Chapter 6 #2
They grabbed enamel plates heaped with smoky brisket, coleslaw and butter-slathered damper, then found a patch of shade under a gum tree near the edge of the gathering.
Sherlock, who’d come along and was now curled by her boots, looked perfectly content.
And as the music kicked off and the first few dancers braved the makeshift dance floor, with the warm approach of twilight, the scent of firewood and barbecued meat, it all felt disarmingly easy.
Brianna was just polishing off the last bite of her delicious apple crumble when she felt it.
That unmistakable shift in the air.
And then she saw him.
Hayden Pierce in all his knee-buckling, handsome glory.
He was over on the far side of the crowd, laughing at something Gavin said beside him, a guitar slung casually over one shoulder. He wore a navy button-up with the sleeves rolled, jeans that fit just right, and that same relaxed stance that made it look like he belonged to the land.
‘Oh no,’ Brianna muttered under her breath.
‘Oh yes.’ Molly followed her gaze, her expression the picture of innocence. ‘He knows how to play a great tune or two; you just wait and see.’
Brianna turned away quickly, pretending to focus on the stage.
But it was too late. Hayden had seen her.
His eyes met hers, all the way from across the crowd.
And he paused as if somebody had pressed a button, mid-laugh from something Gavin had said, but whatever the joke was evaporated as his focus landed squarely on her.
And then, in another couple of quickened heartbeats, he and Gavin were heading in her direction.
As much as she fought to remain composed, indifferent even, her heart betrayed her as it thumped against her ribs like a warning bell.
‘You okay?’ Molly asked, nudging her lightly.
Brianna forced a breath through her nose. ‘Yes, I’m dandy.’
‘Dandy hey.’ Molly’s smile was a little too knowing. ‘He looks happy, our resident horse whisperer.’ She glanced back at Brianna. ‘Does he look happy to you?’
‘Maybe, I couldn’t be sure,’ Brianna muttered, grabbing her drink for distraction. ‘But I am certain that he looks like trouble.’
Molly gave her a wicked grin now. ‘And you look like someone who’s about to flirt with it.’
Before Brianna could protest, Hayden and Gavin were within earshot.
And Molly was right, Hayden looked relaxed, happily so, in a charming, quietly dangerous kind of way.
Gavin, on the other hand, looked like a labrador off its leash, grinning from ear to ear, with two beers in hand and mischief radiating from his entire being.
‘G’day, ladies,’ Gavin greeted, tipping his hat like a parody of an old-school stockman. ‘Don’t you two look like trouble.’
Molly beamed. ‘That’s because we are.’
Brianna smiled politely, keeping her gaze mostly on Gavin. She didn’t trust herself to meet Hayden’s eyes just yet.
Hayden, standing just slightly behind his mate, offered a simple, ‘Hi, Molly, hi, Bri.’
Her name, spoken low and deliberate, wrapped around her like a silk scarf.
Mustering every single little incy-wincy bit of resolve, she finally looked at him.
Up and down, down and up – covertly, of course.
He had a fresh cut on his knuckle, the kind that told stories about wire fences or stubborn stallions.
His hair was still slightly damp at the edges, like he’d showered not long ago.
And he smelled leathery, spicy, delectable.
Damn it.
‘Hi, you two,’ she finally returned, proud that her voice didn’t waver.
‘You been here long?’ he asked, casual but focused.
‘Long enough to enjoy the food, a little too much of it though.’ She gestured to the plate of brisket bones and crumbs. ‘I feel like I’ve inhaled half of Sweetwater’s livestock.’
Gavin snorted. ‘That’s the way it should be. No one ever made good memories eating salads.’
Molly laughed. ‘Hear, hear.’
Hayden gave his mate a quick sideways glance, silent yet somehow full of words. Then turned his attention back to Brianna, his expression instantly unreadable.
‘Do you sing, Bri?’ Gavin asked suddenly.
‘What?’ She almost spat out her mouthful of beer.
‘You heard me.’ He tapped the guitar on Hayden’s back. ‘This one’s up in a bit. Thought we might rope you into a duet.’
‘Oh no,’ she laughed, raising both palms. ‘I’m strictly a shower-and-steering-wheel kind of singer.’
‘Oh trust me, I’ve heard the worst of the worst,’ Hayden said. Then he added with a small smirk, ‘Gavin being the worst.’
Gavin laughed like a man who’d never been insulted in his life. ‘True. But what I lack in talent, I make up for in enthusiasm.’
‘Sounds like a precarious combo,’ Brianna replied, smiling all the way from her disobedient heart.
Oh lordy, Hayden Pierce had powers she’d never experienced before, without even trying to.
She didn’t want to want Hayden, but here he was, with his muscles, sexy tattoos and dimple-clad slow and easy smile, easing his way into the contours of her life with every shared glance and subtle conversation as if he’d been born to do so.
Molly burst the bubble as she rose and dusted off her long bohemian skirt. ‘I’m grabbing another drink. You kids want anything?’
‘I’m good, thanks, Molly,’ Hayden said.
‘Some red wine, please, if they’ve got it,’ Brianna added.
‘I’m already loaded up.’ Gavin raised his two beers. ‘But cheers, Molly.’
As Molly headed off, Gavin made a dramatic bow. ‘And now, I’m going to bid you both farewell because I’m going to see if I can convince old Kev to let me sing “Down Under”.’
Hayden shook his head. ‘Ha, good luck, mate, old Kev is pretty protective of his microphone.’
‘Well, all I can say, Pierce, is if you hear dogs howling, it’s probably because I talked him into giving it over to me for a bit.’
Gavin spun on his boot heels and disappeared into the crowd. And instantly, the air between Brianna and Hayden shifted. More open. More electric. Hayden lowered himself onto the ground beside Sherlock, who sniffed him briefly then allowed a scratch behind the ear.
‘You’re a good-looking border collie, buddy,’ Hayden said, nodding towards Sherlock.
Brianna chuckled. ‘He sure is.’
‘They say dogs are like their owners. I reckon he’s a good fit for you, Bri.’
And there it was again, that gentle confidence, the way he could flirt without it feeling sleazy or forced.
Her heart leapt and then stumbled when he flashed her a quick, natural smile, before focusing back on Sherlock, who was bonding with him like he’d known Hayden forever.
And while Hayden didn’t know she was drinking him in, she looked at him.
Really looked. There was no pretence in his body language.
No games. Just sincerity and natural gallantry.
The music swelled nearby, some cover of a country ballad echoing through the night air.
And Brianna found herself so caught up in this man, in this moment, that she almost, in that instant, blurted out that she liked him.
What the hell was she doing?
Molly returned, arms full of drinks and eyes wide. ‘What did I miss?’
‘Nothing,’ Hayden said, rising and brushing the grass from his jeans. ‘Just saying g’day to this handsome pooch.’
Brianna stood as well, smoothing down her knee-length floaty dress. As Hayden turned to head towards the stage, she reached out instinctively, her fingers brushing his wrist – just a featherlight touch, but it was enough to make him pause.
‘Break a leg,’ she said, tilting her head, her tone light despite the butterflies flitting wildly in her chest. ‘But don’t sing anything by Nickelback.’
He grinned, eyes catching hers with that same disarming ease. ‘Now that’s a dealbreaker.’
And then he was gone, weaving through the crowd towards the stage with that slow, grounded stride that didn’t ask for attention but drew it all the same.
Brianna sat back down beside Molly, trying not to look as expectant as she felt. The band quietened. A few last laughs were hushed. Then Hayden stepped forwards, guitar in hand, and adjusted the mic with the practised ease of someone who didn’t mind being seen.
He didn’t say much. Just, ‘Evening,’ and a nod to the crowd.
And then he started to play.
The first notes were clean and slow, a fingerpicked melody that melted into the evening air like smoke curling from a campfire.
His voice followed – low, textured, warm with just enough gravel to make it feel honest. Like everything else about him.
And that was what undid her. She sat very still, one hand resting on Sherlock’s head, the other curled loosely around her wine glass.
The lyrics, old and poetic and tender, wrapped around her chest like an invisible thread, pulling tight in all the places she hadn’t expected.
She didn’t want to feel this.
She didn’t want it to feel so real.
But damn it, this man, this horse trainer with quiet eyes and callused hands, was peeling her open, one song, one glance, one moment at a time.
And tonight, she had no idea how to stop it.