7. Natalie
SEVEN
natalie
Jaxon nearly spit out his coffee.
Good.
About time I took him off guard for a change. It was only fair since he seemed to be doing it to me since the second we met. Wednesday night had been a disaster, me being unable to keep my mouth closed, and now today.
I’d been so shocked by the sound of his voice, one I somehow recognized instantly, I did the unthinkable. If any of my college rowing teammates learned I fell out of a damn kayak, I’d never live it down. I lived and breathed on the water for years, and had been collecting a water sample when he called out to me.
Some freakin’ luck. And somehow here I was sitting on a deck with the guy. I’d nearly turned down his offer of dry clothes, for obvious reasons, but something occurred to me that really hadn’t before, I’d been so angry with his presence.
You catch more bees with honey than vinegar.
And so I agreed and pretended to grudgingly accept his offer of sitting on the deck for a coffee. But in reality, I needed to play the cards that were dealt to me. And falling into the lake in front of his house—a rental, I assumed—were my cards.
Time to play them.
“So it’s your land now, is it?”
Biting back a smart-ass reply, I plastered a smile on my face. “Freudian slip. Feels like mine,” I admitted.
I refused to notice how sexy the man looked, legs extended, jeans and a light fleece making him very much blend into the lakeside lifestyle, coffee in hand. I’d looked him up on social media. Nothing. But I did know, now, what the Army Ranger uniform looked like since I sort of searched that too yesterday in a moment of weakness.
Could you imagine him in that uniform? Dear god.
“I can appreciate that,” he said. “This must be hard for you.”
Keep smiling. Pretend you don’t hate him. “It is,” I said in the sweetest voice I could muster. “If you could see some of those kids that come through the program. For a few of them, it’s the only extracurricular thing they’re involved in.”
“If the land is purchased, that doesn’t mean the end to your program. Surely you can find a new spot for it?”
I took a sip of coffee to hide my face. I’d never been good at poker. “By the time I found a spot and got the necessary permits, the season would be over. I usually run three six-week sessions. So the summer and fall kids would be out of luck.”
He couldn’t argue that, and didn’t. Likely no one knew the red tape of something as simple as my program, never mind actually purchasing protected property, like he did.
“I could help you. I’ve got a lot of contacts that are good at that sort of thing.”
Unsure if I wanted to thank him for a surprisingly kind gesture or throw my coffee mug at him for assuming his purchase would go through, I took another sip instead. Then a few deep breaths.
Honey. Remember. Honey.
“I appreciate that. But I guess we’ll see what happens first. No use rocking the boat if it’s not necessary,” I ventured.
“Interesting analogy.” He smiled. “Considering.”
I let myself smile back.
“Would you look at that? A real smile. Glad to know you’re capable.”
“It’s very much like you to ruin an actual decent moment between us.”
His laugh was everything. Deep, like his voice. But oddly cheerful.
“I didn’t think you were actually going to take me up on the temporary truce offer,” he said, laughter still lingering in his voice.
I lifted my mug. “I’m sitting here drinking coffee with you, aren’t I?”
For some reason, though my friends often called me the nice one, I found it hard to keep my cool completely with him. Maybe if he looked like a normal guy and didn’t exude absolute confidence and sex and manly vibes.
“True statement,” he said. “We’re clearly not going to find common ground on the subject of your land. How about you tell me how you ended up squatting there in the first place?”
“Ugh, you are incorrigible.”
“I’m kidding,” he said, taking a sip of coffee and turning his attention out onto the lake. Which was good, because for a second there, I swore he looked at me appreciatively. Ridiculous. He was way out of my league—looks-wise, not personality-wise—and I was an absolute fright after that dunk in the lake.
“I meant to say, with the Finger Lakes Land Trust. What’s your backstory, Natalie Hartwell?”
Honey. Remember, honey.
“Nothing extraordinary. I grew up two hours from here. We moved to Kitchi Falls, where my parents had a summer home, when I was fourteen. I’ve always loved the charm and natural beauty of the region, so aside from missing my friends, I was okay with the move. And met some great girls here. I majored in environmental science at Cornell—”
He whistled. “Cornell. Impressive.”
Ignoring the compliment, I forged ahead. “Where I joined the school’s rowing team and fell in love with the sport. After college, I was lucky enough to get a job with FLLT and came back here. End of story.”
“And your personal life? Family?”
I wanted to ask him why he cared, but that was more vinegar than honey.
“Parents. Older sister. One major relationship that ended in disaster.”
Now why the hell had I gone and said that? The fact that it was true had no bearing on the situation.
“Can you define disaster?”
Enough was enough. “I’d rather not.”
Telling him I was cheated on by a guy in college who I thought was “the one,” which had led to some very poor dating decisions and a general distrust of men, simply would not do.
Thankfully, he didn’t seem offended. Which was good, I guessed. Honey routine and all.
“And you? Backstory?”
Jaxon took a sip of coffee, and I had to admit, it was quite a peaceful morning, sitting out here like this. Despite my company.
“Born and raised in Maplewood, PA by my parents. I have two brothers, one older and one younger. Middle-child syndrome had me signing up for the Army after college despite the fact that no one in our family had ever been in the military.”
“Trying to stand out and all?” I asked. It was both surprising he’d mention the fact and more self-aware than I’d have expected.
“Pretty much. Served for eight years. Ended up in RASP, eventually Ranger school, and then assigned to the second battalion of the 75th Ranger Regiment. Was deployed three times, etc. etc.”
“RASP?”
“Ranger Assessment and Selection Program.”
“I see.” Although clearly, I didn’t. “And the whole land purchasing thing?”
I seemed to have lost him for a second, Jaxon remembering something, maybe from his past. This was a guy who’d seen and done a lot of crazy shit if even half of the stories Lucas and Nate told us were true. And neither of them had been Rangers.
“Met a guy in Afghanistan, an infantryman, who was one hell of a character. Funny as hell. And loaded too. His dad made a career of buying protected property, cutting through the mounds of red tape that scared most buyers off, and then reselling. I did some research and”—he shrugged—“here I am.”
I couldn’t help it. Honey be damned.
“So it’s purely for profit? You talk about buying protected property like it’s not protected for a reason.”
“I’m a realist, Natalie. There are a lot of things to get worked up about in this world. I’ve seen some crazy shit. But buying and selling a piece of land isn’t one of them. No offense.”
“None taken,” I said sarcastically. “It’s just my life’s work, protecting the environment. Why would I possibly take offense?”
Jaxon frowned, clearly displeased.
Good. That made two of us.
“That’s not what I meant. There’s a process. If a piece of protected property is deemed sellable, there are still mitigation measures and easement adjustments that are made to ensure preservation of the land’s essential conservation values. But you know that.”
“I do. But that still doesn’t make it right.” I stood and put my mug on the table beside me. “Thank you for the dry clothes. And coffee.”
Without another word, I left Jaxon Hayes behind and made my way back to the scene of the crime. Ignoring his calls of “Natalie,” I quickly got into the kayak and pushed off. Looking back, I finally realized why he’d been calling for me. Not to apologize for minimizing my life’s work or for profiting from harming the environment.
Jaxon was just reaching the dock with a bag of clothes in his hand.
I’d left my things. And probably should go back for them, but I just couldn’t be around him. He was too unsettling.
Vinegar. Honey. It didn’t matter. Jaxon Hayes had my number, and I wasn’t going to give him the opportunity to press even one more button.