Page 75 of Cowboy Elite 2: Mike

Liv looked exhausted but determined, flour already dusting her jeans from the morning's prep work. She caught Mike's eye, and he saw his own fear reflected back, along with something fiercer.

Resolve.

"You two are gonna knock 'em dead," Mike said, then winced. "Poor choice of words."

"We've got this." Liv squeezed Charlotte's hand. "Right, honeybee?"

"Right!" Charlotte beamed. "I even made a sign! It says 'Best Baked Goods in Texas' and I drew puppies on it and everything!"

"Can't wait to see it." Mike pulled Liv aside while Charlotte ran to retrieve her masterpiece. "You okay?"

"Terrified. You?"

"Same." He cupped her face briefly, thumb brushing her cheekbone. "Stay visible. Stay with people. And if anything feels wrong?—"

"I know the drill." She caught his hand, held it. "Mike. We're going to be okay."

He wanted to believe her. God, he wanted to believe her.

Instead he kissed her forehead and let her go.

Liv found him near the pavilion an hour later, tension carved into every line of his body despite the easy smile he wore for the guests.

"You're doing that thing," she said quietly, handing him coffee.

"What thing?"

"Where you pretend everything's fine while cataloging exit routes and calculating response times." Her hand found his, squeezed. "I do it too, remember?"

He pulled her close, buried his face in her hair for just a second. Cinnamon and vanilla and home. "Remind me why we're not in Canada right now?"

"Because you'd miss Arletta's biscuits and I'd miss watching you pretend you don't eat half the cinnamon knots before they make it to the table."

Despite everything, he laughed. "Fair point."

By eleven o'clock, the bake sale was in full swing and Liv had almost convinced herself that everything would be fine.

The dessert table looked like something from a magazine. Three tiers of pastries, each more elaborate than the last. Her pièce de résistance, a seven-layer chocolate torte with gold leaf and fresh berries, sat in the place of honor with a starting bid of fifty dollars for the charity auction.

Charlotte stood beside her in a tiny apron Arletta had made, importantly explaining to customers the difference between a cinnamon knot and a bear claw. She was a natural saleswoman, all gap-toothed smiles and enthusiastic gestures.

"And THIS one," Charlotte announced to an elderly couple, "has Miss Liv's special vanilla that comes all the way from Madagascar! That's in Africa! I looked it up on the map!"

The couple bought two.

Liv found herself laughing, really laughing, as Charlotte charmed her way through the morning rush. This. This was what normal felt like. What home felt like.

She could almost forget the dark SUVs on the access road. Almost forget the way Mike kept checking his phone. Almost forget that somewhere out there, people were planning to take this away from her.

Almost.

"Liv, honey?" Mrs. Halloway appeared with a napkin-wrapped bundle. "You should eat something. Can't run on nervous energy alone."

"I'm okay?—"

"That wasn't a suggestion." Mrs. Halloway pressed the bundle into her hands. Still-warm cornbread with butter and honey. "And for what it's worth, I want you to know that everyone here? We're not just here for the bake sale."

Liv's throat tightened. "Mrs. Halloway?—"