by A. J. Pine
Her pulse quickened, and her heart thumped against her chest as she tore the wrapping from the box and lifted the lid. Staring back at her was her high school yearbook from senior year. Colored tabs stuck out from various pages, and she opened to the first one—a picture of Jenna in the front row of the Outdoor Adventure Club—a club she’d created simply so she and her friends could plan camping trips and have the school foot the bill.
She laughed and ran her finger over the image on the page, pausing when it landed on Thomas Clayton—the boy who’d been her first kiss. It was awkward and amazing all at the same time, not to mention under a star-studded California sky. She couldn’t complain.
She turned to the next tab—International Club—and her throat tightened. The club hadn’t involved much more than sampling cuisine from countries around the world or diving into travel websites planning the trips they’d all take someday, yet that someday still hadn’t come for Jenna.
Which was okay. She was happy. She had so much.
But when she flipped to the next tab, she had to stifle a sob.
There stood seventeen-year-old Jenna, president of the Creative Writing Club, holding up the prizewinning story she wrote based on her hero, her sister Clare.
She pressed the open book to her chest and heaved out a shuddering breath. That was when she noticed the yearbook wasn’t the only thing in the box. Beneath a layer of tissue paper she found a brown, leather-bound journal and a package of brightly colored gel pens—because of course that was exactly what she’d choose for herself if she was going to ever put pen to paper again.
A sticky note sat atop the journal.
Maybe it’s time to get back some of what you lost.
—Jack
The tears fell freely now, a mingling of hope and grief.
Her nephews had already given more than she could have imagined, and now Jack had bestowed upon her the memories of what once was—and the idea of what these next two weeks could be.
She wiped the tears from under her eyes and tore open the pens. She wasn’t yet ready to write a story or anything like that, but she could start with something.
A list.
Fourteen Wishes for Fourteen Days of Me:
Then she crossed out Fourteen because a wish a day? Way too optimistic.
When Jenna blew out the candles, she’d wished for her own happily-ever-after. But what if she just enjoyed this trip without worrying about what she might have lost or what came next?
Seven Wishes for a Happily-for-Now…
She could at least achieve a wish for every two days, right? She thought about the tabs Jack had left in her yearbook.
1. Sleep outside under the stars.
2. Eat food from a country I’ve always wanted to visit.
3. Eat the best ice cream in town.
Okay, she would have insisted on number three whether there was a list or not.
Her eyes went back to number one. She’d had her first kiss under the stars. What if, on this trip, she had her first…?
4. Have a vacation fling. (And do not fall for said fling because…then it’s not a fling, silly.)
There. She wrote it. She had to do it, right? She had to admit the idea was far-fetched. After all, what were the odds of meeting someone in the span of two weeks, getting to know them, and proposing a fling?
She laughed softly to herself.
You don’t need to get to know a fling, Jenna. That’s what makes it a fling. That’s what makes it fun.
Maybe that’s what Jenna had been getting wrong in the relationship department all these years. She’d tried to make every connection a forever connection. Perhaps it was time to simply have fun.
5. Skinny-dip.
She giggled, and her cheeks flushed even though no one else was around. How had she made it to forty without having done this? Probably because while getting her school to sponsor camping trips was a clear financial gain, it did make running naked into a lake much more difficult to pull off. And because she hadn’t camped since…
6. Be the last one at the bar at closing time.
That one might sound silly to some, but for a woman who’d been waking with the chickens for as long as she could remember, staying out past 9:00 p.m. was a feat in and of itself.
7. Write something more meaningful than a list.
There. She wrote it all down, which meant she had to do it—a binding contract with herself. She even signed her name at the bottom of the list.
Maybe it wasn’t the happily-ever-after she’d wished for when she blew out forty-one candles, but it was a start. For years Jenna Owens had lived her life for everyone else—for those she loved—and she wouldn’t have it any other way. But for two weeks she could be selfish. For two weeks she could worry about nothing other than having fun. For two weeks, Jenna would put Jenna first.
Chapter Two
Colt Morgan hugged his sister tight and then held her an arm’s length away, his hands still on her shoulders. He wasn’t quite ready to walk out the door.
“When did you go and grow up on me?” he asked, the question only partly teasing.
She laughed, her brown eyes crinkling. The eyes were the only physical trait they shared, despite having the same birth parents. Where Colt’s hair was sandy blond and his skin olive, Willow’s hair was a warm chestnut, her skin fair. You had to look at the eyes to know.
“I’ve been touring for two years now,” she said, referring to her fledgling singing career. “I’m a big girl, Colt. Have been for a long time.”
His jaw tightened. “I just hate all the time we missed,” he said, recalling the years they lived apart—Colt bouncing from one foster home to another while Willow’s very first foster family adopted her. Five years her senior, he wasn’t allowed to contact her until she was eighteen. And the wait had been agonizing—only for him to find out she’d lived one town away the whole time. They’d been back in each other’s lives since then, but even though she was twenty-five and a grown woman, he still saw her as the six-year-old girl he’d lost all those years ago.
She shrugged. “You could join me next time I head out. A struggling artist always needs an extra roadie.”
He raised a brow. “Or you could establish yourself as a local artist up in Meadow Valley, live at the ranch. Promise you wouldn’t struggle for anything.”
She crossed her arms. “That’s your dream, brother. Putting down roots, filling a house with a brood of mini Colts. Me? I prefer the road.”
She hugged him again, then nodded toward the door. “Go on now. You don’t want to be late. And here.” She grabbed a round blue tin off the table next to the front door of the small house she rented. “Baked these last night when I couldn’t sleep. Figured you’d need some sustenance on the road.”
He opened the tin and peered inside, then raised his brows. “You made me toffee shortbread cookies?” He grinned. No one could replicate their mother’s recipe like Willow. And in addition to the cookies being his favorite, they were also a reminder that despite what happened all those years ago, he and sister had found their way back to each other and were a family once more.
She nodded. “Two dozen. And you better share with Jenna.”
His smile faded. “Not if I hide them in my duffel.”
She slapped him playfully on the shoulder. “Colt Morgan. That woman is going to be a guest at your ranch for two weeks. I suggest your hospitality begin the second she gets in your car.”
He grabbed a cookie and tossed the whole thing straight into his mouth. The rich, buttery dough tasted like home, the decadent toffee awakening his taste buds, making him feel like he hadn’t truly tasted food since—since the last time Willow had baked for him. Not that he’d ever admit such a thing to Luis, Meadow Valley Ranch’s resident chef.
He closed his eyes and groaned.
“It’s a twenty-minute drive to Crossroads Ranch,” he said, his mouth still full. “There might not be anything left to share. And I’m as hospitable as they co
me, sis. You know that.”
She reached for the tin, but he closed it quickly and pivoted away, like a child guarding his favorite toy.
“You’re impossible,” she said.
He swallowed, then kissed her on the cheek.
“I better see you up north soon,” he said, his playful tone disappearing.
“Soon,” she said, drawing out the word, which he knew meant the exact opposite. He decided not to call her out on it. He didn’t want to ruin the moment. Besides, what reason could she have not to want to visit him?
“Love you, Wills,” he finally said.
“Love you, big bro.” And she kissed his cheek as well.
Then he was out the door, tossing his bag and the most precious cargo—his tin of cookies—into the trunk of his hybrid SUV.
He loved Meadow Valley and the ranch he both ran and had helped build. But every time he came back to Oak Bluff—and then left again—he left with an empty feeling in the pit of his stomach. Sure, he could fill the pit with toffee shortbread cookies and the memory of the time he spent with his sister, but how long would that last? Only about as long as the contents of the tin. Then he’d be back to searching for what he still couldn’t find.
Connection. A family of his own. A chance to be the father he’d never had. Correction…He and Willow had had a father. He just decided parenting wasn’t for him after Willow was born. And their mother?
He shook his head. He wasn’t going down that road. Not when he was about to share a six-hour car ride with someone he barely knew who’d probably want him to talk or at least not brood for the entirety of the ride.
On second thought, it was his car, and he was giving her a free ride. Plus, Ben and Sam had given the Everett brothers the friends-and-family discount for their aunt’s stay—not that Colt even knew there was such a discount.
He climbed into the vehicle and reminded himself that he wasn’t a brooder. Those days were far behind him. Despite what he thought he lacked in his life, he was happy. Enlightened, even. Wasn’t that what meditation was for? That was what he told himself, at least. And for the past few years he’d believed it.
He kept up the reminder, a silent mantra in his head, as he made his way toward the Crossroads Ranch and Winery. By the time he got there, he’d have bet top dollar that the smile plastered on his face looked genuine.
He’d never met the Everett brothers’ aunt, but he figured the older woman deserved not only his respect but also some semblance of pleasantness. And he’d learned to be damned pleasant when the occasion called for it.
He was ready to ring the doorbell when he saw the note taped to the screen door.
Colt—
Door’s unlocked. Come on in.
—Jack
He shrugged, kicked the dust off his boots as he pulled open the screen, and gave the handle of the main door a gentle turn.
The house was eerily silent for a residence occupied by Jack, Ava, their two children, and a dog.
He cleared his throat. “Hello?” he said at full volume while careful not to yell. “Everett?”
A woman rounded the corner from the kitchen and approached. Her blond hair was pulled into a ponytail, revealing a tan, crescent-moon-shaped birthmark on her neck. Her plain white T-shirt—the front of which was tucked into cutoff denim shorts—complemented her sun-bronzed skin, and he guessed she spent a good portion of her time outdoors.
She was—wow. For a second he wished she would be his road-trip partner rather than Jack’s aunt. But then again, the safest way to drive was to keep his eyes on the road, and whoever this woman was would make that really difficult.
“You must be Colt,” she said, holding out her hand.
He swore he heard the hint of a Southern twang in her first couple of words.
He shook her hand. “I am,” he said, his brows furrowing. “I’m supposed to pick up Jack Everett’s aunt.”
Maybe this woman was her daughter? He didn’t remember Jack and his brothers making a reservation for more than one guest. And all Sam had said was that he was picking up Jack’s aunt. No mention of anyone else. Hell, Willow’s cookies wouldn’t last more than the six-hour ride if three of them went to town on the tin.
The woman laughed, her blue eyes crinkling at the corners.
“I’m Jenna,” she said. “It’s nice to meet you. Poor baby Clare woke with an ear infection in the middle of the night. Jack and Ava just got her down about an hour ago and fell back asleep themselves. Owen and the dog are sleeping in his room, so I promised we’d leave quietly. I just have to grab my bag from the kitchen and my chicken from the backyard.”
She spun on the heel of her well-worn sneaker and strode back in the direction from which she’d come.
Colt blinked, letting the information sink in.
Jack’s aunt was called Jenna.
Her name was Jenna.
She was grabbing her bag—to go with him.
And her chicken?
“I thought I was here to pick up Jack Everett’s aunt,” he called after her.
She reappeared and delivered a quick shhh! Then she pressed her palms together, laying her head on top of them to mime the act of sleeping.
Right. Sick baby. Whole house asleep.
Colt winced, then mouthed the word sorry. He glanced over his shoulder at the door and motioned for her to follow him out, and she nodded.
He let himself out of the house, careful not to let the door slam, then practically tiptoed back to the car as if everyone inside could hear his boots against the pavement.
He figured he was safer waiting out here than evoking the ire of a sleep-deprived family. Though if he was any sort of a gentleman—which he liked to think he was—he’d have offered to help her with her bag and her—chicken?
Whatever. It was too late now. If he barged back into the house, he’d only make things worse.
He leaned against the vehicle’s hood and crossed his feet in front of him. Not two minutes later she strode out the front door, a backpack hanging from one shoulder and a live chicken trailing behind her.
He straightened and made his approach, intending to do the gentlemanly thing and grab her bag. But the animal—the chicken—sped around her feet squawking her head off as she pecked at Colt’s boots.
“Lu-cy!” Jenna whisper-shouted. “He’s our ride, not some sort of threat.” She laughed nervously and picked the chicken up, holding her under her arm like a football. “Sorry about that,” she said. “She usually has great intuition, but her abilities seem a little off kilter this morning.”
Colt knew he should probably bite his tongue, that the answer to the question would likely leave him more confused than he already was, but he couldn’t help himself.
“Abilities?” he asked.
She nodded with a grin that made his pulse race, especially with that lone dimple in her right cheek.
“Psychic abilities,” Jenna said.
He snorted, and narrowed eyes along with a set jaw replaced her smile.
“If my nephew was awake,” she said, “he’d confirm it. But right now I guess you’re going to have to take my word for it. If there’s one thing you should know about me, Colt Morgan, it’s that I don’t lie, and I take Lucy’s intuition to heart. When she’s onto something. But clearly she is off her game today.”
The chicken squawked what sounded like disapproval. Great, now Colt was getting aboard with the whole psychic-chicken thing?
Jenna shushed Lucy again.
“That was two things, by the way,” Colt said.
Her brows furrowed.
He raised his. “You said that if there’s one thing I should know, it’s that you don’t lie and that you take Lucy’s”—he waved a hand in the air—“I don’t know…predictions? You take her predictions to heart. I was simply pointing out that you had just shared two things about yourself rather than one.” He crossed his arms. Everything about this strange woman made him want to push her buttons, to figure her out. He needed to
understand how he was face-to-face with this gorgeous, intriguing woman instead of someone more—grandmotherly? “Also, how in the hell are you the Everetts’ aunt? Heard you raised the three of them, and I can’t quite piece together how you’re old enough to have done such a thing.”
“Mister, where I come from, men don’t speculate about a woman’s age. Y’all can get yourselves in a heap of trouble if you do.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it. She was right. Anything else he said right now would land him in a heap of trouble.
She crossed her arms, and he readied himself for a well-deserved talking-to, but instead the corner of her mouth curled into a crooked but decidedly wry grin.
“How old do you think I am, Mr. Morgan?”
He coughed. No, choked was more like it. Choked on any word or number that came to mind because it would be wrong or insulting…or wrong and insulting.
“Cookies!” he blurted, then silently cursed himself for giving up Willow’s gift so easily.
She glanced over his shoulder toward the car.
“Are you trying to buy your way out of the corner you backed yourself into with baked goods?” she asked.
He finally reached for her bag—not without another protestation from Lucy, of course—and Jenna let him take it.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “I mean miss. Dammit,” he growled. No matter which way he sliced it, he was sure he’d either just insulted or demeaned her or both. Not to mention she had him babbling like an idiot, and Colt Morgan was as far from a babbler as you could get.
He spun toward the SUV, her pack slung over his shoulder, Lucy pecking at his heels as he made his way toward the trunk.
“You’re a nervous one, aren’t you?” Jenna called after him. “Jack didn’t mention anything about you being the jumpy sort. You sure it’s safe to drive in your condition?”
He ground his teeth together and opened the trunk, tossing her bag in and begrudgingly pulling his sister’s cookie tin out. Here he thought he’d been pushing her buttons when instead she’d pushed every one of his in nothing short of a few minutes.