Page 9 of Slow Hands Cowboy

Including the gardener.

As had been the case with their mother.

So, Addison knew she had to do a little bit of everything, a jack of all trades, master of none was a phrase that often stuck out to her, but the one thing she had mastered, she supposed, was the art of making people interested in the little bits that she did.

It was why, she thought, she would be a good mayor for the town.

Because she was interested in a lot of things, because she knew the sorts of things that people might want to do when they came to town.

This trail ride was definitely going to be something that she recommended to her followers. Even just a few minutes in she was sure of that.

It started on a trail that led deep into some trees and wound along a river.

The promise was that it would eventually wind up the side of a mountain and provide a view of the famous painted hills in Mustang River. They weren’t the painted hills that people thought of when they thought of the painted hills, part of the John Day National Monument area out near Bend, but they looked similar. Mounds of fine sand shot through with ribbons of gold and red, and thick black paintbrush strokes that went against the grain. Like a divine hand had reached down and added just a few more details to the landscape before calling it finished.

They would be having dinner at that view. It was quite an expensive package, but worth it, Addison thought, and her father had been happy to pay for it.

That thought made her feel slightly uncomfortable. Yes, her father was paying for the wedding, which was traditional, but there was something about it that served to remind her of how much she had because of him.

It was easy for her to feel like all of this was her own accomplishment sometimes.

Because she was relatively accomplished, she had a degree, she had started a business, she had a good reputation around town, she had a robust following online.

But the bulk of her life was bankrolled by her father, and a lot of what she had access to was based around his generosity.

Strings attached.

She rejected that thought.

It wasn’t going anywhere, and it didn’t help anything.

Though, once she banished that thought, she was forced to engage with Walker.

“So where do y’all know each other from?”

“I’m from here,” she pointed out, not irritated, but like it was perfectly reasonable Walker might’ve forgotten, because he was such an important figure now. Prominent, she supposed, in his own way, which was a strange thing to realize.

“I remember you,” he said, and she was a little bit worried that Anna was going to fall straight off of her horse.

“I met her at college,” Denisha said.

“So did I,” Lydia said. “We were roommates.”

“The three of you?”

“Yes. For all four years. It was great.”

It had been great. It had been her first real taste of independence, a moment in her life when she had been disconnected from the pressure of being a Carey.

From carrying her father’s good reputation, and her mother’s bad one.

“And how about you and that fiancé of yours?”

He turned just slightly on his horse when he asked the question, and her heart slammed against her chest. She didn’t know why.

Maybe because she and Walker never made conversation, but she needed her body to realize that this was just him doing his job. He would be this interested in anybody, because it was a normal thing to ask a bride when you were doing a whole wedding, and wedding events at the ranch.

“Oh we… high school,” she said.