Chapter 8
Jason
She isn’t picking up her phone.
Not on Saturday morning, when I called her the first five times, after she sent me a quick morning text.
And not this morning either, while I glanced out of my windshield toward Casey’s driveway.
Casey’s empty driveway, seeing as his truck wasn’t there.
Meaning that wherever Sunday went yesterday, she still hasn’t come back.
So she was out all night.
Where the hell did she go?
I swipe a hand back through my hair and toss Casey’s shovel beside the hole, the gravel finally compacted and ready for the next stage of the project.
I need to complete Casey’s yard ASAP if I want it ready for when his outpost ends, especially to avoid the imminent snowfall that’s already multiple feet deep up some of the mountains.
So that’s exactly what I’ve been doing, spending every free weekend that I have working on it, only today it feels different because there’s a heavy weight wrapped around my chest.
Sunday didn’t come home last night.
She spent the night someplace else.
I give each of the four lifted-canopy posts a firm testing shake, checking to see that they’re still secure and won’t collapse in case of a storm. Then I drag a second tarp straight over the hole and hammer it into place, before hauling the rest of my gear up Casey’s back porch and opening the back door with the curve of my shoulder.
I can’t deny it – my heart practically stopped in my chest when Sunday texted me yesterday morning. Only problem was, there was a full hour before I noticed it because I’d been so preoccupied with heaving and spreading the subsoil.
But the second that I saw it I instantly called her, shoulders hunched as I sat on the back step, so fucking ready to hear her voice.
And when she didn’t pick up, I thought that it was just a bad cell connection. But when I tried her again in the evening and there was still no response?
That’s when I took it as she’s otherwise engaged.
I drop the yard equipment beside the doorway and try to ignore the way that my heart is thundering, draining the last of my morning coffee and trudging back toward the kitchen.
I pour out the remains from Casey’s coffee machine and gulp down the whole mug. Then I set it hard on the countertop, my eyes sliding over to my phone as I brace my palms on the wood.
Fuck it.
I grab the phone in one hand and instantly swipe up to reread Sunday’s message.
SUNDAY: Hey, just letting you know that I’ll be out of your way this morning if you were thinking of coming to Casey’s for the yard thing. Hopefully see you around soon! Sunday x
I swipe my tongue over my bottom lip, my left hand in a death-grip around the counter-top, as I try not to focus on the fact that she said she’d ‘hopefully’ see me soon.
Or the little damn kiss at the end of her message.
My thumb hovers over the keypad for about thirty seconds straight before I growl and shut the whole thing off, stuffing it in the side pocket of my cargo pants.
And then a thought infiltrates my mind before I have the sense to stop it.
Was it Beckett? I think to myself. Did he take her out for the night?
I rub a palm down my jaw.
Did they do something more?
I torture myself with the thought for fifteen long seconds before finally shaking it off and swiping my wrist against my forehead.
No way, I think to myself. She’s way too good for him.
I wash up the mug and grab my shit from the back of the cabin, eyes staring blankly at the front door so that I don’t glance at the guest bedroom that Sunday is staying in.
The bedroom whose door has been ajar all weekend, only the hint of a crumpled bedsheet visible from the hallway.
A crumpled bedsheet and that soft robe I caught her wearing the last time that we saw each other.
I mean, there’s no denying that she looked fucking beautiful when I saw her that morning…
Dangerous territory, man.
Especially when she might have just spent the night with your employee.
I shake my head, clear my throat, and haul open the front door.
And then I release a sharp inhale as scalding liquid shoots up my sternum.
I drop every piece of equipment that’s clenched in my fist, tugging the soaked fabric of my shirt from where it’s now clinging to my swollen pecs.
“Fuck,” I exclaim, grimacing when the liquid burns my thumb.
“Oh my God!” Sunday gasps breathlessly. “I am so, so sorry!”
At the sound of her husky voice my gaze flashes down to meet hers, and I search her beautiful eyes for a second before refocusing on my shirt.
“It’s nothing,” I murmur, “you didn’t know that I was about to open the door.”
And then I’m walking backward into the kitchen so that I’m no longer blocking her entryway.
“It is so not okay,” Sunday argues, looking flustered as she drops her carry-on beside Casey’s couch.
An overnight carry-on.
That she used, overnight.
I stare at it for a long moment before turning around and getting to work on my unzipped jacket.
I toss it to the floor and then get my fists around the hem of my shirt, ready to tug it over my head so that I don’t singe the skin off my entire abdomen.
I glance briefly over my shoulder, meeting Sunday’s eyes in a silent warning.
A warning that says, look, there’s no polite way of putting this, but I’m about to take my shirt off.
She blinks up at me with flushing cheeks before removing her cowgirl hat and demurely giving me her back.
I stare at it as she slips her own jacket off her shoulders, and then I’m ripping my shirt over my head, hands twitching as I take in her pyjamas.
Her shirt is long-sleeved and fitted, and her cotton shorts are baby blue.
They’re sweet as hell.
And some other guy saw her wearing them last night.
That thought stings worse than the boiling coffee she just tossed up my abdomen.
I glance down at the soiled grey shirt and bring it to my nose, sniffing the fabric.
And then intrigue lifts my brow, my frown dissipating until I’m almost smiling.
“Hot chocolate?” I ask quietly, my voice deeper than I mean for it to be, but that can’t be helped when I’m getting naked and there’s a beautiful woman standing five feet in front of me.
A soft laugh tinkles out of her as she leans down and pulls off her snow-boots.
And my military brain can’t help but decipher that new piece of information.
She must have been travelling up near the mountains for her to need to wear snow-boots.
“It’s my go-to,” she admits. “It’s what I used to kick my caffeine addiction a couple years back.”
I grab my jacket and tug it back over my shoulders, pulling the zipper to the top so that I’m not giving Sunday a strip-show when she turns around.
I stuff the soiled shirt in my back pocket and breach the gap between us as she peeks over her shoulder.
“All decent,” I tell her gruffly.
She gives me a playful roll of her eyes, and then turns around to face me.
“Did you have a nice weekend?” she asks gently, and the space between us instantly heats with tension.
I roll my shoulders and spread my boots, my eyes flicking down to Sunday’s overnight bag.
“Sure,” I tell her, bringing my gaze back to her face. “And yours?”
She fights back a smile. “It was actually really nice.”
I almost laugh as I palm my nape.
Well, just kill me now.
“I had a sleepover with–” she begins, but I hold up a palm, already wincing.
“You know what, I take it back. I don’t wanna know,” I say hoarsely, hauling up my work-gear from the mat and stepping half-out of Casey’s front door.
And then, in less than a second, I’m storming back inside.
“Okay, just tell me,” I say roughly. “Who was it? Was it Beckett?”
Sunday chokes back what sounds like laughter before arching an eyebrow and asking, “Uh, what?”
“Beckett,” I repeat. “He’s one of my employees. Told me he bumped into you and, you know…”
I make a vague gesture with my hands, my neck burning hotter by the second.
Sunday tilts her head to one side, those wide eyes sparkling as she watches me.
I stare at her for a moment before averting my gaze. “So, are you?”
Sunday’s eyebrows almost hit the ceiling.
“Am I what?” she asks, half-laughing.
My heart races in my chest. “Are you going out with him?”
And then I drop my eyes to my boots, until Sunday takes a small step toward me.
I meet her gaze with mine, my temples throbbing as she smiles up at me.
My chest pumps unsteadily up and down as I try to work out what that look means.
“I spent the weekend with Haven,” she tells me slowly, before adding wryly, “you know, my sister-in-law ?”
A hot surge of relief courses through me as I stare down at her, and then she cocks her head to the side and asks, “What were you doing this weekend?”
“Work,” I say immediately, jerking my thumb toward the back of the cabin. “Filled in the hole yesterday morning, and then headed up to help Nature and Wildlife rescue an injured elk. Got home a little later than usual, and came back to Casey’s first thing today.”
Then I decide to put my pride on the line, shifting my boots gently against the hardwood.
“Tried calling you a couple of times.”
Sunday’s eyes widen. “That was you?”
Then she presses her fingertips against her temples and bites her bottom lip, understanding dawning.
“We were doing a forest trek with Tucker and I thought the only person with my number was Case. But obviously, I sent you a text that morning… so I guess he’s not the only person who has access to it.”
We share a silent look and, in the next second, we’re laughing. I rub my knuckles across my stubble, eyes on Sunday’s legs as she slips off her snow shoes.
“Which forest did you go to?” I ask, and she grins up at me as she pulls on her cowgirl boots, wearing them around the cabin like a pair of slippers.
“We were barely in the mountains,” she admits. “Just the lower forest trails.”
And then I’m following her into the kitchen, checking her out from behind as she opens up a cupboard.
When she pulls out a large tub of cocoa powder, I tell her, “I’ll pay you back for the drink you lost to my shirt.”
“Jason,” she laughs, shooting me a gorgeous smile over her shoulder. “I practically scalded you. You don’t need to pay me back.”
I wait until she’s returned her attention to making the cocoa and then I slip a ten from my wallet, tucking it behind a vase.
She gives me a side-eye glance, almost catching me hide the money, but I give her an easy-going smile and smoothly move in beside her. She holds my gaze for a long moment and I smirk down at her as I recap the milk.
Then we’re laughing again because being together makes us feel like a pair of high-schoolers, and I settle my palm beside her mug as she bites shyly into her smile.
“Anyway, Haven told me that we’re about to get some crazy snow. And when I said that I didn’t believe her, she was like, ‘okay, just wait until you see how much is already in the mountains’. So, we drove to the closest Nature Trail with Tucker and…” Sunday gives me a wide-eyed look. “The snow ?” she says, before shaking her head. “I couldn’t believe it.”
Then she points her spoon toward me and gestures to the pan of milk on the stove.
“Do you want a cup?” she asks.
I breathe out a laugh. “To drink or to wear?”
“Hey!” she gasps. Then she mumbles, “No cocoa for you.”
I give her a playful grin and she gently nudges my boot with the toe of hers.
But then I glance out of the front door, wincing at how much work I have to do today.
“Wish I could stay,” I tell her honestly. “But I’ve got a couple things I need to check on.”
One of which is for Sunday’s brother, and I’m still a little unnerved by Beckett telling me that Sunday almost found out about it.
She nods solemnly, hiding her smile. “More elk to save,” she says teasingly.
My dimples flex as I laugh. “Something like that,” I admit, before glancing down at her.
I let my eyes roam over her pyjama set, my shoulders swelling at how intimate this feels.
And when she catches me checking her out, I jerk my chin toward her boots and rumble, “They look good on you.”
“Thanks,” she says softly. “I actually want to find a place to saddle up while I’m in town. I’m just not sure if there’ll be anywhere open what with it being the winter season and all.”
Surprise lifts my brow. “You ride?” I ask.
A smile touches her lips as she glances up at me. “ So well.”
I breathe out a laugh, my muscles flexing at her innuendo. I mean, maybe she didn’t mean it like that but, you know, a guy can dream.
“A friend of mine has a ranch, right on the outskirts of town,” I tell her. “So, if you want some company while you ride…” I rub my palm down my stubble. “We could do it together.”
For a long moment she doesn’t respond, her eyes unblinking as they carefully search mine.
And I’m not sure what she’s looking for, but I can tell the second that she finds it.
A small dimple pops in her cheek as she bites into her tiny smile.
“They let people visit their ranch?” she asks in the softest voice I’ve ever heard, and I swallow thickly because I think that that’s her way of saying yes.
End of the Road Ranch is right on the edge of Phoenix Falls, and I helped Hardy Hanson build it over a decade ago when I was home from deployment. He’s got a lot of land and usually the only visitors are ranch-hands, but I know for a fact that he’ll do me this favour and let me bring Sunday down to ride.
I tuck my thumb into one of my belt-loops. “That won’t be a problem.”
“Can you ride?” she asks.
I look her over. “Wanna find out?”
And in the next second she’s shoving her elbow into my gut, laughing breathlessly as I grin down at her gorgeous flushed cheeks.
“You’re the worst ,” she laughs, but she’s looking up at me like I’m the best, and I love it so much that I give her a gentle nudge of my own. Just a press of my thigh on hers after she takes the first sip of her cocoa, and even though it’s not skin-on-skin, heat explodes through my muscles.
Sunday hums happily as she cuddles her cup and strolls out of the kitchen, and I follow right behind her, only one question playing on my mind.
Is taking her to Hardy’s ranch going to count as a date?
She leans her shoulder against the doorjamb as I step out onto the front porch, the soft winter clouds lower than before, hanging heavy with the promise of snow.
“Pick you up Friday afternoon?” I ask, watching her as she takes another sip of her hot cocoa.
I’d rather hammer out the details now so that we’re not dependent on the area’s irregular cell service.
“If the elk can spare you for one day,” she teases, and my dimples tighten as I breathe out a laugh.
And then I’m walking backwards toward my truck because I don’t want to take my eyes off her any longer than I have to.
And from the way that she wraps her arms around the porch railing? It looks like she can’t take her eyes off me either.
I give her a jerk of my chin and she gnaws on her thumb to hide her smile.
Looks like I have the answer to my question.
This is definitely a date.