They crossed the street and entered the building, stopping in the blindingly-white atrium. Hank shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged his shoulders. "So, what would you like to see?"

"Oh, my goodness. I don't even know where to start," Ali said, opening up the visitor's guide she'd picked up on the way in. "I suppose I should take advantage of their specialized collections. I heard they have exceptional Native American and Asian exhibits, but then again, I've always been partial to the European masters."

He stepped closer and glanced over her shoulder, peeking at the pamphlet's map. "Classical or contemporary?"

"Um, classical, for sure." She could feel his chest touching her back and his breath tickled her earlobe, making it hard to concentrate. "Maybe it's just me, but I just don't get the appeal of modern art."

"Fair enough," he said with a laugh before stepping away again. "Second floor it is."

They scaled the winding stairs, and Ali took her time moving from room to room. She stopped long enough to admire each work, and at first Hank kept pace, standing behind her while inconspicuously following along. After a while he moved ahead, allowing Ali to occasionally sneak glances his way.

On the surface, he looked like any other museum patron stopping by for an hour or two on a Saturday afternoon to soak up a little visual culture. But was he even enjoying himself, or was he there only for her? She still knew so little about him, and as Ali watched him stand with his arms crossed a few feet away from an eighteenth-century pastoral landscape, she wondered if he would have rather been back on a horse in a meadow like the one he was studying.

The thought reminded her of something she wanted to ask, and, leaving behind a battered man-of-war drifting on rough seas, she stepped next to him. "What were you doing out there, anyway? At the team-building challenge, I mean."

"One of the guys from the Academy had a last-minute emergency," he answered without moving his attention off the painting, as if he had been expecting the eventual query. "I'm friends with Jeffries, and I've done those challenges before, so when he asked me to fill in, I said yes."

"Did you know I'd be there?" she pressed on, studying his profile. The proportions of his smooth forehead, shapely nose, and strong jawline came together perfectly. Even his ear—often either too small or too large on an otherwise handsome man— was just the right size, and Ali sighed at how damn attractive he was.

He shrugged. "I suppose I could've guessed, but I didn't really even consider it at the time."

"So you didn't plan on humiliating me like that?" she snapped, surprising even herself at the pent-up resentment.

"Humiliating you?" He turned with a scowl to finally look at her. "Of course not, and I'm so sorry if that's how I made you feel."

Ali pressed her lips together to keep from bursting into tears as she remembered what it was like to stand on top of a teetering pole thirty feet up in the air. Hank reached for her face, but she stepped away.

"No, I'm okay." She shook her head, pulling herself together quickly as she left his side. "I just needed to know. And you should know something, as well."

"What's that?" he asked, following as she started walking toward the adjacent gallery.

She looked over her shoulder and sniffled. "It worked. I've been out on the trails twice since. This morning I even went alone," she said with unhidden pride.

Hank grabbed her hand, forcing Ali to face him. "That's amazing. I knew you could—" He broke off when an older woman tapped her cane against the marble floor, indicating they were blocking her way. Following an apologetic nod, he pulled Ali aside and gestured toward a bench. "Here. Let's sit."

Grateful for the distraction, Ali accepted. The painting on the wall directly in front of them immediately captured her attention. "Wow. I didn't realize they had a Monet," she said, eagerly examining the masterpiece instead of continuing their pointless squabble.

Hank didn't seem as impressed by the find. Leaning back, he braced himself with his hands. "It's a pond with a bunch of flowers," he noted drily.

Ali's jaw dropped at the flippant statement, and she looked back at him. "Let's pretend you did not just call one of the greatest nineteenth-century French painters' depiction of water lilies 'a pond with a bunch of flowers.' " She made air quotes with her fingers before she looked longingly back at the piece. "But can you at least appreciate—even just a little bit—the unmistakable impressionist style? The short brushstrokes, the colors, the use of light and dark?"

When he didn't immediately answer, she faced him again, but instead of focusing on the work she'd so passionately described, he was smiling at her. "Yes, now that you mention it, I can certainly appreciate all of those things."

"You're terrible," Ali said, playfully swatting his arm. "All right, if Monet doesn't catch your fancy, then tell me what you do like here."

He looked around before settling on a painting behind them. "That one," he said, pointing to a portrait of a young child with flowing blond hair. "That little girl is so lifelike."

Ali chuckled. "Yes, except she's a boy. The artist's younger brother, in fact."

"What?" Hank asked as he got to his feet and rounded the bench to get a better view. "That can't be right."

Ali joined him. "Look at the sign. Portrait of Edmond Renoir by Pierre Auguste Renoir. Edmond was his brother, and Auguste made several portraits of him at this age."

He leaned down and double-checked the description. "How'd you know that?"

"I minored in art history," she said, but when he turned and looked at her dubiously, she continued. "What? Did you think I only picked Greece for my study-abroad semester to be stuck in a bank for five months?"

He softened his expression, reached for her waist, and pulled her close. "You continue to surprise me, and I couldn't care less about that question even if it was meant to be rhetorical," he said before leaning in for a kiss.

If Ali still had any reservations about letting go of her anger, they all disappeared the moment their lips touched. Her nose filled with the scent of aftershave mixed with fabric softener as she dug her fingers into the front of Hank's shirt, eagerly opening her mouth to his determined tongue.

"Ewww." The sound of disgust came from right behind her, and when she looked back, a boy of around five was grimacing at them.

Burying her face in Hank's chest, Ali giggled and then cleared her throat. "I think we should get out of here."

"Good idea," he agreed with a laugh, keeping an arm around her waist as they left the building and walked back to the truck.

Ali secretly hoped they wouldn't be returning to Pebble Creek just yet, but she also knew Hank had already given up a large part of his afternoon for her. Still, when he got onto Interstate 25 heading south toward Colorado Springs, she felt a twinge of disappointment. "You have to get back to work, huh?"

"Probably, but I wasn't planning on it." He reached for her hand and kissed it before turning his attention back to the road.

"Oh." A chill ran through her and she rubbed her goose-pimpled arms.

"Are you cold?" Hank fiddled with a knob on the dash before the vents began blowing warm air. "I was thinking we could grab dinner, but I can stop to let you get changed."

Although her reaction wasn't directly related to the obvious drop in temperature, Ali didn't mind a chance to make herself more presentable. "That would be great," she said.

But before they left the highway, a clap of thunder rang out and soon thereafter, fat drops of water began falling on the windshield. Heavy gusts gradually made things even worse, and by the time they parked next to the stables, the horizontal rainfall made visibility almost nil.

"Oh, shit," Hank said, hitting the steering wheel with his palm. "Some idiot left their tack out again. Can you go through the barn and open the far door for me from the inside?"

"Sure." Ali followed him out of the vehicle and into the escalating storm without hesitation. While he ran through the rain to collect the saddle draped over the paddock's fence, she took the shortcut through the building. Still, by the time Hank returned the large leather saddle to its proper place in the tack room, he was soaked.

"It looks like you're not the only one who'll need to change," he said, shaking the water out of his hair and letting it drip down his face.

Reaching up, Ali gently wiped his wet cheek with her fingers. "Then we better get out of these clothes soon," she whispered suggestively, resting her hand on his heaving shoulder.

Hank didn't need any more encouragement. His breathing— already ragged from carrying the heavy saddle—sped up even more as his lips crushed against hers, and after slowly teasing her mouth open with his tongue, he let out a satisfied moan. Ali was just as anxious, curling her fingers around the cold fabric of his shirt and pulling until there was no excess space between them. She allowed him to take charge, positioning herself to give him access to whatever he desired.

No matter how much they tried to maneuver though, standing upright still limited the possibilities. When her back hit the door of the stall, Hank paused for air. "Do you want to do something crazy?" he asked.

"Maybe." She studied his features, intrigued by the offer. "What did you have in mind?"

"Well, there's a pretty cozy hayloft up there." He nodded to the open space above part of the building.

"Are you suggesting a romp among the bales?" she asked lightheartedly until he tightened his grip on her torso. "You're not kidding!"

"Of course I'm not, but if you don't want to . . ." He began to pull away, but Ali held him back.

"I didn't say that." She stroked his chin with one finger before nibbling on his bottom lip. "I just thought . . . that was something . . . people only did . . . in cheesy romance novels," she said between kisses. Holding her face just inches from his, she smiled. "But it actually sounds like an excellent idea. Unless you've made a habit out of this sort of thing."

Hank stared at her, unflinching. "If by 'this sort of thing' you mean attempting to seduce a gorgeous woman who is too good to be true by inviting her into a dusty attic full of dry livestock fodder, then no, I haven't made a habit of it."

Ali attempted to remain serious as she nodded. "As long as we're clear on that."

"Quite." Hank smiled, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Now. Shall we?" He motioned toward a nearby ladder leading to the upper level.

She was halfway up and he was about to follow when the stable door flew open. "Son of a bitch," he muttered under his breath as the wind whipped the wooden panel to and fro. "The latch must have been loose. Go on up. I'll be right behind you."

Ali scaled the remaining rungs and waited at the top, but even after the door had been shut, Hank still didn't return. She peeked over the side of the loft but retreated when the door opened and she could hear multiple voices.

"Hold up. Let me grab my coat," Hank yelled before running back inside.

"What's going on?" Ali whispered down to him.

"Liz saw the truck, and she needs me to take care of a few things." He motioned for her to climb down and waited until she was safely beside him again. Finding the weatherproof duster on a nearby hook, he began pulling it on. "It looks like this storm is going to be worse than anyone thought, and we'll need all hands on deck."

"So no hayloft, then?" She pouted theatrically.

He smiled, gently drawing his thumb across her lips before kissing them. "I'm afraid not. Dinner will have to be postponed as well."

"You're giving me a literal rain check?" Ali adjusted his collar.

"I guess so," he said with a chuckle before turning serious again. "Listen. I told Liz you were already inside, so if you want to keep up pretenses, wait a few minutes and then run directly back to the lodge. Okay?"

Ali nodded and kissed him one more time, stalling the inevitable. "See you tomorrow?"

"Absolutely." He brushed away a wet lock of her hair before cupping her cheek. "I have to go, but stay safe."

"You too." She sighed, watching the lightning crash just as he strode out into the storm.