Chapter 4
In the eighteen months he’d been in Whistlemore, not many women had caught Jaxon’s attention.
He liked to keep to himself, and he sure as shit hadn’t moved all the way here from Boston to get mixed up with a woman.
Yet the moment he’d laid eyes on McKenna his first summer here—at her booth at the farmer’s market—she’d enchanted him.
No way she’d remember, but he’d purchased a jar of salve that had done wonders for his sunburns and some fizzy juice she’d explained was an ancient tea loaded with healthy probiotics for his gut.
He’d laughed and bought three bottles.
After that, he’d waved at her occasionally, sometimes stopped by her booths, but some kind of wall was stacked between them—a wall she didn’t seem to have with the other townspeople.
She stood and he rose with her. Fatigue encroached on her eyes. His mention of the idiot carpenter had struck a nerve. “It’s a long story,” she said, “and you’ve probably already heard half of it. What does it matter?”
True, he’d heard some chatter. Gossip wasn’t something he paid attention to, but when McKenna’s name slipped from a store clerk’s lips one day, he’d tuned in.
Something about Trevor being arrested and claiming McKenna had put a spell on him.
In other words, bullshit. Although McKenna was one of the most private people in Whistlemore, she didn’t seem the type to go around casting spells, even if she was capable of doing so and the asshole deserved it.
She dumped the eggshells into a bowl on the counter. He cocked his eyebrow.
“Compost,” she said with a shrug.
Admiration swelled inside him. Someone who cared so much about animals and the planet sure as hell hadn’t cast a spell on anyone. “I heard some stuff. Didn’t pay much attention, and I’d rather hear the truth anyway.”
She sighed, reached for a fresh egg, and cracked it on the side of the bowl.
“Fine. He asked me out a few times, and I always turned him down—politely,” she said, her eyes widening on the emphasized word.
“We had a storm like this a couple of months ago. You probably remember. It was the first heavy snowfall, but not as cold. He showed up at my door. Phone lines were down and I didn’t know what else to do, so I opened the door thinking I’d just promise him a date another night to get him off my property. ”
“It didn’t go that way?”
Her lips twisted. “No. He . . . uh, well he invited himself inside and refused to leave.” She cleared her throat and waved her hand.
Rage tapped against his breastplate. “Did he hurt you?” The words came out hard, demanding.
Her eyebrows rose, and she shot her gaze to his face. “No. Gosh, no. I mean, he tried to kiss me, got a little handsy. I hit him on the head with a vase and knocked him unconscious. Then I grabbed his keys—he drives that enormous truck, you know?”
He nodded, hating every second of the story. Trevor owned a red Dodge with a twelve-inch lift kit. He would’ve gotten through the snow with ease while knowing there’d be nowhere for McKenna to escape. When he got his hands on the cocksucker, he’d—
“I drove to the sheriff’s station, and they got a plow to lead their cruisers to my place. Hank arrested him and kept him overnight.”
Hank, the town’s sheriff for the last decade at least, was a decent guy and not one to arrest too readily. “Then what happened?”
She shrugged. “That was it. Hank said I could get a restraining order, but how would that work in a town this size? It’d never last. I just steer clear and he hasn’t approached me since.” She tucked her chin and pulled a whisk from the drawer behind her.
Something about the shift in her eyes shook him, but pressing her to talk wouldn’t work in his favor. He took the utensil from her hand and gestured to the dinette table. “Sit. I’ll cook.”
She cocked her head but must have thought better than to argue. She pulled out a chair and sat as he beat the eggs. “Thanks.”
“So you thought I was him coming back?”
She lowered her gaze to the table and balled her hand under her chin. “That was my first thought, yes.”
The weight in her voice made him suck back any further questions, but intrigue stirred in his gut.
After what she’d been through—basically attacked in her own home—she’d opened the door for him.
He took a skillet from the dish rack and placed it on the stove, turning on the gas for the front burner.
Then he grabbed the bottle of avocado oil—no point asking for margarine, as she sure as shit didn’t have any—and poured it in.
Turning back to face her, he winked. “Thanks for not shooting me.”
She chuckled. “If you don’t hurry with that breakfast, I might.”
A laugh rolled off his tongue and her deep violet-blues shone with amusement.
“Got any milk?”
“Almond milk’s in the fridge. Hope you don’t mind, but I don’t drink dairy.”
“Not at all. I prefer this stuff. Are you vegan?” He cracked open the carton and added a splash.
“Vegetarian. Hence the eggs. Thanks for cooking.”
He shrugged as he mixed the milk with the eggs, his back to the stove. “It’s all I had by way of a peace offering.”
Her gaze drifted down his chest and then snapped back up. A pink tint crept over her delicate, creamy cheeks. “Peace offering for what?”
Hell, she’d just checked him out. His muscles involuntarily bunched beneath his shirt.
It shouldn’t turn him on. People scoped out the opposite sex all the time.
Didn’t mean she was jonesing for him. Nevertheless, desire hardened his cock.
He poured the eggs into the skillet and took a spatula from the container on the counter. “For making you so angry.”
“You called me stupid.”
He lifted his eyebrows and waggled a finger. “No, I didn’t. I said it was a stupid thing to do. As in dangerous.”
“Still, you said ‘stupid.’”
He released a breath. “All right. Hitting a shooter’s arm was reckless. How’s that?”
“So’s shooting a gun in the open.”
“Touché. But I was trying to save your ass from being mauled.”
She pinched her lips, but a smile formed at the corners of them. Damn. He shouldn’t have said a thing about her ass. Now he couldn’t shake the image of her luscious butt from his head. He cleared his throat.
“Sorry for the ‘stupid’ comment and thanks for not kicking me out.”
Her mouth relaxed. “You’re forgiven. Now focus before you burn the eggs.” She stood and took the spatula from him.
He nudged her aside. “I said I’m cooking. Sit.”
She harrumphed and backed up but didn’t sit. “I’ve heard the townspeople call you ‘city boy.’ Where exactly are you from?”
He stirred the sizzling eggs. “Boston. I moved here eighteen months ago.” He glanced out the window overlooking the backyard. A small greenhouse took up a good chunk of the space. “Do you own this land?”
She went to the fridge and pulled out a jar of pink liquid. He recognized it as the stuff he’d bought at the farmer’s market. “Fifty acres.”
He whistled.
“Kombucha?”
“Sure.”
She sidled up next to him as he continued to toss the eggs around the pan.
She rose onto her tiptoes and opened the cupboard.
Her sweater inched up her back revealing the silky skin above the waistband of her pants.
Desire vibrated through his nervous system.
The black yoga pants hugged every inch of her curves and held her ass in a tight grip.
She landed back on her heels with a small grunt and placed the two glasses she’d grabbed on the counter next to him. The tight quarters left very little working area in the kitchen. As she poured out the liquid, the heat from her arm brushed his elbow and all the hairs on his skin stood erect.
When had anyone ever had this effect on him? Never. Geez. He needed to get laid. She reached past him and opened a loaf of bread.
“Toast?”
“Sure. Only if it’s gluten free.”
She chuckled. “Now you’re just making fun of me.” She dropped three slices into the toaster in front of her.
“Never,” he said. The word came out soft and too damn sweet.
Her head tilted back and her eyes searched his face.
Soft breaths moved between her lips as her gaze darted around the zone of his mouth then flickered up to meet his stare.
Thick, dark eyelashes encircled her beautiful violet-blues.
The pink hue in her cheeks matched that of her lips.
A tiny mole was nestled in the depth of a single dimple above her cheekbone.
The air squished from his lungs, and she dropped her attention to the skillet.
“You’re overcooking those.”
He lifted the pan and tossed the slightly golden eggs. “Nah, that’s how I like them.”
She snorted and pulled the waiting bread from the toaster. She grabbed a butter look-alike spread and worked it over the crisp toast then made her way to the table with two plates in hand. He followed her and dished out the eggs before returning the skillet to the stovetop.
As he pulled out a chair and sat next to her, the lights flickered.
McKenna froze. “Shit,” she breathed.
The lights snapped off and the energy drained out of the appliances. Silence replaced the hum of electricity.
Pop! Pop!
The sharp bursts of sound had come from outside.
“What the hell was that?” He shot to his feet and caught her arm.
* * *
McKenna ran to the front of the cabin and snagged her coat from the hook on the wall.
The generator shouldn’t be out of gas—she’d filled it the previous night, before Jaxon arrived.
Shoving her arms through the sleeves, she spun around to backtrack through the kitchen to the back door and smacked right into the wall of Jaxon’s chest. He caught her biceps in his palms.