Page 16 of Cowboy Elite 2: Mike

Her parents were somewhere in the Caribbean on a six-month-long cruise. No cell service. No way to reach them even if she wanted to.

Not that she knew what she'd say.

Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad. I'm hiding in Texas under a fake name because I watched someone get murdered and now the killer's people might be looking for me. How's the buffet?

She pressed her forehead to her knees.

She had no idea if it was safe to text anyone. No idea if this cheap prepaid phone could be traced. No idea if she'd ever be able to go home. Salvage her business.

Or if there'd even be a home or business to go back to.

Outside her window, the ranch was quiet. Crickets. A dog barking in the distance. The faint creak of the windmill by the barn.

She'd only been here a week.

And already, it felt more like home than Manhattan ever had.

4

Saturday morning at the Watkins Ranch started the way it always did—loud, hungry, and running on too much coffee and not enough sleep.

Bacon popped in the cast iron. Someone dropped a pan. The back door banged open and shut as ranch hands grabbed biscuit sandwiches and disappeared back into the dust.

Liv stood at the prep table, flour smudged across one cheek, beating eggs while morning light filtered through the east windows. She was already on her second batch of biscuit dough, the first having vanished into the greedy hands of the breakfast crew an hour ago. She tied her apron tighter and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"Liv."

Mike's voice boomed from the entrance as he strode in, carrying a pail of fresh eggs. He wore a Henley rolled to his forearms, and his boots left dusty prints across the old wood flooring.

She turned but didn't pause in her mixing. "Yes, boss?"

"You're on dessert duty tonight."

Liv's whisk stopped mid-beat. "Tonight?"

"Yep." He didn't look up from the eggs, transferring them carefully into the cooler. "Family dinner. Locals, guests, Grandpa Quentin's coming in from his place in town. Lyle said we could use some fancy."

She swallowed, nerves flaring somewhere deep in her ribs. "That doesn't sound like a typical Saturday night dinner. Sounds more like a banquet."

He grinned. "We do everything big in Texas. And you bake like you've got something to prove." He looked up then, eyes steady on hers. "So prove it."

Her laugh came out choked. "It's just... it's been a while since I've made something from scratch that wasn't for volume or necessity."

Mike set the egg pail down and wiped his hands on a towel. "Then consider this a blank canvas. Give us a little of your story. Just do it in sugar and spice."

Liv stared at him for a beat, then nodded. "Okay. Let me think."

Mike gave her a smile full of challenge and something warmer she wasn't ready to name. "Think fast. I've already told Lyle it's gonna be the best dessert these folks have had since Great-Aunt Patsy's chocolate upside-down pudding pie." He paused. "Which, I might add, once ended a thirty-year family feud."

"No pressure," Liv muttered.

Mike's laugh followed him out the door. "I believe in you, Cookie."

By late morning, the kitchen had quieted. The guests were out riding trails or napping in hammocks, and the ranch hands had scattered between tasks. Liv stood alone at her workstation, the silence oddly soothing now, like a hum that matched her heartbeat.

She stared down at her stand mixer, fingers tapping the counter.

What to make?