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“Are you complaining about their names?”
————
Considering Hunter was someone who grew up in the house on this land with a wide array of horses and horse-related activities throughout his youth, I don’t know why I had assumed he couldn’t ride.
But holy shit, could he ever. And it did nothing to help the swirling thoughts in my head.
“Thought you said you grew up on the back of a horse,” he shouted over his shoulder, a wicked grin across his cheeks. He was more than ten yards in front of me, his horse following every command he gave. Elizabeth, it seemed, was less cooperative.
I didn’t give him the decency of a response. Instead, I squeezed Elizabeth a little tighter with my legs, hoping she’d at least listen to that since she hadn’t picked up on my sound cues. She trotted a little faster, but not nearly enough to catch up with him.
“Come on,” I muttered to her, squeezing just a little more before releasing. “Please.”
Her speed picked up, but still not enough to pass, only enough to catch up to them before she decided she’d rather canter in time with her friend, Darcy, than speed past him.
“She’s a bit feisty,” Hunter said.
“She barely cooperates.”
“I wasn’t talking to you.” The grin he flashed was all teeth and ego. Asshole.
The journey didn’t take long by way of horseback. By the time I’d thought of something witty to say back to him, we’d reached a clearing in the wooded field, a small lake taking up the majority of space between the trees. The reflection of the sun rippled across the top of the water, nearly blinding me as the rays hit my eyes when I slowly dismounted from Elizabeth.
She huffed at me.
“Remind me why I hired you if you’re so bad with horses.” Hunter pulled the picnic basket from the saddlebag as he glanced at me, along with a stereotypical checkered blanket and a couple of champagne flutes wrapped in a protective layer of… boxers. Christ.
“If you’re going to poke and prod, don’t expect me to be nice to you,” I snapped. Hooking Elizabeth to the old, rotting post, she exhaled roughly, coating my hand in a thin layer of horse snot. I wiped it on the back of my overalls.
“It’s called banter, Lottie.”
“It’s called pissing me off.”
Hunter passed me Darcy’s reins, a silent request to tie him up as well while he set up whatever the hell this was. I only obliged because I didn’t want to fight with him nonstop for the next six months. I needed to pick my battles.
Darcy let out a soft neigh while I tied him next to his friend. I wasn’t sure whether it was directed at me or her, but from the slight second of eye contact and nuzzle against my hand, I hoped it was me.
Beyond where Hunter laid out the blanket and set up the champagne flutes, the trees extended for at least another mile before the land sloped upwards sharply, the rocky base of the mountain lending itself to the name of the national park the land sat against. The view was exceptional, and at least ten times better than the one from Dad’s porch.
“Is this you trying to be romantic?” I joked, stepping up toward the blanket and plopping myself down ass first. I pulled off my boots one by one, setting them off to the side in the dry dirt so I wouldn’t get mud on the leather. This blanket probably cost more than my car, I thought to myself.
“If you want to call it that, you can.” Hunter unbuttoned the front of his suit jacket and let it slide from his shoulders. I glared at him. “I’m not undressing, Lottie. Calm down.”
“You know, we could’ve just hung out in my shared office. I doubt Hank would have even noticed.” I leaned back on my hands and stretched my legs in front of me. I was grateful for the break from the stables and pounds of research that Hank was making me pour through, but I wasn’t about to tell him that.
“I should just let him retire now. But he’s the only one who knows the job well enough to show you the ropes and pass off the reins.” Hunter chuckled lightly as he looked over at me, the sun catching the high points of his face. It made him look even more unreal, more unnaturally attractive. It was a goddamn crime that he existed, like some kind of sick, twisted temptation dangling from a fishing line. “But I thought maybe coming out here, away from everything, could, I don’t know… help us get more on the same page, help you to calm down and clear your mind.”
“I don’t need to calm down.”
Hunter snorted. “Okay. Sure you don’t.”
He flipped the lid of the basket open and plucked out two whole baguettes, a slightly messy cheese platter, and a bottle of champagne.
“You are absolutely trying to be romantic.”
He laughed as he broke off a piece of the baguette and loaded it with one of the soft cheeses. The muscles in his hands flexed and tightened as he worked, and my God, they were transfixing to watch. His hands were made to touch skin, to hold, to be held, to push those fingers inside of me?—
“Charlotte?”
