As much as she’d been trying to avoid him, Dancer had other ideas.Every time her horse saw the big cowboy, she turned into a lovesick teenager, trotting in his direction, disregarding all commands from Willow.
It was probably because Hunter always had a carrot, Dancer’s favorite snack, on hand to feed her.
Sighing, she walked toward Dancer.She should at least be honest around her horse.“It’s not only the carrot, though, is it sweetie?”Putting her arms around the bay, she silently waited for Dancer’s thoughts.
Minutes later, she stepped away irritably and mounted the horse.“Okay, you’re right, I think he’s attractive but so are plenty of other cowboys around.He’s certainly not the most attractive…”
Snorting, Dancer shook her head.
Chuckling, Willow patted the horse as she turned her around.“I’m done talking to you about him, okay?”
Dancer’s trot changed into a canter and in an effort to will her heart to slow down, Willow focused on the animal moving underneath her, the cold air against her face, the beautiful snowcapped mountains around her.
Being mindful of the moment she was in was something her nana had taught her to do way before mindfulness had become a thing.Usually it settled her thoughts, but at this moment she was struggling to focus on anything other than what had just happened.
Okay, Hunter Grant bothered her.Constantly.Maybe it was time to accept the fact that for some or other incomprehensible reason, she was overly aware of the big cowboy whenever she was near him.His words of a year ago kept echoing in her mind, kept her awake at night, were even interfering with her creative process at the moment, damn it.
Every time she was about to see him, she gave herself a stern talk.‘He’s just another man,’ she’d repeat over and over to herself.There was no reason to behave like a silly schoolgirl.When she saw him though, her brain cells ceased to work, she struggled to breathe, damn it, and she had a hard time not staring at the way his long hair curled down his neck, or at his muscles moving beneath his denim shirt, or at his beautiful hands, or at the way those eyes darkened whenever he looked at her.
For the past few weeks, she’d spent most of her time in her studio, working on paintings for her exhibition that was supposed to open in two weeks’ time in Seattle.It had been a plausible excuse not to share the family meals in the big homestead where Hayden, his son Luke and his new bride, Laura live.
Their mother had always insisted they had their meals together, and even after she’d moved to town, they’d continued the tradition.It gave Hayden a chance to talk to her and her two other brothers, Becket and Cooper about the ranch.She used to love these times and because she didn’t like to cook, she seldom missed one of Isabella’s meals.She was the wife of one of the ranch hands, Ricardo, friend, and housekeeper in the main house.
That was, until Hunter Grant had joined the team on the Weston ranch and was invited to join their meals.Meals were the time they discussed everything about the ranch, Hayden had explained, and she got that.The problem was she found sitting around a table with Hunter problematic.Not only did she struggle to eat, her eyes kept straying in his direction, in spite of her resolve to ignore him.
He was also living in Walker’s home.A sharp pain pierced her heart, something that happened every time she remembered her brother.He should’ve been the one living in that house, sharing their meals, not Hunter-freaking-Grant whose damn eyes saw way too much for her peace of mind.
As Dancer trotted toward the stables, a movement to Willow’s right caught her eye.On a nearby rise, a lone rider on a horse was watching her.Hunter.As she stared at him, he turned his horse around and disappeared down the hill.
She couldn’t believe he’d found her spot, found her naked again.And just when she’d convinced herself the silly dreams she’d been having about him had ceased.
Her phone rang.It was her mother.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Sweetheart!”her mom laughed as she always did.
“How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine, I wish you’d stop worrying about me.”
“You had a stroke.”
“No, Willow, I had a mini stroke.We now know it’s because I have high blood pressure, but I’m taking medication, doing my exercises, and Janice and I go for regular walks.So stop worrying!I’m phoning about the all the activities of the weekend—starting with the Christmas Stroll tomorrow night.”
“Is it this weekend already?”
“Yep, I know you’ve been holed up in your studio for weeks now.You haven’t attended the last few Sunday lunches and Becket says you also don’t have meals with them anymore.Have you finished all your paintings?”
“Nearly.I have one more to go.Maybe.I’ll have to see.It will still be wet, so I’m not sure how to get to Seattle, but Greg would probably have a plan.”
“Who is Greg again?”
“The curator and owner of the gallery, Greg Davis.”
“Oh, yes, you’ve mentioned his name.I can’t wait to see what you’ve done.About tonight…”
“I’ll pick you up…”
