Her Texas Cowboy. Jill Lynn
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and look around?” Grayson questioned.
“Sure!”
Gray looked at her a little funny, and why wouldn’t he? She’d just shown a lot of excitement for poking around an empty house. But if it would help her avoid a run-in with Hunter—if that was him—she couldn’t resist.
Rachel still couldn’t believe the two of them were in charge of building the float with the youth. That would have been useful information to have when Greg had asked Rachel to help. Since their conversation at church yesterday, she’d gone over and over the situation, and she couldn’t see an escape route. She’d committed, and she wasn’t going to back out and leave the church strapped. Besides, she wanted to work with the teens. This would be a great opportunity to show the town she’d changed—that she wasn’t the same immature girl she’d once been.
Rachel wanted people to see her as who she’d become. Not the queen of bad decisions. A crown she’d once had the monopoly on.
She and Hunter would just have to function around each other. If they limited their interactions to Wednesday nights and the occasional sighting at church, Rachel would be out of here and on to her new life in no time.
Bonnie meandered to a stop on the west side of the house, and Rachel and Grayson slipped down from the saddle. Her nephew was more at home riding than most adults she knew. Definitely her brother’s child. When they’d been kids, Cash had always been out working with the horses, doing anything mechanical, helping move cattle and bumming around the ranch with Dad, even at a young age. The memory coaxed a smile. She was thankful the ache of missing her parents had lessened over the years, though it always remained with her.
What she wouldn’t give to be able to go back for one day and tell them how much she loved them.
Gray had already taken off around the front of the house, so Rachel secured Bonnie to the hitching post and trotted after him. The kid only had one speed—fast.
“Can we go inside? Maybe we’ll find a snake!” He’d already climbed the front steps and now stood on the small wooden porch. He tossed his hat on the stair railing, leaving a thick head of mussed brown hair visible. “Or a black widow spider. Or a tarantula.” His excitement increased with each suggestion, while Rachel’s mind screamed, Turn around. Fast.
She peeked through the front window. Papers, a turned-over chair, clothes and some other random items littered the floor. On the front porch, an abandoned wooden swing hung by only one chain. The other side scraped eerily against the floorboards in the slight breeze.
No one lived here. Not at the moment.
“We can try, bud, but I would assume it’s locked.” Rachel attempted to turn the knob, but it didn’t twist. Mostly to prove to Grayson that she’d tried, she shoved on the door with the palm of her hand. Amazingly, it eased open. The latch must have been broken. She pushed the door open wider, and it creaked and groaned as though arthritis crippled its hinges.
Before going inside, she gave the porch a good hard stomp, just in case any critters did live inside. Ignoring the creepy feeling that a spider was about to descend on her head, she took a tentative step inside. It smelled...musty. But daylight streamed in through the windows, illuminating a basic, but surprisingly roomy space. A small bedroom was visible through an open door to the right, and the kitchen area held a few cabinets and an avocado-green stove. An older fridge—the kind that would probably go for megabucks as vintage on eBay—had the doors propped open. Thankfully the contents had been cleaned out before it had been left unplugged.
“Whoa.” Grayson had followed her inside and now stood next to her, thumbs hooked through his belt loops as he studied the room. “This could be my fort. I’d pretend the bad guys were coming.” His fingers formed guns as he faced the door. “I’d have everything ready. They wouldn’t stand a chance against me.”
Just like Grayson to see the possibilities instead of the obstacles. At four years old—soon to be five—he had the sweetest optimism about life. Rachel would like to take a scoop of it with her wherever she went. She ran a hand through his soft hair. “Totally, buddy. You’d have the fastest guns, for sure.”
Grayson walked the open stretch of floor, boots echoing against the wood. He stopped at the end of the room, head tilted in concentration. “Think Dad would let me move out here?”
She managed to stem the laughter bubbling in her throat. “I don’t know about that, Gray.”
Though she could understand his interest. The place did have a certain charm—if she looked past the mess that had been left behind. For a family, it would be tiny. But for one or two people? Cozy. Quiet.
If she could get this place cleaned up, maybe she could move out here for the next month or two. She could give Olivia, Cash and the boys their house back while still being around to help and spend time with them. Rachel pressed the pause button on her rampant thoughts. The idea was crazy. The house might not be falling to pieces, but it would take too long if she attempted it on her own. Rachel could admit it was as tempting to her as Grayson’s fort was to him, though.
“Auntie Rachel, can I go outside?” Grayson had already zipped through the small bathroom and bedroom and must have gotten bored with the space.
Liv let Grayson play outdoors by himself for little bits of time, so Rachel thought the same rule could apply here. “If you stay within five steps of the house.”
“Five giant steps?”
With his little legs? “Deal.”
“Front and back?”
“Just front. That way I can keep an eye on you through the windows.”
His nose wrinkled as if to say he didn’t need that kind of supervision, but then he scampered outside.
She moved into the bedroom, watching through the old, white-wood-framed glass window as Grayson scooted down the porch steps, and then, true to form, counted out five long strides from the house. When he reached the limit, he bent down, grabbed a stick and began drawing in the dirt.
Rachel wandered to the east bedroom window and scanned the horizon. No more sign of the rider who had been there minutes before.
If it had been Hunter, he was gone now. Relief rushed in, cool and sweet.
Sometimes she looked back on what had happened with Hunter and wondered how it had all gone so wrong. How they’d switched from best friends to not speaking at all.
Most people didn’t know that Hunter had gotten it into his head to propose to her back then. She hadn’t even told her brother, simply because Rachel had known it couldn’t happen. Getting married at such a young age might have worked out for Hunter. He’d known what he wanted and that it was here. He was a rancher. It had always been this town, this life, for him.
But Cash had given up a lot for her, and she’d been working on maturing at the time. That hadn’t included eloping and throwing away a volleyball scholarship. Even for Hunter.
To say the least, he hadn’t understood.
Their relationship—even their friendship—had been crushed.
Something skittered across the wood floor and Rachel screamed. An old brown chair had been left behind in the corner of the room, and she ran for it, jumping up. It wobbled under her weight but thankfully held. Screeches continued to slip out of her as the mouse paused to stare her down, then ran for the edge of the room.
She shivered as it disappeared beneath some warped trim. Eek, that thing had freaked her out. Her heart stampeded, and she sucked in a calming breath, thankful no one was around to see her silly antics over such a tiny creature.
“What are you doing?” Hunter leaned against the bedroom doorframe, arms crossed. Looking casual. Amused.
Her eyes momentarily closed. So it had been him she’d seen. He must have left his hat somewhere, because his hair looked as though a hand had scrubbed through the short, dark blond