Hunter silently thanked his father for teaching him how to be stone-faced. His expression did not change. “Was I?”
Reed snorted and leaned against the wall, looking at the table now. “Yep. You were. You think that skirt of hers is a real tartan?”
Stone-faced wouldn’t work now. He frowned and looked over at the table again, 99.7 percent sure that Mallory hadn’t been wearing a skirt. And he was right. Her assistant—Taryn, if he remembered—was wearing a skirt, and it certainly could have been a tartan, but he failed to see why that was an interesting point.
Reed thought Taryn was the cute one? Moron.
She wasn’t unattractive, he would admit, but if there was only one cute girl at that table, it could not be her.
Reed was talking again, but it sounded more like the buzzing of a particularly loud dishwasher, and Hunter stopped listening. He was so grateful that Tom hadn’t forced him to stay in the house with the rest of the guys. He liked Tom and his brothers a great deal and wouldn’t have minded spending time with them, but a house filled with the eternal frat boys and Lucas Hudson would be too much. He’d stay up at his place where he could think and be, without reference to anyone else.
Mallory gnawed on a rib, sauce on one cheek, loose hair at her ear, giggling at something her assistant had said, and his heart and stomach lurched to opposite sides.
“I’m getting food,” he muttered to the still-talking Reed and pushed off the wall.
He was suddenly starving for ribs.
ChapterFour
Hunter woke up before the sunrise the next morning, which wasn’t unusual for him, even if it was annoying. It didn’t matter. He’d just drive down to the lake and take a single scull out for a chilly morning row. He could use the workout.
He put on his sweats and a hoodie, as well as a knit cap, and called the morning desk clerk to ask for breakfast at the lodge later. He might as well check in with them after he was done to see if he needed to calm any fussy guests or locals, as they hadn’t completely shut down the resort for the wedding. Or he could check on any repairs, or do them himself, or… give a lengthy resort tour to a certain photographer.
He made an impatient noise and grabbed his shoes, tying them frantically. He really needed this workout—anything to clear his head.
The air was even colder than he thought it would be, and he shivered as he got into his truck. It would have to be a really good row to warm him up, and the sun wouldn’t come over the mountains for a while, even as the morning lightened. But once it did, the day would be just as warm as it had been lately. He loved these mornings and had spent a fair number of predawn hours on the lake with his father and grandfather and, lately, by himself.
There was nothing quite like it.
The pavement was wet with the heavy morning dew, and the usual winding curves had less traction than normal. It wasn’t a particularly easy drive normally, but on mornings like this… He predicted he’d have at least two calls about tourists who had been driving too fast and not known about the sharp curves or incline. Once things dried out later, it would be fine. But right now—
Something white and bright appeared around the curve, and he gasped and slammed on the brakes, the wheels screaming against the wet pavement. He stared out of the windshield in surprise and fear, adrenaline racing through him.
Mallory was on the edge of the road, white coat and black leggings contrasting starkly, worn-out tennis shoes on her feet, and fleece earmuffs around her head. She had two cameras around her neck, a satchel across her body, and a thermos in her hand. She stared at him with wide eyes, a good twenty-five yards from him, if not more. But the way the truck lights had caught her…
He could have killed her.
He rubbed his hands over his face and got out of the truck, his fear turning into rage the moment his feet hit the pavement.
“Nice braking,” she said with a smile as he approached, oblivious to his fury. “New tires?”
“What were you thinking?” he barked, shoving his hood back and coming to stand directly in front of her. “What, exactly, possessed you to wander around in the woods in the dark? I could have killed you!”
Her brows snapped together. “Yeah, your tank there would have made roadkill out of me,” she drawled sarcastically. “Speed limits mean anything to you?”
“I was going the speed limit,” he retorted. “The roads are terrible in wet weather, no matter how fast you go, but I’m a lot smarter than that. And it’s a Dodge Ram, not a tank, and you being roadkill is not funny.”
“Who’s laughing?” she asked with an impertinent tilt of her head.
He exhaled rapidly, his breath coming out like fog and his irritation melting away under her influence. “Look,” he said slowly, deciding to try for calm, “it’s not safe for you to be wandering around in the dark, especially with drivers who don’t know these roads. Luckily, I do, but this isn’t a good idea.”
Mallory sighed and adjusted her weight on her tiny feet. “I’m wearing a white jacket with reflector strips, and I’m sticking to main trails. What is the problem?”
Hunter groaned and put a hand to his suddenly aching head. She just didn’t get it, and he didn’t have the energy to educate her. Plus, she was looking especially cute right now. He should have shaved. He shook his head with a sigh. “What are you doing up here this early anyway?”
She held up her camera with a shrug. “Photographer. I wanted to catch the sunrise, and views are limited at the Hen House.”
He coughed a surprise burst of laughter at her calling it that, though the term was perfect. She grinned broadly at the sound.