Page 46 of Rescued By the Operative

“I decided I could be of more help this way.”

Jake shrugs. “It’s not about how much you’re helping. Wylie, Ennis, and I just missed you.”

I ask myself if I’m tough enough to avoid falling head over heels for a vulnerable cowboy. It’s becoming less and less a certainty.

“I hope it’ll make sense to you one day,” Carl says.

Jake chuckles. “Curly…my Uncle Curly is black ops.”

Carl corrects him. “Special Agent in Charge. She’s the operative. I’m supervising the mission to investigate potential federal crimes. In cases of religious cults, there usually are a lot.”

“Listen,” Jake says, “I’m not going to be upset about this. Frankly, there’s no time to waste on arguing about keeping secrets. But now that everything is out in the open, we have to work together.”

Carl nods. “I agree. And I’ll need the group to turn over all the documentation and intelligence you’ve gathered tomorrow.”

“I’ll arrange the meeting,” I say.

“First, you need to call Ennis and tell him everything you just told me. I think he’ll have a stronger reaction than I did.

When Carl leaves, Jake eyes my cheesecake.

“Are you going to eat your dessert?” he asks.

“Probably not.”

“Then dance with me.”

I take his outstretched hand, and he leads me outside to the patio.

“There’s no music,” I laugh, shivering against the chill evening.

Jake removes his jacket and wraps it around my shoulders. “Then let’s pretend.”

“People are going to stare.”

“Let them.”

He’s right. Let them stare at us, two happy idiots on a date. No past, no future, just two people enjoying the moment.

“Who is waiting for you in North Carolina?” Jake asks, hugging me close as we sway to no music.

“No one. My family’s all gone. I just like it there. It’s quiet and peaceful. I like being hemmed in by tall trees and dark woods. I don’t care for big open spaces as some people do.”

I catch him staring at my mouth as I talk. I wet my lips, and Jake angles his face down to meet mine in a kiss.

Kissing Jake makes time stand still. He’s deliberate and passionate, scrambling my thoughts and making the world disappear in a haze.

I moan at the feel of his tongue in my mouth, and I let my hands move over his broad shoulders.

I want nothing else but to get lost in this moment. Get lost in this man who smells like spicy soap and tastes like bourbon.

“Blondie.”

“Jake,” I say, breathless.

“We should go before we make a spectacle,” he says.

I whimper. “It’s a long drive back to Darling Creek.”