Holly Jolly Cowboy (The Wyoming Cowboy #7)(43)

She stood on the step, shivering on the porch in the early morning light. As she did, Holly thought about the man inside who was making her breakfast. He’d obviously been up for a while, and she suspected he was already working. That meant he would have had to come back to the house deliberately to make her food.

That was . . . sweet. Baffling, but sweet. It made her even more embarrassed that she’d mauled him last night. The breakfast was surely an apology, a kind of let-bygones-be-bygones moment. She’d taken care of him while he was sick, so he was doing the same for her.

They were on equal footing now, really.

It made her feel better. Sort of.

It also filled her with a curious sense of disappointment. She’d been drunk, so her memory was foggy, but from what she recalled, he’d felt good against her. His mouth had been that exquisite combination of both firm and kissable, and she’d wanted more.

Heck, she’d woken up this morning wanting more, and that bothered her. He was a jerk. Sometimes. He was rude and obnoxious. Not always, but he could be. He was absolutely the last person in the world she should have wanted to kiss . . .

And yet here she was, a little sad this morning that he’d been the perfect gentleman and hadn’t stolen a few more kisses. Lord knew she’d thrown herself at him enough.

When Pumpkin had finished her business, Holly supposed she couldn’t delay the inevitable any longer. She scooped up the wet little dog in a towel the moment she got into the entryway and rubbed the worst of the cold from her fur as she headed back toward the kitchen. Adam was still there, seated at the kitchen island with two plates of food ready and a cup of coffee in his hand.

He was looking at his phone but put it down the moment she came inside. “Did you know Carson’s a texter?”

That brought a smile to her face. “Actually, yeah. The first day I started here, he texted me and told me to let him know if I needed anything.” She headed to the pantry, opened a can of dog food for Pumpkin, and set it out before washing her hands and joining him at the table. “He’s very sweet and caring. I think he has a daughter about my age. I think that’s why he’s always checking up on me.”

Adam just shook his head, taking another sip of his coffee. “I think it took the man three months to say five words to me when I first started here. Now I’m getting upwards of ten texts a day about nothing in particular. He even sent me a picture of the sunset over in Malibu.”

Holly picked up a fork. “He’s just looking after you. He’s more of a mother hen than he likes to let on.” She fiddled with a bit of egg, unable to look him in the eye. “Thanks, by the way.”

“For?” He took a hearty bite of food, apparently unbothered by their role reversal.

“Breakfast? Being my date last night? Letting me get sloppy drunk and not taking advantage?” She waved her fork at the breakfast in front of them. “Doing my job while I slept off a hangover?”

His expression changed to one of concern. “Are you hungover? Do you need some aspirin?”

Holly resisted the urge to poke him with her fork. “I’m the one that’s supposed to be taking care of you in this gig, remember?”

To her surprise, Adam rolled his eyes. “Don’t start. You know you’ve been doing a great job.”

The praise pleased her, especially because it was unexpected. “Even during peanut butter and jelly week?”

“I’d forgotten all about that,” he admitted. “Okay, you’re doing a good job this week. We won’t talk about last week.”

She smiled and ate a few bites of her breakfast. He was tearing through his, so she ended up pushing the rest of her bacon toward him. “Any ideas on what you want for dinner?”

“Don’t care. Hot food. That’s the only requirement. Bit cold out today.”

“It is.” Holly picked at her food. It wasn’t that it tasted bad; she just couldn’t focus on eating. Not when she was wondering if he was horrified that she’d kissed him. She needed to apologize . . . she just had to find the right moment. Once they were done eating, she cleared their plates and turned to look at him.

They stared at each other. No one spoke.

Tension prickled on the back of Holly’s neck. “I . . .”

“Yeah?” He watched her with intent, dark eyes.

The apology died in her throat. “I work tonight,” she offered. “So I’ll leave dinner in the fridge for you with instructions.”

Adam’s mouth flexed. He took a step toward her, then leaned on the counter. They stood a few paces apart, and yet Holly felt strangely trapped. “That’s fine. Anything else?”

Yes, she wanted to say.

No, she wanted to scream.

Holly licked her lips. Time to stop being such a chicken. She took a deep breath and then put on her best smile. “I wanted to say I’m sorry. For last night.”

Under the brim of his baseball cap, she could have sworn his brows furrowed, just a little. “Sorry? For what?”

Okay, now her face was getting hot. “For being all over you when you clearly weren’t interested.” She crossed her arms over her chest, feeling vulnerable and just a hint stupid. “I’m sure I was an absolute nightmare, but you were very kind about it and—”

He took a step forward and pulled his cap off, then set it down. Then Adam took another step forward and braced his hands on the counter she was leaning against, trapping her between his arms. “You were drunk. That doesn’t mean I wasn’t interested.”