Holly Jolly Cowboy (The Wyoming Cowboy #7)(68)

“Are you kidding me? I’ll eat anything you bake.” Becca set down her scissors and made grabby hands at Holly.

“Is it weird if I say I love fruitcake?” asked the other woman, giving them a sheepish look. “I used to eat it to spite my mother and now I actually just like it.”

“Knowing your mother, that is absolutely not weird,” Becca told her, and then gestured to Holly. “This is Layla. Layla, Holly.”

“You work at the restaurant, right?” Layla asked, smiling.

“Used to,” Holly said, and it was hard to keep the smile on her face. “Now I’m just baking to burn some time.” She held the container out to Becca and hesitated. “Would it be weird if I asked you to taste it and tell me what you think? I’m having a crisis of faith.”

“Not weird at all.” Becca took the container from her and smiled at the little dog tucked under Holly’s arm. “You want a treat for that one? I’ve got my Alaska’s treat jar freshly refilled.”

Holly took one of the baked bone-shaped cookies, feeling a little smug when Pumpkin sniffed it but didn’t seem all that interested. The treats she made for her dog were much better. She squeezed the Pomeranian tight as both Layla and Becca took a slice of fruitcake—god, why had she made fruitcake of all things?—and chewed. She bit her lip so hard it stung, waiting.

Becca looked over at her, an expression of surprise on her face. “I think I love it.”

Holly let out a huge breath. “You do?”

“Yeah, and I don’t think I’ve ever loved fruitcake before. This is amazing. Did you say you had another in your car? Can I buy it from you?”

Layla shoved her entire piece in her mouth and raised a hand. “Wait, no, I want to buy it. Jack will love that.”

Holly felt as if she could breathe again. “You’re not saying that to humor me?”

“I’m not humoring you,” Layla said. “I will absolutely fight for another piece of that cake.” She pulled her hands out from under the cape, revealing the knitting needles she had under there. “And I’m prepared.”

“We’ll buy everything you have, regardless,” Becca said, smiling.

“Oh, I couldn’t sell it,” Holly protested. “You can have it for free. I just needed someone to taste it and tell me it was good.”

“Why wouldn’t you sell it?” Layla looked confused. “It’s ten times better than anything I’ve bought at the bakery here, and god knows I’m there far too often.”

Holly considered for a moment, then decided to spill the whole sordid story. “It started with me getting hired to cook and look after the house while Sage and Jason are gone. Adam has always been kind of a dick to me, and we butted heads. He made a crack about not wanting anything but peanut butter and jelly sandwiches so that’s what I made him for a week straight. He got mad about it, and apparently he sabotaged the cake I brought for the baking competition.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “And he didn’t tell me about it until last night, after we’d had sex.”

Layla clutched at the arms of the barber chair as if her hair had just blown back.

Becca stared at Holly, frozen. “I . . . think we missed a few steps in there,” Becca said. “You guys were fighting and then you slept together? Was it hate sex?”

“Oooh.” Layla leaned forward. “Was it hot?”

Becca smacked her on the shoulder and turned her attention back to Holly. “I don’t understand. You say you guys were enemies but you were both really cute together at my party. I thought you were dating.”

“That . . .” Holly paused, not sure how to explain it. “That night we went as friends, but we turned into something more the next day.”

“I was at the party,” Layla mused. “And I vaguely remember seeing you with a tall, hot guy that looked at you like he wanted to eat you up. That’s your cake saboteur?” When Holly nodded, Layla’s expression fell. “So I shouldn’t ship it, then?”

“Ship . . . it?” Holly echoed.

“Never mind.” Layla tapped one of her knitting needles on her lip. “So, okay, let me get this timeline straight. You guys hated each other, and he sabotaged your cake without you knowing. Then you went to Becca’s party as friends, and then you fell into bed together and you . . . just found out about the cake sabotage yesterday? Do I have that right?”

Becca’s eyes lit up. She straightened, her gaze intent on Holly. “Oh. Who bent first?”

“What?” Holly said.

“Who gave in first?” Becca asked, speaking slower. “You know. You both were hating each other, and then something changed. Who gave in first?”

“I . . . I don’t know,” Holly admitted. She thought back to the days after the Winter Festival. She’d been so down, so defeated. She hadn’t wanted to bake anything . . . and then Adam had shown up and flattered her, and told her about his birthday. “I think he did? He asked if I’d make a cake for his birthday . . .”

Holly trailed off as Becca jumped and raced over to her cash register. She pulled out her ledger and flipped through it, then made a squealing noise. “He was here, you know!” At Holly’s blank look, Becca continued. “I thought this sounded familiar to me, and I checked my records. He was here the day after the Winter Festival, and he was quizzing me all about you, Holly.” She clutched the book to her chest, a dreamy expression on her face. “You think maybe he felt bad and wanted to make it up to you?”