Holly Jolly Cowboy (The Wyoming Cowboy #7)(39)

Adam reached over her shoulder and took one of the chocolate chip ones. “This one fell on the floor.”

She laughed and swatted at his hand but didn’t stop him. When they stood like this, he could practically smell her hair, could feel the warmth of her body. She was a perfect fit to tuck against him, and if she leaned back, she’d nestle in his arms as if she belonged there. He was probably being a creep standing this close to her, but he couldn’t help himself.

He was . . . lost.

She smelled amazing, too. Like warm vanilla and the gentle scent he’d recalled from being sick, the faint perfume that was Holly. Adam shoved the cookie into his mouth and it melted against his tongue. “Good,” he managed to say around the mouthful, and managed to tear himself away from her. “Which ones you want me to carry?”

“All of them?” Holly looked up at him and fluttered her lashes in an obvious way. “I’ve got our presents wrapped and ready and I thought I’d carry those.”

“Presents? What presents?”

She snapped a lid onto one plastic container. “Don’t panic. Becca told me they were doing some sort of goofy gift exchange, so when I was at the grocery store, I looked down the seasonal gifts aisle. One of us is giving away the ugliest pair of chicken-shaped salt and pepper shakers ever, and the other is giving away a foot massager.”

He chuckled. “Those sound terrible.”

“Exactly.” Holly closed the other cookie boxes and smiled up at him. “Oh, and if you want to drink tonight, I don’t mind driving home. I’m used to being the responsible one.”

And didn’t that just make his heart clench up a little? Was there ever a time when perfect, looking-out-for-everyone-else Holly let herself relax? Was there ever a time she let herself be free?

A tiny plan formed in his mind. “I’m not drinking,” he told her.

But if it was up to him, he’d make sure she did. He wanted her absolutely drunk and having the time of her life. Not because he wanted to laugh at her or humiliate her, but because she deserved to have a friend—just one friend—that had her back and that she could let loose around. She deserved to have someone there to catch her.

For some reason, Adam wanted to be that person.

They drove up to Becca’s salon on Main Street, where the party was being held. Like most of the buildings in downtown Painted Barrel, the salon was an old-timey building with a covered porch and two stories. The salon was established in the front of the building, and the apartment Becca shared with her husband, Hank, was in the back of the place. Christmas lights hung off the porch and big decorative snowflakes covered the flocked windows. Inside, he could see a few people standing around, holding drinks. It’d probably just be people from around town—Becca’s salon clients and Hank’s people from the Swinging C Ranch.

He looked over at Holly, ready to make a quip about a party in a hair salon, but it died on his lips at the look on her face. She was frozen, her face white, her hands nervously smoothing her skirts over and over again. Her gaze was glued to the windows and the party.

“You okay?” Adam asked.

She nodded, and he saw her throat flex as she swallowed. “Just . . . nervous.” She licked her lips and gave him a frantic look. “I didn’t taste the cookies. I don’t know what I was thinking. I should have tasted them but I’ve made them so many times.” She babbled on, clearly anxious. “I should have stopped to taste everything before bringing them out here. What if they’re awful? How can I let Becca pay me? How can I present them like I’m proud of them if they’re garbage? What if—”

“Stop,” he said in a low voice.

Her jaw clamped shut and she looked over at him, her face full of worry, her eyes helpless in the dark.

“The cookie I tasted earlier was the best I’ve ever eaten,” Adam told her quietly. “If you want, we can pull the others out and I will taste each one and tell you if we need to turn around. But we both know they’re great.”

“I just . . . I don’t trust my baking anymore,” she told him in a broken little voice. “I thought it was something I could do well but I just don’t know anymore.”

He needed to tell her. Adam needed to reassure her that she wasn’t the problem, that he was. That he’d played a dirty trick on her and ruined her cake. He hadn’t known all that she had riding on it. He’d thought it was just a dumb cake, and he regretted his actions now—not that it did any good.

Adam said nothing, though. It was selfish of him, he knew, but he didn’t want to ruin the evening. He wanted to stay at her side all night and devour her with his eyes. He wanted to see her get drunk and have a great time. He wanted her to present her cookies and have everyone exclaim over them . . . and that wouldn’t happen if he blabbed before they even got to the party.

“Calm down,” he said, and it took everything he had not to gather her in his arms and hold her close to comfort her. He didn’t know what the fuck was wrong with him—she was his enemy and this was just a temporary truce—but for some reason, he was having a hard time thinking about that tonight.

Tonight, he just wanted to touch her, even though he knew he shouldn’t. So he’d settle for watching her have a wonderful time.

She nibbled on one of her red lips, then pulled out one of the large plastic containers and popped the lid off. Mutely, she held a cookie out to him, her eyes full of worry.