She began to make her way up the trail tentatively, conscious of the fact that while she had made bold claims about carrying bear spray to potentially fend off Griffin, she hadn’t actually taken the steps to do so. She knew that her brother, Ryder, never ventured into the woods without a sidearm at the very least.
You never knew what you might encounter out in the middle of nowhere. From wildlife that was intent on making you a meal, to people who might be out trying to hide their more unsavory activities in the middle of nowhere.
Protection was a consideration.
But as Iris didn’t frequently venture out into the wilderness, it wasn’t one that she often thought of.
But she knew animal tracks. Her father had taught her. And she knew basic safety. So, she pressed on. She didn’t see any tracks that she should be concerned about, anyway.
She passed a small clearing, with a boulder at the center, and looked around. There was nothing particularly special here that she could see. A thick grove of trees surrounded it. Maybe it was a place for pagan rituals.
Which wasn’t something she would ever normally think. That kind of drama was more Rose’s type of thing. She must be overly hot or hungry. Or maybe it was just... Maybe it was just getting out of her rut. And it was allowing her to think some strange things too.
She kind of liked that idea.
The trail went past the clearing, and she continued to follow it. But it wasn’t a cougar that she found that surprised her. Rather a nice looking building, out there in the middle of nowhere. A small fenced in corral, and what looked to be a covered paddock.
And then she saw a horse exit the covered area, tossing its head, its black mane gleaming in the light.
Another horse followed, this one with a blond mane and tail. She wasn’t an authority on horses, not in the least, but these two were glossy and well cared for, clearly round and well muscled, and enjoying their existence out here in the wilderness.
And they had to belong to Griffin.
The horses seemed to live in a better kept, newer home than their owner. And they were definitely more well-kept than he was.
It was the oddest thing. Of all the secrets she had managed to find out about the man, she hadn’t expected this to be one of them. That he secretly had a pair of beautiful horses.
She heard footsteps, coming from the other direction, and she turned, to see Griffin barreling down toward her. “What are you doing?”
“I... I... I finished. And I didn’t want to leave without finding you. And there was a path. And I followed it.”
He stopped, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Little Red Riding Hood, didn’t anyone ever teach you not to go wandering into the woods?”
His voice was rough, the way he said those words making them change shape inside her. They seemed to fill her, scrape through her like velvet. Like a touch.
That thought made her insides shiver. But she couldn’t quite pin down why. She was having difficulty pinning down exactly what this man made her feel in general.
Out here in the sunlight, with the golden rays pounding down on him, he was like an avenging angel. His dark hair was shot through with spun gold. As if the sun had reached down and touched him. She’d thought him a mountain, a rock, and he was. But there was something else too. Like magic. It was like discovering a different dimension of him, and that seemed silly. Fanciful. And Iris Daniels had never been accused of being fanciful.
It was the absolute strangest thing.
He moved, and that same sun caught the light in his eyes, and they were an even more startling, piercing blue than she’d realized.
His shoulders were thick, heavily muscled from hard labor, his forearms well-defined, the muscles visible even beneath that colored ink that was etched into his skin. His waist and hips were slim, while his chest was broad and thick.
He was holding a hammer in his hands, she realized, and that just made her think about their size and strength in a more visceral, specific way than she had done when she pondered their size yesterday.
He was not wearing khakis. He didn’t look like a man who would own khakis. He didn’t look like a man who would even know what khakis were. If she said something about dress pants to him he would probably curl his lip in disdain.
He looked like a relic of the land itself. A collection of the elements that had been breathed into life.
And somewhere deep inside of her, a voice that she hadn’t known existed in there, whispered to her.
Adventure.
He looked like adventure.
He looked like a change.
Like something that nobody would ever believe she could handle.
The simple truth was Griffin Chance looked like something Rose would never believe that Iris might do.
And she would have said she wouldn’t either.
But he made her feel like she was trembling somewhere inside, and it was an entirely foreign, and not unpleasant, sensation.
“What?” he asked, sounding angry. Dousing cold water all over that strange, half formed fantasy that had been blooming inside of her. Because he clearly wasn’t thinking anything of the kind.
“I... You startled me, that’s all. I’m sorry.”
“No harm,” he said.
“You ride horses?”
“Iris, I’m a damn cowboy.”
That was... Slightly disappointing. Because cowboys were essentially all she knew. Other than water filtration guys. And she had never imagined that she might find herself interested in a cowboy, considering she was not a ranch type person.
Interested? A strange word, Iris. Wrong word. Intrigued by? In fascination with?
“Right. Sorry. I didn’t know. I mean, I didn’t realize you had a... Ranchette.”
“A ranchette,” he said, dismissive. “I have three hundred acres up here.”
That did surprise her. That basically meant the whole mountain was his.
“It’s just that my brother has a giant spread. Beef. So, by comparison...”
He snorted. “Not interested in comparing ranch sizes with your brother. Don’t care. I like to ride horses. That’s it.”
“That’s it?”
“Anymore,” he said. “Yes.”
“Oh. Well, they’re lovely horses.”
He huffed a laugh. “I’m glad they meet with your approval. I was obviously very concerned about that.”
She wrinkled her nose and fought to keep staring at him with the full blaze of the sun in her face. “You don’t have to be mean.”
The ground was rocky, the light extra bright over the light gray surface of the rocks. There were scrubby yellow weeds popping up out of the dirt at odd heights, fat bees drunkenly twirling around the blooms. She could smell dirt and pine, hay and horse.