Page 12 of A Cowboy's Trust
Tansy: Love you, too. I wouldn’t dream of it unless you were here to help hide the body.
The extra wiggle in the steering wheel and the very creaky brakes of ZenBaby faded to the background as a happy glow wrapped around Tansy on the ride back to the ranch.
Having good friends like Petra and Sydney at her back was amazing. Finding Marina had been a stroke of luck and a stroke of genius. Changing things up at Buns and Roses had been a bit of a risk, but her sister had been fully on board. Knowing that with Marina’s help it would work as they’d hoped was an amazing thing.
Which was why it was slightly disconcerting to feel a shot of dissatisfaction wash away her good mood when she bounced into the ranch house and discovered Jake sitting at the table by himself, glaring at his journal.
She’d noticed him withdrawing even more than usual over the past two weeks, and every time it seemed to be triggered by that damn journal and the letters hidden in the pages.
“If they’re being mean to you, you could throw them out,” Tansy suggested.
He barely moved. Just grunted and glared a little harder.
Whatever. She headed to the kitchen counter and dropped off the tray of inferior cinnamon buns Marina had made—such nonsense. She was sure they were delicious.
Then Tansy bustled around the kitchen and began prepping food for three meals at the same time.
Onions in the crockpot, onions in a pan on the stove to caramelize. Carrots diced into coins for the crockpot, made into sticks for a veggie platter, and grated and left in a bowl to be turned into carrot cake. She expertly disassembled four whole chickens. The breasts were added to the onions on the stove with a shot of stock and the lid put on top to simmer. The thighs were seared and added to the crockpot, and the rest of the bones placed on a cookie sheet and put into the oven to roast so she could pull the cooked meat off to make chicken salad sandwiches.
Every time she glanced at Jake she could’ve sworn he hadn’t moved an inch.
It must be exhausting being that grumpy, she decided.
She scrubbed her hands thoroughly then loaded a plate with the cinnamon buns and poured two cups of coffee.
When she sat down, he blinked as if surprised to find her there.
She shoved the plate with the cinnamon buns toward him. “You must be so hungry you’re going catatonic. Eat this. And drink.”
He sighed. “I might’ve had too much coffee already. But thanks for the cinnamon bun. How did your meeting with Marina go this morning at Buns and Roses?”
“Peachy. She’s fantastic, and I’m totally replaceable. Exactly what every boss wants, and I’m being serious.” Tansy took a big bite of the immense cinnamon roll and hummed happily. “Whoever complained about these was out of their goddamn minds.”
Jake took a halfhearted bite then nodded his approval. “They’re okay. Not as good as yours.”
Tansy snickered. Too funny.
But now was time to poke the bear. “Are you ever going to finish that New Year’s goal list?”
He slammed the cover shut on the mostly blank page he’d been staring at. “That was private.”
“I wasn’t reading over your shoulder. It was right out there in public,” Tansy pointed out.
He frowned down at the table and then at where she sat across from him. “You can read upside down?”
He was such an innocent. “I have many skills,” she offered with complete sincerity, not about to confess many of them were learned in her misspent and highly illegal childhood.
“I like setting goals,” Jake confessed slowly. “But it was recently suggested to me if I feel a little too regimented by all my planning, I should try something different.”
Ha. Tansy’s brain raced ahead to the final outcome of that situation. “Which means now you don’t know if you should make a goal list or if you shouldn’t.”
He grimaced. “Pretty much.”
“Well, indecision is worse than a bad decision in my books.” Tansy met his gaze straight on. “I’m pretty good at being spontaneous. Maybe I can help you with that.”
Jake muttered softly under his breath, and Tansy laughed. “Yes, I did read that upside down. I think it’s a good goal if you’re into that sort of thing.”
“I suppose you don’t set goals.” He said it as if she’d confessed to drinking dishwater.
