Sipping the coffee and digging into the bread, he felt a little steadier and glanced up to watch her slide a pan of cinnamon rolls into the oven.
“Tell me I get one of those when they come out.” He felt his stomach growl even more at the thought of it.
She laughed. “If you’re still hungry, you can have as many as you want.” She turned the blender on to mix the frosting.
He liked watching her bake. Liked that she seemed to enjoy it as much as he enjoyed working in the kitchen himself.
When she finally sat down across from him with her own plate of buttered bread, she looked happier than she had since her parents had left.
“Things are going well?” he asked her between bites.
“I love baking,” she said with a sigh.
“Why don’t you do it more often?”
She shrugged and her smile slipped. “There’s never really that much time to.”
“This bread is better than anything I can buy in town,” he said truthfully.
Her eyebrows rose slightly. “Thanks.”
He reached across the table and took her hand in his. “It’s the truth. Have you thought about selling it?”
She frowned. “Selling? Like you’re selling your jelly?”
“Amongst other things. I made enough last year at the local farmers markets and in a few hand-selected stores to buy my truck.”
She sat up, and her eyes got a little wider. “Seriously?” She bit her bottom lip.
“You could always try. The next farmers market is this Sunday. I’ll bet since it’s the week before Christmas, you’d make a killing. Some people don’t like to bake for themselves for the holidays. Especially if they’re traveling. If you made a dozen of each of these”—he motioned to the breads—“a bunch of those”—he pointed to the oven—“along with a dozen or so pies, I’d wager you will sell every last one.”
She tilted her head. “I could sell some of the cinnamon rolls and coffee cake along with slices of bread individually. You know, for people to eat as they’re walking around.”
“Throw in some Christmas cookies, and I’d bet you’d make a killing,” he said, taking another bite.
She bit her lip again. “I don’t know if I have time to…”
“Hey, remember, you have me to help out around here. Use me.”
She smiled and then laughed. “Okay, I won’t turn away free labor. Not when I could possibly earn enough to buy a new truck. Or at least new tires for mine.”
For the rest of the morning, while they enjoyed the cinnamon rolls and worked around the ranch, they talked about what would be needed for her to sell her baked goods at the next farmers market.
Normally, he had Cheryl, the wife of one of his workers, man the booth at the market. He gave her a small cut of the profits. She also sold some of her jewelry in the booth.
He called her and she agreed to letting Kara set up another table with her baked goods this weekend.
Kara decided she’d need a full day to prepare, which meant he’d have to make sure everything ran smoothly at his place. She’d called Liz and her best friend had agreed to help her bake and prepare everything.
Since his father’s death, he’d realized that even with his dad’s failing health, the old man had done more than he’d known.
His phone rang constantly that morning while he helped Kara. Shortly after lunch, he had to leave her and head back to his place to deal with a broken flatbed truck, which they used to haul the hay out to the fields. Then there was a small fight between two temporary workers. In the end, he had to let the instigator go, and he and Daryl escorted the man off the property.
It wasn’t the first time that had happened, nor, he figured, would it be the last. Part-time workers were hard to come by, especially in Wyoming.
His full-time workers were steady enough that Nick didn’t have to worry much about them. Thankfully, by the next day, the worker had been replaced with another.
Still, it was almost noon by the time he made his way over to Kara’s place. He found her in the barn, trying to clean some riding gear.