Chapter 19
SHELBY
The next few weeks flew by, keeping us both busy fishing, and horseback riding, and, if you’re Cowboy Jake, entertaining the guests.
Late June became mid-July. Similar to our first-kiss disaster, Jake and I avoided each other, all the while pretending we weren’t.
But I wasn’t in any danger of losing my heart to Jake Evans.
Jake had put me under contract to be his friend, according to the infamous paper I had stuffed in a drawer in my kitchen.
We were friends. We’d always be friends.
But I was a safety net first.
And I most definitely always had that in mind and never allowed myself to think about him or our kiss at all.
At night, when I was trying to sleep, my mind absolutely never revisited the softness in Jake’s eyes just before he kissed me.
I never replayed the moment he pressed me against the cabin wall.
And the way he held my face in his hands?
Those rough, calloused hands that felt so addictively manly against the softness of my skin. Nope. Never thought about it again.
But like any tortured artist, I seemed to do my best creative work while in this state of inappropriate agitation.
One night, not long after our kiss, a storm had rolled in across the ranch.
Though it was only seven in the evening, the clouds were much darker than they should have been.
Lightning and thunder crashed all around us, and I heard a horse sounding miserable outside my cabin.
I opened the door in time to see Jake attempting to pull his stubborn horse into the corral.
He must have just gotten back from a ride.
Almost without thinking, I grabbed my camera sitting on the couch and crept onto my porch.
It was a one-in-a-million shot.
From my quiet perch on the bottom stair, I angled the shot that caught the lodge stables in the background, a darkened image of Jake and his horse, his back to me, leading Jimmy to the stables.
On its own, the image would have been compelling.
The rain, the darkened sky, Jake’s cowboy hat dripping with rain.
But there had been a lightning strike just as my finger touched the shutter, capturing instead a dark and moody image of a cowboy and his horse caught in a storm.
He was going to kill me when he found out I had snuck so many photos of him, but I would be adding it to my collection for my portfolio.
A week later, we received word that Logan and Tessa had a beautiful, blonde-haired baby girl, named Evelyn. When the happy couple finally came to visit the ranch and we were all crowded around the baby outside Jake’s cabin, while the kiddos played at the playground, Jake couldn’t help but pipe up.
“You didn’t even name her after me?” he questioned, holding the little chub in his arms, unable to resist kissing her little cheeks. “I bring you and that idiot”—he motioned to Logan—“marital bliss and this is the thanks I get? Evelyn? Did you ever think about Jakelyn?”
Tessa took Evelyn back in her arms and smiled at Jake. The kind of smile that held secrets. The kind of smile that was about to get me in big trouble.
“Ask us her middle name, Jake.”
It was her tone that caused him to freeze. His eyes locked on Tessa while I began to slowly back away from my spot next to him.
“What?” Jake asked.
“Ask us her middle name,” she said again.
Another long pause.
“What is it?” he finally asked, dread on his face.
“I think you know,” Tessa whispered.
“Tuck!” His arm shot out to grab me, but I was already gone, laughing hysterically while he chased me around the playground equipment.
When he finally caught me, we were both laughing too hard to be any big threat.
I did agree to do his dishes every night for a week, but as Evelyn Nancy Marten was a name that would last forever, I felt very okay with my penance.
Two more weeks came and went, filling the dude ranch with a new crop of guests, each group with a different vibe.
Jake and I spent our free time hanging out on the porch in the evening, shooting guns at lunch, and playing games of lightning while the kids played at the park, and all the while breezily acting like nothing had ever happened.
And it hadn’t. Not when the whole premise had been boiled down to a teaching moment from Jake.
He even referenced a moment of the kiss like some sort of professor to his student.
Which was great. Exactly what my not-confused-at-all brain needed to hear.
To get me back on track, I dedicated much of my time to examining all of the flaws in Jake’s character.
As likable as Jake was, this task was not difficult at all.
Like the way he could never seem to put anything away after he used it.
Or the way he piled dishes in his sink without rinsing them first. Socks on the floor.
Or the way he swore in front of Sophie sometimes.
She’d excitedly demand that he put a quarter in their swearing jar, which I later learned would become money for her to buy a toy, so I strongly suspected he did it on purpose, which totally did NOT negate the swearing.
So you see my confusion.
Even Jake’s flaws were appealing.
I triple-checked that I had my sleeping bag before I left on the overnight horseback trip.
Stories of Tessa and Logan and a scheming Jake from long ago filled my thoughts.
According to ranch legend, before Logan and Tessa had admitted their feelings for each other, Jake had stolen a small tent from Tessa’s pack before he sent the pair off on their own backpacking adventure.
Not having two separate tents had worked out well for the pair and was Jake’s crowning achievement in his part of their relationship.
But now, after Tessa had somehow gotten me to confess a little about Jake’s and my relationship, I was nervous at the possibility of retaliation.
We weren’t taking a tent because Jake insisted the stars on a mountain top on a clear night would be a shame to miss, so I would be keeping a tight grip on my sleeping bag.
I loved Tessa, but I didn’t trust her. I wasn’t even aware a trip like this was part of the dude ranch, but Tessa had assured me it was a new type of excursion.
“What about wild animals?” I asked Jake as we readied the horses in the barn.
Jake only smiled and lifted his shirt to show off his Smith and Wesson .44 magnum six-shooter at his waist.
“That’s a cute little gun.”
“What are you packing?”
I grinned and lifted my shirt six inches to show him the 9mm semi-automatic pistol I had strapped across the side of my stomach. “After our last competition, I knew I’d feel safer if I had my own.”
I was referring to our shooting match from the other day where I completely smoked Jake. Obviously, when I said ‘smoked,’ I meant that I beat him by one shot before running into my cabin and locking the door before he could demand a re-do.
He swallowed, and I felt his gaze dip and slide across my bare stomach.
“Where’d you get that sissy little thing?”
“It’s Chad’s. If you look closely, you’ll see it’s the same gun I beat you with, three to one, during our second-to-last competition senior year.”
He smiled, securing his pack onto his horse. “Second to last means nothing. The final score is the one that stands the test of time.”
I made a face before changing the subject. “Do we need anything else? What kind of animals are up there? Should we bring a rifle? Just in case?”
He shrugged. “I’ve never seen anything up there. We’ll be good with what we have.” When I still looked hesitant, he leaned closer. “I think you’re packing enough heat, Tuck.”
You see?
There.
It was those little remarks Jake whipped out from time to time that rattled my inexperienced head and left me feeling unbalanced.
Before I could register the statement or give rise to the blush no doubt blooming on my cheeks, Jake strode past me to greet the father and son who paid extra for an overnight camping trip in the mountains of Idaho.
Tom Bentley and his adorable six-year-old son, Carter, were from Phoenix.
They were here on a family trip. His wife had stayed behind at the lodge for the night with their three-year-old daughter.
Carter wore a pair of Wranglers and a black cowboy hat and had buck teeth, a lisp, and an absolute fascination with all things cowboy, including our very own Jake Evans.
Jake explained that the trip to where we’d make camp would take about four hours on horseback, but we’d make a few stops along the way to stretch our legs.
Jake led the pack on Jimmy, while I brought up the rear, stopping frequently to take pictures of the crew and horses on the trail or the spectacular views and cliffside drops overlooking a forest of trees and hills.
Little Carter graced us all with every delightful thought that crossed his mind for the first half of the trip. Things like…
“Do you think bad guys live in that cave?”
Jake brought his horse closer to his new best friend. “Which one?”
Carter pointed up the mountainside to a small burrow in the rocks.
“Oh yeah,” Jake said, looking all around. “For sure. Maybe we should find a river to hide our tracks from the bad guys.”
Carter nodded, eyes wide, while his dad hid a smile.
“How many bad guys have you shot?”
“A real cowboy never tells,” Jake told him solemnly.
With wonder on his face, Carter pointed to the mountain once more. “Do you think we’ll find a real arrowhead out here?”
“They’re pretty rare these days, but we’ll keep a lookout.”
When we stopped for our second break of the morning to stretch our legs, I detected a slight cowboy accent from Jake along with a bit of a swagger.
“Are those sheep?” Carter’s voice and excited pointing turned all of our heads to the left, spying a field of sheep and lambs as we passed by. Off in the distance was a rounded old shepherd’s camper.