Page 61 of The Soldier and the Cowboy

“Pretty much,” Cam agreed.

“If we had horses, we’d never finish an argument,” she said.

“Now you know why my parents have been happily married for forty years,” he said. He lifted her onto the counter, resting his hands on her hips. “It would seem we have the house to ourselves. What to do, what to do?”

“We’re getting low on pie,” Maggie said.

“Woman, we have this big place to ourselves for an hour, and you want to bake?”

“Pie takes an hour in the oven. If we hurry, we’ll have all that time together to find something to do. And then after, there will be pie. Doesn’t that sound nice?” she asked, slipping her arms around his neck.

“I’ll peel the apples, you make the crust,” he said.

“You are the master of foreplay, Cameron Ridge.”

“Let’s hurry up so I can go for my doctorate,” he said, and she laughed.

When Cal returned a while later, he saw them frantically assembling a pie.

“Y’all enter a contest or something?” he asked.

“No, we enjoy speed baking together,” Maggie hedged. “It’s a sport in my family.”

“Is that a thing?” Cal asked.

“Yes, it goes hand in hand with a sport where your wife makes promises that never come true,” Cam said. He sank into a chair at the table beside his brother. “Cal, we need to talk.”

“I don’t want to talk about anything,” Cal said.

“You mean you don’t want to deal with anything,” Cam returned.

“Wait, let me try. I’m getting pretty good at knowing how to handle Ridge men.” Maggie dusted her hands and went to stand beside Cal. She rested her hand on his shoulder. “Cal, your self-immolating behavior, while noble, is not conducive to achieving the desired outcome. It’s a negative interpretation of what should be a positive encounter.”

Cal blinked at her and leaned around her to look at his brother. “What’s the non-librarian translation of that?”

“You think you’re being a hero by pushing Bailey away, butinstead you’re being a tool. Go get your girl.”

Cal pushed away from the table and stood up. “All right then.”

Maggie beamed at his retreating backside. “See? I totally fixed it.”

“What’s it like in your world, pretty girl?” Cam asked, tilting his head at her.

“There are fifty minutes left on the pie clock. I could show you, if you like,” she offered.

“Well, I’m not going to say no to that.”

She stood and prepared to dart away. “I’ll race you.”

“I have a better idea.” He picked her up, tossed her over his shoulder, and carried her to their room.

Bailey was stuckin the middle seat. She craned her neck, trying to see over the man to her right—who was already asleep—to say a final goodbye to Texas. The seat to her left creaked. She turned to see a man wearing a familiar looking jersey. She had seen a similar one hanging in Cal’s den.

“Who’s on your shirt?” she asked.

The man turned his back to her so she could read the name. “Calhoun Ridge,” he said at the same time she read the words.

“Are you a big fan?” she asked.

---