Once Hitched Twice Shy

by Kimberly Krey

  The quiet duo stepped into the kitchen and sat on a couple of barstools up to the counter. Mia started on the oatmeal, adding sugar and milk as she went. “Do one of you guys want to make some toast?” she asked, pulling some frozen orange juice out of the freezer.

  Behind her, Mia could hear the scrape of a barstool pulling away from the bar. Footsteps came next, and she was surprised to see they belonged to Hunter. He folded his arms over his chest, the stance making his biceps pop. Mia had joked about developing that muscle between the elbow and wrist while scooping ice cream. Ranch life had done wonders for Hunter’s.

  “So you’re really not going to record anything today?” he asked.

  “Nope.” She opened one cupboard and then another, peering into the dark depths. By the time she was on her third try, Hunter reached out and took hold of the cupboard door before it closed.

  “What is it you’re looking for?”

  Mia glanced at the frozen juice canister in her hand. “A pitcher.”

  The cowboy, complete with a brown cowboy hat today, kept his eyes pasted on hers as he took two backward steps. He reached out, opened a cupboard at his side, and retrieved a tall glass pitcher. “As you wish,” he mumbled while handing it over.

  A scene from The Princess Bride came to mind, where the farm boy fetches a pitcher for the girl and says those exact words while handing it over. Hunter might not be blond like the actor in the movie, but Mia would be lying if she said he wasn’t just as gorgeous.

  She stifled a grin, swooning over the fact that he’d quoted a line from her favorite movie. “Thank you.” And that’s when she noticed the golden flecks in his green eyes. Incredible.

  “Wayne always keeps a bowl of boiled eggs in the fridge,” he said. “All farm fresh. I’ll go ahead and peel one of those for him, too—get the man some protein.”

  Mia managed a nod while inwardly cursing herself. Stop swooning, you dork! “That’d be good. Great. That … he would like that.” Ugh.

  As she started on the juice, Mia noticed Karen hopping off the barstool and darting down the hall. Just as she wondered if a bathroom emergency was behind her friend’s quick departure, Karen lumbered back with filming equipment strapped around her shoulders and a tripod in her grip. “How about we film while you two are cooking?” she suggested.

  The frozen concentrate slipped out of the canister and hit the glass base with a thud. “What?” Mia gasped.

  Karen shrugged. “We didn’t film much after arrival, and we’re not going to film today. At least you could check in with everybody for that first-day footage. Starting on Day 2 will make viewers feel like they missed out on something.”

  Mia continued to stare at Karen, waiting for her to realize how ludicrous the idea was.

  But she didn’t. “Just explain that your grandpa is sick, so you’re making him some breakfast with the help of this … um, cowboy.” Karen’s face flushed red as she glanced at Hunter. Her comic book tee featured Bruce Wayne in all of his Batman glory. Mia could hardly believe the likeness between him and the cowboy standing next to her, with the squared jaw, dark, brooding eyes, and lips so appealing even he couldn’t bear to cover them. Sketch a cowboy hat on the hero and he’d be Hunter’s twin.

  She tried not to get caught up in the fact that Karen had already called Hunter Bruce Wayne the night before. Instead, she shifted her thoughts back to the ridiculous request at hand. “Karen,” she said in a low, steady tone, “have you looked at me this morning—”

  “I’m game,” Hunter blurted, spinning a loaf of bread in a plastic bag to close the top. Two wires glowed red in the toaster.

  “Well, I’m not,” Mia said. “But Karen, since it was your idea, why don’t you do it?”

  Karen shook her head. “I’m not the host.”

  “What?” Hunter challenged, smacking a boiled egg against the counter to crack the shell. “You don’t go on camera unless you have your stage and makeup crew?” He clicked his tongue. “Typical.”

  Mia’s eyes went wide. “Typical of what exactly? You don’t even know me.”

  Hunter abandoned the egg and leaned his back against the counter, folding those arms once more. “I know your type.”

  “Do you?” She let out a laugh. “Nothing bugs me more than guys who slap labels on women before they even know them.”

  “I’ve seen enough of your shows to get a pretty good idea.”

  “That’s exactly what …” But she stopped there, realizing what he’d just revealed. “I’m sorry, you said yesterday that you haven’t watched the show, but now you’re admitting that you have?”

  The tiniest hint of a smile pulled at the sides of his lips, but he admitted nothing.

  Two words rushed to Mia’s mind as she looked at the cocky cowboy: game on. “You know what?” Mia said, turning to Karen. “Go ahead and hit record. Let’s see if Mr. Wonderful can keep up.”

  Chapter 5

  Oh, he’d really done it now. Just what in the world was he getting himself into? Hunter looked up in horror to see Karen readying the camera. Mia was going to annihilate him.

  “All right,” Karen said from behind the device. “Give me a go.”

  Mia shot Hunter a seething glare. He’d never appreciated the whole beautiful while angry thing where Veronica was concerned, but fury didn’t look half-bad on Mia. That heated glare and flushed cheeks. And with her hair in a mess and her in pajamas, he had a hard time keeping his thoughts PG.

  She flicked her head to face Karen, pulled in a deep breath, and smiled like she meant it. “Go.”

  Hunter’s eyes shot back to the camera. A small button on top blinked red. A gulp slunk past his throat. He smelled burning toast but didn’t dare move.

  “Morning, sunshines!” Mia cheered. “It might look like a rather dreary day here in beautiful Montana, but that’s only because we’ve got this ornery cuss on with us. Why don’t you introduce yourself, Dusty?”

  Hunter felt his eyes double in size. “Dusty?”

  “That-a-boy,” Mia chimed. “So, to balance out the dark energy exuding from this little villain here, we’re going to let a little light in.” She stepped over to the window and tugged open the blinds above the sink.

  Hunter squinted against the brightness.

  “I’ve just whipped up a steaming bowl of oatmeal and a fresh pitcher of not-freshly squeezed orange juice, while Dusty here has been peeling an egg and …” She gave a dramatic pause. “Uh-oh, letting his toast burn. Did we give you a little too much responsibility, sport?”

  A laugh snuck from his lips. He couldn’t help it. She was annihilating him. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “I guess you did.” The toast popped up, and smoke rose from the two black crisps.

  Mia cracked open the window and waved her hand. “Whew, why don’t you give it another try?”

  He coughed out a laugh. “All right.” If she could stand there in with her disheveled hair and cartoon pajamas, he could make toast, for crying out loud. He grabbed the loaf, tossed a couple more pieces in, and adjusted the dial before lowering the bread.

  “While that’s toasting,” Mia said, slapping a hand on his shoulder, “let’s see how you do on that egg.” Her perpetual happiness oozed right on out and into the room.

  Hunter turned his attention to the small boiled egg, wondering just how many people watched the Try My Life show. Was it possible that Veronica would see this? The idea offered a strange sort of thrill. One he didn’t have time to analyze. Not with the mess he was making of the boiled egg. For each tiny shell he broke off, an egg white twice its size tore away from the egg.

  “Holy cratersville,” Mia exclaimed. “What are you doing to that poor thing?” She patted his back a few times. “Looks as if we’re doing a smidge of Try My Life in reverse.”

  Heat from her palm seeped through his shirt, warming his skin. He turned toward her, and the scent of sweet coconut distracted him; she smelled good.

  “Is it fair to say that you’re not too comfortable in the kitc
hen?” she asked.

  He cleared his throat, reminding himself that Veronica might see this one day. “I’m not too comfortable in this kitchen right now.”

  “No worries,” Mia said. “I promise not to hurt you. Let’s shift gears for a bit. Why don’t you tell us a little about yourself, Dusty?”

  He nodded, though he didn’t have a clue what might come out of his mouth. He motioned to the burnt toast lying on the counter. “Well, I suck at making toast.”

  That earned a laugh from her. A genuine one.

  Heat stirred low in his belly. “I’m not great with boiled eggs either, and I should also probably mention,” he said as the toast popped up from the toaster, “my name isn’t Dusty. It’s Hunter.”

  “Oh, heavens me. Well, Hunter, how about you tell the folks at home or work or their ex’s boring engagement party—wherever they might be—just what’s in store for us this week. Am I gonna need one of these things?” She flicked the hat off his head and set it onto her own in one quick move.

  Hunter’s hand went straight to his hair, his fingers raking over the dent he knew would be there. He’d let his hair grow longer than usual over the last few months. “Well …” He glanced over, surprised by how good the hat looked on her. “I reckon if you’d like to fit in around here, you could wear one.”

  She gave him a grin, and the belly heat flared up again.

  “And, uh, as far as the week goes, I’d say you could take your pick. We’re mainly focused on maintenance this time of year, but you could mend fences. Tend to the horses. Practice riding a few bulls with those who’re competing at the rodeo this weekend.”

  “Rodeo?” Her voice spiked up a notch. “Would you happen to be riding in that rodeo?” She pushed up the rim of her hat while waiting for his response.

  Attraction sparked between them in the quiet pause. Hot and pulsing. Or perhaps it was one-sided; this woman was an actress, after all. “I’m, uh …” He cleared his throat. “Not this year.”

  “And what if I just want to practice on one of those mechanical things? Would you take me someplace to do that?”

  Hunter nodded, feeling as if she’d had just asked him out. “Yes,” he said through a smile. “I’d be happy to.”

  Mia sighed beneath a spray of hot, steaming water. She rolled her shoulders as the pressure soothed her tight and aching muscles.

  I suck at making toast. The sentence invaded her mind for the third time that day. She chuckled under her breath. He did suck at making toast. He was even worse at peeling a boiled egg.

  Bless Gramps for his patience with their extended preparations at breakfast. Yet as the thought came to her, she wanted to bless him for other things, too. She closed her eyes and offered up a small prayer for the once-burly man who’d taught her to ride, given her piggyback rides, and spoiled her rotten every time she came to visit. She prayed for healing, peace, happiness, and continued success on the ranch for the rest of his days. And then—though she wasn’t sure it would ever really happen—Mia prayed that her granddad might find a woman who could make him happy again after all these years.

  Next, she conjured an image of Hunter’s gorgeous green eyes, hooded slightly by the rim of his hat. Dang, watch out women of Walkersville.

  Putting Hunter on the spot was totally worth filming while looking a mess. Besides, if Mia wasn’t happy with the footage she could always toss it. But she didn’t plan to do that. She and Hunter seemed to have decent chemistry. Enough to make the clip entertaining for viewers. And who knew—maybe the dark cowboy would volunteer to be in a few other segments. His handsome face was sure to increase her views.

  Under Gramps’s direction (which included an over-the-phone refresher course on how to saddle a horse), Mia had snuck out to ride Cherry after breakfast, and what a treat it had been. She hadn’t ridden since she was eighteen, but the faithful bay seemed to remember her, which made Mia feel bad for waiting so long to visit.

  She tended to her granddad for the remainder of the day, fixing sandwiches for lunch and a casserole—with Karen’s help—for dinner. Grandpa came out to join them at the table, but by the feel of his flushed forehead, he wouldn’t be out and about any time soon.

  She frowned after walking him back to bed. “I hope you break that fever tonight, Gramps. I really want you to be a part of my footage this week.” She leaned down, giving him a hug where he sat on the bed. “I miss you. It’s been a long time.”

  He chuckled deep in his throat, and she felt it in the vibration against her cheek. “I miss you too, Mia-bear. But Hunter will take good care of you.”

  She held still in response, recalling the way she’d planned to tell him just what kind of care he’d taken while picking them up at the airport. Yet she wasn’t interested in ratting him out anymore. Visions of his gorgeous green eyes came to mind. The connection she’d felt while looking into them. The smile that pulled at his lips when she’d teased him. Mia had seen a different side of Hunter today. But that didn’t change the fact that he’d been straight up rude the day before.

  Perhaps she could gain a little insight on the rather mysterious man. “He’s kind of grumpy, don’t you think?”

  That made Gramps laugh once again. “I suppose he can be a grouch, but then again, so can I.” He rested a hand lovingly on Mia’s head. “Everyone has a story to tell. A fire or two they’ve had to fight. Some of us come out a little more wary than others.”

  She considered that, wondering just what kind of fires Hunter had battled. “What do you think we should film tomorrow?” she asked. Gramps could at least put in his two cents.

  “If you ask me,” he said, his eyes pale in the lamplight, “I’d say it doesn’t matter a scrap. You’re the star of that show. As long as you’re a part of it, it’ll be golden.”

  “Aw, thanks, Gramps. You’re the best.” His words sank into a deep place in her heart. Mia’s own father (Gramps’s son) didn’t watch her show often, admittedly. Once he’d even said that watching it reminded him of their home movies. That she’d hardly changed. Mia figured it was meant to sound like a compliment, but secretly she knew her dad didn’t respect what she did for a living. Saw it as more of a time-wasting hobby than a career.

  A familiar flare of uncomfortable heat stewed low in her gut. Maybe she should have agreed to promote the show while she was here, like Karen suggested. No. Mia forced herself to go over the reasons she’d decided against it.

  First, she hadn’t wanted Gramps to feel like she was using him. Going to great lengths to gain media attention during her stay could make him feel like he was a secondary motivation for her trip here. And that wasn’t the case.

  Second, Mia knew herself well enough. When press was involved, she became hyper-focused on her shoots while everything else fell by the wayside. She couldn’t let that happen while she was at the ranch.

  Lastly, she didn’t want to risk invading Gramps’ privacy. Of course, knowing Gramps, he’d most likely encourage her to gain everything she could from the trip, including local press right there on his ranch if it would help promote the show. But that’s not why she was here.

  Mia exhaled as the burning subsided; one extra day wouldn’t make a difference. As that thought settled in, her breathing came slower, falling into sync with his. “Night, Gramps. Love you.” She forced herself to stand up.

  “Love you too, doll face.”

  Chapter 6

  Hunter made his way to the bunkhouse kitchen for breakfast, hoping he could head out before the ranch hands came up. Wayne had decided to keep the girls’ arrival a surprise, seeing that Mia hadn’t announced her location just yet, but soon enough they’d catch wind of it.

  If Hunter had his way, they wouldn’t find out today either. No need to have them drooling all over the girls like a bunch of panting pups.

  After sticking two slices of bread in the toaster, he fished a butter knife out of the drawer. His pulse raced at the mere recollection of his and Mia’s exchange the day before. He hadn’t exp
ected her to be so … so incredible on cue like that. The banter was sure to entertain, in the least of it. Sure, she’d made him look like a fool, but he was man enough to take it.

  “Wow, listen to you,” Bill said as he walked into the kitchen.

  Hunter glanced up. “Listen to what?” he asked.

  “You were whistling.”

  He was?

  Skinny Alex came in next, Connor at his heels, the two rambling in conversation.

  Hunter turned back to Bill. “I was not whistling.”

  “And you look all spiffed up, too.” Bill had missed his true calling as a detective; the kid noticed everything, and now he had the others at it too.

  “I do not,” Hunter hissed, hoping Bill would shut up before the others heard.

  Connor stopped short and blew out a sharp catcall. “Check out Mr. Fancy.”

  Hunter rolled his eyes, feeling his face warm. Wayne had called him first thing, asked him to take Mia to one of the hay fields to fix a broken pipe. Chances were, he’d be filmed again. No need to go looking like a slob. The thought brought back a vision of Mia filming with her messy hair.

  Alex stepped up from behind, sniffing. “He smells good, too.”

  “You got a date?” Connor asked.

  Hunter’s pulse spiked. “No. Now would you shut up already?”

  “He was even whistling when I came up,” Bill mumbled over a mouthful of cold pizza.

  Connor and Skinny Alex responded with oohs and ahs. “Sounds like love to me.”

  “Who’s the lucky girl?”

  Hunter finished buttering his unburnt toast and grabbed a paper plate. After snagging a bottle of water from the fridge, he headed toward the door. “Lock up when you leave,” he grumbled, and hurried into the cool morning air.