He didn’t answer. Just returned her stare with a dark look of his own. Everything about him seemed dark—the fathomless depths of his brown eyes, the thick stubble lining his hard jaw, and the rich black strands of hair that fell over his tanned brow. His T-shirt—the same midnight shade as his hair—stretched tight across the wall of his chest, and dirt-stained jeans clung to his thick thighs. His bulky frame rose easily above six feet and would tower over her by at least five inches if she approached.
A tendon tightened in the sinewy forearm that held the knife.
Breath stalling, she reached back, her right hand feeling the way around the door frame of the stable’s entrance, fumbling blindly across the wall for Red’s rifle.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
She froze at the deep sound of his voice, her palm curled tight around the rifle on its wall mount. “You don’t. I just want to know what you’re doing on private property.”
“I’m with Red.” He studied her right arm and the portion of the stable wall hiding her hand from view, then slowly lowered the knife to the ground by his feet. “This is his knife.” His voice softened. “Red asked me to clean it for filleting the fish he caught. I met him on the mountain this morning, a few miles back. He drove me up here. You’re Hannah, right?”
Mouth twisting, Hannah nodded and relaxed her grip on the rifle but kept her fingertips on the barrel. Red. Of course. He was forever picking up strays. This made the second stranger he’d hauled home this month. The last guy he’d dragged here had mooched off them for a week and left without repayment.
“Where is Red?” she asked.
He moved to answer, but an engine growled over his words as Red’s truck sped up the dirt path and drew to a jerky halt beside the stranger.
Red hopped out, his gaze darting from the stranger to Hannah, and he held up a hand. “It’s okay, Hannah. He’s with me.” He smiled up at her. “I swung by the lodge to give you a heads-up, but I see you’ve already met.”
“Not really. I still haven’t gotten a name.” Hannah straightened to her full height and eyed the stranger again. He looked away, gaze downcast and posture stiffening.
“His name’s Travis.” Red glanced at the knife on the ground, then moved to the other man’s side.
“Travis what?” she prompted.
“That’s all I got right now,” Red said.
She glared at Red. “And you let him get away with that?”
Red’s jaw hardened. “We just met. I conducted a friendly ten-minute chat with the man, not an inquisition. If you’re that keen on a last name, try asking him nicely.” He narrowed his gaze on her raised arm. “And maybe get your hand off my gun while you’re at it?”
Face heating, Hannah slid her fingers off the rifle and lowered her arm to her side.
“Look,” Travis said, “I don’t want to cause any troub—”
“No trouble.” Red clamped a hand on Travis’s shoulder. “You’ve had a long hike and I promised you a night’s stay. I don’t go back on my word, and you’re more than welcome here.” He smiled tightly at Hannah. “We’re glad he’s joined us, aren’t we?”
The censure in Red’s stern gaze made Hannah step back. Red might be too trusting and naive in his interactions with people, but this was his land . . . and his say. Five years ago, when she’d needed him most, he’d welcomed her to Paradise Peak Ranch with open arms despite the situation she’d been in and the fallout he’d be forced to face with her abusive ex-husband. She owed Red more than she could possibly repay, and this newcomer—whoever he was—had done nothing to merit her continued suspicion.
She nodded stiffly and forced a smile. “Welcome to Paradise.”
Emotion flickered across Travis’s expression before he dipped his head. Disappointment and . . . vulnerability, maybe? Which, Hannah ruefully admitted, she must have misinterpreted. There was nothing vulnerable about the rock of a man standing below her. He didn’t have a soft spot on him.
Travis retrieved the knife and straightened, casting her a sidelong glance. “May I come up? I need to use the hose.”
Hannah swept her arm in that direction. “Sure.”
He walked up the hill, each long stride bringing his massive bulk into sharper focus until he reached her side, his impressive height looming over her. Despite the chill in the air, heat radiated from him and blocked the February breeze that swept across the grounds. An earthy mix of pine, lumber, and smoke drifted past her as he knelt by her side, turned on the hose, and scrubbed the hem of his shirt along the wet blade in his hand.
She looked down and studied his hair as it ruffled in the wind. She’d been wrong in at least one respect—he did have one soft spot. That wealth of shaggy hair looked soft and welcoming. He was so close, if she reached out her hand, she could touch the dark strands. Could follow the muscular line of his neck and shoulders, which seemed more impressive than intimidating from this vantage point. Could trace the curve of his mouth and gain a clear view of features she’d yet to fully examine.
He stiffened and shifted away, obscuring his face from view.
“Hannah,” Red called. “Come down here and take a look at this mess of fish I caught.”
She shoved her hands in her pockets and headed down the open hill. The breeze kicked up, slunk beneath the cuffs of her long sleeves, and sent a chill through her. She shivered and caught herself glancing back, missing—for a brief but disconcerting moment—the warm shield of the stable . . . and the heat from Travis’s massive frame.
“Had I known you’d be up and about before dawn,” Red called as she approached, “I’d have invited you to go with me.” Standing by the cleaning table, he took the top off a large cooler and tilted it. Ice slid forward, revealing a pile of fresh fish. “That old river was good to us today.”
“You’ve always had better luck than me.” Hannah leaned closer for a better view and smiled. “Looks like trout’s back on the menu for a while.”
Red grinned. “Knew that’d make you happy. When I stopped by the lodge, Margaret offered to bring—”
“Your delivery is here,” a feminine voice chimed over the hum of a motor.
A utility vehicle arrived with Margaret behind the wheel. She parked the UTV beside Red’s truck, slid out, and smoothed a hand over her long skirt.
“Those bags of ice are heavy.” Margaret, smiling, tucked her long, gray curls behind her shoulders with French-manicured nails and gestured toward the plastic bags stacked on the back of the UTV. “I could use a bit of manly muscle to help move them. Is our new guest available to lend a hand?”
Hannah stifled a groan. Only Margaret would curl her hair, don a skirt, and paint her nails for a day of ranch work. And Margaret dropping everything to rush outside and meet someone new was no surprise. Ever since Margaret had taken over her late husband’s 50 percent share of Paradise Peak Ranch and moved into the lodge a year ago, she’d been desperate to find and sweet-talk a new hand into renovating the place from the ground up—much to Red’s amusement. Red would indulge any of Margaret’s impractical notions; he’d been secretly sweet on her for decades and still was, despite the fact that Margaret’s daily praises of her late husband, Phillip, made it clear that no man would ever equal his perfect memory in her mind.