Page 4 of Paper Horses

My chest seized, and my heart became an erratic thudding of beats.

“Sorry, I forgot all about it,” he said, wiping his hands on a grimy towel. “I didn’t⁠—”

His head lifted, brown eyes, soft and almost golden, meeting mine.

The air froze; time seemed to still.

“Olivia?”

I couldn’t speak as memories slammed me back in time, fifteen years earlier, when I’d given up happiness, hope, and love.

He continued to stare at me.

“Hudson,” I breathed.

His expression shifted as the shock wore off, causing his features to harden.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Years of practiced nonchalance, of letting my father’s insults roll off my back, of being the cold, calculating businesswoman he’d molded me to be snapped into place.

I folded my arms. “My brother bought this farm, and I’m here to inspect his purchase.”

“It’s my ranch,” he spat, throwing the towel into a bucket and stopping the music. “And a woman made the offer and met me to sign the papers in Bozeman. I never saw your brother, so get off my property.” He stormed past me without another word.

Tori. Damn it. I was going to strangle Gabe. He had to have known, and that’s why he sent me.

“It’s my property now. Let me guess, black hair, pretty blue eyes, too sweet for her own good?”

He stopped and glanced back at me.

“Yeah.”

“My sister-in-law, Victoria.”

“Yeah, that was her name.”

“Damn them.” I stomped past him, inhaling the scent of cedar and masculinity that clung to him. “I’ll take care of this.”

Yanking my bag from where the driver had left it, I pulled my phone out.

“Good. And tell him the deal’s off. If I’d known you were involved, I would have taken the lower offer.”

“And if I’d known it was you, I wouldn’t have canceled my Pilates class. Trust me, I’d rather be back in my penthouse, sipping on wine, than out in the middle of nowhere stuck with you.”

His heavy footfalls paused, and he threw a glare over his shoulder at me before continuing his trek up the porch, slamming the door of the house behind him.

My hand trembled as I hit Gabe’s number. Hudson Thomas. The boy I’d given all my firsts to, who I’d once loved so much that he had carved his initials in my heart where they remained. The boy I’d given up for revenge, for my brother, for my mother’s memory.

“You there?” Gabe answered.

“You asshole.”

“Ah, you are.”

“What were you thinking? Send a car and call the plane back.” I was fired up, and Gabe never knew to take that as a sign to avoid irritating me further.

“Sounds like it’s going well.”