24. Summer
Summer
The cover band finishes their song, then immediately segues into a George Strait ballad that draws the older couples to the dance floor. If we slipped away now, Jaxon could take me home and our little arrangement would be finished, neat and tidy, just like we agreed.
Any questionable feelings I have about Jaxon right now could be explained away tomorrow.
I could blame the flutter of hummingbird wings under my rib cage on the tender twang of the steel guitar or the gentle lull of Francie’s voice on lead.
Maybe even on the dazzling full moon, hanging like a glowing, lemon meringue pie.
I like being here with this man, the way his hands grasp my waist, stroke my spine, drag over my skin like fire.
“Summer, do you want to go one more round?” he asks, studying me. Francie is already singing George’s first line, soft as silk.
“Sure,” I say with a casual shrug. “We’re just getting started. And I don’t want Blaine to ask me again.”
I expect him to give me a hard time about Blaine. Instead, he just hooks one hand around my back and tugs me so close that it nearly knocks the breath out of me.
Who taught him how to hold a woman like this?
I shouldn’t even entertain that question.
But now I’m thinking about all the women who might have taught him—dozens of female fans he’s met in cities when he played hockey—while my only companions have been horses.
Hockey athletes aren’t exactly known for long-term commitment.
But at least Sally has never let me down.
When I glance over my shoulder, I see Blaine turning to walk away.
But that doesn’t dim my awareness of Jaxon’s hand still on my back, and the throbbing pulse under my skin.
His thumb traces one slow, lazy circle over the fabric of my dress, and I feel like ice cream on a hot day, melting by the drop.
Back in high school, I always kept my distance, orbiting him like a moon but always avoiding anything that could be confused with interest.
When he returned to Lucky Chance and found out his mom had put me in the will, I was sure his resentment would push us further apart.
But something has shifted in him recently.
I can see it in his face when he looks at me.
His gunmetal gaze is softer, and somewhere between our photo shoot in the barn and that charged moment when we were tangled together in the pond, I’ve stopped seeing him as the opponent.
We’re allies, trying to save the same thing.
For some reason, I no longer care that we’re shackled together in a business deal that could ruin both of us. He makes me feel safer, like I could jump off a cliff and he’d be at the bottom, ready to catch me.
All the things I used to find infuriating about him—his ruthless competitiveness, his irritation with my superior knowledge of horses, the annoyed scowls every time I won—have all taken on a shiny, new gleam.
Is this what Larissa meant when she asked me if I’m going to hate-kiss him? The same things that used to drive me crazy are now traits I find irresistibly attractive?
As adamantly as I opposed it then, my body has developed its own opinion on the matter. Some kisses you forget by morning, a passing emotion brought on by a slow dance to a country love song. Others stay with you for years.
Kissing Jaxon Chance would be something I’d remember for a lifetime, and it might ruin me for good.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks, studying me.
My cheeks heat as I look away. “Nothing.”
“That’s a lie,” he says, his lips quirking.
“It wasn’t…”
His thumb swipes my cheek before I can come up with an excuse. “You’re blushing, Wildflower.”
I never did have a good poker face, and he knows it. “It was something Larissa and I were talking about.”
“What’s that?”
I pause, then decide I have nothing to lose by asking him. Maybe it will help quell these butterflies that are multiplying into a full-grown swarm. “Have you ever thought about hate-kissing someone?”
His lips curl at the edges. “Depends on what you mean by a hate kiss. If you mean kissing someone I can’t stand, then no.
I wouldn’t kiss someone I didn’t like.” He readjusts his hand on my back and his voice lowers.
“But if you mean arguing with someone until the air between you gets so charged, you can’t think straight, and the only thing that would make any sense in that moment is to just stop talking and kiss them?
” He holds my gaze. “Then yes. I’ve thought about it.
” His heated stare rockets through me. “I’ve just never been brave enough to do it. ”
My brows rise. “You, not brave? I can’t believe that.”
One side of his mouth tips, and all I can think about is how much I like this side of him, the mysterious, playful part. “Summer, there are sides of me you don’t know.”
I think of the interview clip Larissa found and how he referred to a girl back home. I want to ask him about it, but I can’t do it here, where half of Golden Springs could overhear.
“How about you?” he asks. “Have you ever hate-kissed anyone?”
“Of course not,” I blurt out. “I’m not going to kiss someone unless we’re compatible.”
“Fair point,” he says. “But have you wanted to, even a little?”
I’m suddenly aware of where my hand rests against him. It seemed so silly when Larissa brought up the suggestion of me hate-kissing Jaxon. Why would I kiss someone who repeatedly irritated me, who thought I’d stolen his land and seemed resentful I was still here?
But now that Jaxon is pressing me for an answer, I realize that wasn’t what she was asking at all. She wanted to know if I’d ever considered that my frustration with the man in front of me could actually be attraction in a different form.
The words stick in my throat. “I…I don’t know.”
Jaxon’s eyes slide from me to somewhere over my shoulder and darken. I turn just enough to see Blaine striding toward us.
“We need to go,” Jaxon mutters, grabbing my hand and tugging me toward the opposite end of the dance floor.
“Where?” I ask as we weave through the crowd.
“Wherever we can lose Blaine.” He walks at a brisk pace that looks natural enough not to draw attention. I glance over my shoulder again. Blaine is gaining on us.
I tap his arm. “Uh, Jaxon?”
“What?”
“He’s speeding up.”
He checks behind us, and his jaw tenses. “Summer, can you run in those boots?”
“You want me to what?”
“Run. Faster than Blaine.” As if that’s easy to do. Cowboy boots are made for riding, not running.
“Can I take them off?” I plead, then realize there’s not enough time. “Never mind.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Let’s go.” I’m already jogging just to keep up with Jaxon now.
We’re zigzagging through a crowd of people gathered to watch the band.
Jaxon tries to lead me to the left, but I pull to the right and my hand slides away from his.
“We should head back down Main Street,” I suggest. “That’s where my truck is. ”
“Can’t,” he says, shaking his head. “We need to get out of the crowd. They’re slowing us down. We’ll go home in my truck.”
“But we can’t go that way. It’s behind the stage.”
“Summer, will you trust me, or are you going to argue over our escape route? Because if it’s the latter, we might as well let Callahan win.”
Winning a stupid argument is not going to help us escape Blaine tonight. “I trust you.”
He holds out his hand and I take it, then we dart to the left, pushing through the mass of people.
“He sees us,” I say, trying to keep up with Jaxon’s long stride.
“Stay with me. When we reach the side of the stage where the speakers are, keep low.”
We duck behind the enormous stack of sound equipment, disappearing from Blaine’s view before hop-stepping through a backstage area littered with music gear and guitar cases. When we reach the other side, we cut down an empty side street.
I look over my shoulder. No Blaine.
“I think we lost him,” I say, stopping to catch my breath.
“Oh, good.” Jaxon slows, narrowing his eyes to see the road behind us.
“What?” I ask, whirling around to see what he’s looking at.
“He found us,” Jaxon grumbles before grabbing my hand and pulling me away. “Come on.”
Even though my legs are screaming, we sprint down the street, then escape through an alleyway, scaring a cat from behind a garbage can. I scream and dart to the opposite side of the street, letting adrenaline carry me.
“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” Jaxon asks.
“Blame the cat. He started it.”
We cut down another street, and by the time we arrive at Jaxon’s truck, we’re spent and doubling over, breathless with laughter. I lean against the door, my legs as limp as spaghetti, my feet burning like I just ran over hot coals.
“Is he…gone?” I ask, panting.
Jaxon circles around, making sure we’re alone. “Finally, yes. I think he gave up.”
“Remind me to wear running shoes next time.” I rest my head against the truck and close my eyes to stop the world from spinning. “No more sprints in cowboy boots.”
“I could’ve carried you. Done it before,” he reminds me, and my stomach spirals at the memory. “Do you need help inside?”
“I’ll be fine.” My feet throb, but I shouldn’t give him any more reasons to touch me tonight. Wincing, I climb into his truck, inwardly cursing my boots with every step.
He slides into the driver’s side and opens the windows, the music a distant hum. Cool night air drifts through, and it’s a welcome relief after running across town.
“Where should we go?” he asks, like we have all the time in the world. “You hungry?”
It’s already dark out, and unless we drive to a bigger town miles away, nothing is open.
“You can take me home.” I wish I could pull off my boots and give myself a foot rub. After running through Golden Springs, my feet are screaming, and I’m dizzy from not eating all evening.
He looks me over, and his brow creases. “Want something to drink?” Before I can answer, he reaches behind the seat and pulls out an unopened bottle of water. “This is all I have until I can get you something better.”
“Thanks.” I twist off the cap. “I can eat at home.”
I don’t tell him I passed up the pulled-pork tonight because I didn’t want to get it on my dress. It was a ridiculous choice in hindsight.
“This is a date,” Jaxon insists. “I can’t let you eat by yourself.”
I open my mouth to tell him this isn’t a date, not really. This was an escape plan. A ruse to get away from Blaine Callahan. That’s all I ever expected from our agreement.
But something tells me he’s taking his promise seriously. He wants to show me how a woman should be treated.
“Unless we go back to the concert or bar, there’s no place around that’s open,” I explain, as if the matter is purely practical. “I’m not really in the mood for bar food.”
This is safer anyway. We can’t go on a date if there’s no place to go.
“I have an idea,” he says. “Let’s head back to the farm.”
“To do what?”
“Eat, of course.”
I burst out laughing. “But how’s that different from any other day?”
“Because I’m going to cook for you,” he says. “Do you like filet mignon?”
“Excuse me?” I blink. “You keep filet mignon lying around in case you have a last-minute date?”
“No, I keep it around because I like to eat it.” He pulls onto the street, and I know he’s already decided.
“But is it a date if it’s at your parents’ house?”
“Who says a date needs to be at a restaurant?” A slow grin tugs at his lips. “Give me one night and I can make it a date you won’t forget.”
My stomach flips. His smirk is as dangerous as standing in an open field during a lightning strike.
I’ve never been alone with Jaxon in his parents’ house like this. There was always someone around to break the tension. But nobody will be there tonight. Just Jaxon and me and a house that’s completely empty.