Salt had been nice enough to set the kennel up in Drake’s bedroom off the kitchen. Buddy was snoozing peacefully, looking cute and cuddly on the pillow and blanket Drake had lined the crate with. He sighed in relief and wished he could just go in and have the rest of the evening to himself to bond with Buddy, but there was a birthday party about to kick in, and he had cakes to cut and serve. There’d been a gathering of all the ranch hands at lunch, and they’d sung ‘Happy Birthday’ to Will then. Drake had made three cakes, actually, because he’d known the hands would wolf down one at lunch. There had only been crumbs left of the vanilla and raspberry cake. Drake had been warned that all the cowboys and cowgirls would be letting him know their birthdays and putting in cake requests. He was flattered and nauseated at the same time, because he doubted there’d be so many requests if any of them even suspected he might have been exposed to HIV. But they don’t know, he reminded himself.
