Page 55 of Wild As Her

My eye twitches. “Oh, howgenerousof you. How much is rent?”

Jack hums like he’s thinking real hard. “Actually… I think these might cover rent.”

“Oh, well then,” I snatch a tray of hand pies from the counter, holding it up. “What’s this worth?”

Jack steps closer, his eyestoowarm,tooknowing, and I hate the way my stomach reacts like it’s still stuck in the barn, still remembering the way he held me last night.

“I dunno,” he murmurs, reaching out?—

And swiping a bit of flour from my cheek.

His fingers linger for half a second, and my brain short-circuits.

I swallow, suddenlytooaware of how close we are. Of how it’s just me and him, standing in the middle of my wrecked kitchen, with nothing but a tray of cookies and some unresolved tension between us.

I clear my throat. “Youreallycame in here just to steal my cookies?”

Jack’s smirk deepens. “Not stealing.”

“Oh, you’re sampling?”

“More like,” he leans in, voice lower, rougher, “hiding out from the craziness over at the ranch.”

Damn him. Damn the way my pulsejumpsat the way he looks at me.

I straighten, feigning nonchalance, even as my fingers tighten around the pie tin.

His gaze flicks over me, flour-streaked, messy, barefoot in my own damn kitchen—then back to my face. And he says, real slow, “Just making sure you’re okay.”

Oh.

I lick my lips. “That’s… oddly nice of you.”

Jack smirks, swipinganothercookie. “Get used to it.”

I snap out of whatever spells he cast and shove the pie into his hands. “Here. If you’re gonna steal, you might as well take the good stuff.”

Jack chuckles, shaking his head. He turns to leave but pauses at the door, glancing over his shoulder. His voice is soft, but firm. “You look happy.”

And just like that, he’s gone. Or so I think. A second later, I hear a different sound, one that has nothing to do with baking. The faint creak of a saddle. The soft snort of a horse.

I glance toward the front driveway, and sure enough, Mouse is standing there, saddled up like he’s waiting for me, his reins looped over the hitching post, standing next to Jack's horse, Pesto, also saddled up.

Jack stands beside them, eating his pie and watching me like he knows I can’t resist.

I cross my arms. “You saddled up my horse?”

He nods, utterly unconcerned. “Figured you could use a ride.”

I arch a brow. “Bossy much?”

Jack shrugs. “You’ve been holed up in here for hours. Thought I’d pull you out before you start naming your pies.”

I huff. “Ido not—” I pause, then mutter, “Okay, maybe once.”

Jack smirks. “Come on, Wilder. Get some fresh air. Clear your head.”

I glance back at the kitchen. At the cooling racks, the mess, the last tray I just pulled from the oven.

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