Chapter Four
Zoey’s face burned even as her hips swayed. Darn it all if Hunter wasn’t watching her walk out of the barn. Could she be more awkward? She usually had game. Flirting came easily. But with Hunter, it all felt like it meant … more. Weird.
Brandon eyed Zoey from the front of the house, his intelligent gaze seeing more than Zoey was comfortable with. Her flirty walk screeched to a halt at the sight of her brother, and it turned into a scurry. She met him at her truck, where he stacked her boxes in the bed of her truck.
“What?” she asked, feigning innocence.
“Why are you here?” Brandon asked. He stared hard at the open barn door, implying she might have an interest in what was inside.
He couldn’t tell that her heart raced—not with a look. So pretending that it wasn’t trying to take off with Olympic speed was her best bet. “I miss you, and I want to spend time with you,” she said. “Is that so bad?”
“Of course not. I just wish you told me you were coming,” he said.
Of course he wished that. If she’d told him, he would’ve tried to talk her out of it. It was also why she’d left only two days after her talk with Rick—she didn’t want to give him time to pry out of her what she was going to do. She had to ambush them both—with Allie’s help, of course, bless her. She grinned. They’d be having Thanksgiving dinner together before they figured out what she’d done.
She reached for a box, and he took it from her. “Follow me,” he said.
She rolled her eyes and grabbed a much lighter duffel bag. Ultimately, he’d let her carry in some things—it’d take too long otherwise—but not anything too heavy. That’d always been his way. Rick’s too. Gentlemanly behavior had been pounded into them by their dad. If Rick had been here too, she’d be inside unpacking and directing them where to put things, like she’d been taught by her mom. She appreciated the sentiment, but she wanted to help. Didn’t want to be left out. Plus, it was her stuff.
She said nothing, though. Like always.
He led her around the back of the house, down a cobblestone path to a quaint little one-story cottage that sat in the thicket next to their woods. Behind the main house was a large, open field that went on at least a quarter-mile to a large river. It was covered with downed tree branches, weeds, and overgrown underbrush. She shuddered, thinking of the critters and slithery things that probably lived in there. She glanced around, looking for the arena.
“So where do I ride here?” she asked.
“We have trails on our property, but if you want to practice, you’ll have to use the Westbrooks’ arena.”
Zoey almost came to a stop. “You don’t have an arena?”
Brandon shook his head. “I trail ride now. When I want to rope, I join the Westbrooks. You’re the rodeo queen.”
“I never queened, and you know it.”
Brandon smirked. “You should have; you would have killed it.”
She grinned. “Who are the Westbrooks?” she asked, throwing a skip in her step to catch up with her brother’s much longer gait.
“You know Hunter.” He nodded in the direction of the barn. “He was shoeing the horses.”
She gulped. Dagnabbit, she didn’t want to be in that man’s debt and use his arena. “Isn’t there anywhere else? Or maybe I could pay them?”
They stopped at the little door of the guest house, and Brandon maneuvered the boxes in his grasp to open it. He let her go inside first. “If you feel weird about it, you can muck out their stalls.”
She chuckled. Yeah, right. What a kidder.
They made their way into the little cottage. A living room and a kitchen were right inside the door, and the place was decorated in the most beautiful handmade furniture she’d ever seen. The kitchen had an island and white cupboards, the floors were a stained gray wood, and the couch in the living room looked like the perfect place to curl up with aHorse and Houndmagazine. Allie had even left a bouquet of sunflowers on the table for her, next to three jars of honey in different flavors. “It’s cute.”
They set their boxes on a round kitchen table with four chairs. “Allie’s dad made most of the furniture in here.” Brandon lightly touched the back of a wood rocking chair.
She glanced out the kitchen window to the wide, open field. She knew that touch—the kind that you did so you could feel closer to a person who had died but left something behind. She did that same thing to a bottle of Dad’s cologne every morning on her way out the door.
The furniture was beautiful—handcrafted with love. Plus, she liked the way her brother regarded it like it was something special, not just because of its value, but because of its worth to his wife. He felt about Allie the way their dad had felt about their mom.
A lump formed in her throat as a feeling of loss, and maybe a little missing out, grew in the pit of her stomach. She wanted that someday, but she doubted it was in the cards for her. All the men she’d ever met paled in comparison to her dad and brothers’ wit, smarts, and gentlemanly ways. Plus, she’d never met a guy who could hold his ground with her. Guys were always intimidated by her.
She cleared her throat, shaking herself from her maudlin thoughts. “Have you thought about building your own arena?”
Brandon ran a hand over the back of his neck. “Yeah, but there’s a lot to be done around here—it’s not something I have time for.”
