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“You’re a good boy,” Stella said. “You could be one of mine.”

“Can I be?” I asked, only half-joking.

“Honey, you know where I am if you need me,” Stella said. “This ranch isn’t going anywhere and neither am I.”

“Do you live on the property?” Luci asked.

“Adjacent. Jasper and I have a home just over the pasture. But I grew up in the house that’s now the lodge. Raised my boys there until we turned this place into a vacation destination.” She smiled, rubbing her hands together. “All right, first we’ll go over our sugar cookie recipe. This was my mother’s recipe, and she made them every year for me to decorate.” Stella gestured to the bowls of sprinkles, sparkles, and gumdrops.

She walked us through the sugar cookie recipe like only a mama could, especially if she expressed love through delicious treats.

Cream the butter and sugar. Add the egg, the vanilla, a little almond.

Stella had Luci measuring the ingredients and dumping them into the mixer. On the other side of the woodblock counter, she asked me to cream the butter. I agreed, but wasn’t entirely successful. She came over to take a look and laughed. “Okay, no need to beat the frosting up now. Light and fluffy is what we want. You have to coax it like you would a woman. Gentle, loving. Like it’s the most beautiful frosting you’ve ever seen.”

I laughed. “Yes, ma’am.”

I’d been raised in a house where food was fuel, not something you coaxed into a mouthful of love. Everything that came out of my mother’s kitchen was joyless. No white flour. No salt or sugar. God forbid cooking with butter.

For my birthday parties, my mother would make sugarless pudding. Not a hit with eight year olds. They all asked when the real cake was coming out. I didn’t have any parties after the age of nine. It was too embarrassing.

But this? This was fun and joyful. An expression of affection with every tablespoon of butter.

Stella had Christmas music playing as we worked. Occasionally she’d sing along or do a little dance, holding her spoon aloft. She must have inspired Luci because she started doing the same thing. At one point they were hip-bumping to “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree.”

Luci caught me sneaking a bit of the dough when Stella’s back was turned.

“That has raw egg in it,” Luci said, sounding horrified.

I mean, she was a doctor, so it was part of her DNA to be worried about such things. I was not.

“I’m aware of the risk, and it’s worth it.” I grinned as I snuck another bit.

“You haven’t been sick from a bad egg,” Luci said, shaking her head but smiling. “Or you would not say that.”

“He’s right,” Stella said. “No worries about bad eggs here. Anyway, what’s life without a little risk, right?”

Luci laughed, that tinkling sound that reminded me of silver bells. “You two go right on ahead then. I’ll wait until they’re baked.”

Stella had us roll out the dough on the floured steel table. Luci couldn’t make hers evenly flat. It was skinny on the sides and fat in the middle.

“You’re pressing too hard on the edges,” I said.

“What do you know about it?” Luci asked.

I gestured at my own dough, which was perfect. “I have the knack, I guess.”

“Get behind her,” Stella instructed. “Do it together so she understands the right weight to put into the rolling pin.”

I almost said no, but didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings, so I got behind her and put my hands over hers on the rolling pin.

“Even pressure,” I said. “Nice and gentle.”

“That’s right,” Stella said, nodding, a smile playing at the corners of her lips.

It was a mistake, of course, getting that close to Luci. The smell of her hair, the way her taut body felt against mine, the soft sounds she made as she used a rolling pin on the dough, were enough to light a man on fire.

I stepped back. “That’s good. Nice and even.”