“Enjoying yourself?” I ask.
“As much as I can.” She cocks her head so she can see me from under her Stetson. Her hips roll with each step, and her back is straight, making her breasts jut out. Fuck, she looks good on a horse.
“Cutting it close, aren’t you?” The dinner is supposed to start in an hour and a half.
She purses her lips. “Stanford wants to use Hailstorm to ride away with the bride, and I have to start working with him and January. Stanford needs lessons, and he hasto learn how to lift January into the saddle.” She rolls her eyes toward me. “It has to be photogenic, you know.”
“Hailstorm will be. Not sure about them.”
“It’s my job to make sure they all are,” she says woodenly. She continues riding, and I keep my speed even with her.
Her job is planning. She can’t possibly mean she’s doing the rest. “You aren’t training them, are you?” William has staff who can do it.
She smacks her lips. “Personally requested.”
“You’re fucking kidding me.”
“You’re not the joking type.” She smiles when she says it, and fiddles with a silver chain around her neck.
“I repel girlfriends when I tell jokes, remember? It’s like oil and water.”
“Is that a science joke?”
“Seems Iamthe joking type.”
Laughing, she reaches over the saddle and rubs a hand over Hailstorm’s gleaming withers. “It’s a bad one, but I almost pulled a muscle laughing so hard, so it wasn’t the jokes. Had to be her.”
I was only kidding, but she’s sticking up for me. My appreciation for her grows, and it has nothing to do with the flare of her hips from the way she’s astride Hailstorm, or how the sun makes her eyes dance.
She juts her chin toward the other side of the pickup. “I’m cutting in front of you so I can get to the barn. Stanford and January want to meet Hailstorm. Then I have to run home and get cleaned up. Then I’ll meet everyone in the bar.”
I brake so she can pass in front of me. “See you in a few.”
“I’m gonna need more than a few,” she grumbles as she rides past.
I watch her retreat, looking like a natural. I never paid attention to talk about the Hawthorne girls when I was an employee of the ranch, but didn’t she use to do rodeo? Barrel racing? Or was that Jamison? Maybe it was roping? I could see her doing breakaway with that lithe, powerful body.
She’s going to look back and find me staring. I hit the gas harder than intended and spin out some gravel. Hailstorm doesn’t break his stride. He’s chill as can be, his tail swishing. He’s a good choice to ride into the sunset with, but Stanford shouldn’t be making Campbell train him.
I park and make sure my mind’s in the right place. Admiring Campbell’s thighs isn’t making me presentable in the groin department. Neither is the memory of her laughing at my joke. I can’t believe she remembered to ask in the first place.
If I sit here any longer, I’m going to keep thinking about Campbell. She’s already consuming an inappropriate amount of my thoughts.
I walk into the back entrance of the guest lodge to avoid the guests roaming in the front and sitting on the porch. I’ll be seeing them soon enough. This whole situation is unbelievable. At least it was until Campbell told me why she’s really doing it. She might be wanting to strike back at her cousin because of the hurt, but she probably doesn’t realize how much she’s tormenting Stanford.
I have a hard enough time fighting off wet dreams about blow jobs and wide-eyed questions about whiskey.Then somehow whiskey became part of the blow job, and I’ve been awake since three in the morning.
Stopping in the kitchen before turning into the bar, I marvel over my change in circumstance. Five years ago, I would’ve had to justify my presence in the guest lodge. Now, I gave Campbell a list of what I need for tonight, and she took care of it with Chef.
Chef Cecil has worked at Hawthorne since before I did, and his meals are next level. They’re one of the things I’ve missed since living on my own. He glances up from the beef Wellington he’s preparing for tonight. His usual jovial expression is replaced with grim determination. “Durban. What can I do for you?”
“Other than cancel this wedding?”
He barks out a laugh. “I would if I could. That poor girl should not be enduring this. Have you heard the latest?”
“About the horse training, or is there more?” I hover by the entry. Anyone who’s been in Chef’s kitchen knows we can only go so far. Two more steps and I’d have a hair net slapped over my head, a beard net clamped across my ears for my mustache, and an apron tied around my neck. And then Chef would scowl at my cowboy boots, as if I’d walked through a cured manure pile right before I entered.
Chef sucks his lips against his teeth. “That’s it, but there’ll be more.” He shoots me a knowing look. “That boy’s just getting started.”
