“Where are you headed?” Maverick asked.
“To the pen. A couple of bridesmaids want to give riding a try.” Hunt looked directly at Kennedy when he added, “Mules are super smart and surefooted, and like I mentioned, great with novice riders. George, here, has been in the pen enough times that he knows exactly how to behave.”
Maverick opened the gate. “Have fun.”
“We will.” Hunter and George took their leave. “Oh, Kennedy,” Hunt called over his shoulder before rounding the barn, “you should go with Mav on his circuit today. He’d love the company.”
That rat fink. The last thing Maverick wanted was company, and his brother knew it.
“Circuit?” she asked.
“It’s nothing you’d be interested in.” He almost followed that with, Don’t you have a groom to talk to? But he bit his tongue. If she hung out with him, that meant she couldn’t stir up any trouble with the wedding.
She followed Maverick out of the barn. “You’re not worried I’ll ruin your circuit, are you?”
“Not at all. You want to tag along, it’s fine with me.” He climbed into the all-terrain golf cart he drove when checking on the trees. “Hop in.”
She sat down in the passenger seat. “No seatbelts?”
“Nope. Worried you’ll fall out?” A part of him did worry she might, so he’d drive a little slower than normal.
“No. I’m… I’ll just hold on here.” She wrapped her small hand around the metal seat handle. “Did you know, though, that all moving vehicles are supposed to be equipped with safety belts? They save lives.”
The worry in her voice hit him square in the chest. He imagined she’d seen her share of accidents in the ER, and her apprehension was justified.
“Noted, but we won’t be going very fast.”
“Have a helmet by any chance?”
He fought a smile. Again. She kept speaking and the corners of his mouth kept pressing up. “No helmet, either, but I promise you’ll be fine.” He reached under the seat for the red ball cap he’d left there.
“I better be.” She looked straight ahead, through the small windshield that kept bugs from flying into their faces.
“I’ve got this.” He offered her the hat. She shook her head so he ran a hand through his hair and put it on himself. “Hold on,” he said, taking it extra slow at the start. He’d never seen this side of Kennedy before, this more reticent side that offered a glimpse of someone who wasn’t as superhuman as she so often seemed.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“You’ll see.” He drove them away from the inn and the barn, down the wide, bumpy dirt road that saw a lot of traffic during the holidays. He hadn’t realized how bumpy until he noticed Kennedy’s white knuckles. To her credit, she didn’t say a word.
Wisps of her blond hair escaped her ponytail, and she sucked on her plump lower lip, so much so that he worried she might break the skin. He eased his foot off the accelerator. In theory, he had the rest of the afternoon to do this, so there was no reason to make her any more uncomfortable than she already was.
They rode up a hill, down the hill, up another, and at the peak, Kennedy let out a gasp. “You have Christmas trees. A million Christmas trees.”
He stopped the golf cart at one of the best views on the property, one he never got tired of taking in. The trees had more growing to do, but row after row of pine, their triangular shape pointing to a blue sky, took a person’s breath upon first sight.
“Not a million. But a lot.”
She spared him a quick glance as she said, “This is a Christmas tree farm, too?”
“It is. It makes up a huge part of our business in the winter.”
“How is that possible in such a small town?” She slid out of her seat to stand in front of the cart for an unfettered view.
He came to stand beside her. “We send trees all over the country.”
“To anyone famous?”
“Maybe.” They stared into the distance in comfortable silence for several minutes. When Kennedy wasn’t bombarding him with questions or combative looks, she wasn’t so bad. “Come on.”
They took the cart down the hill to the base of the tree farm.
“Wow,” Kennedy said, standing among the trees. “It’s so green and smells like Christmas on steroids.”
He glanced at her white sneakers. “Hope you don’t mind getting those dirty.”
“Not at all.”
Her answer surprised him. “Follow me, then.” He led her along the first row of trees at a slow pace as he examined each one they passed.
She watched him carefully. “What are you doing?”
“Looking for anything that can harm the trees.”
“Like?”
“Aphids and bark beetles mostly.”
She shivered, not because she was cold, but because her mind must have immediately gone to bugs landing on her—it happened to everyone he brought out here for the first time. They felt the phantom feet of insects on their arms, or the back of their necks, their ankles.
“Don’t worry. They’d much rather suck on bark than you.”
“Suck?” Her voice shook now, too. Hmm. Seemed Dr. Martin really didn’t like bugs.
“Just a figure of speech. They’re harmless to humans.” He slyly reached behind her and traced a fingertip along the back of her neck.
She jumped and shimmied around, her arms flailing, one hand wiping at her neck. “Get it off! Get if off!”
His chest rose and fell in silent laughter. Score one for the country boy.
Finding him amused, she stopped, narrowed her eyes. “You did that. Oh, you are so going to regret it.”
“Doubtful. Want to leave the ranch now?”
“No.”
“Too bad.”
“For you,” she asserted, her entire demeanor changing right before his eyes. “Now, keep going. Are these a certain type of pine tree? What happens if you find bugs are infesting a tree? Do animals, like skunks or possums, get in here? What about birds? Do they make nests? What happens then?”
He pressed a finger to the side of his head. She peppered him with question after question, knowing full well it drove him crazy. Relax, dude. This is your backyard. You can talk about this in your sleep.
A change in his attitude did wonders. For one, it calmed him down. And for two, Kennedy no longer had the upper hand, and she knew it. She saw the minute he adjusted his composure meter—her steps had a little less pep and her questions were tempered with long seconds of blissful silence.