Chapter Eighteen #2
Her brain was still a little scrambled as he pulled away and tugged on the shirt. He went over to his closet, but then he stopped and swore.
“What?” she asked.
“No big deal, just after we swing by Granny’s and deal with the dog, I’m going to have to go straight to work.”
“Seriously, you don’t have to—”
“I’m going.” His tone brooked no argument. “But I have a bunch of Scouts coming by after school lets out for a tour.”
“So?”
“Well.” He sighed and turned back toward the closet. “Just promise me you won’t laugh…”
As they got out of Hunter’s truck, Emma wasn’t laughing, so to speak. But she was filming.
“So tell me,” she asked, grinning widely, “how does it feel to be a real-life descendant of Smokey the Bear?”
Hunter glared at her, but she couldn’t take it very seriously, considering the way he was obviously fighting a smile. “First off, it’s Smokey Bear, no ‘the.’ And second, are you mocking the forest ranger uniform?”
“I would never,” she vowed solemnly, still holding up her phone to record him in said uniform.
He really should look incredibly dorky in the drab, olive-brown ensemble.
The canvas pants were stiff, the shirt buttoned all the way to his throat, and the jacket was square in a way that defied all logic.
The brass buttons and badges only added to the effect.
And yet somehow, on his big, muscular frame it sort of… worked.
He looked rugged and ready to save somebody from an avalanche at a moment’s notice.
Earlier, at the cabin, she’d made him try on the hat, too, and it had only enhanced the inexplicably dorky-sexy vibe.
He’d insisted on leaving the hat in the truck for the time being, which was probably for the best, but he still cut quite the figure, even without it.
He stopped on the sidewalk in front of Granny’s neighbor’s house, and he turned to her. “I’ll have you know, this uniform has a long and storied history.”
As if he were giving a lecture on the subject, he pointed to the various badges and patches on the jacket, crisply explaining their meanings.
Her brows rose as he schooled her on the proud tradition of the rangers. He clearly knew exactly how silly he looked, or he wouldn’t have warned her not to laugh before they’d left, but you’d never realize it, watching him now.
“This uniform deserves respect,” he concluded, crossing his arms. He tilted his chin up. “And also, Smokey Bear is a goddamn national treasure.”
“Amen,” she agreed dryly.
“You got all that?” he asked, dropping his pose.
She’d almost forgotten she was recording, swept up in his passionate declaration. She’d only pulled out her phone to be silly and grab a couple of pictures of him in the ensemble, but now it was something different.
“Yeah.” Pressing the button to end the recording, she lowered her phone. “You give any more thought to letting me get you started on social media? The internet would absolutely die over this.”
“Is dying a good thing or a bad thing in this context?”
“Good. Really good.”
“I don’t know.” He scuffed his hand through his hair, mussing it up in a way that only increased the sexy portion of the dorky-sexy situation. “Maybe.”
That stopped her in her tracks. “Wait—seriously?”
Huffing out a breath, he started up the walk. “I just said maybe.”
“That’s still a lot more open to the idea than you were the last time we discussed it.”
“Well, it’s like you said. If you want to reach people, you have to meet them where they are.”
Overcoming her shock at his change in attitude, she lurched back into motion, following him to the front door of the little white clapboard house.
Despite the old-fashioned design of the building, it had a modern keypad attached to the handle of the door.
She double-checked her phone for the code Granny had given her.
From inside, there was a rough bark and the sound of nails clattering on tile.
And that should have been her first warning.
Actually, Hunter insisting on coming with her should have been her first warning, but that meant this definitely should have been her second.
She still shrieked when a giant white, black, and tan dog—or maybe it was a very fluffy horse?—leapt at her the second she opened the door. “Holy sh—”
The dog bowled her right onto her rear end, licking at her face and panting excitedly. She lifted her arms to defend herself, but before she could do much of anything, the dog was being lifted off her.
“Down, boy,” Hunter rumbled.
As Emma rose to sit, the dog had both paws on Hunter’s shoulders and was going at the man with his tongue in a way that made her wonder if she should be jealous. Hunter just laughed, though, keeping a firm hold on the creature’s collar while allowing himself to be affectionately mauled.
“Mercutio, I presume?” Emma managed dryly.
At her voice, the dog rounded again, coming back to sniff at her.
His big, bushy tail was going seventy miles an hour, wagging back and forth.
Tentatively, Emma put her hands in the dog’s fur, giving him a few gentle pats and scratches.
That only excited the pup more, and he nosed at her neck, tickling her.
“The one and only,” Hunter confirmed. “See why I wanted to come with?”
It was a darn good thing he had. Granny’d told her that the dog would be crated, but apparently the neighbor’s mudroom-slash-entryway was their idea of a crate. If Hunter hadn’t grabbed the monster, he could have taken off, and she would have been in quite the pickle trying to chase after him.
“You are sweet,” she told the dog, taking his face in her hands. “But I still feel like I have been wildly misled.”
“It happens.” Hunter tugged Mercutio away again and nodded toward the open doorway. “Wanna see if there’s a leash somewhere in there?”
In an unexpected turn of events, the leash was exactly where Granny had told her it would be, hung on a hook just inside. She grabbed it and clipped it onto Mercutio’s collar, which was all the signal the dog needed, because just like that, he was off to the races.
“Whoa, boy,” she cried.
“Not a horse,” Hunter reminded her, closing the door while she ran after the dog, clutching the leash with all her might.
“You could have fooled me.”
Laughing, Hunter chased after them. He snagged the handle of the leash from her, and Emma let out a panting gasp of gratitude, her lungs burning from the unexpected sprint.
Even with Hunter’s impressive musculature, it took him some effort to reel the dog back in.
Mercutio turned and barked, staring at them with wide, puppy-dog eyes.
“You are way too big to be trying to charm us, buster,” Emma admonished.
“Hey, don’t judge him just on account of his size. He’s a big softie.”
“Emphasis on big,” Emma muttered, but she glanced up at Hunter. Mercutio wasn’t the only big softie out on this walk with her today. And by now, she definitely knew not to judge either of them based on appearances.
The dog clearly had a route he was used to, so once he demonstrated he wasn’t going to go careening into traffic, Emma and Hunter more or less let him take the lead.
This wasn’t a part of town Emma had explored much, so she was surprised when he ended up taking them through the gates of a little park.
“He’ll probably want to head over to the dog run,” Hunter said, tipping his head toward the right.
But the pup dawdled, wandering over to a big, red maple. He circled it a couple of times, sniffing the grass aggressively before squatting.
Oh, right. Emma pinched the bridge of her nose. “Crap, I forgot the bags.”
“Heh.” Hunter chuckled like a teenager. “Crap, indeed.”
“Grow up,” she needled, poking him with her elbow, but she laughed, too. Fortunately, she spotted a bag dispenser back by the entrance to the park, alongside a sign reminding folks to pick up after their pets. “Hold on.”