Chapter One
Painted Barrel was all around a decent place for a girl to live, but it was terrible for desserts.
Holly Dawson gazed into the window of the town's lone bakery-slash-doughnut shop. Glazed doughnuts were in the window. Glazed doughnuts, of all things. And apple fritters. A window was there to advertise your wares, to show off what you could do. You didn't put apple fritters in the window, or glazed doughnuts. That was like a cowboy showing that he knew what a horse looked like. They were basics. They were boring.
She passed this window every day, looking for new things. Holly loved baking. It was her favorite hobby, and she dreamed of opening her own pastry and sweets shop someday. Not here, of course. Painted Barrel had less than three hundred people. They had one bar-slash-restaurant and the doughnut shop that also passed as a cafŽ. That was it, foodwise, and it really couldn't support more. Holly couldn't afford to open her own place, either.
But she liked to dream. In her dream, it was her shop with a window on Main Street, and she'd fill it with all kinds of darling, enticing-to-look-at sweets. Pink cupcakes with chocolate stars on top. Trays of fluffy profiteroles with gooey crme oozing out of them. Mini cakes and fruit-laden tarts. Shortcakes puffed with whipped cream and colorful macarons in every shade. Exciting things. Fun things. Delicious things.
Not glazed doughnuts.
Hands in her pockets, she stared at the window for a minute longer, and then checked her phone for the time. She had a few minutes before she had to be at work. She glanced down the street at Wade's saloon, Painted Barrel's lone restaurant. The parking lot in front of it was empty, other than Wade's truck, so she could afford to dawdle a little. Holly took one last look at the window and headed inside.
The bell clanged, announcing Holly's presence, and the girl behind the counter got off the stool she was sitting on, putting her magazine aside. Geraldine wasn't the most enthusiastic employee, but Holly had heard that she was related to the owner, and that was how she'd gotten the job here despite being a high school dropout. Not that Holly was jealous. Sure, she was a high school dropout, too, and running a sweets shop was her dream. She doubted Geraldine made more than minimum wage and Holly barely stayed afloat with the tips she made at the saloon. So, no, she couldn't have Geraldine's job.
Even if it irked her that she wanted it.
She smiled overbrightly at Geraldine and gazed at the offerings behind the glass. Pigs in a blanket, doughnuts, doughnuts, more doughnuts, and some sad, stale-looking cupcakes shoved to one end. A couple of chocolate chip cookies that were too flat and had clearly been made with the wrong kind of sugar. Figured. Still, now that she was inside, she supposed she should buy something and support local business. "Anything new today?"
Geraldine grinned and leaned on the counter. "You say that every time you come in. Nothing new, no."
Did she? Maybe it was because she always hoped they would see the opportunity right in front of their eyes. "You know, I'm something of a baker myself. I could make some stuff and sell it on consignment if you'd give me a chance."
The look in Geraldine's eyes grew frosty, as it always did every time Holly brought this up. "I'll talk to the boss about it. Again."
Yeah, Holly knew that wasn't going to go anywhere. She'd pitched it multiple times, only to be shot down every time. People didn't like change. She had to try, though. Not only because her baking was something of a source of pride for her, but also because Holly desperately needed the money. "Just let me know. Can I get two cookies?"
Holly took her purchase-Wade would like the sweets-and headed back onto the street. Just in time. There was a truck pulled up in front of the saloon now, likely waiting for the lunch rush, and as she watched, another pulled up, too. A busy day wouldn't be so bad. Hopefully people would be generous with their tips. She doubted it, though. People got stingy during the holidays, which was tough. It was like, because they were spending money on presents, everyone else should go without. Considering Holly lived on tips, it wasn't her favorite time of year, workwise.
She blanched when a third truck pulled up, because she recognized it and the two dogs hanging out in the back of the bed. One was a great big, beautiful Belgian Malinois, and the other was a retriever wearing a bright yellow vest with emotional support animal in black lettering along the sides. They both wagged their tails as she walked past, looking for pets. Holly loved animals, but she was not a huge fan of the owner of that truck.
Sure enough, three guys piled out of the truck, all of them wearing hats. One was Jason Clements, the mayor's lanky husband and a real nice guy. She liked him as a customer-he tipped well. Then there was Carson, a guy with salt-and-pepper hair and a grim expression. He worked at Price Ranch-Jason and Sage's ranch-and since most of the guys they hired were ex-military, Holly suspected he'd seen some shit. He was polite, though, which was all she asked.
And then there was the driver. Adam.
He was tall and gorgeous, dressed in jeans and a puffy vest over his long-sleeved shirt, and wore a worn baseball cap over his dark hair instead of a cowboy hat. Thick slashing brows added to the sardonic look on his face, as if he was always laughing at you. And he had the most perfect mouth, framed by a goatee that made him look dangerous and just a bit dashing. Too bad he was a jerk and a shitty tipper.
God, she hated him.
Her day had definitely taken a turn for the worse already. That was another one of the problems with small towns. If you hated someone, it was absolutely impossible to avoid them. And she got paid on tips, which meant she had to be nice. So Holly pasted a smile on her face, held the door open for the others to file in, and sucked it up. "Take a seat anywhere, boys. I'll be with you in a jif."
Adam Calhoun did his best to ignore their waitress as he took off his hat and hung it on a peg near the door. It was clear she loathed him and was pretending for the tip. He hated that sort of thing, and it just made him want to stiff her even more. She was so obvious about it, too, her smile fake and sweet as she poured cups of coffee and took orders. She didnÕt even glance at him as she took his down, just focused on her pad as she wrote. She had plenty of smiles for Carson and Jason, though, which just irked him.
It wasn't that he was ugly. Most women thought he was nice-looking. Adam was just vain enough to know that he had a good smile and a decent personality, and that usually let him get the attention of most women he flirted with. Most. Because waitress Holly was probably the prettiest thing in this town-and several others around-and yet she couldn't stand him. He drained his coffee cup while the others ordered and then held it in the air, a silent request for more.
Her eyes flashed with anger momentarily, and it was quickly covered up by that fake smile again. "Be right back."
She hustled off, her round bottom shaking with every step, and okay, he was red-blooded male enough to watch.
"Now you're just baiting her," Jason commented, sipping his own cup.
Maybe he was. There was something about Holly that drove him absolutely up a wall. Maybe it was that she was always all smiles, even when she clearly didn't feel like it. Her clothes were a little tighter than they probably should have been, her festive red sweater practically painted on her lush figure, and her jeans showing off her curves. Her dark brown hair was pulled up into a bouncy long ponytail atop her head and fastened with a big, garish Christmas bow. She looked festive and flirty and it irked him.
Maybe it was that the first time he'd come in, she'd flirted up a storm with him and so he'd tipped well. He'd even come back later that night, after thinking about her all afternoon, only to see her flirting with another customer like she'd done with him, and he'd realized it was all for tips. It made him angry. Made him feel stupid. So he'd left a dollar.
He'd left a dollar ever since, too. Just to make a statement.
He had a dollar sitting in his wallet today, waiting for the opportunity to poke at her again.
Holly brought back the coffee, taking his mug with a cool expression and filling it quickly. "Separate checks today, boys?"
Jason raised a finger before Adam could answer. "One check. I'm paying for lunch today."
"In that case, make my sandwich a double," Adam drawled. "Didn't know it was free."
The waitress's demeanor brightened. "Well, aren't you sweet, Jason Clements." She winked at him. "You want me to pack up a sandwich for your lovely wife, too? The bread's nice and fresh and I can make hers with extra pickles, just as she likes."
Jason nodded. "That's a great idea. Thanks."
"I'll have it ready by the time you leave." She touched Carson's shoulder, then leaned over him to pour his coffee, and Adam found himself staring at her tits. She wasn't shoving them in anyone's face but . . . how did she expect a man to concentrate when she wore a sweater like that? Ridiculous. She patted Carson's shoulder again, then turned and left, swanning her way to another table full of men. A moment later, her bright laughter floated through the saloon, and it made him grit his teeth.
"You're glaring," Jason commented to Adam.
He shook his head. "I bet she forgets my order. That's all." He leaned back in his chair. "So, what's the special occasion today?" They came into town once or twice a week for lunch if weather-and the work-permitted. Normally they paid for their own, though. Adam didn't mind that. Sure, the boss had married a wealthy woman and could afford to pay, but if Adam couldn't pay for his own sandwiches, he needed a new line of work.
Jason pulled out a couple of red and green envelopes and slid them across the table to both of them. "Sorry about the glitter. Sage wanted a festive envelope." He gestured at them. "I'm giving you your Christmas bonuses early because I need to ask a favor."
Adam picked up his envelope and casually glanced inside. The check was for more than two months' pay. Damn. That was generous. "Whatever the favor is, I'll do it."
"You might want to hear what it is first." He leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his short, military-precision haircut. "Me and Sage decided we're going to take the kids and visit family back east for the holidays. We're going to be gone until after New Year's."
Adam glanced over at Carson, but the man was impassive. He never talked unless directly prompted, and he didn't look as if he had anything to say about this, either. "Kinda a long holiday," Adam ventured. "Something going on?"
Jason rubbed his neck, clearly uneasy. "Sage needs a vacation. She says she doesn't, but I want her to get away for a while. To relax. The stress isn't good for her . . . or the new baby."
Adam blinked at that. "Another baby?" Both of their children were still extremely young. The little one wasn't more than six months old.
His boss grimaced. "It was a surprise, but not that much of a surprise?" His look grew sheepish. "It's not like we don't know how babies are made. I'd hoped to have more time before the next one, but the universe has other plans."
Carson just snorted.
As in, Jason couldn't keep his hands off his wife. Adam didn't blame him. He'd never met someone more cheerful or kind-natured than Sage Cooper-Clements. She always had a sparkle in her eye and a kind word for everyone. From the day that Adam had walked onto their ranch, she'd made him feel welcome. He could see why Jason loved her.
And as if to prove that a woman could be beautiful and utterly annoying, the waitress returned with another round of coffee. "Sandwiches will be right out." She smiled at Jason, patted Carson's shoulder, and completely ignored Adam. Figured.
Jason seemed oblivious to their waitress's bad attitude. "I know we're leaving early, and we're shorthanded, but I feel this is important. Sage needs a break. It would mean someone working over the holidays, and if you're interested, I can pay extra to make up for the fact that you can't go home." He looked at Carson, then at Adam. "If you've got plans, one of the hands at the Swinging C offered to help out, but I'm hoping we can manage."
Adam shrugged. "I'm not going anywhere." His brother back in Iowa might be a little disappointed that Adam wasn't going to return to the family farm for Christmas, but he was used to Adam not being home. His parents were long gone, and the ex-wife . . . well. There were no good feelings left there. "Happy to stick around."
"Can't," Carson said, voice rusty. "Leaving on the twentieth to visit family. Back on the twenty-seventh."
Adam rubbed at his goatee. "I should be okay for a week on my own, as long as Swinging C is on call if any sort of crisis happens." It'd mean long hours of grueling work, doing the jobs of three men, but extra pay would be nice. Extra pay was always nice.
Jason looked relieved. He rubbed a hand over his shorn hair again. "Excellent. I trust you guys, and right now things are slow. Calving's not for months, so I don't feel too bad about leaving for a while. You have my number if you need anything. And the greenhorn will be here bright and early in January. I'll be back in time to take over training him and then we should be full staff again." He gave Adam a grateful look.
Adam just nodded. He was the one that was grateful. After leaving the Navy, he hadn't known what to do with himself. He'd gone back to the family farm for a time, but his older brother liked things run his way, and Adam had felt useless and restless. It was the same restlessness that had made him decide to leave the Navy, the feeling that perhaps he wasn't meant to be career as he'd thought. He'd no longer enjoyed the rigid daily routine or the endless travel. He'd wanted to stay put. Set down roots. Focus on the next chapter of his life.
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