybe Adam did, too.

So she sipped her coffee and waited for him to serve himself. “You said it’s been a long time since someone’s fussed over you. You’ve been here a little over a year, right?”

He nodded, carving both legs off the chicken for himself and then adding a mountain of mashed potatoes to his plate. Men were amazing with how much food they could put away. If she ate half of what he did, she’d be too bloated to wear her jeans and would gain five pounds overnight, but Adam was trim and fit.

Not that she noticed that sort of thing, of course, and then Holly felt weird for even thinking about it.

“I was in the Navy,” Adam said. “Did a couple of tours in the Mediterranean. Seaman. Ship maintenance. Petty officer second class. I was thinking about going career, but I had a wife at home and . . .” He trailed off, a frown on his face. “I left her alone for too long at a time, so I didn’t re-up when it came time. That was a mistake.” His mouth grew hard. “After the divorce, I did a few odd jobs here and there but couldn’t find anything I liked. Jason suggested I come out and work for him, so I made the move.” He shrugged. “That’s all.”

“Oh.” She had so many questions she wanted to ask, but it seemed inappropriate. You couldn’t exactly quiz your enemy about the divorce he’d casually mentioned, or his naval career and if he missed it. Once he started eating, she served herself and tried to think of a polite way to steer the conversation without seeming obvious. “Is that when you got Hannibal?”

The dog heard his name and appeared between their chairs, tail wagging.

“This big lug?” Real affection crept into his voice, and she watched as he pulled a piece of chicken from the bone and carefully held it out to the enormous dog. “Gift from my ex, actually. She got him for me when I was home between deployments. I should have known it wasn’t meant to be between us when it killed me to leave him behind but not her.”

“I get it,” Holly said, spooning a bit of macaroni onto her plate. “There’s an innocence to a pet that people don’t have. It’s almost like a child because they’re so trusting.”

“Speaking of children, how come your little runt isn’t here begging for scraps like this one?” Adam asked. He took a bite of chicken for himself and closed his eyes. “This is really good.”

Holly flushed with pleasure. “Thank you. And she’s absolutely a beggar, but I just fed Pumpkin and I imagine she’s sleeping it off now.”

“Pumpkin. Of all the things to name a dog.” He arched a brow at her as he took another bite. “Why not just call it ‘Snookums’ and get it over with?”

She chuckled, eating a forkful of macaroni. “The dog’s actually my sister’s. She named her, and she was the one that started cutting her hair like that. She loved that she looked like a teddy bear, but she didn’t have the patience for her. I think we were both relieved when her dorm said no pets. Now she’s mine and Polly doesn’t have to feel like a bad parent.”

He smiled again. “Makes sense. You didn’t look like the type to name your dog ‘Pumpkin’ anyhow.”

“Oh? And what type do I look like?”

“Depends, are you at the restaurant? If so, Cujo.”

She snort-giggled into her macaroni. “You are all wrong. If I was as snarly as you say I am, I wouldn’t make any tips. And tips are my livelihood.”

“Should be cooking,” he told her, taking another huge bite of chicken. “This is amazing.”

“Well, it’s your birthday.” She wanted to preen with pride. “It’s hard to mess up roasted chicken.”

“You haven’t seen Carson in charge of the kitchen, then.”

They ate companionably, the conversation flowing easily between them. Most of it was about Sage and Jason and their enormous house and ranch, but that was all right. It was just nice to talk to someone while she sat and ate a relaxing meal. Most of hers were comprised of wolfing down a sandwich as she stood in the back room at the saloon. Or wolfing down a sandwich as she stood at the sink, cooking for the two men.

Really, now that she thought about it, she didn’t take much time for herself, did she? Huh.

Adam ate an enormous amount of the food, nearly devouring the entire chicken by himself. She was pleased to see that he was careful and checked any bits that he gave to Hannibal before he handed them over, and he never gave the dog bones. Sure, the big Belgian Malinois was a bit of a beggar, but he’d been trained that way, so she couldn’t really fault him for his manners. He always put his paw politely on Adam’s leg to let him know he wanted another bite, and Adam always obliged.

She liked that. She liked that he was so good with his dog. It made up for the fact that he was such a raging jerk sometimes.