5. Abigail
Chapter Five
ABIGAIL
I toss another rejected outfit onto my childhood bed, the growing pile a testament to my indecision.
Nothing feels right. Nothing feels like me. Or at least, not the me I want to be when Hunter sees me tonight.
I grab another sweater from my suitcase, determined to find something that says “professional but approachable” instead of “I can’t stop thinking about your hands on me.”
“That’s the seventh outfit you’ve tried on,” Melody points out from her perch on my window seat, one hand resting on her swollen belly. “For a business meeting about pasture rotation.”
I ignore the knowing lilt in her voice. “I’m representing the financial interests of the entire family. I need to look competent.”
“Mmmhmm.” My sister-in-law’s hum drips with disbelief. “And that has nothing to do with the fact that you’ll be alone with Hunter Thomas at his cabin?”
Heat crawls up my neck. “It’s a professional meeting.”
“Professional meetings don’t typically require forty minutes of outfit changes.” Melody shifts to find a more comfortable position. “And they definitely don’t involve the kind of looks you two were exchanging. Seriously, Abby, the electricity between you could power the entire ranch.”
“There was no electricity,” I protest weakly as I hold a navy blouse against my chest and study my reflection.
“Too corporate banker,” Melody says with a dismissive wave. “And please. Wyatt noticed it. Even practical, never-notices-anything Wyatt asked me if there was something going on between you two.”
I drop the blouse when my stomach does a strange flip. “He did not.”
“Did too. Right after you went upstairs and Hunter conveniently remembered he needed to check on something in the stables.” She raises an eyebrow. “At nine thirty at night.”
I sink onto the edge of my bed, defeated. “Is it that obvious?”
Melody’s smile softens. “Only to those of us who have eyes. And hearts. And basic observational skills.”
“Shit.” I pick at a loose thread on my jeans. “This is complicated, Mel.”
“Why? You’re a grown woman. He’s a grown man. Clearly there’s attraction. What’s complicated?”
I count off on my fingers. “One, he works for my brothers. Two, I live in Houston. Three...” I hesitate, not sure how to put into words the overwhelming heat that floods my system every time he looks at me, the way my body betrays me with a single touch from him. “Three, it’s intense. Too intense.”
Melody’s eyes widen slightly. “Too intense? Do tell.”
I shake my head, unable to stop the memory from washing over me. The storage room. My back against the wall. Hunter’s body pressing mine, his hands tangled in my hair as his mouth claimed mine in a kiss that still makes my knees weak just thinking about it.
“Earth to Abigail.” Melody snaps her fingers. “You just went somewhere very interesting.”
“Sorry.” I clear my throat. “It’s just... it’s a lot. The way he looks at me sometimes, it’s like he wants to devour me.”
“And that’s a problem because...?”
“Because I barely know him! I mean, I’ve known him since we were kids, sure, but not as an adult. Not like this.”
Melody grins mischievously. “Sounds like the perfect opportunity to get to know him better.”
“What if it gets weird? What if we start something and it ends badly and then every family gathering for the rest of our lives is awkward?” I stand up again, too restless to stay seated. “Hunter’s practically family. My brothers treat him like another Clayton.”
“Which is exactly why you shouldn’t worry.” Melody’s voice is gentle. “If your brothers thought anyone was good enough for their little sister, it would be Hunter. He’s a good man, Abby.”
After a moment, she walks to my closet and rummages through the clothes that still hang there from before I moved to Houston. She pulls out a soft blue sweater I’d forgotten I owned.
“This,” she says decisively, “with those dark skinny jeans you brought. It’s casual enough for ranch business but still makes your eyes look amazing.”
I take the sweater, the cashmere soft against my fingers. “I haven’t worn this in years.”
“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 them loose 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.”
My mind immediately supplies several inappropriate responses to that statement. I bite my lip to keep them contained.
The interior is even more impressive. It’s open and airy with vaulted ceilings and a stone fireplace. Modern amenities blend with rustic touches in a way that feels effortlessly masculine yet welcoming.
“I had no idea you were so good at this.” I run my finger along a beautifully crafted wooden shelf. “Engineering, design, craftsmanship. There’s a lot more to you than just ranch management, isn’t there?”
Something flickers in his eyes. “There’s a lot more to both of us than people usually see.”
The statement hangs between us, charged with meaning.
I clear my throat. “So, about those ranch improvement plans you wanted me to look at?”
Hunter chuckles, and his amber eyes warm as they meet mine. “Dinner first. I promised you a meal, and I’m a man of my word.” He guides me through the main room toward a kitchen that would make a professional chef jealous. Ingredients are already laid out on the counter. Steaks, fresh vegetables, a bottle of red wine breathing nearby.
To my surprise, Hunter places his hands on my waist and effortlessly lifts me to sit on the counter. The casual display of strength makes my stomach tighten.
“Best seat in the house,” he says with a wink, then steps between my knees to reach for a cutting board behind me. He’s close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the clean scent of his skin. Then he moves away, leaving me slightly breathless.
“Wine?” he asks, already reaching for glasses.
“Please.” I need something to occupy my hands.
He pours a generous amount into each glass and hands me one before turning to the vegetables. “So, Houston. Do you miss Wyoming when you’re there?”
It’s such a normal question, yet something about the way he asks it makes me feel like my answer matters.
“Sometimes. Usually when I’m stuck in traffic or when my apartment feels too small. I miss the space, the air. But I love my job too.”
“Tell me about it.” Remarkably, he seems genuinely interested.
As he moves confidently around the kitchen, our conversation flows easily. I tell him about my work in financial analysis and the satisfaction of helping companies streamline their operations. He shares stories about ranch life. Some funny, some challenging. I find myself laughing more than I have in months as the tension between us transforms into something comfortable yet electric.
“My turn to ask questions,” I say as he plates our food. “Montana. Why’d you leave?”
His hands pause briefly. “It was a good job. Great cattle operation, decent pay. But it wasn’t...” He searches for the right word. “It wasn’t home.”
The simple honesty in his voice touches something deep inside me.
“And this is?” I ask softly.
His eyes meet mine. “Getting there.”
Once dinner is ready, Hunter surprises me again by taking our plates not to the dining table I’d noticed earlier, but out through glass doors to the back porch. The view that greets me steals my breath. Mountains stretch out before us, painted in the golden hues of sunset, with valleys and forests creating a landscape so beautiful it hardly seems real.
“Hunter,” I whisper, momentarily speechless. “This view is incredible.”
He sets our plates on a small table positioned perfectly to capture the panorama. “One of the reasons I took the job. Your brothers knew what they were doing when they offered me this place.”
As we eat on the porch, we share more of ourselves than I expected. I talk about my ambitions in finance and the pride I take in being independent while still contributing to the family legacy. Hunter shares stories about his time in Montana and his journey to becoming a respected ranch manager despite his unconventional background.
Darkness settles around us as we talk, and the temperature drops with the sun. Without interrupting our conversation, Hunter builds a fire in a stone pit on the edge of the porch. The flames cast a warm glow across his features as he returns to sit beside me after refilling our wine glasses.
We settle into cushioned chairs near the fire, close enough that I could reach out and touch him if I wanted to. And I do want to, with an intensity that should frighten me.
A comfortable silence falls between us, filled only by the crackling of the fire and the distant sounds of the wilderness.
“So,” I say finally, swirling the wine in my glass. “Are we ever going to discuss those pasture improvement plans?”
Hunter’s laugh is low and rich in the firelight. When he turns to look at me, his expression has changed, all pretense gone.
“The truth is, Abby, I didn’t bring you here for ranch business.” His voice drops lower, and it sends shivers across my skin despite the fire’s warmth. “I wanted to be alone with you. Without interruptions. Without your brothers. Without pretending there isn’t something happening between us.”
My heart hammers against my ribs. “What is happening between us, Hunter?”
“Something I’ve never felt before.” He holds my gaze with an intensity that makes it hard to breathe. “Something that started the moment I pulled you off that cliff and hasn’t stopped since.”
The memory flashes between us of me, slipping on the rocky ledge during a ride inspection, Hunter’s strong arms catching me just before I fell, our bodies pressed together for the first time.
The honesty in his words draws me to him like a magnet. I set my wine glass aside and move from my chair to his, our bodies close in the flickering firelight. He raises his hand to cup my face and brushes his thumb across my lower lip. I lean into his touch, unable and unwilling to resist any longer.
When our lips meet, it’s like a dam breaking. The kiss deepens immediately, mouths opening, tongues sliding together in a dance that feels both new and familiar. Hunter pulls me onto his lap so my thighs straddle his, and I tangle my hands in his hair. His grip on my waist is firm, possessive in a way that makes heat pool low in my belly.
I’ve never been kissed like this, like I’m essential, like the person kissing me would rather die than stop. He slides his hands under my sweater, finding the bare skin of my back, and I arch into him, wanting more.
A distant rumble interrupts the moment. We break apart, breathless, and look up to see dark clouds gathering on the horizon, backlit occasionally by flashes of lightning. Fat raindrops begin to fall and quickly become a steady downpour.
“I should probably get you back to the ranch,” Hunter says reluctantly as we stand, though everything in his posture contradicts his words.
Lightning flashes and illuminates his face for a brilliant second, showing the hunger in his eyes and the tension in his jaw. It’s followed immediately by a crack of thunder that seems to shake the ground beneath us.
I look from the storm to Hunter, and a decision crystalizes in my mind.
The ranch is at least twenty minutes away on these back roads. The storm is directly overhead now, which makes driving dangerous. At least, that’s what I tell myself as certainty fills me.
“Or,” I say, my voice steady despite my racing heart, “I could come inside with you and see where the night takes us.”
The hunger in Hunter’s eyes makes my breath catch. There’s a question there too, a final chance to back away from the edge we’re standing on.
I’ve spent my life being practical, responsible Abigail. The good daughter. The sensible sister. For once, I want to be the woman who takes what she wants.
Hunter extends his hand to me, a simple gesture that asks everything. Without hesitation, I take it, lace my fingers through his, and follow him back inside.