Twenty minutes later, footsteps approached as I finished the last paragraph in the chapter I was reading. I looked up, expecting to see Callan or Avery, but found Callan’s mother standing there instead.

“Good book?” she asked, glancing at the paperback.

I nodded, closing it. “It is.” I wouldn’t get into the nitty gritty of the smut I’d just read. That was not a conversation I wanted to have with Charlotte Bronson.

“I was wondering if I could ask you a favor,” she started.

I stood from the chair, gripping the book in front of me. “What’s that?”

“We have a meeting for the horse rescue tomorrow night, and I know it’s last minute, but I’d love if you could bring some pastries for everyone. If it’s too much to ask—”

“No, I can do it.” With tonight to prep and tomorrow to bake, I could hurry to get it done. Thankfully, I had the day off, otherwise it wouldn’t be possible. “How many are you thinking? And what time is the meeting?”

“Enough for about fifty people,” she answered with a slight wince. “Is that too many?”

I shook my head. “Not at all.” I’d be up all night, but I didn’t want to turn her down.

“Great. It’s at six p.m. You don’t have to stay for the meeting if you need to be home. I can always have someone drop by and grab them, too. I know finding someone to watch Avery can be difficult. If you want, you can even bring her, if that’s easier.”

Bringing Avery to a meeting for a rescue was the last place she needed to be. She’d sneak around eating all the sweets, and then she’d be up all night. “I’m sure she can have a playdate for a few hours. Don’t worry about having someone pick them up.”

Charlotte nodded. “It’s at the library in town. We rented out the event space in the back. Call me when you get there, and I’ll send one of my boys out to help.”

My fingers brushed along the pages of the book as I gave her a closed-lip smile. “Sounds good.”

She grinned back, patting my arm. “Thanks, Sage. I really appreciate it.”

“Of course.” It’d be a tight timeline, but I’d do my best to pull it off. I had to figure out what to make, account for baking times, be sure I had extras in case any were a bad batch, and prep any fillings tonight. There was a lot that went into catering for that big of a group, but I could do it.

I’d done a lot harder things in life and came out just fine. This wasn’t impossible.

***

I was wrong.

I was currently in the act of kicking myself for agreeing to make enough baked goods for fifty people, plus extras just in case. Why did I need to stress myself out more? I should have made the recipe for fifty, but instead I upped it to seventy-five, and that was for each item. What if people wanted more than one? What if some of them burned?

It would’ve been fine if I’d stuck with one item, but then I’d decided I wanted to make a variety for people to choose from, so I’d dug through my recipe book to pick out two other sweets. It took a bit to multiply the ingredients for the size of the batch I needed to make, then I got to work prepping what could be made last night. That included chopping, deseeding, and pulling out what would fit on the counter so I didn’t have to dig through our tiny pantry in the middle of cooking. I thanked myself for that this morning before I dove in.

On top of baking this many pastries for that many people with this short of a timeframe, I had made arrangements for Avery to go to her friend’s house, so I didn’t have to worry about her at the meeting. After all, an almost six-year-old didn’t belong in a horse rescue meeting. I’d spend more time stressing over where she was and what she was doing while my focus needed to be on this.

With the amount of people going to this get-together, it could be a big deal for my future if I ever wanted to get out of Bell Buckle Brews. I didn’t mind working there, but having my own baking business wouldn’t be bad either. Making my own hours and managing my own clients—it would be perfect.

It’d definitely give me the flexibility I needed for Avery’s school hours.

So this had to be flawless. A lot was riding on these cherry turnovers, white chocolate cranberry scones, and blueberry tarts. On the bright side, my house smelled absolutely amazing.

The timer on the counter rang out and I yanked my oven mitts on as I blew a stray strand of hair out of my eyes. Opening the oven door, I was met with a blast of heat as I pulled out the last batch of cherry turnovers. 

After turning the oven off, I moved the pastries to a metal rack and rushed to my bedroom while they cooled. My time management was on par with baking, but when it came to myself, I left little time to get ready.

Glancing at the clock, I opted to skip the shower and do a light makeup look instead. I dusted bronzer over my eyelids, slapped on a single coat of mascara, let my cheeks shine with their natural blush, and took my hair out of the ponytail it’d been dying to come free from all day. 

I ran a brush through my hair and sprayed some dry shampoo in it, then headed for my closet. I didn’t have much to choose from outside of work and casual attire, so I sifted through my few sundresses, landing on a short blush pink one. Little roses popped all over the material. 

I slipped out of my clothes and tugged on the dress, giving myself a second to glance in the mirror to make sure I looked presentable, then headed back out to the kitchen to start boxing up the pastries. 

As I was in the middle of doing that, my phone rang on the edge of the counter, but I didn’t have time to stop and talk to whoever was calling. They’d have to wait a minute for me to call them back once I was in my car.

Finishing up with the boxing, I took three trips to and from my car, trusting my balancing techniques far too much with each tall stack that I could barely see around. 

I was just about to get in when I remembered my phone in the kitchen. Running back inside to get it, I tapped at the screen on my walk back out, but it wouldn’t light up. 

It was my luck that my phone decided to die right before the meeting.

I’d have to hope everything was okay with Avery, but even if something was wrong, her friend’s mother knew where I was. 

Finally settling in behind the wheel, I shifted the car into reverse and headed toward the town library. 

Soon, people’s bellies would be full with my baked goods and the stress would all be worth it. But for now, I’d continue to overthink that everything probably came out terrible and I’d overdone it.

Heaving a sigh, I let my muscles relax a fraction on the drive.

Just a few more hours.

8

Callan

“Can you put the tablecloth on for me?” Mom asked as she rushed behind me with centerpieces piled in her hands. 

She went all out for these meetings. Bottom of the Buckle Horse Rescue was her life’s passion, after all. She treated it like another one of her children, and honestly, I couldn’t blame her. If I ran a nonprofit that changed literal lives, I’d treat it like my most prized possession, too. 

“Yep.” I grabbed the folded up tablecloth, unraveling it to lay it over the surface. It was brown and ivory with bits of color weaved through the southwestern pattern. Horses galloped across the edges, dust kicked up in their wake. It was my mother’s favorite—I knew because she used it at almost every event for the rescue.

I liked helping my mom, whether it was in the house or with the rescue. She’d just direct me what to do, and I’d do it. I didn’t have to put so much thought into it like how I did with the riding lessons for kids. One wrong move with them and they could get seriously injured. Though the risk was higher than other hobbies children could partake in, the reward was well worth it. 

That’s why I’d wanted to become an instructor—to see the smile on their faces when they’d overcome their fears or reach a goal they’d set.

From the ground, riding a horse seemed so simple, but once you got on, you realized how many buttons those beasts had. My job was to teach them how to respect that power and yield to the animal, creating a bond rather than a leadership role. 

You couldn’t beat horses into submission and expect them to respect you. You had to be gentle, quiet, and speak their language. They were prey animals at heart.

After I had the cloth laid out and the crinkles flattened to my best ability, Mom came back with the last few centerpieces, setting them out with even space in between.

The room we were renting in the back of the library looked like those meeting rooms you saw in skyscrapers, but instead of one long table in the middle, the room was wide enough to hold four of them. Three were being used for attendees to sit at, and the fourth was for the hors d’oeuvres—which was the table I was currently helping set up.

“Can I get your help with these?” Mom asked, coming up beside me with a thick stack of papers.