The Texan's Tennessee Romance by Gina Wilkins Page A

the driveway.
    “Left,” she said, and sat back in her seat.
    He was right, she decided. She needed to forget about her problems and have fun today. She deserved that, darn it.
    Looking at his attractive profile from beneath her lashes, she decided she had chosen exactly the right companion for a day of determinedly carefree fun.

    Casey couldn’t decide which was more beautiful—the stunning mountain scenery on the trail, or Natalie. He finally decided it was almost a tie, with her having just a slight edge, at least as far as he was concerned.
    The trail began as an old gravel logging road through the forest running alongside a tumbling stream that Natalie called “The Ramsey Prong” of the Little Pigeon River. In the summer, Casey imagined the trail would be shady and very green. As it was, there was still some color in the leaves that rained down on them with every cool breeze.
    The gravel road was surrounded by mossy fallen tree trunks and enormous boulders, but not particularly steep yet. She had warned him that it got much steeper when the old road ended and the trail became a worn footpath.
    “In the summer there are wildflowers through here,” she said, gesturing toward the leaf-strewn forest floor, her thin digital camera in her other hand. “Little violets and irises and other things I never learned to identify.”
    “There are probably more hikers in the summer, too,” he commented, and though he spoke quietly, his voice sounded almost loud in the hushed forest. It felt as if he and Natalie were the only ones on the mountain, but he’d seen a couple other cars in the lot when they’d parked.
    “Oh, yes, especially during the weekends. This is nice, isn’t it? Having the trail pretty much to ourselves?”
    He put a hand lightly at the small of her back, ostensibly to help her around a boulder, mostly just because he wanted to touch her. “Yeah. It’s very nice.”
    It pleased him that she made no effort to move away from his hand as they continued to walk, stepping ahead only when the path grew too narrow to navigate side by side.
    He lifted an eyebrow when they came to a footbridge over the stream. The bridge was a long, somewhat bouncy-looking, narrow log with a single handrail. Water tumbled noisily over boulders beneath the bridge—and the water looked cold.
    Lowering her camera after taking a shot of the bridge, Natalie looked back at him. “Problem?”
    “No. Just hoping the traction on these shoes is all the ads claim it to be.”
    She laughed. “Come on. I promise not to push you in. As long as you behave.”
    Was that a hint for him to keep his hands to himself? Watching her delicately crossing the bridge, he told himself it might be worth a cold dunking to touch her again.
    “Smile,” she said from the other side of the prong.
    Posing in the middle of the bridge, he grinned as she snapped his picture.
    “Man, these trees are huge,” he commented a few minutes later as the trail wound between massive trunks. Gnarled roots snaked across the worn path, waiting to snag a carelessly placed foot or twist an ankle. Patches of moss added to the challenge, which was why, he supposed, the guidebooks rated this hike as strenuous. That, and the increase in altitude.
    Natalie placed her hand on the rough bark of a tree that had to be twelve feet in diameter. “Yellow poplars. This is virgin forest. Beautiful, isn’t it?”
    Frowning at some initials clumsily carved into the bark of another massive tree, he nodded. “Wonder why some people can’t appreciate nature’s beauty without making their own marks on it.”
    “Or leaving their trash behind,” she agreed with a look of distaste. “Nothing makes me madder than to see a beautiful place soiled with beer bottles and aluminum cans.”
    They pulled water bottles out of their packs and took a few sips while they looked around. “How far do you think we’ve walked?” he asked, guessing at a couple of miles.
    “About two and a half