“I think covering the history of the area would be great. Both the town and the ranch itself. The story’s up on the website, so you can use what’s there. As for the town, it used to rely on silver mines, and when that came to a close in the seventies, the town began a pretty quick economic decline. Riverbend Gap’s town council made a risky decision to switch to tourism. They petitioned to have the Appalachian Trail come right down Main Street. It was apparently a big deal and took a while to get the Trail Conservancy on board, much less the time it took to reroute the trail. But it ended up being beneficial for the hikers, who wouldn’t have to hitch rides into the nearest towns to restock supplies.”
“I had no idea. The plan obviously worked. Most of the businesses here seem to be geared around the hikers.”
“And most people who come through never hear that little tidbit, so it would be great to include it in your spiel. The man primarily responsible for the rerouted trail passed away years ago, but his family—the Robinsons—still live in town. Gavin and Wes, who are building the barn, are part of that family.”
“What a great legacy.”
“Yeah.” She’d thought for a brief moment that it was her legacy, too, Jeff Robinson being the son of the man who’d led the town’s revitalization efforts. She pushed aside the thought. “Facts about the Appalachian Trail would be great to include too. Its length, how many months it takes to complete, and how many people set out to do it—only one quarter actually make it.”
“I’ll do that.”
“You could talk about trail names too. Every hiker ends up with a trail name, usually given to them by another hiker. When you meet someone on the trail, that’s the name you give. My dad gave me the name Flash when we hiked. You know, my red hair and my apparent need to get places in a hurry. Emerson’s name was Sprout because she was no taller than a bean sprout.”
“You don’t seem to be in a rush these days.”
“I’ve slowed down in my old age.”
He tossed a grin over his shoulder. “Yeah, you must be getting up there. What are you, all of twenty-five?”
“Twenty-six—and four months.” Had he been fishing for her age? She was curious about his too. “You can’t be that much older.”
“Thirty-four.”
Eight years wasn’t that much. Dad had been seven years older than Mom. And why was Charlotte thinking along those lines? She gave her head a hard shake.
Her warmblood went for a snack again, and she pulled the reins and added, “Heeey,” when she failed to comply. “Stella likes to snack on the journey. So I saw you’ve mostly worked around the Midwest. Is that where you’re originally from?”
He hesitated before answering. “Yeah, Minnesota.”
That surprised her. “What brought you to horse country? A job?”
“No, I...”
Stella bent down to feed on the trailside grass, and Charlotte tugged the reins and urged her on. Horses could choke when they ate with a bit in their mouths. Besides, snacking would slow down the trail riders.
Gunner still hadn’t answered. Maybe he hadn’t heard her.
“When I was a kid,” he finally said, “I moved to Frankfort, Kentucky, to live with my grandfather.”
“I’ve heard good things about Frankfort.” She wondered what had happened but didn’t want to pry. He’d had to pick up his life and start over somewhere else. That couldn’t have been easy. There was so much more she wanted to know. Had he liked living with his grandfather? Did he have any siblings?
But they weren’t friends. She was his boss, and she’d done enough prying around what might be the sticky parts of his life. It was definitely better to keep things professional.
“How did you end up getting interested in horses?” she asked.
“A friend of my grandpa’s had a ranch and needed some help. Also, my grandpa decided I needed something to keep me busy after school and on weekends.” The shift in conversation eased his posture. Even his voice sounded less tense.
“Was he right?”
“Oh yeah. Can’t say I loved mucking out stalls, but getting paid was nice. And I liked the horses.”
“Well, you’ve clearly worked your way up from stable hand. And I think it’s fair to say the horses like you too.”
“It’s a two-way street,” he said.
“That it is.”
“I assume you were born to ranching since this place has been in your family three generations.”
