Page 18 of Mountain Rancher

“Trust me.” Melody heads for the door. “I’m going to waddle back downstairs before your nephew decides to practice his kickboxing routine on my bladder again. You finish getting ready. And Abby?” She pauses in the doorway. “It’s okay to want things for yourself sometimes.”

After she leaves, I change into the outfit she suggested, surprised at how right it feels. The sweater hugs my curves without being too obvious, and the color does bring out my eyes. I run a brush through my blonde curls, opting to leave themloose around my shoulders. Just a touch of mascara and lip gloss, and I’m ready. At least on the outside.

Inside, my heart hammers against my ribs like it’s trying to escape. I take a deep breath and head downstairs just as a knock sounds at the front door. Through the window, I can see Hunter’s truck parked in the driveway, and my stomach does that flipping thing again.

I reach the bottom step just as Brody opens the door and greets Hunter with a solid handshake. They’re deep in conversation about something ranch-related when I approach, but Hunter’s words die midsentence when he catches sight of me. His eyes darken and sweep over me in a way that makes my skin prickle with awareness.

“Abby.” His voice is rougher than it was a moment ago. “You look... nice.”

“Thanks,” I manage, hyper-aware of Brody’s curious glance between us.

“You kids have fun talking about pasture rotation,” Brody says, a little too innocently. “Don’t forget we’re having brunch in the morning.”

“I’ll have her back at a reasonable hour.” Something in Hunter’s tone suggests he’s not entirely committed to that idea.

The thought sends a shiver down my spine.

“Ready to go?” Hunter asks, and I nod, not trusting my voice.

As we step outside into the cool evening air, his hand settles at the small of my back. It’s a touch so light it could be accidental, yet so deliberate it makes my breath catch. Neither of us speaks as he guides me to his truck and opens the passenger door for me.

The meeting about pasture improvements suddenly feels like the flimsiest of pretexts, and we both know it. Yet we’re going through with the charade and drive away from my family’s ranch toward his cabin, where we’ll be completely alone.

My body burns at the thought.

The cab of Hunter’s truck surrounds me with his scent of pine and leather and something distinctly male that makes my pulse quicken. Despite my nerves, conversation flows between us with surprising ease as we wind along the country roads leading away from the main ranch. The tension is still there, humming like an electric current beneath our casual words, but it doesn’t feel uncomfortable. It feels like anticipation.

“Sorry I was running late,” Hunter says, his strong hands relaxed on the steering wheel. “We had a situation with one of the new foals in the south stable.”

“Is everything okay?” I ask, genuinely concerned. The ranch’s breeding program has always been Wyatt’s pride and joy.

Hunter’s mouth curves into a smile, transforming his serious face. “She’s a fighter. The vet wasn’t sure she’d make it. She had a rough birth and got tangled in the cord, but she’s already standing and nursing.”

The pride in his voice warms something inside me. I watch his profile as he drives, the strong line of his jaw, the tiny scar near his right eyebrow that I’ve always wondered about.

“Have you named her yet?” I ask.

He glances at me and something soft settles into his expression. “Not yet. Maybe you have an idea? She’s chestnut with a white blaze and three white socks. Tiny little thing, but determined as hell.”

The casual invitation into this part of his world feels significant. Like he’s opening a door and asking me to step through.

“I’d have to meet her first,” I say. “Names are important.”

“Tomorrow.” He says the word simply, as if it’s already decided we’ll be spending time together again. The assumption should bother me, but instead, a flutter of excitement rises in my chest.

We turn onto a narrow gravel road that winds through a stand of pines. I know this general area but have never been to Hunter’s cabin itself. When the trees part to reveal the structure ahead, I can’t hide my surprise.

“Hunter, this is gorgeous.”

It’s not the basic accommodation I expected for a ranch manager. The cabin sits nestled against the backdrop of mountains, with a wraparound porch and large windows reflecting the setting sun. Natural stone and weathered wood blend seamlessly, creating something that looks like it belongs in an architectural magazine.

He shrugs as he parks, but I can see the quiet pride in his expression. “It was just a shell when your brothers hired me. Part of my contract was renovating it how I wanted.”

He comes around to open my door. As I step down, his hand steadies me, the brief contact sending warmth spiraling through my body.

“You did this yourself?” I ask as we walk toward the front steps.

“Most of it. Had help with some of the electrical and plumbing, but the design and construction...” He trails off. “I like working with my hands.”

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