The more time I spent here, the more gorgeous it grew.
Or maybe I simply noticed more details. The way the sun shone through the Spanish moss, more enchanting than any stained glass window in a cathedral. The brightly colored lizards that scampered up the trunks of oaks that had been saplings when Columbus first landed on American shores. The way the moss-covered rocks at the edge of the forest stream glistened like emeralds.
For the first hour that we rode through the forest, we had been competitive, each trying to ride faster, to jump higher, to make our way through thinner openings and trickier landscapes. But we had slowed down now, taking mercy on our mounts and relaxing in each other’s presence. We rode together in companionable silence, moseying along and taking our time to digest all the beauty around us.
Or in my case, the beauty next to me.
I snuck another glance at Hunter. His shirt stuck to his skin with sweat, and it made my mouth water as I imagined peeling that thin cloth away.
We were, in unspoken agreement, riding our horses as close together as we could without spooking them. I was close enough to hear each breath Hunter took, to hear each shift of his body in the fine leather saddle, to almost imagine I could hear each beat of his heart.
And I could smell him, too—that sweet clean sweat scent, and the faint lingering honey of his cologne, and the slight vanilla scent of his shampoo, and oh, the scent of him was driving me mad, the humid air bringing it to life even stronger until I could smell nothing else, until desire hummed like a song between my legs and I rocked myself unconsciously against my saddle.
I imagined riding along on the same horse with him, his firm body pressed against my back. His strong arms would encircle me, holding me safe. His warm breath would ghost along my ear, and then his soft lips would caress my neck, and I would feel his cock harden against me, and I would lean back into him and moan—
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
Hunter’s voice broke me from my reverie, and I blushed, quickly looking away at the landscape to try to hide it.
“Yes, it is.” We had come to the edge of a sloping hill that gave a long view of nearly all of Hunter’s land, just in time to see the last bit of the sun slip below the lake, a faint memory of a glow still lighting that sapphire strip. “This place…every time I think I know it, it surprises me.”
Without looking away from the sunset, Hunter reached out and took my hand.
“This was my whole world when I was a child,” he said softly. “I thought Heaven itself could be no more beautiful than the land we had here, my family and I. Before they died, my grandfather used to take me fishing down by the stream, taught me how to watch for catfish and tickle their stomachs. My mother taught me to sail on that lake, how to taste the breeze and catch it, riding the power but not letting it overpower you. My father—” his voice caught slightly. “He liked to sit in the shade of the trees, and read Flannery O’Connor. Sometimes I walk by and I remember that so strong, it’s like I can still hear his voice.”
“You’ll always have those memories,” I said. I didn’t know if it was the right thing to say. I wanted it to be the right thing to say, wanted to comfort him, but there was so much I still didn’t know about Hunter, so much still to learn.
And I wanted to learn. I wanted to learn everything about him.
I wanted to give him the comfort he had lost, so long ago.
“But will I?” Hunter asked. “Oh, I know I can’t lose the land, and even if Chuck takes over the company he’ll have to lease the factory from me—but will the memories stay unsullied? Will I even deserve them if I let the company go?” His face twisted in what was almost agony before he twitched, shaking his melancholy off with visible effort. He turned to me, with a smile that was only a little strained. “But look at me, hogging all the good brooding for myself. Any dark secrets you want to get off your chest?”
It just popped out: “Well, I’ve secretly got the self-esteem of a red-headed stepchild from growing up in Paige’s shadow.”
I felt incredibly vulnerable as soon as I said it. I’d never stated it so baldly before.
But Hunter’s hand was warm in mine, and he didn’t pull away. He was there for me.
His brow furrowed. “I know your mother can be a trial. Has it been that bad?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. After awhile, anything can seem normal. It wasn’t ‘til I was in college that I realized that not every mother played favorites that way.” Now it was my turn to look off into the distance. “After that little taste of freedom, I couldn’t go back to the way things were before, all the little comparisons and slights and put-downs, never any praise no matter how hard I tried to be her. I had to be me. So I moved out of the house, and then I moved out of town.”
Hunter squeezed my hand. “That was very brave.”