Page 24 of Score to Settle (Oakwood Ranch #1)

FIFTEEN

HARPER

I’m still warm and fuzzy from the wholesomeness of Jake’s volunteering when we make our way back to the truck. Above our heads, the sun has been swallowed by the clouds. We’ve got about another hour before the rain starts. Jake is quiet but I catch him glancing my way, like he’s trying to read me.

“I could murder a coffee,” I say.

“I know just the place.” He swings the duffel bag into the truck and whistles for Buck to follow, leading me through the park to a coffee stand by a pavilion.

We grab two tall, steaming cups of coffee and wander through the park with Buck trotting between us.

The coffee is strong and bitter and just how I like it.

“Why does no one know about this?” I ask.

He shrugs. “It’s not their business.”

“But…” I choose my words carefully. “This is exactly the kind of thing that would completely reinvent your reputation. It’s just… so fucking nice of you.”

He huffs a laugh.

“Seriously,” I push.

He shakes his head. “It’s not a publicity stunt, which is exactly what people will think if I start posting it on my socials. I can’t stop the people who come here from talking about it, but I’m not going to advertise what I’m doing here.”

“Why not?”

He gestures across the empty park. “You think it would be quiet like this if people knew? You think grieving families want groups of fans turning up? I know what you’re saying, but this is too important to me, Harper.”

“I get it,” I say quietly. “I won’t write about it.”

We walk through the park, talking about some of the children he’s helped over the years. His passion lights him up and I still find myself blindsided by this side of Jake.

We’re right in the middle of the park when the first heavy droplets of rain hit. Instantly a wall of water falls from the sky and we’re drenched in seconds. Thunder rumbles over our heads.

“Shit,” Jake hisses. “Come on.” We drop our cups in the nearest trash can and Jake grabs my hand, pulling me toward an underpass that leads us under a concrete bridge.

There’s colorful graffiti on the walls depicting a sunset and the Rocky Mountains.

Above our heads is a road that cuts through the park.

It’s not the most glamorous of places, but it’s out of the storm.

Buck shakes the water from his fur, sprinkling us with more raindrops.

It makes no difference. I’m soaked through, water dripping down my face.

I must look like a drowned rat whereas Jake, with wet clothes clinging to every line of defined muscle on his torso, and his hair drenched and falling over his face, looks so good it’s criminal.

A streak of lightning cuts across the sky followed by thunder so loud it sounds like the world is cracking open above our heads. Buck barks then whimpers, cowering at our feet. Jake crouches down against the wall, rubbing Buck’s back and whispering in his ear.

“I don’t like storms either, Bucky,” he says. “We’ll be OK here.”

“Why don’t you like them?” I ask, taking a seat on the ground on the other side of Buck and giving his damp fur a reassuring pat.

Jake is silent for a while and I think he’s going to make a joke or deflect, but he doesn’t. “My dad died in a storm,” he says.

“I’m sorry.” Sympathy rushes through me.

“It was the October I was ten. The weather had been so good it felt like summer was never going to end. When the storm hit, we just weren’t ready for it.

It seemed like one minute the sun was setting and everything was perfect.

The next the storm clouds were rolling off the mountains and it went so dark so fast it was like someone turned off the lights.

“The horses were still out in the paddocks. I remember the sound of their hooves hitting the ground as they ran in circles, restless and scared. The rain was like this.” He nods toward the park as another streak of lightning cuts through the sky.

Buck gives a whimper at the next roar of thunder, and Jake and I huddle closer, hugging him from both sides.

“Dad went to put the horses in the barn. Dylan and I ran after him to help. Mama wanted to come too, but Chase was trying to join us and he was too little to do anything but get in the way, so she stayed in the house with him. It was like diving into the lake. You couldn’t hear anything but the rain and the storm.

I could barely see my hand in front of my face.

“We got to the paddock and I went to get my horse, Dolly. She was a really gentle mare. She wouldn’t hurt a fly.

But Dad was already leading her into the barn.

So I went to get his horse, Trigger. He was a lot bigger and the thunder had started by then so he was skittish.

As I reached for the bridle to lead him in, I slipped on the wet grass and Trigger reared at the sudden movement.

I remember seeing those huge front legs in the air, about to come pounding down on me.

Dad pulled me out the way just in time, but one of Trigger’s hooves caught the back of his head. ”

He pauses, his throat moving as he swallows. Goosebumps rage across my skin and it has nothing to do with the cold.

“The injury didn’t seem that bad,” Jake continues.

“He said he was fine. We got the rest of the horses in and Mama made us all hot chocolates. I remember we were laughing about it. Everything was good. Dad seemed OK.” Jake’s voice cracks and I slip my hand into his.

His fingers entwine with mine and he squeezes his thanks. “We went to bed and Dad never woke up.”

“What happened?”

Jake takes a breath. “The blow to the head from Trigger’s hoof caused a delayed brain bleed in the night. He died in his sleep.”

Hurt radiates from my chest. “I’m so sorry. That must’ve been really hard for all of you.”

“Yeah, and I had the added weight of knowing Dad would never have been hit if he hadn’t been saving me.”

“You don’t know that,” I say. “And I bet anything, even if he knew the outcome, he’d still have done it a thousand times over.”

“Mama says the same, but sometimes it doesn’t help.” Tears pool in his eyes and I wonder how this tragic accident has impacted Jake. I wonder who he’d be if his dad was still alive. It’s the same unanswerable question I’ve asked myself about my mom.

We fall silent, listening to the rain hit the path. The thunder becomes distant as the storm moves away. I shiver in my damp clothes. Jake must notice because he lifts his arm and I scooch closer. His body is solid and warm.

“Harper,” he says.

“Yeah?” I tilt my head to look up to his face, now inches from mine.

“About what Gordon said?—”

“I’m sorry,” I blurt. “I did let his comment get to me.”

“I just want you to know I haven’t…” He swallows and my eyes linger on his throat. “I haven’t dated or so much as kissed a woman for over a year. I really have changed.”

The air around us shifts as his words settle in the silence.

Suddenly I’m thinking about Jake and kissing and how what he’s told me is important to him.

He doesn’t say it, but I think the lack of women is since whatever happened in the parking lot with the cheerleaders.

Now isn’t the time to ask, because the mention of kissing has my gaze dragging to his mouth.

Our faces are so close. Jake’s gaze burns into me with an intensity that makes my breath catch.

The air between us seems to crackle with an electric tension, like the lightning flashing in the sky. A lock of damp hair falls over his brow. Without thinking, I reach up and gently brush it back, my fingertips grazing his warm skin.

His gaze drops to my parted lips and I feel that look everywhere, desire coiling hot and tight in my core. Slowly, achingly slowly, he leans in, closing the last distance between us until I can smell the intoxicating scent of his cologne mixed with rain and fresh air and pure man.

I don’t move. I can’t. I’m frozen. My heart pounds erratically against my ribs as if it might burst out of my chest. Jake’s eyes are dark with desire.

His large hand comes up to cup my jaw. I feel surrounded by him, his solid warmth seeping into my chilled skin.

My eyes close as his lips hover a whisper from mine.

The anticipation has my nerve endings sizzling.

We’re going to kiss. The thought spins like a tornado in my head. It’s all I can think. All I want.

Then the moment shatters in a spray of shaking fur as Buck leaps out from between us, pushing us apart before bounding from the cover of the bridge. The storm has passed—the rain stopped—and we were so lost in each other, we didn’t notice.

“We should get going,” I manage to croak as Jake’s hand still lingers on my jaw.

“Sure.” There’s a huskiness to the one-word reply that has me melting a little more.

I leap to my feet, Jake following a second later. I stare anywhere but at Jake as my face burns with the sudden realization of what we were about to do.

Fuck.

What was I thinking? I’m the journalist and Jake is the story.

Kissing Jake would’ve been completely unprofessional.

Tim has already warned me to be careful and not compromise the integrity of the magazine.

Both our careers are hanging by a single thread.

Kissing Jake would snap that in a heartbeat.

I swallow hard and take a step back, putting some much-needed distance between us.

Boundaries. That’s what we need. I make a mental note not to visit Jake’s hotel room when we stay in Atlanta on Thursday night after the Stormhawks play the Atlanta Skychargers.

Ahead of us, Buck romps happily through the wet grass, oblivious to the fact he just saved us from crossing a line that would’ve ruined everything.

And yet, even without the heated moment under the bridge, something has shifted between us.

We walk back to the truck in silence and all I can think is how sometimes the heat between us feels like hate and other times it feels like something else entirely.

And how in that moment when I thought Jake was going to kiss me, I wanted it so badly I ached for it.