Everything happens for a reason.

Noelle Holiday firmly believed this. Call it fate or, as her grandma Mimi liked to say, divine intervention. As far as Noelle was concerned, there was no such thing as random luck.

            So when Sheryl Ann called and asked Noelle if she could take over Nothin’ But Muffins while she was in Big Springs handling some family issues—getting her brother out of jail and into rehab, as rumor had it—Noelle didn’t hesitate to pack up her bags and head to her hometown of Wilder, Texas.

It wasn’t like she had anything keeping her in Dallas. She’d graduated from culinary school and had yet to find a job. She’d broken up with her boyfriend and had no interesting prospects. And she could post to her almost four thousand social media followers from anywhere.

            Which was exactly what she was getting ready to do.

            With Nothin’ But Muffins closed for the day and with Thanksgiving less than a week away, Noelle had decided it would be a good time to do a pie post.

Pies were Noelle’s specialty. Her mama made the best pies in the county and Noelle carried on the family tradition. One day, she would open up her very own bakery where she would make pies, cakes, and pastries to her heart’s content. Just like her mama, she would bake love into each and every one. Because everyone knew that love, mixed with melt-in-your-mouth desserts, conquered all. Some of Noelle’s happiest memories were sitting in the kitchen of her family’s ranch house laughing and eating with her big, loving family.

Besides owning a bakery and becoming a social media influencer, getting married and starting a big family was number three on Noelle’s to-do list. She longed for a country kitchen with a scarred oak harvest table that had been passed down for generations. A table big enough to seat her parents, her five sisters and their husbands, and a slew of cute kids. Sitting at the head of that table would be the love of Noelle’s life, the sweet, honest man who made her heart swoon with just one flash of his dimpled smile.

She blinked.

Dimpled?

No, no dimples. Just one flash of his nice, dimple-less smile. A smile that held no guile. A smile that hadn’t been given to every woman who looked his way. A smile reserved for only his beloved wife.

Unfortunately, finding that man hadn’t been easy. Noelle had dated a lot of toads on her way to finding her prince. Not that they had all been toads. Some had been perfectly nice guys . . . just not perfect for her. One thing or another had brought a screeching halt to her happily-ever-after dream.

Her college sweetheart, Randall, decided to go on a health kick and give up white sugar and flour right when she had decided she wanted to go to culinary school and become a pastry chef. And she couldn’t marry a man who didn’t love her baking. Then there was Michael. Sweet, loving Michael. He had it all . . . except a strong work ethic. He’d slept most of the day, occasionally played drums in a band at night, and was quite happy letting her pay all the bills. Luc was a sexy pastry chef. Everything had been going fine until he made fun of her pie baking, calling it simple country cuisine. Simple country cuisine! George had loved her pies a little too much. He’d gained thirty pounds while they’d been dating until his family had called an intervention and begged him to break up with her. She had been ready to call it quits, anyway. George was nice, but he hadn’t been the one.

And Kenny—no, she refused to even think about Kenny.

Which was another reason she’d wanted to get out of Dallas. She wanted to forget that last humiliating night with Kenny. After being bullied as a kid, Noelle was good at pushing humiliating thoughts out of her head.

Once she closed out the cash register, wiped off the tables, and put the last of the dishes in the dishwasher and started it, she freshened up her makeup, applied her favorite crimson-red lip stain and matching gloss, put on her favorite holly Christmas apron—because, as far as she was concerned, the Christmas holiday started right after Halloween—and got her tripod cellphone holder with the LED ring light that highlighted her complexion and slimmed her face.

Not that her face was fat, but she had gotten her Mimi’s round cheeks and curvy body. When paired with her mama’s short stature that she’d inherited, she could look a little . . . fuller.

Once she set her cellphone up on the prep island in the kitchen, she went about collecting the ingredients for her piecrust. She’d decided to start with the piecrust tonight and then do a pie a night until Thanksgiving. She always prepped everything before she started filming because, unlike most of the other social media chefs, she did all her posts live. Her followers seemed to love it when she dropped eggshells into the batter and had to fish them out or forgot an ingredient or overbrowned butter. Being imperfect made them think of her as more of a friend than a snooty chef.

That’s how she felt too. She felt like she had close to four thousand friends sitting in the kitchen with her while she baked.

She loved it.

“Hey, y’all!” She smiled and waved at the image of herself on the cellphone screen. She looked pretty good if she did say so herself. She’d had her dark hair cut short a few months back and she loved the way it framed her face and made her green eyes look even bigger. “I hope y’all are doing well tonight. I’ve been busy selling muffins all day. Let me tell you . . . if you’re ever in Wilder, Texas, you need to stop by Nothin’ But Muffins. Sheryl Ann’s muffins are the best in the world.”

Numerous hearts and comments popped up on the screen.

I love a good muffin!

You’re so lucky to get to bake muffins all day!

I’d love to try your muffin. (winky emoji)

Most people would have ignored the last comment, but Noelle had discovered ignoring wasn’t the best way to handle her obnoxious followers.

“Now, Regular Joe, I’ve talked to you about this before. I don’t put up with sexual innuendos on my posts. So if you can’t rein it in, I’m going to have to block you. And you wouldn’t want that, would you? Especially when some of your comments make me believe that you have a deep-down love of baking. And speaking of what people love, tonight I’m going to be showing you how to make the best piecrust you’ve ever tasted in your life.”

She leaned in closer. “I’m gonna tell you a little secret.” She waggled a finger at her phone. “But only if you promise not to tell. The key to flaky piecrust is exchanging some of the butter for vegetable shortenin’.” She wasn’t surprised when comments and horrified emojis started popping up on her live video. “I know. I know. Most of you think that piecrust should only be made with butter. But exchanging just four tablespoons of butter for shortening is going to make your crusts—as my Mimi would say—just about the best thing you ever flipped a lip over. Just stick with me and I’ll prove it.”

The entire time she measured out ingredients and put them in a bowl, she chatted like she was talking to her best friends. She talked about how she’d grown up making pies with her mama. All the different-flavored pies she’d made in her life. The bad hair day she’d had the other day. And breaking a nail and not being able to find an emery board.

            In the years she’d been doing social media, she’d discovered her followers loved hearing about her personal life as much as they loved watching her bake. This was proven after she’d finished cutting the shortening and butter into the flour and asked for questions. There were a few about how long to freeze the butter and shortening and if you could use a food processor instead of a pastry cutter and what size was pea size, but the majority were about Noelle’s recent breakup.

            Why did you break up with Kenny again? I thought he was the one.

Did your boyfriend fool around? Is that why you broke up with him and moved back home?

Men are pigs. You should have baked him a poisonous apple pie before you left Dallas.

            And one from Regular Joe. So you’re single now? Because I’m single too. Not that I mean anything by that. Just saying.

            Noelle answered the baking questions first, then moved on to the personal ones.

“Like I told you before, my and Kenny’s breakup was a mutual decision. We were compatible on a lot of levels, but there were a few we weren’t.” Or just one. One very important level. “And yes, I’m single now, but I’m in no hurry to get back into another relationship.”

            “Well, I’m sorry to hear that, Smelly Ellie. Talk about having my heart broken right in two.”

            Every muscle in Noelle’s body tensed at the voice that came from behind her. She knew the voice with the annoying teasing tone. She knew the nickname that made her want to use the rolling pin as a murder weapon. And she knew the scent that enveloped her. A scent of horses and leather . . . and arrogant jackass.

She whirled around to tell the arrogant jackass to get the hell out of her kitchen, but in the process, she knocked the mixing bowl off the counter. She lunged for it. Unfortunately, she had never been the most graceful Holiday sister. In fact, she’d always been the clumsiest, the one who hadn’t excelled at sports . . . or anything that took physical ability. So instead of catching the stainless-steel bowl, she juggled it in her hands for what felt like a lifetime before it tipped and dumped the entire contents of flour-coated butter and shortening all over her cute apron before crashing to the floor with a tinny clatter.

She looked down at the overturned bowl and what was left of her piecrust in stunned disbelief for only a second before her gaze snapped up to the cowboy nonchalantly leaning in the doorway of the kitchen. His black Stetson was tipped back, revealing his smug face.

“Oops.”

            Noelle had never hated anyone in her life except this man. This arrogant, obnoxious devil of a man who had made her life a living hell growing up. She didn’t just hate him. She despised him. Loathed him with every fiber of her being. So much so she struggled to even put it into words.

“Y-Y-You . . .”

His eyebrows lifted. “Still have that stutter I see. Well, you don’t need to rush things with me, honey. I’ve always liked to take things nice and slow.” Then he did that thing he’d always done—the thing that had made all the girls in high school want to drop their panties and Noelle want to clock him in the head with her backpack. He got this innocent little boy look in his eyes and then chewed on his bottom lip like he hadn’t meant anything sexual by what he’d just said. Why, he would never think anything sexual about a woman. He was just a good ol’ boy who liked to take things nice and slow.

But Noelle knew better. She knew behind the innocent blue eyes was a horny womanizer who wanted to screw his way through the adult female population—not just of Wilder but of the world. She wasn’t about to put up with his aww-shucks act.

“I don’t stutter! I’m just struggling to find words vile enough to describe how much I hate you.”

Casey Remington’s grin got even bigger and the deep dimple in his right cheek popped as he pushed away from the doorframe. “Now how can you hate a man you’ve known all your life? A man who has tried to come to your rescue whenever you needed me. Like the time you got stuck on top of the monkey bars and couldn’t get down.”

She felt her face heat with anger. “You didn’t help me then. You left me hanging.”

“I believed I offered to help you and you declined.”

“While you were laughing so hard everyone came running over to witness me hanging there with my panties showing.”

“We were in kindergarten. I don’t think anyone cared about seeing your Minnie Mouse panties, Ellie.” He moved closer and reached out. “You got something right . . .” His fingers brushed her cheek and the feeling of revulsion—yes, it had to be revulsion that caused her heart to beat faster and her stomach to drop—had her taking a step back.

“Don’t touch—” She cut off when she stepped in the butter and shortening mess covering the floor and her feet slipped out from under her. Before her head could bash into the marble prep counter, she was caught and pulled against a chest that felt as hard as marble.

But warmer.

Much warmer.

“I got you, Ellie,” Casey’s deep voice rumbled.

He did have her. One muscled arm was wrapped around her waist and the other curved over her back, his hand cradling her head to his hard chest. Beneath her ear, she could hear his quick breathing and the strong, steady thumping of his heart.

“You okay?”

She wasn’t hurt, but she certainly wasn’t okay. She’d always wondered how lobsters felt when they were dropped into boiling pots of hot water. Now she knew. She felt like she was being boiled alive. Heat consumed her and she couldn’t seem to draw in a deep breath. She felt completely disoriented, like she used to feel when she wound up the swing in the old oak and let it spin until she was dizzy and slightly nauseous. And yet, she would do it again and again for that tummy-dropping experience of the world spinning past in a blur.

WHAT WAS HAPPENING?

“Ellie?” Casey took her arms in his ranch-rough hands and drew her away from him. She lifted her gaze to his face, expecting to see a smirk. But he wasn’t smirking. His lips were tipped down in a frown and his eyes didn’t hold one teasing sparkle. Although they still sparkled. They sparkled like the ocean in the Greek vacation sites that kept popping up on her social media feed. His blue irises looked like the pictures of sun-dappled, turquoise water that she had the undeniable desire to dive right into.

“Are you hurt?” he asked. “Did you hit your head on the counter?”

Had she? She didn’t remember hitting her head, but she must have. Otherwise, why was she feeling all loopy and weird? Things grew even weirder when Casey lifted his hand and ran his fingers through her hair. It was like his calloused fingertips were flint and all the nerve endings in her scalp matches. He struck a tingling spark wherever he touched.

“I don’t feel a lump, but I think we should take you to the county hospital anyway. You aren’t acting like yourself.” He scooped her up in his arms, and very few men had ever scooped her up in their arms. In fact, her daddy had been the only one and only when she’d been little. She wasn’t little now. She might be short, but she wasn’t what people had ever called petite. And yet, Casey lifted her as if she didn’t weight more than a feather pillow.

Which made her stomach feel like a pillow—a pillow that had been ripped open and shaken so all the feathers went fluttering through the air. She was so stunned by her body’s reaction that she didn’t say a word as he headed out of the kitchen . . . until she glanced over his broad shoulder and saw her phone.

She was still live!

“Put me down!” She struggled until he set her on her feet, then she raced over to remove her phone from the tripod. There was a steady stream of comments. A few asking if they needed to call 911, but most asking about the hot cowboy hero who had just saved her life.

Noelle brushed the flour from her cheek and tried to salvage the situation.

“Sorry about that, y’all! I’m fine. Just fine. Unfortunately, it looks like my clumsiness has ruined the piecrust. But don’t you worry. I’ll be back tomorrow night to teach you that piecrust secret my mama taught me.” She winked. “Because as y’all know, there’s always something bakin’ in the Holiday Kitchen.” She tapped the live button to end the session and waited for her screen to reset before she released her smile and her breath.

“Always something bakin’ in the Holiday Kitchen?”

The smirk in Casey’s voice was back. When she turned, there was the arrogant, obnoxious man she loathed. The concern she’d read in his eyes had obviously been a trick of the bright kitchen lights. And the strange reaction to his touch just . . . she didn’t know what it had been. All she knew was that it would never be repeated. At least not if she could help it.

“Get out,” she growled.

The smirk on his face deepened. “I guess you’re okay.”

She picked up the rolling pin and moved toward him. “I said get out.”

He took a step back and his eyes twinkled. “Now is this any way to treat the man who just rescued you from a cracked skull?”

“Get out!”

He laughed his annoying laugh. “Anything you say, Smelly Ellie. Anything you say.” He turned and walked out of the kitchen.

Since she didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him, she followed him. Once he stepped out the door, she quickly took the keys from her jeans pocket and locked it, mentally chastising herself for not locking it before she started her social media post. She wouldn’t make that mistake twice.

There were scoundrels in Wilder, Texas.

Her brow knitted as she watched Casey strut to his truck.

Scoundrels who could make a gal feel like a cooked lobster. (Wrangling a Christmas Cowboy Excerpt by Katie Lane)