He tried to stand, but she put her hand on his thigh. “I actually do have something I need your help with.”
“What is it?”
“Give me a few minutes to get dressed and meet me downstairs.”
He let his eyes pass over her as if he were trying to gauge whether she’d finally lost her damn mind. “What are you up to, Aja?”
She held up her hands. “I promise, it’s nothing that’s gonna make you have to draw your weapon.”
He watched her carefully for another brief moment, then held his hands up in surrender. “All right then. I’m in.”
* * *
“I do not get paid enough for this.” Jackson cringed as he mixed what he thought amounted to floury slime. “Are you sure this is gonna end up being edible? It feels disgusting.” He tried to pull his hand free of the gooey white mess clinging to his fingers, but the more he pulled, the more it seemed to stick to his skin.
“It will be edible once you add some more flour in there. You’ve got too much butter and water. That’s why it keeps falling apart and sticking to you like that. Here, let me.”
She stepped closer to him, leaning over his arm slightly as she poured flour into the large mixing bowl. “Don’t you need measuring cups or something?” he asked.
She pulled away from him, grimacing as if he’d struck her with the back of a mixing spoon. “Real cooks don’t need measurements. We eyeball it and season to taste. Don’t insult the lessons my grandmothers, mama, aunties, and all the ancestors have handed down to me through the generations by asking about some measuring cups. Now move on outta my way and let me save these pastries.”
He lifted his ashen hands and grabbed a hand towel to clean off the pastry mix. He grabbed two glasses from the cabinet with one hand and milk from the fridge with the other and filled them to the brim before resting them on the counter.
“All right, taskmaster. Take a break and have some milk and cookies with me.”
She finished mixing the contents to her satisfaction and tore off a piece of plastic wrap, carefully laying it over the top of the bowl. “I told you I’m making those as treats for the crews arriving tomorrow. If you keep eating them, there won’t be any left.”
He snatched a snickerdoodle and hummed his appreciation when the rich flavors of butter, sugar, and cinnamon came together in his mouth. “Don’t take this the wrong way.” He chewed the rest of the cookie in his hand. “Your cooking is amazing, but the way you bake would make a man sell his soul to the devil for a taste. Did your aunt Jo teach you how to bake like this?”
There was a distant look in her eye, a mix of sadness and happiness that spoke of good memories past. “No, my mother taught me. My dad was in the army, and every time he was deployed, I’d turn into a worrying little ball of anxiety. To keep me calm, my mother taught me how to make his favorites. Its monotony is an assurance of sorts. It will always be here, always be like this. After last night, I needed that.”
Jackson sipped at the sweating glass of milk in front of him as everything clicked together in his mind. This was her way of reclaiming her normal, of working through her attack. He’d never seen anyone use baking as therapy before, but if the outcome was Aja could process what happened to her, he was all for it.
“Is it working now?”
She circled the rim of her glass before offering him a thoughtful smile. “Part of the charm of this ranch is me helping the people I care about to find a little happy while they’re here. If a sweet treat takes them out of their revolving hells for a moment and gives them a chance to feel safe, treasured, taken care of, then all this work is worth it.”
She finished her cookies and drank half her glass of milk, then she got back to work, kneading dough, working out every inch of the sadness and apprehension that weighed her down. It sparked something in him, something that made him get up, put the evidence of his snack away, and get back to work at her side. If she was doing this to work through the hell she’d experienced last night, he wanted to do everything he could to be helpful and supportive of her process.
He stood next to her, stilled her working hands, and added flour to the countertop to facilitate her kneading. He couldn’t do this work for her, but he could make it easier, and for the rest of the day, that was exactly what he did. He worked by her side, creating something sweet and pretty out of something tasteless and messy. And at the end of their day, when he was tired and covered in flour and sugar, because he couldn’t seem to pour either without getting it all over himself, he watched the worry lines etched into her face disappear, and he knew it was all worth it.
Chapter 18
Jackson sat on the edge of the queen-size bed in the guest room, exhausted after their day of baking. Who knew mixing, kneading, and frosting could be such hard work.
It was hard but rewarding. Especially after watching the way Aja’s body relaxed by the end of the day. The tension wasn’t completely gone, but she didn’t look like she was scared, waiting to see what jumped out from around the corner at her.
A creak pulled him out of his musings, and he caught sight of Aja leaning against the doorjamb. Her face was fresh, clear of the flour dust he’d more than likely been responsible for with all his clumsy handling of the ingredients. She wore an A-line tank again, this time coupled with a pair of lady boxer shorts that landed at the tops of her thighs. He took in the image, his eyes feasting on the sight of her lush flesh. If a big ass was his first weakness when it came to women, thick thighs ran a close second, and everything in him wanted to know what those thighs felt like wrapped tightly around his waist.
His gaze traveled upward until it landed on her face again. She was smiling, really smiling the way she had when she’d brought him a slice of cake in the great room.
“What are you up to?”
She glanced at him through hooded lids. “Who says I have to be up to something? I was thinking how good it was for me to spend the day laughing at your expense. I thought I should reward buffoonery of that caliber.” She stepped inside the room, the hypnotic sway of her hips and thighs lulling him into a daze. When she stopped in front of him, she held out a cookie on a napkin. “There was an extra oatmeal raisin cookie left all by its lonesome, so I figured you’d enjoy it.” Her smile widened as she extended her hand closer to him. “Don’t you want a taste of my cookie, Ranger?”
He bit his lip, trying his damnedest to remember exactly why he was there. “Wanting your cookie isn’t the problem, and you know that. I’m trying to look out for you, Aja. What you went through—”
“I’ve spent a hell of a lot of time reliving past hurts and traumas. I refuse to do it anymore. Restoration Ranch is all about rebuilding, renewing, and finding a safe space. That bastard tried to take that from me last night. But I won’t let him do it. I won’t let him take the thing that’s made me feel the safest since I returned to this land.”
