Page 23 of Score to Settle (Oakwood Ranch #1)

FOURTEEN

HARPER

HARPER: Forget what I said. Jake’s a dick!

MIA: Trouble in paradise?

HARPER: He’s cocky and rude and I don’t care what Mama says, there is not a sweet bone in his body.

MIA: It’s still early and I’m not quite awake yet because I read that last part as “I want his boner in my body,” which is probably what you meant, right?

HARPER: Seriously?!! Go back to sleep!

Notes for feature: Jake Sullivan is a dick!

I’m still frustrated when I wake on Saturday morning.

My concentration is shot. I’ve tried working on my novel.

I’ve tried working on Jake’s feature. But I can’t write anything that doesn’t involve an expletive about Jake.

How can he be so grumpy and yet in the middle of an argument take his sweatshirt off for me to wear because he can see I’m cold?

I shoot a murderous look to the sweatshirt still sitting on the back of the chair.

I meant to return it to Jake yesterday, but he spent most of his rest day in his room.

I only saw him at dinner last night, and we barely said two words to each other. Plus, I kind of like it hanging there…

There’s also a nagging in my gut that beneath his grumpiness after the game on Thursday night, he had a point.

Gordon’s comment served as a reminder that I’m here to get the truth, to do my job, not cheer Jake on when he wins a game.

Maybe I did put my walls back up a notch.

I don’t know if I’m annoyed that Jake noticed or annoyed I let it happen when I’m trying to prove to Jake I’m not the enemy.

Either way, I’ve woken this morning feeling surprisingly shitty about it.

I scrunch my eyes shut, frustration pulsing alongside my heartbeat.

I meant what I said to Jake during our fight.

I don’t know what I think anymore. Only that after a day of Jake’s grumpiness and avoidance, I need to get off this ranch.

I need my life back. I throw on my workout clothes and grab my gym bag, hoping Mama meant what she said about me borrowing her truck.

At the last minute, I snatch Jake’s sweatshirt from the chair and pull it over my head, breathing in the woodsy citrus scent of him.

I’m at the bedroom door when there’s a light tap on the wood and I open it to find Jake standing in the hallway. He’s wearing a Stormhawks baseball cap, sweats, and his usual playful smirk.

“Going somewhere?” he asks, nodding to my bag.

“The gym,” I reply, shooting him a defiant look that softens in a second. Maybe we both have some making up to do.

“Can you postpone?” He cocks an eyebrow. “I want to show you something.”

“What is it?” I ask.

He leans against the doorway, hands in his pockets. “It’s this thing I do once a month on a Saturday morning. It’s fun, I promise.”

So much for escaping. And yet I drop my gym bag without question and look down at my workout clothes.

“You’ll be fine wearing that,” he says, reading my mind. “Come on. I don’t want to be late.”

I follow him to his truck, my curiosity taking over my mood.

Outside, the morning sun stretching over the mountains bathes the ranch in a soft glow.

The air is icy cold. Frost glistens on the grass of the empty paddocks like scattered diamonds.

The crunch of gravel beneath our feet is the only sound.

“It’s so beautiful here,” I say, my breath pluming in the cold air.

Jake’s feet slow and he follows my gaze over the ranch.

“It’s my favorite place on earth.” A beat passes before he continues.

“Playing for the Stormhawks is my dream. It has been for as long as I can remember. When we win—when I play well—it’s the best feeling in the world.

When I have a bad game and the crowd turns against me, it’s like being kicked in the balls and I think of buying myself some horses and a cowboy hat and stepping away from football. ”

I look up in surprise. “You ride?”

He shoots me a sideways glance and there’s amusement dancing in his eyes. When he turns to face me, the full height of him towers over me. “How many people do you know who live on a ranch and can’t ride, Cassidy?”

“How many ranches do you see without any horses?” I reply.

He laughs. “Good point.”

‘Why don’t you keep any animals here?” I ask. “It’s not like you don’t have the barn and the paddocks.”

Jake pulls his baseball cap from his head and runs a hand through his ruffled hair. His tone when he finally answers is brisk. “My dad was the rancher and he died.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, thinking of my mom and the photo of her on the fireplace at my dad’s house. The blue dress and wide smile I wish I could remember. I say nothing. Grief isn’t a competition.

“It was a long time ago. I miss him and I miss the horses. One day soon Dylan and I will be too old to play football. Then we’ll pick up where my dad left off.”

We reach the truck and Jake holds the door open for me.

By now the gesture shouldn’t feel strange, but it does.

Jake and I… we’re not dating. We barely make it an hour together before we’re arguing, but he still gets the door.

My thoughts drag to my college ex, Scott.

I can’t remember a single door he ever held for me, or a single act of kindness or chivalry in the year we dated.

“Thanks,” I say to Jake as I settle into the worn leather seats. I’m kicking myself for asking about the horses. After our fight on Thursday night and yesterday’s silence, the truce between us feels more tentative than ever, and I’ve just ruined the easiness between us again.

But then just as Jake is about to close the truck door, he leans against the frame and reaches a hand to my shoulder. “Is this my sweatshirt?” he asks, eyes narrowed but sparkling with amusement.

I flash my own sheepish smile. “It’s warmer than mine.”

“That’s because all your clothes are tiny.” He laughs and the tension seems to lift once more.

“Yeah, but I look good in them,” I joke.

“You look good in anything, Cassidy. Including my sweatshirt.”

The compliment takes me by surprise, but before I can find a reply, Jake’s closing my door and whistling for Buck. “Come on, boy,” he calls and a moment later Buck bounds through the open driver’s door, settling in the middle seat, all wagging tail and panting breath.

“Where are we going?” I ask as the engine rumbles to life.

“You’ll see,” Jake says, turning the radio on low.

We don’t talk on the journey, which suits me fine. I stroke Buck’s head and watch dark clouds roll slowly over the sky. There’ll be a storm here by the afternoon. I think of sitting by the open fire in the ranch, curled on the couch with my laptop and Buck at my feet, and Jake too.

I shove the daydream aside and hide my groan. One compliment and I’m that nerdy sixteen-year-old who would walk by Jake’s locker, waiting for him to notice me.

“OK,” Jake says as we reach the outskirts of the city. I glance at his face and realize he’s nervous. “This thing I’m going to show you, it’s… it’s important to me.”

On the road ahead, he turns the truck into the parking lot of a recreation ground. The lot is half full with vehicles. I don’t know what this is yet or why I’m here, but it means something that Jake has brought me.

Buck barks his excitement and Jake and I both wince at the sound in our ears. “Alright, we’re here,” Jake soothes, rubbing Buck’s back.

He opens his door and Buck shoots out, sprinting through the neat line of trees to a stretching flat grassy field and a group standing like they’re waiting for someone.

“Is he OK?” I ask as Jake opens my door.

He follows my gaze to where Buck is dancing excitedly around a group of children. “Don’t worry,” he says with a grin. “Buck knows them.”

Jake grabs a large duffel bag from the back, looping it over his shoulder before handing me a stack of small yellow cones, the kind used in school gym classes.

“No one but Mama knows about this,” he says as we walk toward the group. “And that’s how I want it to stay, please. You were right the other night. I’ve not been giving this interview my all. So I want you here, Cassidy, but you can’t write about the specifics of what I’m going to show you.”

I nod. “Am I going to find out what this is at any point?”

“Sure.” He smiles and then steps ahead, striding into the group.

As I draw near, I see it’s a mix of moms and dads along with children ranging in age from toddlers to a sullen teenage girl wearing headphones and looking bored.

A woman in her mid-forties with short blonde hair, a clipboard, and a whistle around her neck shoots me a curious look as I approach the edge of the group.

“Hey, everyone,” Jake says, shaking hands and giving hugs to the children. Instantly the energy changes and chatter breaks out among the group. A little boy who looks about six jumps up and down beside Jake, tugging on his sleeve.

“I got a Stormhawks jersey,” he says and Jake whoops, giving him a high five.

Jake catches my eye, beckoning me forward. “Everyone, this is my friend Harper. She’s going to help with the drinks and donuts table for us today.”

There’s a chorus of greetings and I smile back, still not sure what’s going on, but happily taking my place behind a foldout table and putting out the cups, drinks, and food from the bag beside it as Jake takes control.

He’s in his element as he organizes the parents and children into teams for a fun game of football.

He has such an easy rapport with the kids, getting down on their level.

Even the sullen teen has taken off her headphones and is happily joining in.

I can’t help but smile as he leads them through some silly warm-up stretches, the kids giggling as they reach for the sky and then touch their toes.

It’s obvious from the way the kids and parents interact that it’s more about taking part and giving them all a chance than it is about winning.

I’m impressed by Jake’s patience. He takes time with each child, especially a boy with leg braces who needs help maneuvering with the ball. Jake doesn’t make him feel different, just encourages him to take his time and cheers loudly when he finally scores.

Only when the dad of the teen girl comes puffing over to me, face red with exertion, do I ask him what this group is.

“Football.” The man laughs, shooting me a look like I’m a total moron.

I say nothing, waiting for him to fill the gap.

“For kids who’ve lost a parent,” he adds. I catch the bob of his Adam’s apple and the hitch in his voice before he gulps down a cup of water and turns back to his daughter.

I look again at the group playing football with Jake and see them with fresh eyes.

This is what Jake does on Saturdays once a month.

He comes to a park and messes around with grieving kids and parents.

The understanding and hurt cut into my throat.

It’s for these people. For what they’ve lost. But it’s for Jake too and the reason he does this.

The hurt he must’ve felt as a boy losing his own dad.

I press a finger to the corner of my eye and tell myself to get a grip.

No one else here is crying or looking sad.

It’s all laughter and smiles. The little toddler squeals with delight as Jake passes him the football before swooping him into his arms and making a run for the goal line, Buck bouncing at his side.

Jake swings the boy one way then the other as people pretend to rush in for the tackle, then Jake tips the toddler headfirst, guiding him giggling to the ground, where he touches the ball to the grass for a touchdown.

“How long has this group been running?” I ask the woman with the clipboard as I help dish out snacks in the break.

She smiles. “Oh, years. Jake set it up when he was eighteen. I was one of the first to join. I brought my son along after his dad died. It made the world of difference to both of us having this to look forward to. When my son went to college, I offered to help organize things. Jake can’t make every month because of his football commitments but he’s here more often than not. ”

The hour flies by with laughter and more touchdowns.

At the end, Jake gathers everyone for a team picture, insisting I join in, and I realize this glimpse into Jake’s world has thrown me.

It’s becoming increasingly difficult to remember that this man is the same one who humiliated me and broke my heart in high school—the man I thought I hated.

I feel split in two by the realization. After the side Jake showed me today, I’m wondering if writing the truth about Jake will really be the payback I thought it would, or if payback is even what I want anymore.