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“What the fuck are you doing here?” I hissed. “And how the hell did you know I work here?”
He closed the distance, coming far too close to Marianne for her liking, but all she did was huff. His hand lifted in front of my face, and there, dangling on his pinky, was my mother’s necklace. “Seems Cinderella left me with a glass slipper.”
I snatched it from his hand and stuffed it into the front pocket of my overalls. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“I figured you’d put two and two together, since you know my name,” he drawled. “I have ways of finding whoever I need to find, beautiful stranger.” He leaned against the side of Marianne’s stall, muscles that I hadn’t been able to see through his suit now on full display. I hated that I’d be thinking about those later. “Who’s this?”
I narrowed my gaze at him. “Marianne. She doesn’t like strangers.”
Marianne snorted before letting out a soft neigh, her snout angling toward him. Fucking traitorous bitch.
“Seems like she’s pretty friendly,” Hunter grinned. He stroked her gently on the top of her snout, little hairs that I needed to de-shed flying off.
I huffed out a sigh. “Look, thank you for bringing me my necklace. I really appreciate it. But I’m in the middle of work and we’re not supposed to allow anyone in here, so if you could carry on with whatever the hell else you’re doing in Oahu, that would be great.”
A soft tsk, tsk oozed from his lips as he scratched at the spot between Marianne’s ears. “Trying to get rid of me already? And here I thought I’d done you a favor.”
The look he leveled at me made my blood run cold. Green eyes ran along my body just as they had last night, but there was no whiff of alcohol on him this time. Granted, the manure in Marianne’s stall was the dominant scent.
He sniffed at the air, almost as if he’d known exactly where my thoughts had wandered to and picked up the pitchfork that leaned against the outside of the stall.
“What are you?—”
He drove the fork into the pile of literal shit and hay behind Marianne. “Helping.”
I narrowed my gaze at him again. “I’m perfectly capable of doing my own job,” I snapped. I took a step toward him, reaching out for the fork, but he held it further away and out of reach.
“You sure about that?” he drawled, every syllable dripping with sarcasm as his booted foot tapped against Marianne’s bucket. “Looks to me like you can’t even keep hold of a brush.”
Oh my God. “Maybe if you hadn’t scared the shit out of me, it wouldn’t have slipped from my hands.”
He snorted as he shoveled the manure-laden hay into a singular pile by the front of the stall. “I thought stable hands were meant to keep a good grip on all accessories, grooming included. Granted, it’s been a long time since I worked in the stables.”
I crossed my arms over my chest, pretending not to notice Marianne’s incessant huffing for attention. “I’ll have you know, I’ve worked with horses for as long as I can remember, and I’ve been a stable hand since I was eighteen.”
“Have you, now?” Hunter asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Yes. And I’ve got a Bachelor of Science in Equine Management and Welfare.”
He leaned back, his head popping up around the side of Marianne’s head, nothing but a shit-eating grin on his face. “Then what are you doing working at a random ranch in Oahu? Surely, you’re better than this.”
Fuck.
There was a reason I’d ran the second he’d said his name last night. I didn’t need him digging into me, didn’t need him putting the pieces together. My father, Brody Hammersmith, was Hunter’s business mentor on all things within the equine space. Hunter knew who I was in theory, but I’d managed to keep myself out of their working relationship for the years that Dad had been tied to him.
“Running away from my problems, obviously,” I mumbled. Though it seems like I’d found myself a new one.
I pulled my gloves off and stepped out of the stall, locking eyes with Dana for a split second as I made my way across the stable and toward the wheelbarrow. She wiggled her brows at me.
Don’t, I mouthed.
As I wheeled it over to Marianne’s stall, Hunter was already poised and ready to chuck the majority of the manure into the barrow. “Who’d you work for, then?” he asked, throwing in the scoop with a smack. “I know pretty much everyone in that scene back in Boulder.”
“None of your business,” I grunted as I set the wheelbarrow down on its stand. I knew the moment the name left my mouth it would be the end of me. I’d known what associating with that name would do to me, and yet, I’d thrown myself into it anyway. “Why do you care?”
He shrugged and wiped away the small sheen of sweat that had built on his forehead, the biceps of his left arm far too taut. “I may or may not have an open position on my ranch if you were thinking of coming back to Colorado.”
My boots scuffed to a stop on the concrete floor. “What?”
