A Cowboy's Christmas Reunion. Sasha Summers

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      “Hunter—” His name escaped on a startled breath, right before she was bombarded with his scent. Everything about him was familiar. The earthy spice of him, the strength of his arms, the warmth he exuded, the feel of his breath against her forehead. It was sweet torture. “I can walk,” she bit out, sitting rigidly in his arms. She would not relax. She would not melt in his arms and press herself to him. She would not kiss his neck or run her hands through his thick, dark blond hair. She would not think of doing those things, either.

      He carried her into the house, ratcheting up her nerves. This was how she was going to see Amy? In his arms? Her whisper was urgent. “Please put me down.”

      And he did. On the couch. “Sit,” he murmured before leaving the room.

      “Bark bark,” she muttered childishly. Her gaze bounced around the room, searching, waiting.

      He laughed. “You still do that?”

      “You still order people around?” she snapped.

      He left and then walked back with a glass of water and a bottle of pain pills. He sat on the coffee table opposite the couch, offering them to her.

      She stared at him, deciding whether to take the offered answer to her pain or suffer through out of sheer stubbornness. She took the bottle and the water.

      “Still get migraines?” he asked.

      She shrugged, pouring a couple of pain relievers into her hand before putting the lid back on the bottle. “Sometimes.” She glanced at him. “Still have sneezing fits?”

      “Sometimes.” He smiled. “Still painting? I mean, other than your illustrations.”

      “Yes.” It was ironic that, even though she’d been desperate to leave the state of Texas and everything about it, Texas landscapes were one of her favorite things to paint. “Still write poetry?”

      “No.” He stared down at her. “You wanna lie down? Eli’s room is a mess, but you can rest in mine if you want.”

      Rest in his room? Amy’s room?

      She shook her head. “No, thank you. If I lie here for a minute, will you let me leave?”

      He stood over her, still smiling. “I’m not kidnapping you, Jo. You can go whenever you want to go. As long as you can make it all the way back into town with no problems.”

      She sat up and felt instantly nauseous.

      “Yeah.” He sighed. “Stop being so stubborn and lie down.”

      “I’m stubborn?” she snapped as she lay back on the cushions of the couch.

      “Relax for a few. Dinner’s almost ready.” He winked at her. “The protein’ll do you some good.”

      She pulled her gaze from him, shaking her head. “Where is everyone again?” Being alone with him wasn’t good for her. She didn’t like feeling so vulnerable, so needy. As a matter a fact, she was feeling way too much right now. Even with her pounding head, she was preoccupied with thoughts of being wrapped in his arms.

      “Eli’s spending the night with a friend. My brothers have their own places. They’re probably off doing what grown men do.” Hunter shrugged.

      “That sounds...dangerous,” she muttered, waiting for the rest. But Hunter didn’t say a thing about Amy. She narrowed her eyes. He was going to make her ask, wasn’t he? She started to, but couldn’t. It had taken her a long time not to wince just thinking Amy’s name. She sure as hell wasn’t going to say it, out loud, here.

      She’d turn up sooner or later—she always did.

      “No interruptions. You rest. I’ll work. You can eat later and I’ll drive you home.”

      She continued to glare at him, even as she lay back on the couch cushions. Her head was pounding, making her ears ring. She closed her eyes, trying to relax. But she couldn’t.

      She was alone with Hunter. Just the two of them. She opened her eyes, looking for him.

      The place had changed, but it still felt the same. The inside had obviously been gutted and redone. The walls were painted a warm cream with knotty wood trim. The ceiling was dark, with heavy exposed beams. The cast-iron wagon-wheel chandelier was the same. So was the wood-burning stove in the far corner.

      But the room felt bigger—was bigger. The dining room was now part of this room—separated by a long brown leather sofa. On the far wall, beneath a huge picture window, was Hunter’s old-fashioned drafting table. Her mouth went dry at the memories that table stirred up.

      They’d spent most of that morning bringing in the round hay bales in the tractor. Once they’d been left alone, she’d dragged him inside with obvious intentions. Her lips had fastened on his neck, tasting the salt of his sweat. When her lips suckled and nipped at his earlobe, he’d tugged her jeans off, tossing them hurriedly over his shoulder before grasping her hips and setting her onto the table. With his jeans around his ankles, he’d loved her hard and fast. How could she remember the feel of him, as though he was with her now?

      They’d been young, too young... But they’d loved each other, really loved each other. And then life—Amy—had gotten in the way.

      She swallowed. Her head was spinning. She needed to get the hell out of here. She needed to put as much space between them as possible. The only way to do that was to get rid of her headache.

      She took a slow, steady breath and forced herself to relax against the pillows.

      * * *

      HUNTER SET THE TABLE as quietly as he could.

      She’d been asleep for almost an hour. But he knew the longer she slept, the better she’d feel.

      He moved to the couch and stared down at her.

      The years hadn’t touched her. She’d never been a fan of makeup, so her skin was still smooth and silky. She had some faint lines bracketing her mouth and eyes, where she crinkled when she laughed. And when she laughed, she looked so damn beautiful.

      He ran a hand over his face, shaking his head. If he could go back in time, follow her, he would.

      No, he wouldn’t. Because then he wouldn’t have Eli. And as much as he regretted losing Jo, he loved his son.

      Jo stirred, her movements capturing his attention. Her mouth parted, then smiled slightly as she turned onto her side. There was a flutter of movement under her eyelids, and she sighed.

      He spread the blanket from the back of the couch over her before heading into the kitchen. He turned down the stove and put the salad back in the refrigerator. Dinner would keep—she needed sleep.

      Once he’d turned off all the lights, he went to his desk and opened his laptop. He glanced at her, then at the desk. He’d had to patch the lid after Amy had ripped it off at the hinges. She couldn’t stand the H.B. + J.S. that he’d carved into the wood. Even though he’d been the one to replace the lid, he still looked for the carving whenever he opened the desk for supplies.

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