I closed my eyes briefly. “Please tell me it wasn’t?—”
“It wasn’t a skunk,” he assured quickly. “I would not be this calm and you would have smelled him coming up the road.”
“That’s reassuring in a limited capacity.”
Ian turned the hose back on and resumed spraying Mo, who had finally surrendered to the inevitable.
“I think it best if he avoids the Lodge for a few days,” Ian added. “At least until the gunslinger photo shoots are done.”
I looked at Mo. He looked back at me with complete innocence.
“You disrupted the photo shoot yesterday,” I reminded him. “You cannot go chasing livestock or cats or mysterious ground creatures while Ian is pretending to be an infamous gunslinger.”
Mo sneezed.
Ian chuckled. “He has strong opinions about authority.”
“Apparently.”
Another round of water and mud began sliding off in sheets. Mo was starting to resemble himself again.
“You’re aware,” I said carefully, “that you’re also covered in mud.”
Ian glanced down at himself.
“That’s collateral damage.”
“You look like you lost a fight with a swamp.”
“I won,” he said confidently. “He’s cleaner than I am.”
I stepped closer, studying the damage.
His jeans were plastered to his legs. Mud streaked across his model-perfect torso. And droplets of water ran down his handsome face.
“You do realize,” I said thoughtfully, “that if the studio saw you like this, they’d question their investment.”
He grinned. “Or hire me for a different type of photo shoot.”
I raised a brow.
He leaned slightly closer. “Rugged wilderness edition.”
I shook my head. “You are impossible.”
Mo chose that exact moment to shake again.
This time, Ian did not escape.
Neither did I.
Cold, muddy water splattered across my jeans and shirt.
I froze.
Ian slowly lowered the hose.
Mo looked pleased.
