She patted him on the arm, how he imagined she might with her own sons. Which made him wonder...
“If you don’t mind me asking, why aren’t you having Nathan or Ryan do it?” Heck, even Simon wasn’t busy with his sheriff’s duties all the time.
“Those boys are going ten different directions if they’re going one. No telling when they’d get around to it.”
Hunter knew that feeling, but he was thankful it applied to the Teague men, as well. That meant the painting job would fall to him and help fill the Millbrook coffers. And even though nothing would likely come of it, he’d accept the opportunity to spend more time around Angel. He’d deal with the inevitable withdrawal symptoms when they were both back to their normal lives on opposite sides of the county.
* * *
“You’ll never guess who I ran into in town today,” Diane Hartley said as she turned away from the refrigerator where she’d been stowing leftovers following dinner.
Angel glanced at her mom before loading more dishes into the dishwasher. “No idea.”
For a tense moment, Angel wondered if her mom was going to say Hunter’s name. Angel had been trying to stop thinking about him since she left the gallery—with zero success.
“Chris Ross. I always liked him. Made me sad when you two broke up.”
“Are you kidding?” Sloane said as she deposited the last of the dirty dishes in front of Angel. “He was such a little—”
Angel met her sister’s eyes and mentally filled in what Sloane had been about to say but had stopped for their mom’s benefit.
“Why would you say that?” Diane asked.
“Because he went out with someone else while we were dating.” Angel didn’t reveal the whole truth—that by “went out with someone else” she meant “slept with someone else.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry, honey,” her mom said as she placed a comforting hand on Angel’s arm. “I had no idea.”
“No need to apologize. It was forever ago, and it wasn’t as if we’d been going out for ages.”
Sure, five months, but still, when you compared it with something like Lauren had been through—or even what Angel later experienced with Dave—it didn’t matter that much. But it had hurt at the time and was yet another failure in Angel’s relationship history. If she had any sense, she’d give up on men forever. But it was so hard not to want the kind of happiness and connection she saw her siblings enjoying with their spouses, the same type of deep devotion that her parents had to one another.
If only she could be sure everything would work out—for her sake and her daughter’s.
Her mom looked as if she might be about to say something else before she clamped down on whatever it was and instead escorted her grandchildren out to the backyard to play with Maggie, the family’s Australian shepherd.
“You know she’s dying to find someone for you,” Sloane said as she leaned back against the sink.
“I know. I’m honestly surprised she’s holding herself in check. If she married me off, she’d have a complete set.”
“I think she blames herself for what happened with Dave.”
Angel stopped halfway to loading a dirty plate into the dishwasher. “What? That makes no sense.”
“In her mind it does. She feels she should have seen the signs, should have warned you, protected you.”
“It was my fault for trusting the wrong guy. I seem to be good at that.”
“Don’t.”
“What? Tell the truth? You can’t deny my dating history is full of epic failures.”
“You’re not alone in that.”
Angel winced. Of course, she wasn’t. Sloane and Lauren were proof enough of that fact. “Sorry.”
“I wasn’t fishing for sympathy or an apology. Just pointing out that no matter what happened in the past, the future isn’t written yet. You can make it whatever you want—with whomever you want.”
Angel’s thoughts went right to Hunter, which made about as much sense as her mom blaming herself for Angel’s failed romances.
“Um, what is that look?” Sloane pointed toward Angel’s face, apparently seeing more than Angel had intended.
She pretended she didn’t notice and wiped at her cheek. “Do I have food on my face?”
“No, you have ‘I have a guy in mind’ on your face.”
“I do not.” Angel made a dismissive sound and went back to loading the dishwasher.
“Who is he?”
“There is no he. You’re imagining things.”
“No, pretty sure I’m not, and rest assured, I’ll get the information out of you eventually.”
Angel’s thoughts shifted to how Lauren had teased her about Hunter at the gallery. But based on Sloane’s questions, Lauren hadn’t said anything. At least nothing specific.
“Can’t get what’s not there.”
“Deny it all you want, but I know what I saw.”
“Believe whatever you want. I can’t stop you.”
“It’s okay to just have a little fun, you know. If you’re not ready for a relationship, you can just, shall we say, scratch an itch.”
Angel’s mouth dropped open as she stared at her sister. “Did you seriously just encourage me to go out and get laid by the first guy I come across?”
“Maybe not the first guy, especially if he’s really unappealing. Or married.”
Angel rolled her eyes, closed the dishwasher and started the cycle.
“All I’m saying is that you’ve spent the entirety of Julia’s life alone. She’s in school now, and you deserve something for yourself. Someone to get the blood pumping.”
Well, the sight of Hunter Millbrook’s ass encased in those worn jeans had accomplished that already, but she wasn’t about to tell Sloane that piece of information. If she gave any sort of signal that she was ready to enter the dating world again, Angel knew she would be opening the floodgates of matchmaking. When she did take that step, she’d like to navigate her own path. No suggestions from her well-meaning mother. No endless teasing from her siblings. No getting on the radar of Blue Falls matchmaker Verona Charles, who, despite finally finding a love of her own in Lauren’s grandfather, still persisted in doing her best to play Cupid.
At the sound of Sloane’s laughter, Angel looked over at her sister.
“I don’t know how you ever kept anything away from Mom and Dad,” Sloane said. “I can see right through you.”
“Don’t you have a husband you can go home to and bother instead?”
“If my little sister is up to babysitting her nephew, maybe I’ll go scratch an itch of my own.”
“There are just some things I don’t need to know.”
Sloane laughed again as she backed toward the door. “But you’ll keep Brent tonight?”
“You know I will, despite you being highly annoying.”
“Thanks, sis. And when you’re ready, I’ll watch Julia.”
In the quiet that descended on the kitchen after Sloane’s departure, Angel dared let herself fantasize just a little bit about what it might be like to spend some adult time with Hunter. Some itch-scratching hours free of responsibility. The mere thought made her squirm, so she headed for the back door and three things sure to push lustful thoughts out of her head—a hyper dog playing catch, two energetic children and her mother.
But as she sank onto the bench of one of the picnic tables and watched the kids playing, damned if images of Hunter Millbrook smiling down at her from that hot roof didn’t plague her as if she were alone and allowing her fantasies free rein.
* * *
Hunter placed the cans of paint and assorted supplies on the counter at the hardware store.
“That be all for ya?” Daria Winton asked from behind the cash register.
“Yes, ma’am.”
She chuckled. “Save the ma’a
m stuff for someone older than you.”
He smiled, remembering that Daria had been a year behind him in school.
Her gaze darted to his left, and her eyes lit up. “Hey, Chris. I heard you were back in town.”
Hunter glanced over to find a full-grown version of Chris Ross standing next to him, a basket full of assorted items in hand. He hadn’t seen Chris in years; he had heard he’d gone to college in Oregon and hadn’t come back. But now here he stood, a younger version of his father. That he’d bump into Chris now, right when all the roads his thoughts were taking led back to Angel, seemed like a giant flashing sign from the universe. What it was saying, he had no idea. Probably that he needed to stop thinking about Angel so much.
“Yeah.”
Odd, he remembered Chris being a lot more talkative, not that he wanted to strike up a conversation or anything. Maybe Chris just wasn’t a morning person.
“Hunter, right?” Chris said when he made eye contact.
Hunter nodded.
“Looks like you’re going to be doing some painting, too.”
Hunter noticed that in addition to the basket Chris held, he also had a can of paint in the other hand. “Helping out your parents?”
Chris shook his head. “Rented a place out toward Poppy. Needs some fixing up.”
“You’re moving back to Blue Falls?” Even though he knew Chris and Angel had broken up years ago, it still felt like odd timing for Hunter to run into one of Angel’s exes right after his attraction to her had received a boost.
Some hint of emotion passed over Chris’s face, and Hunter had the impression it was sorrow. He hadn’t heard of anything being wrong with Chris’s parents or his younger sister, but he wasn’t exactly one to keep tabs on everyone else’s lives, either. He had plenty to manage in his own.
“For now, at least.”
Hunter experienced the strangest urge to ask if Chris was okay, but he refrained. They’d never been friends. He would barely call them acquaintances.
Daria’s voice telling Hunter his total broke the awkward moment, and he handed over the money. When she returned his change, Hunter glanced at Chris and nodded.
“See ya.”
“Yeah.”
See ya? He didn’t really want to see Chris again, but it was something you said when it was too rude to simply walk away without a word. Even so, he couldn’t get the fleeting expression he’d seen on Chris’s face out of his mind for some reason. By the time he pulled into the parking lot for the gallery, he realized how Chris had really looked—haunted.
That didn’t fit at all with what he remembered about Chris, but then people changed. Life changed them. It still didn’t mean he hoped the guy crossed paths with Angel, but he could at least accept that maybe Chris—like everyone else in the world—had things to deal with that no one else knew about.
But that wasn’t Hunter’s concern. The job that lay before him was.
A couple of vehicles sat in the lot, but neither belonged to Angel. Maybe she was done with preparing her exhibit and this extra work he’d agreed to do wouldn’t provide him with any further opportunities to see or talk with her after all. His mood dampened when he considered that he might have to wait until the exhibit opening, and no doubt she’d be so busy she wouldn’t be able to spare him more than a passing “Hello, thanks for coming.”
He grabbed his supplies and headed toward the garden area at the corner of the property. Frustration gnawed at him as he stared at the chipped paint on the top of the wooden fence. He needed to stop thinking about Angel and focus on his work. And that was what he managed to do for the next couple of hours, working up a sweat as the heat of the day built. It wasn’t as hot as it had been up on the roof, but he would still appreciate a shower at the end of the day.
“It’s looking good.”
All it took was a single three-word sentence in that familiar voice to shove everything else right out of his brain. Doing his best not to grin like a fool, he turned to see Angel standing there in a tank top and shorts that revealed so much of her smooth skin that for a moment he felt light-headed. And here he stood sweaty and dirty. Yeah, a real catch.
She laughed, pulling him firmly back to earth.
“What?”
Angel motioned toward her upper lip. “You appear to have given yourself half a white mustache.”
He wiped at his lip.
“No, the other side.”
He switched the wet paintbrush to his opposite hand and reached up to the area she indicated. A few specks of gooey paint peeled away, but he could tell most of it had dried already.
“Dang it,” he said under his breath, hating that he probably looked like an idiot. “I was swatting at a bee earlier. Guess I painted myself in the process.”
“It gives you a bit of the absentminded artist look.”
“Oh, great. Just what I wanted.” Having Angel Hartley laugh at him wasn’t exactly the reaction he’d dreamed about.
“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with looking like an artist,” she said.
“No, I didn’t mean that,” he said, worried that he’d offended her. “It’s the absentminded part that I’d like to avoid.”
She appeared suddenly horrified, and he wondered why until he realized she must know about his mom’s illness and thought he was making some sort of connection to it. A wave of guilt hit him that his mother had been the furthest thing from his mind as he considered how he looked in Angel’s eyes.
“Don’t look so worried.”
“I didn’t think,” she said.
“Neither did I.”
Angel seemed like she didn’t quite believe him.
“Honestly.” To move them away from the topic, he motioned toward the gallery. “Almost ready for your opening?”
Her expression changed, this time to reflect a hint of anxiety. “As ready as I’m going to be, I guess. I’m setting up the matted prints, a cheaper option for people if they’re interested but can’t afford an original.”
“Sounds like a good idea.”
“You’re still attending, right?”
He tried not to read too much into her question. Likely she was just anxious about people showing up, and he and his mom would be at least two warm bodies.
“That’s the plan. Guess I’ll have to try on my suit and see if it still fits.” He tried not to think about how the last time he’d worn it had been at his father’s funeral. It was probably out of style now, and his body had changed from his more awkward late-teens frame.
“No need to wear a suit,” she said. “We’re still in Blue Falls after all.”
“Oh. I’ve never been to an art opening before.” He’d assumed they were fancy shindigs, and he felt the opposite of fancy.
“Well, you certainly don’t need to stress out about it. That’s my job.”
“Why are you stressed out?”
She shrugged. “I guess I’ve just put so much into this that I want it to be a success.”
“And you don’t think it will be?”
“No idea. Art is subjective. What one person likes, another might think is total garbage.”
“I might not be an art expert, but your photos are far from garbage. They’re fantastic.”
Fantastic? When had he ever used that word to describe anything? It actually felt weird coming out of his mouth. But the wide-eyed look of appreciation gracing Angel’s face made it his new favorite word.
“You really think so?”
He hated hearing her sound so uncertain.
“Positive. I guess we’re all our own worst critics.”
She nodded. “That’s what Lauren says.”
“So is she providing refreshments for your opening? My mom and Mildred Hopkins were nearly bouncing at the idea.”
Angel smiled, causing an extra beat of his heart. “Sh
e is. What does your mom like?”
“I’m sure anything will be great.”
“You’re right, but does your mom have any favorites?”
Something expanded within him at the idea that she’d even think to have something special on hand for his mom. “Orange is her favorite flavor.”
Angel nodded. “I’ll see what Lauren can come up with.”
“This is your night. You should have what you want.”
“I’m one hundred percent positive that I’ll be too nervous to eat anything. Plus, it’s a special night out for your mom. And I’m sure everyone else will like whatever Lauren makes.”
“Thank you.” His throat felt thick with emotion.
“What about you? Any favorites?”
“I’m not picky.”
“Neither are my brothers, for the most part, but they still have favorites.”
“Chocolate, I guess.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “You guess?”
“Okay, definitely chocolate. I wouldn’t throw caramel out the front door, either.”
“Duly noted,” she said. “Well, I guess I better let you get back to work and do my own.”
The last thing he wanted was for her to leave, but he didn’t know how to convey that without looking embarrassingly desperate.
He forced himself to turn back toward the fence as she headed for the gallery.
“Oh, and, Hunter?”
He looked back to where she was facing him again, a grin tugging at her mouth that was full of unexpected mischief.
“No suit for the opening, but you might want to make sure you don’t have half a paint mustache.” She grinned. “Or at least paint the other side to match.”
He laughed—a laugh so real that he realized he couldn’t remember the last time it had happened. As he watched Angel turn and head inside, he knew what he had to do. No matter what else was going on in his life, he had to at least try to find a way to make Angel Hartley a part of it.
Chapter 4
Angel looked at herself in the mirror for what had to be the hundredth time in the past hour and decided the black dress wasn’t right, either. It was as if she was experiencing her day in the gallery when everything looked crooked all over again, only with her wardrobe.
Home on the Ranch: Texas Cowboy, Be Mine Page 4
