first in the dressage segment of a three-day meet in upstate New York.
Gunnar had scoured the Internet looking for why Katy had suddenly stopped competing, expecting to find where she’d taken a bad fall during the grueling cross-country segment. But the Olympic contender had simply vanished from the equestrian world.
She obviously hadn’t stopped riding, though. But thanks to the fire pit out front, he knew Katy hadn’t ridden a horse to work yesterday. So why was she dressed in britches and boots and still freaking here, sitting between him and two fat, gooey, icing-covered cinnamon rolls with his name on them? After having to wait twenty minutes for another batch to finish baking last Thursday, he’d been smart enough to call in his order this morning while hiding in his room like a prepubescent schoolboy.
Suddenly, Katy gave a whoop, shot to her feet, and bolted down the driveway. Stepping through the door to see what had her so excited, Gunnar saw a tractor-trailer rig set up for hauling horses stop in front of the church diagonally across from the station driveway.
A towering man with shoulder-length dark hair climbed out of the driver’s door, and even from where he stood, Gunnar could see Robert MacBain’s grin as Katy ran across the road without slowing down or bothering to look for traffic. Hell, he was even able to hear the man’s grunt when she slammed into his chest, as well as Katy’s squeal of delight when the giant caught her up in a fierce hug that lifted her off the ground.
Gunnar slid his gaze to the trailer, guessing that solved that mystery.
Only to create a new one—where was Miss MacBain planning on keeping her horse? Because he was fairly certain Katy’s campsite, which happened to be within rock-throwing distance of the cabin—more like a wooden tent, if you asked him—he’d been calling home for the last two weeks, wasn’t large enough to fit a full-size pickup, a horse trailer, and a horse. And wouldn’t her more immediate neighbors have a problem with sitting around their campfires in the evening swatting flies and smelling manure instead of the sweet aroma of burning pine?
Another wave of cinnamon-laced air wafted past his nose on the breeze blowing in off Bottomless, prompting a resigned sigh as Gunnar headed down the driveway toward the happy reunion. Sheppard might think he had the upper hand by having his boss’ permission to date Katy, but Gunnar had a feeling Robert MacBain’s blessing was the one that really mattered. He reached into his pocket with a snort, pulled out his fire chief’s badge, and clipped it on his belt, figuring he might as well put the ill-gotten asset to work.
“Come on, Robbie,” Gunnar heard Katy say when he was halfway down the four-vehicle-wide driveway, her plea more demanding than cajoling as she tried to drag her half brother toward the trailer. “I haven’t seen her in over two months.”
“Then two more minutes won’t matter,” the giant said as he held his ground and watched Gunnar walk toward them. “While ye introduce me to your new boss.”
“My what?” Katy said, stopping in mid-tug to look toward the station, only to frown when she spotted him. “But how do you know he’s—”
Gunnar saw her gaze drop to his belt and sighed again when he saw the amusement in her eyes as she lifted them back to his. Nope, definitely not an airhead. In fact, he was starting to worry Katy might understand the male mind a little too well. Oh wait, of course she did; the woman had spent twenty-eight years perfecting the art of outmaneuvering the men in her family, on the chance she might want to . . . say, maybe vanish off the face of the Earth for three entire weeks without any of them being the wiser.
Checking for traffic, Gunnar seized the opportunity of having to wait for a motorcycle and stretch limo to pass to size up Katy’s sizable half brother. He stifled a grin as he pictured Sheppard craning his neck to ask Robert MacBain’s permission to date Katy—assuming the lengthy bastard even found the nerve. Although Gunnar was tempted to ask, because he was pretty sure he never wanted to find himself on the wrong side of this particular Scot.
What in hell was in the water in Pine Creek?
“Robbie,” Katy said when he finally reached their side of the road, “this is our fire chief, Gunnar Wolfe. Gunnar, this is my brother, Robbie. He’s brought