Page 70 of The Cowboy and the Stray

I was about to snap back, but then I saw the flicker of a smile at the edge of her mouth.

We got the herd settled in the next paddock, then mounted up for the ride back. All in all, it'd been a good day.

34. TESS

I’d never made a cake in my life. Not a real one. I had thrown together some mug cakes in a microwave during the bad foster home years, mostly grainy chocolate cement with a crunchy sugar layer on top, but nothing I could bring to a table and not be laughed out of the room. Still, I was going to bake something. If I could survive bull balls and tractor accidents, maybe I could survive a box of cake mix and a hot oven.

Midge kept the kitchen super clean for someone who cooked everything with at least two sticks of butter. I liked that about her. The only sign that it was a working kitchen was the tray of drying mugs next to the sink and a suspicious collection of wooden spoons with different shades of scorch marks. I found the cake mix on the top shelf, where things went to be forgotten, next to a can of peaches with the label half-peeled. I read the instructions on the box three times, like they were a bomb manual.

First, eggs. I’d watched Midge do it. I used the side of the sink. Only two small shell fragments, and I picked those out quickly. I dumped the cake mix in a bowl, of course spilling some, then read the box again. Oil and water. There was no vegetable oil, just bacon grease in a coffee can. That seemed wrong. I grabbed olive oil and hoped the baking gods would forgive me.

By the time I poured the mix into the battered metal pan, it didn’t look promising. Then I remembered the peaches. I drained them and sliced them up, arranging them on top, pushing some into the batter. Why not. I shoved it in the oven and set a timer on my phone. While it baked, I ran a wet rag over my mess.

Half an hour later, the whole house started to smell like warm sugar and something better. I poked the cake with a fork, and it came out almost clean, just like Midge had told me. I let it cool on a towel, then risked a taste.

It was good, holy crap. Shockingly good. Sweet, soft, and the peaches made it taste like summer in a can. I ate another bite, then worried I’d eat the whole thing, so I set it on the counter and went to find someone else to judge it.

Ash wandered in, perfect timing, and sniffed the air. She made a beeline for the cake, eyes huge. “When did Midge make this?”

“I made it,” I said, bracing for the worst, but almost bursting with pride.

She used her fingers to scoop some off the edges. “Holy hell,” she said. “You sure this wasn't Midge?”

I shrugged. “I used a box. Don’t get too excited.”

Ash shook her head, already cutting a hunk with the side of the spatula. “Okay, this is dangerous. If you can bake and look like that, what hope is there for the rest of us?”

I ignored the look-like-that part, mostly because I was sweaty and still wearing yesterday’s shirt. “It’s a fluke. I could never do it again.”

She took a huge bite, then swiped her phone and started typing.

Sloane came in seconds later, looking at her phone and wearing a black shirt. She had her signature ponytail pulled back so tight I wondered if it was a helmet. She picked at the cake, inspected it like it might explode, then took a cautious forkful.

She chewed once. Stared at the ceiling. Then said flatly, “Not bad.”

I had to bite my tongue to keep from grinning. That was high stinkin' praise from Sloane.

Ash nudged Sloane in the ribs and read my mind, speaking my thoughts out loud. “You hear that? High praise from this lady.”

Sloane rolled her eyes but took another bite. “Still not letting you near the stove, though.”

I nodded. “That’s fair.” I stood by the sink, looking out the window. The sun was setting over the barn, painting everything orange. For a second, I pretended this was my kitchen, my people, my life.

I couldn’t stop grinning. I didn’t even try.

The porch was better at night. It got just enough of the dying sun to be warm, but the breeze made it perfect. There were only three beers left in the fridge, so Sloane brought all of them and lined them up like soldiers. Ash showed up with a bag of beef jerky and a deck of cards, and I brought out the cake pan, mostly empty except for some crumbs. Damn. The three of us had eaten an entire cake.

Ash just flopped down on the step, legs wide, like the porch belonged to her. Sloane took the rocking chair and set her beer on the arm. I settled on the top step, which was still hot from the day. We didn’t say much at first. The only sounds were cicadas and someone, probably Eli, doing donuts with a four-wheeler in the distance.

Ash crumpled the jerky bag and tossed it toward the door. “Eh, I'll get that later. Did I tell you about the guy who showed up to the rodeo in San Marcos with nothing under his chaps?”

Sloane leaned forward. “No!”

Ash held up a finger. “First, he was drunk. Like, blackout. He signed up for bronc riding, and when he hit the dirt his whole ass came out. He didn’t even notice. Just stood up, waved to the crowd, and his dick was flapping like a windsock.”

I almost choked on my beer. Sloane lost it. She laughed so hard tears actually streamed down her face. I’d never seen her laugh before. It was weird. Nice, but weird.

Ash beamed like she’d won an award. “Security didn’t even chase him. He walked off like a damn legend.”