Someone New: sweet contemporary romance (Jilted in Sawyer Creek Book 2)

by Lacy Williams

  Was being a farm boy a sore point for him? She could relate. As a teen, she'd itched to get out of Sawyer Creek as fast as she could. Maybe they had more in common than she'd first thought.

  "Matt. What do you like to do for fun?"

  This wasn't what he'd had in mind at all.

  Matt let his truck roll to a stop just before the pasture rolled away to the secluded pond on the back forty of his mom's ranch. He and Shelby stopped briefly at the barn to pick up his fishing tackle, and now he flipped off the headlights and got out, wondering if he was as crazy as he must seem to her.

  Why'd he suggested fishing? At night?

  What do you like to do for fun?

  Her blue eyes had shown no hint of guile, only a sweet curiosity.

  And he'd blurted out the first thing he'd thought of. Night fishing was about the only fun he allowed himself, and only rarely. Only if he had energy to spare after a day that started well before dawn.

  He should've taken her into town, where someone would see them and word would get back to his mom. That'd been his original plan, but he could still work with this. He felt a little guilty, but then his memory provided a replay of Mom’s unrepentant attitude from this evening and that fueled him enough to shove the guilt down and lock it away.

  He rounded the truck and opened her door. When she slipped out and into the weeds, he realized his mistake.

  She wore a knee-length dress made from some kind of swishy material. And sandals. No way she'd want to traipse through the knee-high grass and cedar trees that lined the pond's edge, or the mud when they got there.

  "This was a bad idea," he murmured as he looked down at her in the moonlight. "You're going to ruin your dress and shoes."

  Her lips twitched. "I'm always up for an adventure. They're just clothes."

  Always up for an adventure. Matt wished he felt the same. As much as he might rail about Mom pushing him, holding him back, there was a part of him that was scared of the unknown. Had to be, or he wouldn't still be here, right?

  She wanted to go fishing. Okay. "I've got an idea. Wait here."

  He grabbed the poles and tackle box and traipsed down the hill in the dark. His boots beat a fresh path through the grass, the earth beneath his feet familiar and welcoming.

  At the water's edge, he stowed the fishing stuff in the floor of the ten-foot Jon boat he kept down here. He checked that the paddles were inside and shoved the boat halfway off the bank, so it was partly in the water. He started back toward the truck, then turned around. On second thought… He brushed off the aluminum seat where Shelby would sit.

  At the top of the hill, he found her standing just where he'd left her.

  "Just a sec." He opened the truck door, the dome light beaming a yellow circle around them in the dark. He reached behind the seat and snagged a flannel shirt that'd been there since cooler weather. It was old and probably needed a good washing, but it would be soft and cleaner than the seat for her to sit on.

  He tossed it over his shoulder and shut the door, leaving them in darkness again.

  Cicadas sang in the grass, chorusing all around the pond, and a cow lowed from nearby. Shelby squeaked, one hand gripping Matt's forearm.

  "They're mostly sleeping." He worked to keep the amusement from his voice. What kind of girl was afraid of cows? "Nothing to worry about."

  "Are you laughing at me?" she asked. From this angle, he couldn't see her face.

  "Of course not." But maybe she heard the smile in his voice because she turned her head, and the moonlight illuminated her features, turning her eyes silver.

  She was close enough for him to get a whiff of berries. Her lip gloss, maybe? Or shampoo? He probably shouldn't be thinking about her lips, or how her hair would feel, sliding between his fingers...

  She shifted away slightly, and the moment was broken. What was he doing?

  Maybe Shelby Caine kissed virtual strangers, but he didn't. Even if she was beautiful in the moonlight. Even if he really wanted to.

  He cleared his throat. "If you're game, I'll carry you down to the boat."

  He took her brief nod for assent and swept her into his arms, one behind her back and the other beneath her knees.

  "Don't judge," she said as he took off down the hill, this time more careful to feel out each step before he took it. "I just ate dinner."

  He bounced her in his arms, just a little. "What's to judge? You feel light as a feather to me."

  "Hmm."

  He took one look down to see her biting her lip and missed a step, stumbling before he caught his balance again. "Sorry."

  Don't get distracted.

  She hooked one arm around his neck, but then they'd arrived. He heard her soft intake of breath and stood for a moment to let her get a good look. It was pretty.

  Under the light of the moon, the water appeared black and smooth as glass. The far shoreline was a study in shadows. Somewhere behind them, a whippoorwill called.

  "The bank's muddy,” he said, “so I'll set you down in the boat."

  He released her legs, his hand coming to her waist to steady her as the boat wobbled beneath her weight. She grabbed his shoulders with both hands as it rocked, and a ripple of water splashed over the toe of his boot.

  Time slowed to a crawl as they stood close, her on the inside of the boat and him on the bank, linked by the touch of their hands. She tipped her face up to him, and her eyes fluttered closed. He wasn't imagining it...

  He did something stupid.

  He dipped his chin and kissed her.

  If you could even call it that. The slight touch, just a brush of his lips to hers, sent an arc of pleasure through him. He drew back in surprise.

  Her eyes were still closed, but a smile spread across her lips.

  So he was stupid again.

  This time, he braced for the crash of whatever that was and let it move through him. She tasted faintly of chocolate and coffee, and he was overwhelmed with sensation. The brush of her hair against his cheek. The press of her fingers against his shoulders. The softness of her dress beneath his touch.

  It was too much. Too much for what was supposed to be between them. A casual date. A way to needle his mother. A distraction from his horrible life.

  But Shelby… This was too much.

  The boat rocked again, and they broke apart. She giggled, but he found no mirth in the moment.

  He was completely off-kilter.

  "Here." He took her hands in his and moved to the side of the narrow boat. He quickly whipped the shirt off his shoulders and flipped it out flat across the seat, then steadied Shelby as she perched on it.

  "Can you swim?" Maybe he should've thought to ask that before he'd left the life jackets behind at the barn.

  "Am I going to need to?" she teased softly. When he didn’t answer, just leveled a serious gaze at her, she added, "I can swim."

  "Okay. Let me..." He pushed the boat out further and stepped in. There was one ominous rock as he parked his tush on the second seat, facing her, and then it settled.

  She had a white-knuckle grip on both sides of the boat, which made him grin as he picked up one of the oars and pushed away from the shore.

  The boat slid easily into the water, and a few quick strokes of the paddle put them in motion.

  Well.

  Farm Boy was a good kisser.

  Who would've thought?

  She was impressed he had it in him. When she'd tipped her face up for the kiss she knew they both wanted, she'd experienced a split second of fear that he would leave her hanging.

  Shelby Caine would never be denied a kiss, but then... she'd let him think she was plain 'ol Shelby, hadn't she?

  Then his lips had touched hers, and... wow.

  He was quiet as he guided the boat through the water parallel to the bank but several yards out. Since it was too dark to see much on the shore, that left her with nothing to do but admire the, ahem, scenery across from her.

  The boat was so small that their knees b
umped if they so much as moved. But since Shelby had no desire to take a nighttime swim in the pond—her imagination was conjuring up all kinds of monsters beneath the surface—she held herself perfectly still.

  Matt noticed.

  "It's safer than you think," he said. "I was mostly joking about us going swimming."

  He slid one of his big boots over to nudge her sandal, and the boat did sway, but nothing like the big movement from when they'd climbed in.

  She let herself relax, at least a little.

  He rested the paddle across his lap and let them drift. "So, Shelby No-Last-Name. Where are you from?"

  Right. Small talk time.

  She watched as he lifted one of the fishing poles from where he'd stowed it behind his seat. He messed with the line for a minute and then reached for the tackle box at his feet. As he moved, his knee bumped hers.

  He looked up at her before he found what he was looking for, brows raised expectantly.

  "I live in Los Angeles," she said. "I'm a songwriter." It was the truth, just not the whole of it. She'd decided earlier in the day that she wouldn't reveal her true identity, not if she could help it. She liked the anonymity too much. Liked that he didn't judge her for being who she was.

  "Please tell me I'm not going to end up in some country song about broken hearts."

  "I don't write country music." She pretended to shudder. "Can't stand it, actually."

  He looked up from the jingling lure he was attaching to the fishing line. "You're kidding. I'm not sure we can be friends, then." His grin told her he was joking.

  He went back to work on the lure.

  Friends. She remembered those, but it'd been a long time since she'd had one. In L.A., everyone had an agenda. Her manager, the music execs, even the backup singers she sometimes worked with.

  "I'm just kidding," he said when she'd been silent a moment too long. "Plus, I'm sure you've got lots of friends."

  "Music is a difficult business."

  And she shouldn't say more, not if she wanted to stay anonymous.

  "You've been doing it awhile?"

  "Moved to L.A. when I was seventeen."

  "But your family's still here?"

  She glanced at him sharply. "Yeah." Had she mentioned her mom? Because if he knew her mom... Ah, the wedding. Of course. If her brother was having his wedding here, he'd assumed her family was from Sawyer Creek.

  She relaxed. Until he handed her the fishing pole. "Uhh..."

  "Don't tell me you're one of those girly girls who won't touch a fish."

  She took the rod from his hand, their fingers connecting and sending a crazy swirl of sparks up her arm. "It's been a while, but I've fished before, thank you very much. How are we supposed to see?" She glanced around her. How far out should she cast? What if there was underwater brush waiting to snag her line?

  She heard the jingle of another lure as he rigged a pole for himself. "Bass go deep to keep cool during the heat of the day. Now they're hungry, coming up to the surface. You won't need to see much. You can feel the tension in the line when you've got one. But..."

  He cast from the left side of the boat, setting it to gently rocking. And something clicked.

  A hint of purple light illuminated the area around them. A blacklight. And his fishing line, taut against the water's surface, glowed like a beacon.

  "Nice." She grinned at him, but as she brought her arm back to cast, the boat wobbled precariously. With her free hand, she grabbed the side. Breathing hard, she let the adrenaline rush through her.

  "Easy, tiger." He tapped his foot against hers. "Want me to cast for you?"

  "No way." She felt more than saw his grin at her quick response. She bit her lip while she eyed a spot near a tree about twenty feet away. She cast with a flick of her wrist. Missed her target by several feet, but at least she hadn't toppled the boat.

  "So you like your job writing music?" He stared into the darkness, occasionally tugging his rod so the lure popped on top of the water.

  "Yeah. Yeah, I love it." As she said the words, she realized how true they were. She loved being in the studio, writing or recording. Creating. She also loved being on stage, whether it was in front of twenty people at a dive bar or twenty thousand in a huge stadium. The music energized her, uplifted her. "It's my personal life that's in the tank."

  "What do you mean—"

  She squealed at the sudden pull on the line. She'd been slowing reeling it in, her lure spinning through the water, when she felt a tug. She immediately braced her feet in the boat.

  "Don't make any crazy-big motions," he warned. "Just reel him in. You got it." He touched her knee, distracting her for precious seconds, then rested his pole against the side of the boat and pulled a net from under his seat.

  She reeled the line until her fingers felt numb, then she raised a whopping large-mouth bass from the water and guided it into Matt's net.

  He took the treble hook out with a pair of needle-nose pliers, then held up her big catch. "Want a picture with this guy?"

  She laughed and shook her head. "I lied about wanting to touch the slimy fish."

  He was chuckling too, leaning to slip the fish back into the water when the tip of his rod jerked from where it was propped in the floor of the boat. He released the fish with a splash and grabbed for the pole, catching it just before it went overboard.

  In half a minute, he'd reeled in a bass roughly the same size Shelby had caught. He didn't bother with the net, just gripped the thing's lip between his thumb and forefinger and aimed a cocky smile her direction. "Looks like we've got us a little friendly competition."

  Chapter 4

  Matt curled one arm beneath his head, angling for a bit of comfort for his neck. He was lying flat on his back in his truck bed, still parked at the pond. Shelby lay beside him, her shoulder pressed against his bicep.

  The sky was all the blanket they needed, sparkling and heavy with stars that seemed close enough to touch. He was plenty warm with her lying right there, though Shelby had wrapped his flannel shirt around herself.

  His earlier challenge and a slew of biting fish had started an all-out battle, though they'd never made any kind of official wager or discussed what the winner would get. And wouldn't ya know, Shelby Caine had managed to out-fish him, reeling in two more than he had. They hadn't kept tabs on the size of each one, but he'd guess her total catch had outweighed his, too.

  She'd been a good sport the entire time, laughing so hard she'd nearly tipped the boat when one large fish had wiggled out of his grasp and whacked him in the chin with a slap from its tail.

  And after, they'd paddled slowly to the shore, and he'd carried her back to the truck. Even through all the fun, that kiss had been in the back of his mind. He wanted to kiss her again. A dangerous thought.

  Because he feared, if he started, he'd never want to stop.

  So when he'd put her down, he'd stuffed his hands in his pockets to keep himself from reaching for her. She'd looked up at him, a soft, enigmatic smile on her face and said she'd better get back.

  He wasn't ready for the night to be over, so he'd cajoled her into watching the stars, just for a little while. And even though it was something like three in the morning, he wasn't sure simply taking Shelby on a night fishing excursion was enough for his mom even to notice.

  Did he even want Mom to notice? He’d started this stupid plan—a horrible plan, what had he been thinking?—hoping to make Mom angry enough to what? Sever ties with him. Over a girl?

  Stupid.

  Getting to know Shelby was like accidentally touching the electric fencing that they used to keep the cattle contained. He was lit up from the inside out. And he didn’t want to let go.

  He wanted to see Shelby again. Free and clear. Without the guilty feeling that had returned and now churned in his gut.

  Shelby turned her head slightly, and Matt realized he'd been silent for too long. If he didn't say something, she was going to want to go back to the B&B, and he wouldn't be
able to refuse her.

  "We got interrupted earlier, by the fish," he said. "You were saying something about your life back in L.A."

  "Oh." She sighed softly. "It's not important."

  "Aw, come on. I wanna know. Do you have a string of broken hearts waiting on you back there?"

  "Something like that."

  He remembered her abrupt question from when he’d picked her up. Was he married? He'd heard enough gossip in town to know there'd been a public scandal when her boyfriend had turned out to be married. She'd claimed she hadn't known, but... Who knew what was true, when you only had second-hand information?

  "It's actually… You were joking earlier about me having friends, and that's part of it. Last year, there was someone I was close to. Well, I thought she was my friend, but it turned out she'd only gotten close to me for..." She trailed off.

  Had she been about to reveal something that would link her to her pop star persona? He hadn't missed that she'd danced her way around her true identity.

  "...for some connections I had,” Shelby continued. “She liked to get a little crazy sometimes, and once, a lot crazy. I got—we got—arrested, and my older brother had to fly out from Austin to clean up my mess."

  Matt hadn't heard a whisper of that part of the story.

  "My brother and I have always been pretty close, even though we live so far apart. Wilder's been protective of me since our dad walked out."

  He could understand that. Ty and Kylie were a big part of why he hadn't been able to just walk away from his mom or the ranch. Not that his situation was a true mirror of hers, but the connection was there.

  "So Wilder comes to my rescue, but I guess…" Her voice broke, and Matt reacted without thinking, clasping her hand in his.

  She cleared her throat. "He thinks I've had one too many chances or something. Things haven't been the same between us since. I miss him."

  He could hear the despair in her voice, though she was probably trying to hide it. Matt didn't know anything about relationships with famous people, but he imagined it was hard to keep things healthy when you were constantly in the public eye.

  Although...