Abigail watched him lead the dog away. Damn, that cowboy was cute. And he’d saved a dog from freezing to death. Cute and heroic. Great combo.

After the initial confusion, she’d figured out he wasn’t looking for a partner of either gender. He’d seemed worried about what his mom had said, though. Abigail got that. Virginia Bennett loved to talk about her children and was perfectly capable of oversharing.

Now that Abigail’s parents were both gone, she didn’t have to deal with that problem. Hearing about it made her wistful, though. She would put up with a little oversharing if she could have her folks back.

Michael reappeared, wiping his hands with a bar towel. Good-looking and gregarious, he was a perfect co-owner for the GG. “Where’s Luke?”

“The dog needed to go out.”

“Oh. So why did you come over on your day off?”

“Frank said he was out of pies.” She held up the oversized shopping bag she’d brought. “So I baked him some.”

“I’m sure he didn’t expect you to do that ASAP.”

“I know, but I hate to think of anyone running out of something and disappointing customers.”

He shrugged. “We run out of stuff all the time. It’s impossible to gauge exactly what you’ll need.”

“Which is why I always make more than I need.”

“Well, Frank doesn’t operate that way. He—oh, look who’s back. Nice dog collar, Luke.”

“Abigail loaned me her scarf.”

She waved a hand at the dog. “You can keep it for now. What do you have, boy or girl?”

“Girl.”

Michael grinned. “Guess taking a dog out to do its business would give you that info. What’re you going to name her?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” Michael frowned. “That’s a terrible name. She’ll get a complex.”

“I mean I’m not naming her because I intend to find out where she belongs. She’s a great dog and someone is missing her like crazy.”

Michael surveyed the dog. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you had to use Abigail’s scarf because this pup has no collar or tags.”

“True, but she could be microchipped.”

“How could you tell if she is or not?”

“I don’t know, but there must be a way.”

“I’ll bet there is.” Abigail pulled a phone out of her pocket. “Let’s find out.”

“You should give her a name, Luke.”

“But if she has a name and what I call her isn’t even close, then what? I’ll just confuse her.”

“Maybe, but—”

“What I could use is a couple pounds of hamburger to get me through until tomorrow. If I could buy some from you I’d be grateful.”

“Sure. Glad to help.”

Abigail glanced up from her phone. “Use a stud finder. That will tell you if she’s chipped or not. If she is, it should be somewhere between her shoulder blades.”

“Just so happens I have a stud finder.” Michael walked over to the desk and pulled open a drawer. “Needed it when I hung up the Murphy coat of arms.” He gestured toward the wall.

Abigail gazed at the heavy wooden plaque. “That’s cool. Is it new?”

“Just arrived.” He handed Luke the stud finder. “Bryce ordered the McGavin one after he saw mine.”

Luke smiled. “I’ll just bet he did. But why not hang them in the bar so everyone can see them?”

“We talked about it, but the GG is all about Old West nostalgia. Wouldn’t fit.”

“Guess not.” Luke crouched down and ran the stud finder over the dog’s shoulders. “Not finding a chip in there, pup.”

She wagged her tail.

“She likes you,” Abigail said.

“The feeling’s mutual.” He stood and returned Michael’s stud finder. “Thanks. Tomorrow I’ll contact the local rescue organizations in the area and give them a description.”

Michael nodded. “That’s about all you can do. Listen, I’m thinking we should reschedule our consultation. Customers are starting to come in and we’ve lost our window of opportunity.”

Luke sighed. “I know. My fault and I apologize.”

“No worries. How’s Wednesday at three?”

“Let me check.” He pulled out his phone. “I’m free.”

“Let’s do it then. My business plan can wait a couple more days.”

“I appreciate your patience. If you can bring me that hamburger, I’ll get out of your way.”

“Be right back.” Michael paused in the doorway of the office. “Is two pounds enough?”

“Plenty. I’ll go shopping first thing tomorrow.”

“Okay, then.” Michael headed for the kitchen.

“I didn’t know you were a business consultant.” Abigail hadn’t been given that tidbit. “The way your mom described your old job, I thought you might be a chef.”

He grinned. “Don’t have much talent for cooking. I handled their marketing, financial projections, things like that.”

“And then decided to go out on your own?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Running into him like this was a golden opportunity if she had the nerve to take it. She tamped down a surge of anxiety. “I just might need your services.” There. She’d opened the door.

“I could give you my card if you’d like to think about—”

“I don’t need to think about it.” In for a penny, in for a pound. “I’ve been thinking about getting some advice but I didn’t know where to go. You’re local. I like that.”

“Local is what I’m concentrating on. I could help you tweak your business plan and—”

“I don’t have one.”

He blinked. “Didn’t the bank require it?”

“I paid cash for everything.”

“I see.” He hesitated. “A business plan is still a good thing to have.”

“I realize that. But I didn’t know who to ask, who to trust.”

“Then I’m honored you’re willing to trust me.”

She smiled. “Your dad’s a beloved minister in town and your mom’s a regular customer at Pie in the Sky. You just rescued this poor dog. I think I can trust you.”

“Well, when you put it that way…” He grinned. “When do you want to get together?”

“How about Tuesday afternoon after I close the bakery? Do you have an opening at four?”

He pulled out his phone. “I sure do. Four on Tuesday, then.”

“What’s your favorite cookie?”

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

“Sure I do. I want you to appreciate what a fine baker I am. Won’t that affect your calculations?”

“Cookies always affect my calculations. My favorite is peanut butter cookies. The kind you mash down with a fork.”

“I use a mallet, but the idea’s the same. Be prepared for the best peanut butter cookies you’ve ever tasted.”

“That’s a challenge. My mom’s are pretty good.”

That gave her pause. Surpassing his mom’s baking expertise wasn’t her goal. “Then let’s forget those. What kind of cookie do you love that your mom doesn’t make often?”

“Oatmeal raisin. She doesn’t like raisins.”

“Then that’s what I’ll make for you. See you at four on Tuesday.”

* * *

What had she been thinking? Abigail blamed the appeal of a rugged cowboy with a rescued dog draped across his broad shoulders. Yes, she had some financial issues, but she wasn’t ready to discuss them with anyone, let alone a professional.

Yet who better to help her than a professional? Who cared if he was a brown-eyed, muscular dreamboat with a heart of gold? He had the expertise to tell her how to solve her problem. She had business galore and she was in the red every single month. Soon the inheritance from her parents would be gone. Unless she turned things around, her business would fail.

But she didn’t want Luke to know that she was in dire straits. She’d rather have him think of her as a slightly disorganized but highly creative business owner. A few tips from him, and she’d be right as rain.

The self-talk wasn’t helping. Fifteen minutes before Luke was due to arrive, she’d burned the oatmeal-raisin cookies she’d made for him and was frantically mixing up a new batch.

Her other employees were gone, but Ingrid, her apprentice baker, was wiping down the bistro tables. Although Ingrid was off at one, she often came down from her apartment upstairs to help close.

Abigail lived upstairs, too, a convenient arrangement when she had to get up in the wee hours of the morning to start baking. The third apartment had been leased several months ago by a graphic designer named Roxanne.

“Are you okay?” Ingrid finished cleaning the last table and walked back to the open kitchen area. “I don’t usually hear you swear.”

“I just wish I hadn’t made this appointment. I don’t have time to deal with creating a business plan right now.”

“You don’t have a business plan?”

“Not written down.” She spooned the batter onto a cookie sheet.

“It’s in your head?”

“Sort of.”

“That doesn’t sound very scientific.” Ingrid tidied the bun she wore to keep her blond hair under control during work hours.

“But it’s organic. It’s flexible. Much better than spelling it out on paper and creating some anal manifesto I feel obliged to adhere to.” She glanced up when Ingrid started to laugh. “What?”

“Can I hide in the pantry during your meeting? I want to hear you say that to your business consultant.”

“I won’t say that to him. I’m only saying it to you. And I don’t see what’s so funny.” She put the cookies in the oven and remembered to set the timer.

“I know you don’t. That’s why your concept is so adorable. But you asked this guy to come over today, so you must know in your heart that you need a more structured plan.”

“I suppose I do.” She rinsed out the stainless steel mixing bowl and put it into the large capacity dishwasher. “Did you take the leftovers in the case for you and Roxanne?”

“Not yet, but I will. She mentioned something about movie night at her place. Think you can stay awake through a full-length feature?”

“I’ll do my best.”

“I’ll pinch you so you’ll stay awake.” Ingrid’s gaze darted to the sidewalk outside the bakery’s windows. “Don’t look now, but a tall cowboy is headed our way. He’s carrying a laptop case over his shoulder. I should take off.”

Abigail’s heart began to pound. “Please don’t desert me.”

“But—”

“Not yet, anyway. Stay and meet him. Besides, you didn’t box up the leftovers.”

“I can do that after he leaves.” The chime sounded as the front door opened and Ingrid’s attention flicked to the front of the store. “Oh, wow, he is a cutie-pie,” she murmured. “Is that why you set this up?”

“No, but it didn’t hurt.”

“Thought so.”

“Come on. I’ll introduce you.” Putting on her happy face, Abigail walked around the counter. “Hi, Luke! Right on time. I’d like you to meet my assistant, Ingrid Lindstrom.”

He swept off his hat. “Pleased to meet you, Ingrid.”

“Same here.” Ingrid shook his hand. “Your dad’s a hoot, by the way.”

“He’s an original and I’m proud to be his son. Even when he appears in a spandex superhero outfit in public.”

Ingrid laughed. “You mean the Christmas talent show?”

“You were there.”

“We both were,” Abigail said. “I can’t wait to find out what he comes up with next year. Listen, if you’d like to leave your laptop on a bistro table, I can take your jacket. We have a—”

“Coat tree. I see it.” He put down his laptop and unbuttoned his sheepskin jacket as he walked over to the corner of the room. “Something sure smells good.”

“Cookies,” Abigail said.

“Oatmeal-raisin?”

“You’ve got it.”

“Great.” He took off his jacket, which provided a nice view of broad shoulders in a chambray yoked shirt and jeans that cupped a firm ass.

Ingrid gave her a nudge and mouthed Oh, my God.

Abigail ducked her head so he wouldn’t come back and find her grinning like a fool.

He propped his hat on the same hook where he’d hung his jacket and started back toward them. “All decked out for Valentine’s Day, I see.”

Both Abigail and Ingrid blurted out answers and then tripped over each other apologizing for interrupting. No telling how long that nonsense would have continued if the oven timer hadn’t dinged.

Abigail swallowed her laughter and looked at her friend. “Cookies are done.”

“I’ll take them out.” Ingrid’s voice was unnaturally high, as if she could barely keep from cracking up. With a muffled snort, she hurried into the kitchen.

Luke gestured to the front window. “I like the painted Valentine’s Day scene.”

“That’s Roxanne’s handiwork.” Abigail drew in a calming breath. “She’s a graphic artist.”

“An employee?”

“No, a friend. She lives in one of the apartments upstairs.”

“She did a good job.”

“She did. She helped us with the other decorations, too. It’s a major holiday for a bakery so we wanted to capitalize on it.” His gorgeousness quotient seemed to increase with every minute he stood there.

“I’m sure a bakery’s popular this time of year. People love their sweets.”

His mouth was especially nice. Full and sensuous. Better stop staring at it. “I’ve found that individual desserts work better than full-sized ones. They’re fun to make, too. I think of them as little slices of heaven.”

“Can you give me some examples?”

“Oh, like mini heart-shaped chocolate cakes, heart-shaped chocolate cookies with pink frosting, chocolate frosted eclairs with raspberry filling, strawberry tarts drizzled with dark chocolate…” Was it her imagination or had his brown eyes turned a shade darker? “Does that give you an idea?”

“Sure does.” He cleared his throat. “I can tell you love your work.”

“It’s my passion.”

“Obviously.” He took a breath and glanced around. “Your open kitchen concept is nice. It lets the customers see the work in progress.”

“Like this one.” Ingrid came around the counter with a small plate of fragrant cookies. “Can’t get any fresher than straight out of the oven. They’re still warm.” She extended the plate. “Help yourself.”

“As if I’d say no.” He took a cookie, bit into it, and closed his eyes with a soft moan.

Abigail couldn’t resist glancing at Ingrid. Then she quickly looked away before they both lost it. Luke might or might not be good for her business, but he sure as hell was good for her libido.