Page 43 of Back in the Saddle

‘I used to. Growing up, we always had at least two dogs at home. We’d spend Sundays going on long walks with them.Adventuresas my dad used to call them.’ She smiled. ‘I wish I could live somewhere where there were more opportunities for nature walks on my doorstep. I miss it.’

‘I thought Scotland had plenty of green open spaces.’

She turned to him, not slowing her pace. ‘Of course. There are country parks just outside Glasgow. We also have a gorgeous national park about forty minutes’ drive away. It’s just difficult to make the time.’

‘With your work, you mean?’ he asked.

She nodded, stopping at the foot of the slab steps, craning her neck. ‘So many hiding spots around here.’

Hunter followed her gaze to the steep Sans Bois Mountains. ‘Yeah, there are many legends about these caves, full of hidden treasure and outlaws.’

Caroline’s face lit up. ‘Treasure?’

He chuckled, placing his foot on the first step. ‘Apparently, in the late 1950s, park employees found something like close to three hundred gold wedding bands. The theory was that they were left behind by a stagecoach robber, because they were near an old stagecoach line.’

A shadow crossed her face, twisting her lips in a grimace he hadn’t seen before. ‘All those wedding bands were stolen?’

‘I guess so. It’s just one of the tales.’ He shrugged.

She remained quiet as they climbed up the steps.

Hunter wondered if the odd change in her demeanour was due to the mention of the wedding bands. Her left hand was the first thing his gaze had flickered to when she’d got out of the car earlier. And then, his eyes had found it again as they were walking. Twice. His memory hadn’t deceived him – there was no ring on her finger.

He didn’t ask her about it, waiting for her to start the conversation. She’d said she was going to explain. Maybe she was working up to it. Or maybe she had decided she didn’t owe him an explanation.

He truly hoped it was the former.

‘Who were the outlaws? The ones from the legends?’ she asked, sidestepping to avoid a gaping hole in the ground.

Hunter cocked his brow. ‘You like dangerous men, then?’

‘Who said anything about men?’ She winked at him.

He bit the inside of his cheek, forcing his eyes back on the path in front of him. He would be perfectly fine if he didn’tlook too closely at her face. Her lips were a clear danger zone, but it seemed that so was her nose, her chin, her eyes, her forehead … Her entire face, really.

‘Confederate and Union army deserters, mostly. They used Robbers Cave, the one where we’re heading, as a hideout spot. After the Civil War, the gangs allegedly used it too. See how steep the mountains are?’ He gestured to them. ‘They formed a perfect corral for horses. There are equestrian trails through the forests nowadays, too.’

‘Have you ever ridden here?’

He didn’t realise she’d got closer to him as the path narrowed. Her wrist brushed his, accidentally, he was sure. But his breath still shook as he tried to remember her question.

The horses. She’s asked about the horses.

He cleared his throat. ‘I have, though not in a long time. There’s an equestrian campground. We used to make a weekend out of it.’

This bit of the trail was particularly tricky, with uneven, slippery stones. Hunter had seen people trip on here before. His arms were ready to catch her if the same thing happened now, but Caroline walked through the path without even a wobble.

‘We?’

‘Me and my older brother, Buck.’ He scrunched his nose, browsing through his memories for the one of the last time he had been here. ‘His stag was here. I was so thrilled my parents, and Buck, let me go.’

She shot him a sceptical look. ‘How old were you?’

‘Thirteen.’ He laughed at the horror written in her face. ‘Don’t worry, I was only allowed to ride with the party during the day. When they were drinking and whatnot later, I was tucked in bed in the camp, reading.’

‘I’d have pictured you as a teenager who would try to sneak into the party.’

Hunter mocked an aghast expression, taking a step back and pushing his hand to his heart. ‘Me? Never.’

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