He was the same but not the same. He’d added muscle, especially in his chest and broad shoulders. The years fell away and her body warmed with the remembered sensation of that chest brushing hers.
Not the reaction she needed to be having right now! Safer to focus on his horse.
The butterscotch pinto he rode with such confidence was Scout, clearly older and wiser just like her horse Fudge. The two geldings had mixed it up during that clinic. Their riders had mixed it up in a totally different way.
Scout still had fire in him, made plain by his arched neck and tendency to prance. But the gelding was more controlled than he’d been five years ago.
The same could be said of his rider. Then Luis turned his head. His dark gaze held hers for one heart-stopping moment, sending heat pouring through her.
He still had fire in him, too. Her unruly body responded to that searing look the same way it had five years ago. If that cowboy had a wife or a girlfriend, he’d just cheated on them in his head.
He broke eye contact and faced forward, his profile achingly familiar. Since he was on her side of the street, she automatically checked his left hand. No ring.
Didn’t mean anything. If he’d been part of setting up for the parade entry, he might have left it off. Rings could be a hazard when working with horses. She lectured her racing heart to settle down. They’d looked at each other. Big deal.
But as he passed by, he swiveled in the saddle, searching her out again. She waved at him because she couldn’t help it. He tipped his hat.
Then he moved on, his relaxed riding style touching off more memories. Sexy cowboy. Sexy lover. He had to be married. Men like Luis were snapped up quick.
Belatedly she took note of the riders with him. The blonde woman in front must be Greta, the youngest Bridger. The other three would be Monty, Xavier and Rio. They all looked alike from the back except Luis. She’d know those buns anywhere.
Since he’d returned her wave with a tip of his hat, she might as well take the guesswork out of the situation. The sooner she knew his marital status the better.
She rolled up her T-shirt and tucked it in her backpack. “Harry, Marv, thank you so much for making room for me. I’m gonna leave you guys and head toward the staging area so I can meet someone when they get back.”
Harry chuckled. “Luis Bridger, I presume?”
“Um, yes.” Her cheeks warmed. “Haven’t seen him in years. It’ll be good to catch up.”
“Judging from his reaction to seeing you, he’ll be quite happy to do that.” Marv’s eyes sparkled. “FYI, he’s still single.”
“He is?” Damn, her voice had squeaked. For sure her face was bright red by now.
“He is.” Marv beamed at her. “Barbers know everything about everybody. He was seeing someone last year but it didn’t work out. She wasn’t right for him.”
And neither am I. But that knowledge did nothing to smother the fire Luis’s hot glance had started. “Um, well, that’s nice. For him, I mean. Not for us.” She was rambling. “Because there is no us. We’re only?—”
“Old friends reconnecting.” Harry patted her on the shoulder. “Don’t mind Marv. He’s a romantic. Cool it, Marv. You’re embarrassing our new friend.”
“Sorry, Jordan. It’s just that the minute I saw that look pass between you two I got a squiggle in my tummy. You belong together. I could be wrong, of course. I never am, but there’s always a first time.”
What a sweet guy. “The truth is, Luis and I are on different paths.” Which hadn’t changed.
But he’d telegraphed interest just now. Maybe there was a chance they could pick up where they’d left off, share another short but incredible weekend together.
Marv shrugged. “Time will tell. Hope to see you around this weekend.”
“I’m sure you will.” With a smile and two thumbs up, she turned and threaded her way through the packed throng.
“Go to the high school parking lot!” Harry called after her.
“Thanks!” Once she made it out of the square, the journey became easier. She waved at a Girl Scout troop marching in formation and they waved back.
Groups on horseback were more common than wagons. Some riders advertised a business and others were clearly a family, often in matching outfits.
The two-story red brick high school was about a block away as she passed a wagon full of older men in Stetsons and bathing trunks.
They lounged in an empty wooden hot tub surrounded by faux icebergs made with clear plastic drop cloths. Even the wagon’s driver wore only trunks and a hat. Their sign identified them as the Polar Bear Club.
