8. Summer #3
“How’s your elbow?” he asks as he ties off Rebel.
I push to sit up. My elbow still throbs, but when I move my arm, nothing feels seriously wrong. “I’ll be fine.”
He looks over me, chewing his lip. “Can you ride?”
“My horse is gone, so it doesn’t matter. I’ll have to walk.”
“You’re not doing that.”
“It’s not my leg, Jaxon. It’s my elbow. Pretty sure that doesn’t affect me walking.”
He stands and looks between the two horses.
“We’ll ride back together. Scout can carry us both.”
I frown. “You want me to ride with you?”
“You want to get back or not?”
My arm is already aching, and the barn is a good half mile back. The sooner I can get ice on the joint, the less it will hurt.
“Okay, fine.” I brush past him, then realize it’s going to be hard getting on Scout with only one good arm.
Jaxon comes up behind me. “Can I help you up?”
“I can do it myself.”
“Maybe you can. But if you can’t, you’ll be on the ground again and in worse shape than you are now.”
I’d be stupid not to let him help. I grit my teeth. “Okay. If you could just give me a little lift…”
Before I can even finish, he sets his hands on my waist, and my pulse riots.
His palms feel like they were made to fit there.
Ignoring my racing heart, I step into the stirrup.
The press of his hands on my waist makes my breath catch.
When he lifts me into the saddle, I grab the horn and stare straight ahead.
I shouldn’t be thinking about the fact that those hands could lift me off a saddle, onto a hay bale, up against a barn wall…
I stop that thought before it becomes a runaway train.
“Thank you,” I murmur. I’m blushing so furiously I probably look like a ripe tomato in August.
He drops his hands like nothing happened. Because for him, nothing did happen. He lifted a woman onto a horse. That’s it.
Meanwhile, I’m having thoughts about Jaxon that I have absolutely no right to have. I’m still working for Lucky Chance. I have a rivalry with him that goes back to high school. Pull yourself together.
But Larissa’s voice is still in my head, reminding me that hate kisses are a thing.
I don’t want a hate kiss. I want to get back to the barn, put some ice on my elbow, and forget this ever happened.
Next thing I know, he mounts the horse behind me in one smooth motion, and suddenly, we are very close. Even closer than when I almost tripped over him in Rosie’s stall.
His arm comes around me to hold the reins, and his chest brushes against my back.
“You good?” he asks so close to my ear it makes a tingle rush down my spine.
No, I’m not good. I’m unwell with this man practically spooning me on a saddle.
“Just take us back to the barn.” I clear my throat, not daring to look over my shoulder at him. Only the brim of my hat is keeping us apart.
What would it be like to hate-kiss Jaxon Chance? We never kissed in high school and we never technically dated. We were just two rivals with chemistry. Right now, the fact that I’m thinking about this is problematic.
He starts us forward at a slow walk, Rebel trailing behind on the lead. “Elbow still hurting?”
“I’ll survive. Not my first fall. Certainly won’t be my last.”
“Try not to make a habit of it.” I can hear the smirk in his tone. “Can’t afford to lose you right now.”
He didn’t say I’m glad you’re okay. Just that he couldn’t afford to lose me.
I keep my eyes forward. “You won’t.”
We ride the rest of the way in silence, and when we get back to the stable doors, he slides off first and then reaches for me without asking.
“I can jump off myself,” I say.
“You most certainly won’t.” I can tell by his tone that there’s no room for arguing.
“Jaxon, I’m not broken,” I insist. “It’s just a sore elbow.”
“Stop being stubborn.” His hands find my waist. “And let me help.”
He won’t let me off this horse until I accept his help.
He lifts me off easily, our bodies brushing for a few seconds.
When my feet touch the ground, I look up and realize his eyes are locked with mine.
Heat flames through my middle—from his hands on my sides, his stormy gaze searching my face, the fact that I haven’t been touched like this in years.
He’s too closed off for me to read, keeping his emotions under lock and key every time I’m near him. His cheeks are slightly burned from the sun, and stubble peppers his jaw. The country air suits him well.
I step back before he can see the flush across my neck. “Thanks again.”
“Welcome.” His voice is a little rough. “I know you didn’t want the help.”
“Only needed it because I fell.”
What is wrong with me? I can’t even stop arguing with him when I’m trying to thank him for helping me.
His lips twist. “Right.” Then he takes Rebel’s lead. “You need ice for that elbow?”
“I can get it myself.”
“Didn’t ask if you could.” He glances over his shoulder at me. “Asked if you wanted it.”
I nod once and he leaves. I’m supposed to be the one teaching him how this farm works. Instead, he’s teaching me how to accept his help. And I learned a long time ago not to.