She paused. Beckett didn’t even look up at her; he just kept working. So she kept talking while always petting the heifer with its head in her lap. The cow was sort of cute. Kind of smelly, but still cute, so she didn’t mind.
“I had only a few close friends, but I didn’t want to move in with them and be a burden to their families. So I asked the one person in the world I felt most comfortable with . . . my junior high English teacher. Her kids were all in college, and she and her husband were happy to take me in. She would end up being more of a mom to me than my mom ever was. And her husband was the only real dad I’ve had, though I don’t call him Dad or anything.”
Just when she thought maybe he wasn’t even paying attention or listening, Beckett interrupted with “Do you still stay in touch with them?”
Before she replied, she swallowed down emotion again, feeling the grief lodged in her throat. “I did, but Andrea’s cancer came back a year and a half ago. Unfortunately, it was a short fight. I still talk to her husband, Sam, weekly and see him on New Year’s every year. I give him Christmas with his actual family, so New Year’s is our thing.”
He looked like he wanted to say more but simply stated, “Cancer freaking sucks.”
She nodded and took a moment to stroke the cow’s neck gently. After a minute, she continued quietly, as the cow was almost asleep. “So there I was. Sixteen and living with my teacher. I was kind of a bookworm. Well, I still am actually.” She stopped to shrug and laugh guiltily. “But I studied my butt off because I always knew I was going to need scholarships if I wanted to go to college. It was a small town. Everyone knew everyone. And everyone knew I was that girl. That girl whose mom up and left her. That girl whose mom didn’t take her with her. That girl that lived with a teacher. As far as small towns go, I was an outlier.”
She looked at the cow. The heifer had fallen asleep and was completely still, but she kept petting her anyway. “Then out of the blue, junior year this boy in my class started paying attention to me. My mom was long gone, and I was finally adjusting, getting used to all the stares and whispers. And here he was actually talking to me. He was charming. Very charming. He had wanted help in trigonometry and asked me for help. We started studying together after hours and eventually hanging out. I couldn’t believe it. He seemed so interested in me. And he was that boy. The quarterback. The hometown hero. The one that was going to play collegiate ball. Maybe even pros one day. He had everything going for him and ran with the popular crowd and I . . . well . . . I didn’t.”
Beckett gave her a look, one she couldn’t quite decipher, so she just shrugged before continuing. “We had been dating or seeing each other for months before prom rolled around. My two best friends and I were so excited to go, and I figured it was only a matter of time before he asked. But then a month or so before prom, he told me he was going to go to some big football camp that weekend. There were going to be college scouts there, and though he wanted to take me to prom, he couldn’t let that opportunity go by.”
She took a deep breath for this next part. “And while my two best friends were at prom while I was at home alone, they saw him there with another girl. And not just any girl, but the cheerleader captain. It was so grossly cliché and typical. My friends came over after prom and broke the news to me.”
She sighed. “Andrea had warned me about him and told me he could be manipulative. But I didn’t see it. I just didn’t want to see it. Andrea didn’t ever know for sure what was going on because she taught in a different building than the high school, but she still had warned me on multiple occasions. There were times where he’d say he had football stuff on the weekends. I figured he was trying to avoid the parties and focus on his goals, so I was the supportive girlfriend and stayed home when he couldn’t go, telling him it wouldn’t be the same if he wasn’t there with me. Same with prom. It turns out, he was there . . . all along . . . but with her.”
She looked down at the cow, not wanting to see how Beckett was looking at her before she was done telling him everything. “So yeah. Then I found out not only was he dating this other chick, but he had been the entire time we were dating. I found out that I was the other woman. The side piece. And I had no flipping idea—I was completely blindsided. Sure, I was naïve and should’ve known better. Or someone should’ve told me. I was just too focused on pulling good grades so I could get a scholarship—too busy keeping my head in my books—that I ignored all the normal high school social stuff. I even spent lunch every day in the library. I just had no idea what was really going on.”
She took a deep breath, moving to rub her temple. “Afterward, I went as far as talking to the other girl. To apologize. But the worst part . . . is that she knew. She knew the entire flipping time. So then I asked her why she didn’t come to me and tell me. She told me that he was her meal ticket out of there, and if he needed to date a few nerds to get it out of his system, then so be it.”
She had been talking for so long that when she looked toward Beckett, she noticed not only was he done with the handful of stitches, but the bandage was also almost done. “But in our small town, no one took my side over his. I was the other woman. I was the cheater. Like I forced him to date me at the same time. And the other chick just fed into those rumors even though she knew the truth. People scowled when they saw me, but they still loved and adored him. How messed up is that? And it wasn’t as if I was new to town or something. We had all known one another and gone to school together for years. We had a graduating class size of fifty, for crying out loud. But I guess since they all knew how my mom was, it was just easier for everyone to lump me in the same category as her.” She finished, and they both sat there in silence for a couple seconds, marinating in the heft of the doozy of a story of how she came to hate small towns and football players.
“And what did that boy have to say for himself?” Beckett asked, throwing down his gloves harder than necessary and moving to wash his hands.
She shrugged. “He told me it had been fun, but he was never really serious about dating me. He told me I was his escape from all the pressure. And he made up the lie about prom because he didn’t want to hurt my feelings. He didn’t want to hurt me or lose me. How ironic, huh?” She shrugged again, not even knowing what else to say. “So yeah. That’s why I don’t like football players.”
“What’s his name?” he asked as he dried his hands and gathered his supplies. “Did he end up playing college ball?”
She nodded. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does.” He said the words firmly, but then gently, ever so gently, reached to lift the still sleeping heifer’s head out of her lap and helped her to her feet.
“No, it doesn’t,” she said matter-of-factly.
He pierced her with his gaze, and she had to note how close they were standing. “It does. Jordyn, what is his name?”
“Why?” she asked. “Why does it matter to you?”
He swallowed hard. “On the very small chance he went pro, I still have quite a few connections and friends. I can make his life hell.” The blond stubble on his jaw bobbed as he clenched his jaw. His eyes barely contained the rage in them, the blue fury swirling within. Being this close in proximity, she could see it all, especially those enticing neck muscles all tense.
“Beckett.”
He got even closer, their coats almost touching. “Jordyn.”
“Beckett,” she repeated, warning him in her tone. What were they even arguing about anyway? She couldn’t even remember with him this close to her personal space.
And then he got so close she stopped breathing, the heavy coats on their chests finally brushing against one another. “Jordyn.”
His need to defend her and that raw determination sent heat all over her body. She couldn’t help but nervously smile as she took a small step back. “His name is Thomas George. He went on to play for Tech but played backup from what I understand. He never went pro.”
Beckett snorted. He actually snorted. He never stopped
looking her right in the eyes though. “Serves him right.”
“Andrea and Sam told me he got in trouble while in college. Hit the drinking and partying too hard. Got in trouble for some marijuana use,” she added.
Beckett nodded, his eyes still sharp with anger. “Sounds like he really shot his potential to hell.”
“And he dumped the other girl as soon as we graduated.”
He nodded again. “Mmm. Exceptional.”
She smiled. “Why? What were you going to do? Kick his butt? Heartbreak Harper to the rescue?”
He cocked his head at the sound of his nickname, squinting at her. “Jordyn, football players are not all like that. Yeah, a lot are. In my short few years in the pros, I met some of the biggest, most egotistical pricks. But I also have met some of my best friends, people I consider brothers, playing the sport. We are not all like that. Please believe that.”
She opened her mouth to reply, but he cut her off. “And please know, stupid nickname aside, I would never do that to a woman. I would never do that to you. Yeah, I slept around for a while, but all of those women knew that going in. They knew I wasn’t interested in dating, and there was only ever one at a freaking time. I’m many things, but I’m not a liar, and I’m not a cheater.”
She knew she should probably not believe him. With her past, she should probably run far, far away from him. She fell for a charming football player before. What was the difference?
Well, the difference was she fell for a boy. This football player before her . . . he was all man. He was not a boy at all. Not even a little.
She sighed, defeated, and after a long blink, looked him in the eyes. “I believe you.” And then, because he had a weird look like he wanted to kiss her or some ridiculous thing like that, she whispered, “Can we go inside and get warm now?”
He grinned, that one dimple wreaking havoc on her poor heart. “Not used to the cold yet, Houston?” he whispered back.
She shook her head dramatically. “Never.”
****
Yep. He was a goner. Done for.
Her story of why she hated football players. No wonder she didn’t seem to trust him. She had every right to be hostile toward him. She had every right to be hostile for a lot of reasons. Her mom sounded like a real winner. Her dad nonexistent. And then the one good thing she thought happened to her turned out to be a lie.
No freaking wonder. This one story explained a lot about her.
He had finished stitching and bandaging that heifer. It was a good thing he had his hands busy and something to do while she was talking because by the time she was finished, feeling her pain and understanding her on a whole other level, he wanted nothing more than to make her forget Thomas George ever existed.
He still had some sources too. He wasn’t lying about that. He’d see what that poor excuse of a man ever ended up doing with his life. His guess was a used car salesman.
He had been so close to kissing Jordyn. And he was pretty sure she knew it. She’d panicked. Which was probably for the better. It was probably poor timing. Chances were good he still had some dried blood on his forearms. The hay was everywhere, even in her hair. The smell of cow and hay was not exactly a turn-on. And she had just been talking about the situation that had destroyed her trust in men. Yep. Worst possible timing.
Still, he felt a strange connection to her.
They had left the barn and gone back to the house. They both needed showers and a hot meal. He had guzzled down the rest of the coffee and eaten the rest of the goodies on the way back to the house because he was starved. It had been a long day.
He was wearing sweatpants and an old college T-shirt, his usual evening attire. He was impressed when she came around the corner into the kitchen freshly showered and wearing some sort of legging pants and a hooded AgGroSo sweatshirt. Most women were always dressing up to impress him. He liked that she wasn’t afraid to wear sweats and be normal. Her hair was in a braid, and she may have put on a little makeup, but not much. And she smelled amazing. Her perfume or lotion or whatever was one of the first things that attracted him to her. He couldn’t wait to get closer.
They cooked together, oddly maneuvering the kitchen as a team quite well. He made chicken-fried steak, and she did some sort of chopping and spicing of some potatoes. It was 3:00 p.m., so it was hardly time for lunch, but they could eat this now and munch on leftovers whenever they felt like it.
He should probably mention that he could turn the generator on now and they would have enough fuel to survive until Monday. But for some odd reason—no actually, for a very good reason—he didn’t want her out of his sight tonight. He didn’t want her to be able to hide off in her room after her revealing story from earlier.
Things were just getting good.
Honey
CHAPTER 8
Later that night, after the evening chores chased the sun’s disappearance, they sat together on the couch. They were no longer on opposite sides; they had naturally met somewhere in the middle without either one of them wanting to point it out or think of a reason why. She really hoped it wasn’t just because he felt bad about her sob story. She didn’t want him to feel sorry for her. It had all been a long time ago. And yeah, it had crushed her, but she was wiser for it.
After playing Phase 10—and Jordyn finally winning a match that may or may not have ended with her shouting “Boom!” in a very unsportsmanlike manner—they sat in shared silence, content with each other’s company. Jordyn watched the orange glow of the fire as it wrapped and twisted itself around the logs Beckett had put in not that long ago. She liked the fireplace. She didn’t have one in her townhome in Houston, where there really wasn’t a need for one.
“Can I see your ankle?” Beckett asked randomly.
She nodded. “Sure. It’s still bruised and swollen, but it’s much better, I think.”
He moved to sit on the pillowy footrest so he could see her ankle. When he took her foot, he had to remove her furry slipper—and not one but two pairs of fuzzy socks.
He raised his eyebrows in surprise, blue eyes twinkling in amusement.
“I was cold,” she said, shrugging. “I hate being cold.”
He smiled and shook his head. She supposed she should be embarrassed, but she wasn’t. At least she had her toenails painted. Needing something to distract herself from his touch, she took out her braid so that her hair could fully dry. She hated wet hair. And the only thing worse than wet hair was cold wet hair.
He ran his hands across her ankle and gently pressed in spots. He expertly moved her foot at a few different angles to see if there was any change, rotating it around and around, asking her which spots it hurt in. She had to admit, just like with the heifer earlier today, he did seem to know what he was doing.
“So I’ll live?” she asked softly when he finished.
He grinned. “I sure hope so.”
There was that look again. What was he going to do? Kiss her? Why? They both knew what she was here for. And she wasn’t going to get his cooperation for the commercial, so it would be back to Houston for her. And he knew her story, so he should understand she wasn’t the type to have a fling, snowed in or otherwise.
So what was his endgame here anyway?
****
Hell, he wanted to kiss her. She looked freaked out again though; she wasn’t ready. And that was fine. It had been a tough day for her. So he decided to return the favor and open up just a little to allow her to get to know him.
He moved to sit next to her. She had her arm propped up on one leg, and when he sat back down, he was sure to sit so that his shoulder was near her arm. Junior high move? Maybe. He didn’t care. Desperate times called for desperate measures. Back to basics with this one.
“I’ll share with you how I got my nickname,” he began, looking toward the fire.
“Beckett, you don’t have to if you don’t want to,” she said softly.
He turned toward her, getting even closer. “I do.”
She nodded as he began. “Well, my best friend growing up was a quarterback, so I guess it was always in my nature to be catching things he was throwing at me. Even before that, my mom had always told me I had good hand-eye coordination—good and talented hands.”
She interrupted to say, “You do. You proved that today.”
He couldn’t help but feel good hearing that. His ego was doing just fine, thank you, but she didn’t seem to supply compliments that often. So when she did, he took them to heart. “When we were in high school, we made it to state. I loved football. I know you grew up in Texas so it was similar, but college football here is everything. After all, we don’t have a pro team in anything—not baseball, basketball, hockey . . . I mean nothing. Like it’s almost borderline obsessive how much the people here care about their team.”
He shook his head, knowing she had no idea how obsessed some people could be. “So naturally, every Nebraska boy grows up with a football in his hands and hopes to make it to play for the university, become a Husker. Of course. We bleed red, as they say. And football was the one thing my dad and I did see eye to eye on. I didn’t like how he worked the land or the cattle, and I especially didn’t like his temper or the way he treated my mom. I mean, he didn’t ever beat her or any of us, but he wasn’t exactly a doting husband either. But when it came to football, we could talk for hours and hours. Plays, defensive schemes—it didn’t matter. Football was really the only glue keeping us together. Maybe the only thing we ever had in common was the love for the game.”
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