Page 37 of The Bitterroot Inn (Jamison Valley 5)
He shrugged. “Just curious. I’m thirty-four. My birthday was yesterday.”
My mouth fell open and then snapped shut with a click. With a full arm swing, I back-handed him in the chest. “What the ever-loving hell, Hunter Faraday?”
“What?” He shied away, clutching his chest to keep me from hitting him again.
His guard didn’t work. I wound up again, this time smacking his rock-hard bicep. “Your birthday was yesterday? And I’m just now learning this?”
“You had my driver’s license.”
I smacked him again. “I don’t study those. Do you know how many driver’s licenses I have copied? Hundreds. Now don’t make excuses. Why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday at dinner?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Well,” I huffed. “You’re in trouble. As soon as we get back to the motel, I’m going to tell Mom it was your birthday yesterday. That’s your punishment for not telling me last night.”
“How is that a punishment?”
My grin was evil. “You’ll see. Come on.” I stood up from the log and held out a hand to help him up. When he slipped his large grip over mine, consuming my slender fingers, an electric current shot up my elbow.
Hunter felt it too, because he stuttered a bit as he stood. “Um, uh, where to now?”
I slipped my hand out of his so I could form coherent sentences. “Back to the motel. How would you feel about a redo birthday dinner?”
“You want to brave another night at The Black Bull?”
I shook my head. “How about a home-cooked meal instead?”
He smiled. “Sounds even better. Got any peas?” With a quick wink, he started back toward the truck.
Heavens above. That wink had just ruined me for all other men.
“I’m back!” I called into the loft.
Hunter closed the door behind us as he followed me inside.
Little footsteps pounded as Coby came racing down the hallway with Pickle hot on his heels. “Mommy!”
“Hey, buddy!” I bent to give him a hug. “How was your afternoon with Nana?”
“Good! We played with Play-Doh.”
My eyes snapped to the dining room table to see evidence of the cursed dough. Super. Tiny specs of blue, green and yellow were scattered across the table, the chairs and the surrounding floor space. I loved my son so I indulged his affection for Play-Doh, but it was my worst enemy. No matter how much I cleaned, I always missed a piece. Inevitably, I’d find it days later after stepping on the dry, pointy shard with bare feet.
“Darn.” Mom came walking down the hall with a towel in her hand. “I was hoping to have this all cleaned up by—” Her steps faltered when she noticed Hunter. I held back a laugh as she blushed. Like mother, like daughter. “Hunter!” She regained her composure and smoothed out her shirt as she walked to the table. “How are you? Did you enjoy your afternoon exploring?”
“Nice to see you again, Mrs. Holt. And yes, we had a great time. Your daughter is an excellent tour guide.”
“Mrs. Holt, pish.” Mom giggled as she cleaned. “Call me Marissa.”
“Marissa.” He looked down at Coby and smiled. “Hey, Coby.”
Coby stared at Hunter for a long moment with discerning eyes.
“Coby, do you remember Hunter?” I asked.
He nodded but didn’t break his study of our guest. Finally, he blinked and cocked his head to the side. “You have long hair. Isn’t long hair just for girls?”
“Buddy.”
