Chapter 12 Jesse
TWELVE
JESSE
“It’s gettin’ late. She should’ve been back by now,” I mumble as Denver and I sit at the barn, waiting for Aubree to show up. We’re here to unload the feed for her, but we’ve been waiting for over an hour. “Think something happened to her?”
Denver shakes his head. “Don’t think so. Check out those clouds.” He points to the west. “I think she’s probably run into rain, and it’s headed this way. Possibly a storm.”
Why I didn’t see it before, I’ll never know, but he’s right. There are black clouds building on the horizon. “Think we should give her a call and see what’s happening?”
“That’s up to you.” Denver’s tone is amused. “But I’ve never known you to be worried about a damn thing before.”
I just don’t let him see it. I worry about every fucking thing and have since we lost our parents.
That’s a trauma you never get over. Becoming responsible for your entire family within a few hours as a teenager.
Stepping further into the barn so that I can have some privacy, I place a call to her cell.
Hopefully, she hasn’t changed the number in all these years.
When she answers, I can hear the pounding of the rain against the truck.
“Jesse?”
“Yeah, you okay? Shoulda been here an hour ago.” I do my best not to let my tone be as gruff as I’d like for it to be.
“Ran into a storm, and the road is flooding. Should be home in the next thirty minutes or so. Won’t be able to get this unloaded, though. They put a tarp over it before I left.”
Nodding, I take off my gloves and put them in my back pocket. “All right, just head to the barn when ya get here. I’ll be waiting, and we can ride out the storm.”
“See you soon.”
Denver looks over, his eyebrows raised. “What’s the plan?”
“Head home,” I instruct him. “Rain is coming, and if it’s anything like it sounded hitting that truck, we ain’t going out tonight anyway. Too easy to be caught with tire tracks and footprints. I’ll help her when she gets here. Y’all head on out. Cookie’s not making dinner tonight.”
“You sure you don’t need help?” he confirms before grabbing the keys to the truck.
“Positive. Go get your brothers and head to the house.”
He salutes me before jogging to his truck and getting in. Once he takes off, all I do is sit and watch the drive for the headlights I know will be Aubree.
The first drops of rain start falling just as I see headlights cutting through the growing darkness. Right on time, as always. Even after all these years, Aubree’s timing is impeccable.
I jog out to meet her as she parks near the barn, and by the time she’s stepping out of the truck, the sky has opened up completely. Fat raindrops turn into a torrential downpour in seconds.
“Shit!” she yells over the sound of rain hammering the metal roof of the truck. “This came out of nowhere when I was on my way home.”
“Come on!” I grab her hand, and we run for the barn, both of us soaked through before we make it five steps.
The barn doors are heavy, but I manage to get them open far enough for us to slip inside. The sound of rain on the tin roof is deafening, drowning out everything else.
We stand there for a moment, dripping and breathing hard. Aubree’s honey-blonde hair is plastered to her head, and her flannel shirt clings to every curve of her body. She looks like a drowned rat, and she’s still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“Jesus.” She laughs, pushing wet hair out of her face. “I haven’t been caught in rain like that since I was a kid.”
“You’re soaked through,” I observe, trying not to focus on how the wet fabric of her shirt has become nearly transparent. “And you’re shivering.”
She wraps her arms around herself, and I can see goose bumps rising on her skin. “A little. It’s colder than I expected.”
Without thinking, I step closer and start rubbing my hands up and down her arms, trying to generate some warmth through friction. The movement brings us close together, close enough that I can see the water droplets clinging to her eyelashes.
“Better?” I ask, my voice rougher than it should be.
She nods, but I can feel her trembling under my touch. “Still pretty cold though.”
“We need to get out of these wet clothes,” I say, then immediately realize how that sounds. “I mean, you’ll catch pneumonia if you stay in wet clothes.”
A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. “Worried about me, Jesse Nelson?”
“Maybe.” I don’t see any point in lying about it. “Come here.”
I lead her deeper into the barn, where we keep some old blankets for the horses. The space is warmer here, sheltered from the wind that’s driving the rain against the walls.
“Your shirt,” I say, gesturing to her flannel. “It’s soaked through. You need to get it off.”
For a moment, she just looks at me, something unreadable in her dark eyes. Then she reaches for the buttons, her fingers fumbling with the wet fabric.
“Here, let me.” I step closer, my hands replacing hers on the buttons. My knuckles brush against her skin as I work each one free, and I feel her sharp intake of breath.
The flannel falls open, revealing a white tank top underneath that’s just as wet and twice as revealing. I can see the outline of her bra, the soft curves of her breasts, and that heart-shaped birthmark I remember from our one night together all those years ago.
“Jesse,” she whispers, and there’s something in her voice that makes me look up at her face.
Her lips are slightly parted, her breathing shallow. The air between us feels charged, like the electricity from the storm outside has found its way into this barn.
“You’re still cold,” I murmur, though we both know that’s not what this is about anymore.
“So are you.” Her hands come up to rest on my chest, and I realize she’s right. My shirt is just as soaked as hers was.
Before I can overthink it, I grab the hem and pull it over my head, tossing it aside. Her eyes widen slightly as she takes in the tattoos that cover my chest and arms, ink I’ve gotten since she’s been gone, stories written on my skin that she doesn’t know.
“You’re different,” she says, her fingertips tracing the outline of a tattoo on my collarbone.
“So are you.” My hands find her waist, thumbs brushing just under the hem of her tank top. “But some things are exactly the same.”
“Like what?”
“Like the way you make me feel like I’m losing my damn mind.” The confession slips out before I can stop it, raw and honest in a way that leaves me feeling exposed.
Her breath catches. “Jesse…”
“I know we shouldn’t,” I say, pulling her closer until there’s barely an inch of space between us. “I know it’s complicated and messy and probably gonna end badly. But Christ, Bree, I can’t stop thinking about last night. About dancing with you, kissing you…”
“Then don’t stop,” she whispers, and that’s all the permission I need.
My mouth crashes down on hers, desperate and hungry. She responds immediately, her arms winding around my neck, her body pressing against mine. She tastes like rain and coffee and something uniquely her that I’ve never been able to forget.
I walk her backward until her back hits the wooden wall of the barn, my hands roaming over every inch of exposed skin I can find. She gasps when I kiss my way down her throat, her head falling back to give me better access.
“God, I’ve missed this,” I murmur against her skin. “Missed you.”
Her hands are everywhere, tangling in my hair, scraping down my back, tracing the lines of my tattoos. Every touch sets me on fire, makes me want to forget about everything else except the feel of her in my arms.
I’m reaching for the hem of her tank top when she suddenly goes rigid against me.
“Wait,” she pants, her hands pressing against my chest. “Stop.”
I freeze immediately, stepping back to give her space. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”
“No.” She shakes her head, but I can see the confusion in her eyes. “No, you didn’t hurt me. It’s just…” She takes a shaky breath. “What did Noah mean?”
“What?” The question catches me off guard.
“At the feed store today. Noah Sanchez—he’s a deputy now. He told me to be careful, that there were rumblings about what’s happening at the ranch.” Her eyes search mine, looking for answers I can’t give her. “What did he mean, Jesse?”
Fuck. I knew this would happen eventually, but I was hoping for more time. Time to figure out how to explain things, time to prepare her for the truth.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie, but we both know it’s bullshit.
“Don’t.” Her voice is sharp now, all the heat from moments ago replaced by suspicion. “Don’t lie to me. I heard you and Truett this morning, talking about needing money and not being able to hire more hands. And now Noah is warning me about rumblings? What the hell is going on?”
I run a hand through my wet hair, trying to buy time to think. How do I explain that we’re running cattle that don’t belong to us? That we’re stealing from other ranches to keep ours afloat? That everything we’ve built could come crashing down at any moment?
“There are things you can’t know about,” I finally say. “Things that are better left alone.”
“Better for who?” she demands.
“For you. For your safety.” I step closer again, my voice urgent. “Bree, please. Don’t ask questions whose answers might get you hurt. Trust me on this.”
She stares at me for a long moment, and I can see the war playing out in her expression. Part of her wants to trust me, to let this go. But the other part, the part that’s always been too curious for her own good, won’t let it drop.
“I can’t do this,” she says finally, pushing past me toward where she dropped her flannel shirt. “I can’t get involved with someone who won’t be honest with me. Not again.”
“Aubree, wait…”
“No, Jesse.” She pulls on the wet shirt with sharp, angry movements. “I came back here broken because a man lied to me, and I won’t let that happen again. Whatever you’re mixed up in, I can’t be part of it.”
She heads for the barn door, but I catch her arm. “The storm—”
“I’d rather get struck by lightning than stay here with someone who thinks I’m too weak to handle the truth.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. “It’s not about weakness. It’s about keeping you safe.”
“That’s not your choice to make.” She jerks free of my grip. “Thanks for the ride home last night. And for the dance. But this, whatever this is between us, it’s over before it started.”
She pushes through the barn doors and disappears into the storm, leaving me standing there half-naked and completely gutted. Through the rain, I hear the truck door slam, then the engine turning over.
I watch her taillights disappear into the darkness, and for the first time since my parents died, I wonder if trying to protect the people I love is actually destroying them instead.