Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Jewel stepped out of the tight single toilet closet in the corner of the barn's tack room and washed her hands with the industrial hand sanitizer on the wall. Her feet ached in these heels, now muddy after hours in the barn, and the hay was making her skin itchy.
Rain drummed steadily on the barn roof, a staccato rhythm that was as comforting as it was relentless. Medusa's delivery was progressing nicely, and her dad and Gemma had stopped by to check on both the mare and Jewel. Exhausted and headache still present, she'd asked Gemma to stay with Medusa so she could go home with their dad.
Henry and Ava had both shot that plan down, insisting she see the job through. Gemma had frowned and when the elders had walked away, asking, "Can you make it? I'll do it if you really need me to."
Jewel had sighed and shaken her head. "No, I'll see it through." She had to prove to her dad and sister that she could be a valuable part of the practice. Only Gemma knew about her Lyme diagnosis. She didn't want dear old Dad treating her differently. Well, not treat her differently than he already did. Everyone knew Gemma was his favorite.
Jewel felt the tension in her shoulders ease slightly as she stepped out of the tiny bathroom and into the dimness of the aisle. She glanced up to see Chase making his way toward her, carrying a tray filled with food in one hand and a pair of boots in the other. His shirt clung to him like a second skin and dripped water, outlining muscles that hadn't been there in their youth.
She stumbled in her wedge heel sandals, her mouth going dry at the sight of him.
"Hey," he called softly, raising his voice just enough to be heard over the rain. He set the tray down onto a nearby bale of hay, droplets from his soaked shirt splattering onto the ground. "Thought you might be hungry."
"Thanks, Chase," Jewel murmured, taking a seat on the hay bale and picking up a sandwich. It was simple—ham and cheese with a generous helping of mustard—the kind she had always preferred. She closed her eyes and hummed appreciation.
"Glad you're still a fan of mustard. When Ma made the sandwiches, I added it." His smile was calm and satisfied with himself, and Jewel smiled back, surprised by his memory.
"Always a fan of mustard. It's the spice of life," she said between bites, the tangy flavor grounding her amidst the swirl of memories the night had brought.
Chase chuckled, a low, warm sound. "You're the spice of life, my Jewel. Always have been and always will be."
Jewel choked on her sandwich, and he passed her a bottle of water. What the hell? He couldn't just go around saying things like that. He was a flirt, just like always. He hadn't changed a bit.
She chose to ignore the comment and deflect to him. "You know, you could easily win a wet t-shirt contest right now," she teased, gesturing at his drenched attire and deflecting like a pro.
He waggled his brows and struck a pose that was worthy of any photo shoot, running his hands through his hair. "Want to step outside and get wet with me? We can dance in the rain, then we'll see which of us wins the wet t-shirt contest."
"Please." Jewel laughed, shaking her head. "I'm pretty sure moms are disqualified from those things."
"Disqualified?" Chase's eyebrows shot up in mock indignation. "Jewel, you'd take the crown easily. You're every bit as stunning as you were back then. More so, maybe, with curves I never dreamed of."
Heat crept into her cheeks, and she looked away, the sudden intimacy and sincerity of his words sending her heart skittering. The air between them seemed charged, thick with unspoken thoughts and the remnants of a past too complex to unravel.
"Sorry," he said after a moment, his voice softer. "Didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. How was the spaghetti at lunch? Did you enjoy it?"
"Delicious," Jewel replied, though her word came out more awkward than she intended. "Not the best for my stomach, though. These days, I have to stick to healthier options. That pasta is going to haunt me later."
"Ah, I get it. My stomach can be a finicky thing too. After all the years of bland, starchy prison food, I crave all the flavor I can get, but it usually tears my stomach up," Chase confessed, a shadow passing over his features. "You wouldn't believe how good it feels to taste spices again. Makes the heartburn almost worth it."
"What did they feed you in there?" she asked as she finished her sandwich.
Something vulnerable flickered across his face. "No one's asked about that time… except for maybe my therapist and parole officer."
His gaze met hers, intense and raw. In that look, Jewel saw layers of hardship and longing—a man remade by time and trials. She realized just how much they both had changed, how life had shaped them in ways neither could have predicted.
"Chase, I—" Jewel began, but the words snagged in her throat. There was so much she wanted to say, so many questions that yearned for answers. She'd lost so much time with him and wanted to know everything about him. The more she saw him, the more she wanted to see, learn, understand.
If the past repeated itself, her need to know more about him would lead to a dangerous place where she craved him all day and night. She was a damn adult now. She couldn't afford to moon over a man, much less her ex-boyfriend's brother.
And possibly the father of her daughter. She didn't want Destini or anyone else to get their hopes up. Based on how Ava was throwing her together with Hunter, she suspected the woman would throw her at Chase too, if he would help keep Destini closer.
Jewel wanted to bridge the gap between them, to delve into the depths of Chase's experiences and understand the man he had become. But her courage faltered, and she remained mute, the weight of her curiosity and adult responsibilities heavy stones pounding against each other in her chest.
The gravity of his stare and their shared history held her silent, their past and present colliding in the quiet space of the barn. The silence stretched between them, filling the barn with a tension that seemed to pulse with the rhythm of the rain drumming on the metal roof.
She stretched her neck, trying to ease the tension in her shoulders and the aching in her knees. She wiped her mouth on the napkin and took another drink of water.
Chase broke the stillness, his movements deliberate as he kneeled before her. His hands, strong yet gentle, cradled her muddy ankle, easing off the wedge heel that was entirely unsuited for the muck and urgency of the evening. With a section of his soaked t-shirt, he wiped away the grime from her foot, his touch unexpectedly tender. Jewel watched, her breath catching at the simple intimacy of the act.
"Your feet must be freezing," he murmured, his voice low and rough like distant thunder. He produced a pair of thick, dry socks from inside the boots and slid them over her toes, cocooning them in warmth up to her knees. Next came the pair of sturdy boots, their leather well-worn and comforting. "Figured Ma's boots would do better than those fancy church shoes."
"That's really thoughtful of you." There was an odd sense of vulnerability in her voice that she couldn't deny. Her hands fluttered to his shoulders for stability as he kneeled in front of her.
"My pleasure," he said gruffly, sending a shiver of awareness up her spine.
His hands smoothed the edges of the socks up to her knees, and he looked up at her, his hazel eyes darker in the dim light of the barn. When their eyes connected, she knew he heard the breathless tone of her voice. His thumbs stroked her knees just under the edge of her dirty church dress, and her body burned with desire for him.
Again? Still? Had she ever really stopped aching for him? They'd been teenagers with raging hormones, and she'd been caught up in flames since that first intimate moment. She'd convinced herself for years that's all they'd had. She'd been weak and had given in to temptation. She hadn't expected this reaction to him now that she was an adult.
Her breath caught in her throat, and her hands gripped his shoulders as she stared down at him. "Th—thank you," she murmured softly.
His eyes remained locked with hers as he stood slowly, the distance between them evaporating like mist. The quiet strength of his presence enveloped her, and she leaned into him, drawn by a force she couldn't resist. His gaze held the soft glow of affection, but there was a wildness there too—predatory and protective all at once.
Chase reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair from her forehead. The gesture was so achingly sweet, it contradicted the fierce desire that simmered in his eyes. It left Jewel reeling, caught in the storm of his attention, her heart racing with possibilities.
Would his kiss be the same addicting tease as before? The memory of their past kisses haunted her still. The longing to rediscover their connection clashed with the fear of reigniting a flame that could burn out of control. She hesitated, torn between the comfort of the past and the uncertainty of the future.
As they stood there, close enough to share each other's breath, Jewel realized that sometimes the most dangerous storms weren't those that raged outside, but the ones that stirred within.
The sudden crack of lightning split the skylights above, a stark white vein that illuminated the darkening barn for a fleeting moment. Medusa's sharp neigh pierced the charged air, her distress a siren call to Jewel's responsibilities. The proximity of danger—the kind that a kiss with him could lead to—forced Jewel to step back from Chase's enveloping presence.
"Thank you," she murmured again, her voice low and shaky, clinging to gratitude like a lifeline as she wiggled her toes in the sturdy boots. Her body was warm from his touch, grounding her in the present. She wasn't some horny teenager anymore.
Her spine straightened as she stepped back and her chin tipped up. "For the dinner, for thinking of these." She gestured to the boots, feeling the comforting weight of them replace the impractical church heels.
Jewel avoided Chase's gaze as she tucked a stray hair behind her ear, spun on her heel, and strode down the aisle. She was unwilling to let herself be trapped again in the intensity of his stare. Her pulse thrummed with a cocktail of emotions—nostalgia, desire, confusion—but she stomped on them with each step. She couldn't afford to be swayed by teenage whims; life had taught her too much since then.
With each step toward Hunter and the laboring mare, Jewel fortified her resolve. She was an adult now, with a daughter who depended on her, a new job that demanded her focus, and a health condition that allowed little room for reckless indulgence. That something could still spark between her and Chase was both thrilling and terrifying, but it was a luxury she couldn't entertain.
"Focus, Jewel," she whispered to herself, opening the stall door as she returned to the reality awaiting her. Medusa's trusting eyes flashed, a simple reminder of her priorities. As the storm raged outside, she pushed away the tempest inside her chest, vowing to keep her heart sheltered from the chaos.