He turned back toward the road, then stopped, squinting hard and scratching his blond head.
“Problem?” Spencer asked.
“That lady from Hollywood drove a weird turquoise-colored car, didn’t she?”
Erin Murphy was back? How long had it been? Two...three months? Spencer strolled over to have a look for himself.
“Folks in town have been buzzing about that movie they’re gonna start filming soon,” Dusty said. “But no one said anything about her coming back.”
“Her name’s Erin.”
At the sound of his voice Dusty jumped. “You might wanna step back some so she can’t see you.”
Spencer shook his head. “You finish pitching hay. I’ll talk to her.”
“You sure about that?” Dusty looked disappointed. “I don’t mind telling her you aren’t here,” he said, pushing a hand through his shaggy hair, trying to tidy it up.
He’d been taken with Erin on her first visit and assumed she was an actress. She’d laughed at the idea, implied she wasn’t pretty enough. When Dusty had asked what was wrong with those guys in California, Erin had blushed and changed the subject.
Spencer had thought about the spunky brunette a few times since that day. He couldn’t say why for sure. The simple and most logical explanation was the lack of sex in his new life. Even though his eleven-month dry spell was self-imposed, he missed the warm soft body of a woman beside him. Not enough to give up his privacy. But maybe it was time to take an overnight trip out of town. Not to Idaho. He had no plans to return home anytime soon. If ever.
If not for last night’s hard rain packing the dirt road, her tires would’ve been kicking up dust. But it was easy to see the odd-colored car. He knew for sure it was Erin before she turned onto the gravel driveway and veered left to avoid a mud puddle. He’d meant to fill in holes and grade the drive before the snow came.
“Do you think she’d go out with me?” Dusty asked. He hadn’t moved, and Spencer hadn’t noticed until now.
“You’re nineteen,” Spencer said, hiding his surprise. “She must have ten years on you.”
“Things like age don’t matter nowadays. And she doesn’t act like one of those stuck-up Hollywood types, or I wouldn’t even think about asking.” Dusty dragged his gaze away from the car and studied Spencer. “I didn’t think you were interested.”
“I’m not. Ask her if you want.” Spencer almost added that he shouldn’t get his hopes up, but, hell, the kid technically was an adult. He just seemed young.
Spencer had no room to judge. His own immature arrogance had torn him from everything he’d loved and put him right here in this isolated little corner of Montana. And he’d been thirty-two at the time. No, he wasn’t about to make the mistake of getting in Dusty’s way.
They watched her park closer to the house and the stone walkway that led to the front door. Spencer didn’t think she’d spotted them. She was too busy doing something in her car.
He grabbed his hat off the worktable. No sense waiting for her to come to him. He figured he knew what she wanted, and the answer was still no. She didn’t even have to get out of the car.
“Hey, wait,” Dusty said. “You’re not gonna chase her off again, are ya?”
“If I have to.” He heard the kid muttering something, but Spencer kept walking. Sure, he’d admit he wasn’t unhappy to see her. But he prized his privacy and solitude above everything else. That wouldn’t change.
She opened her door, swung two long bare legs out and planted a pair of red high heels on the ground.
Spencer’s heart lurched in his chest and somehow cut off his supply of oxygen. Anatomically that was impossible. He knew that better than most people. But that knowledge didn’t put his equilibrium back to rights.
Stopping a few yards away from the car, he folded his arms across his chest and watched her stand. Her short denim skirt hit her just about midthigh. What he wouldn’t give to take a nice, leisurely look, but as it was, he couldn’t even swear the woman was Erin. His gaze hadn’t made it up to her face yet.
After a brief glance at her close-fitting red sweater, his gaze lingered on her mouth, on the row of straight white teeth biting into the plump flesh of her bottom lip.
He seemed to recall that her eyes were brown. But he couldn’t see them with her lashes lowered, head bent, her long dark hair falling forward and hiding half her face. She seemed more interested in the soft ground than in him. Wise move. If she wasn’t careful, she’d get those skinny heels stuck in the mud.
“Erin?”
She glanced up. Smiled. “Mr. Hunt,” she said, hanging on to the car door when she wobbled. “Hello. Nice to see you again.”
“I can’t imagine why you drove all the way out here,” he said. “We have nothing to talk about.”
“Well, I must admit...” She tilted her head slightly to the side, her smile changing to something sultrier. “I was hoping you’d changed your mind.”
Tensing when she took another shaky step, he lowered his arms to his sides. “The only reason I came out here was to save you the trouble of getting out of your car.” He glanced pointedly at her feet.
“Yeah, I never should have worn these heels out here. But I have an appointment right after this, so...” She gave a slight shrug, the pull of the sweater drawing his attention to the swell of her breasts.
He couldn’t let that distract him. “Then you might as well be on your way,” he said and watched her smile slip. It came right back, though.
She didn’t just look different; she sounded different. Her sigh was soft, not filled with impatience and frustration like it had been when he’d first turned down her request to film on his land. And if she’d worn makeup before, she’d applied it with a much lighter touch. While she hadn’t gone overboard, her high cheekbones appeared more prominent, and there was a slight sheen to her lips.
Looking past him, her smile widened suddenly. “Hi, Dusty,” she called out with a wave, still clutching the car door.
When she took an unexpected step forward, Spencer automatically offered his hand.
She blinked at it and then was about to accept his help but said, “Wait.” She turned around and reached for something inside the car.
The way she bent across the seat made Spencer think she wasn’t used to wearing skirts. He told himself not to look, but he did. Only for a second before he turned his head. He hoped Dusty hadn’t seen his brief moment of indiscretion. Spencer didn’t care for the fact that the kid considered him a mentor, but how he felt about it didn’t change anything.
Erin backed up and stood with a folder in her hand.
Probably a contract. Wouldn’t happen.
He shook his head, tempted to let her fend for herself if she insisted on being stubborn. But good manners ingrained from the minute he learned to talk wouldn’t allow it.
Again, he offered his hand, and she didn’t hesitate to take it. Her palm was smooth and soft but not as silky as most of the women he knew back in Boise.
“You couldn’t have picked a worse place to park,” he said, trying to ignore the sweet scent of her skin.
“I see that.” She took another step, her fingers curling around his knuckles. Her hand was small, but she had a strong grip.
Spencer took a shallow breath. “Look, why don’t you get back in the car and—”
Erin gasped.
She pitched forward, digging her nails into his wrist.
He