“Come on.” He holds my hand to his chest, like he’s not going to let it go. My traitorous hand doesn’t seem to mind. “You’ve been going since before dawn.”
“No, Owen.”
“If you go, we’ll come back and work. We can knock this out in five minutes.”
I guess a few minutes to sit down really would be nice. And I’m too fatigued to argue. “A half hour. That’s it.”
His lips curve. “I’ll take it.”
The humidity jabs us with both fists as we walk outside to Owen’s truck, and my tank top does little to protect me from the hovering mosquitos. Crickets chirp, frogs sing in the overgrown grass, and a cow moos in the distance, providing a little evening serenade.
He opens the passenger door, his hand on mine as he helps me up, his body a little too close.
“Hey, Owen?” I click my seatbelt in place.
“Yeah?” He smiles and leans in, his hand bracing the top edge of the cab.
“I don’t know much about ranch life, but I figure there are only two reasons to take a girl out to the middle of nowhere at this time of night. And that’s either to make the moves on her or to throw her lifeless body in the deep end of the pond.”
“My body count’s pretty low.”
“For which option?”
He gives a slow wink that sends tingles spiraling through me and wakes up my every nerve-ending.
I’m in so much trouble.
***
The drive takes less than five minutes, but long enough for me to recognize I’m a total fool for going out with Owen. I don’t need a guy in my life, especially one who could only be temporary. And even though he’s not a poetry major who likes to rhyme his text messages and take pensive, angsty-faced selfies, he’s to be off limits.
But Owen draws me in with his easy conversation, from ranch trivia to a charming story about the winter night he kept a calf in his cabin. I find myself laughing, letting the cool air from the truck’s vents blow away some of my tension.
The dirt from the road plumes behind us, and finally he pulls over and parks.
“You’re just going to leave your truck here?” I ask when he gets out. “We’re practically in the road.”
“Yeah, but it’s Mitchell’s road, and there’s plenty of room for someone to pass.” He holds out a hand and helps me down. “Besides there’s nobody out here but us.”
His words send an unexpected thrill zinging through me.
Owen reaches behind the seats and pulls out a blanket and a flashlight.
“Wow. You come prepared. You must do this often.”
He flicks on the light. “Never with a girl from New York City.” His fingers clasp mine, and he smiles. “Follow me.”
Old fashioned as it is, there’s always something about a guy holding my hand. Something that makes me feel treasured, loved, protected.
I tell myself that I’m allowing Owen this liberty so I won’t fall on my face as we walk through the dark field. But I’m too tired to pretend I don’t like it. I do. I like it too much.
“You did a good job today,” Owen says as we walk up an incline.
“Can we not talk about today?” I stumble over a rock and Owen’s hand tightens around mine.
“Sick of us already?”
I watch the ground where his light shines. “I worked my butt off for dinner and nobody liked it.”
“I wouldn’t say that. It just wasn’t what the guests expected.” His thumb sweeps across my hand. “I guess sometimes we miss the best things when our expectations are low.”
“Did you learn that on the ranch?”
“A marketing class,” he says.
“As in a college marketing class?”
“I have a degree in business administration.”
I didn’t expect that. “There seems to be a lot I don’t know about you.”
“Maybe you should spend some more time with me.” Owen’s grin could be a weapon of mass destruction. “Add that to your extensive to-do list.”
The incline gets steeper, and he slows, watching to make sure I’m safely keeping up.
“Just a bit farther,” he says. “A few steps more and. . .ah, here we are.”
We reach the top of a hill, where the trees are cleared, as if they stepped back to make room for the view. This beautiful, spectacular view.
“It’s incredible,” I breathe.
Stars. All around us. Bright, shiny, wish-making stars dot the sky. And a full moon watches us from its perch in the inky heavens.
“You can see for miles.” Owen points to my left. “That’s Whitney Mountain on Beaver Lake. It’s a good thirty minutes away at least. My ancestors lived there.” He gestures to the right. “That’s Bentonville, where you see more city lights. But the best lights are those.” He looks up at the stars.
“I don’t see too many clear nights in New York.”
Reverence slows his voice. “It never gets old.” He drops my hand and unfolds the blanket onto the ground. “I have your front row seat right here.”
He sits beside me on the blanket, the denim of his jeans touching my leg. His arm close enough I can—
Do absolutely nothing but watch the sky!
Focus, Avery.
“Did you work on the ranch while you were in college?” I pluck a few blades of grass beside the blanket.
Owen leans back on his arms and lolls his head toward me. “I didn’t think a degree was in my future. It was important I work to help out in my house, but Mitchell and my grandpa made sure I went. Mitchell said if I could finish in four years, he’d fund it. And so I did.” His eyes are intense on mine, as if he wants me to hear more than his words. “I owe your grandpa a lot.”
I think of my own scholarship, the one that pays for my tuition and board. I don’t know that I could be in college without that help. “I feel like you’re on a one-man campaign to change my mind about Mitchell.” Does my voice sound bitter? Because I am. “I’m glad he’s so philanthropic now, but—” I’ve got to stop rehashing this. I don’t want to think of my mom’s father anymore. “Let’s talk about something else. Like whether your girlfriend is okay with you bringing girls out to the lookout point.” Oh, no. Did I just say that? I couldn’t pick a safer topic? Like politics?
Owen’s lips move into a rakish grin. “There’s no girlfriend. And I’ve never brought a girl here. Until you.”
Oh.
He shuts off his flashlight and lies back on the blanket, one hand behind his head. “Get comfortable,” he says. “You’re as tightly wound as a cow on vaccination day.”
I bite my lip. “Can I give you some female advice?”
“Does it involve making out?”
“No.”
“Not interested.” He pats the space behind me in invitation.
“Girls are not really into bovine comparisons.”
He gives my hair a light tug. “I guess this means sow metaphors are out too?”
I fall back beside him. “It’s a good thing you’re cute.”
“You can use my classically chiseled chest as a pillow if you’d like.”
I press my lips against a giggle at his dry tone. “I’m not going to date you, Owen.” As the words tumble out, I don’t know if they’re for his benefit or mine. “I’m only here for the summer. Cute as you are, you’re still a member of the male species, a class I’m actively boycotting.”
“Now, that is just a shame.” He rolls over on his side and looks at me. “On behalf of all Y chromosome brothers, can I ask why you’re rejecting us?”
“I’ve had two serious boyfriends in my life, and neither one of them worked out.”
“Now the rest of us have to suffer for their stupidity?”
“I am genetically predisposed to attracting losers.”
He leans in close enough I can clearly see that frown. “I think that might’ve been more offensive than my cow reference.”
“Why? You’re not in the loser camp—because I’m not attracti
ng you.”
Owen’s pause is that heavy stillness before lightning splits the sky. “Think again, city girl.”
He’s so near, it seems automatic to put my hands on his shoulders. His head lowers, and those full lips draw closer, as my heart thumps a wild tempo.
I shouldn’t want this.
I just said I didn’t.
And we both know I was lying.
Owen’s thumb traces across my cheekbone, and I lose all ability to breathe.
I close my eyes and part my lips.
“Make a wish,” he says.
I wish he’d hurry up.
I pop my eyes open as Owen leans back on his elbow. “Hurry. Shooting star.” He points overhead, and my dazed gaze follows.
The star arcs, and my wits return. Just in time to send one of the hopes faintly penciled on my heart.
Owen’s fingers find mine on the blanket. “Did you make your wish?”
“No.” My second lie for the night. But he suddenly feels too close, like he can see inside where all the wistful, ridiculous dreams hide. “No wish for me.” I get to my feet with clumsy limbs, as one does when awkwardly exiting an incredibly romantic moment. “I, um. . .” I brush grass from my shorts and swat another mosquito. “I need to get back.”
He stands. “Avery—”
I hold out my hands, as if to push away anything Owen might say to pull me back under his spell. “You and I are not going to happen, Owen. I’m here to do a job, then go back to New York. One day I’m going to be open to dating again, but not for a very long time. And it’s definitely not this summer. When I leave here, I don’t want any ties to the Shadow Ranch.”
He grabs his flashlight from the ground, as if he needs to see my face, to see my decision there. We watch each other in the quiet of the country night. Me, with my heart pounding hard against my chest with every confused, frightening beat. And Owen, putting a neutral mask in place.
But not before I see the concern, the frustration. And the want.
“I’ll take you back,” he finally says.
We ride to the house in silence.
That night I fall asleep within minutes of my head hitting the pillow.
And dream of a dark-headed cowboy who asked a girl to wish on a falling star.
Chapter Eight
Owen is missing.
I haven’t seen him in three days. Not since our near-kiss.
Oh, he was here working the ranch from dawn to dusk, just like always. Everyone else apparently had seen him. But not me. He hasn’t shown up for one meal in the lodge, so God only knows what he’s eating.
While he’d spent the time working like a dog, I’d stayed busy as well. I cooked and organized the kitchen, planning and baking and roasting and chopping. Not to mention, making our menu more kid-friendly.
And thinking about Owen and that night beneath the stars.
I’d almost kissed him.
I could blame it on the exhaustion or the rejections that brought me down that first day. Surely it was some subconscious desire to stick it to the Cheater Ex.
Never mind that Owen makes me smile. And laugh. And want to be held in those strong, hard-working arms.
I barely know him. And it needs to stay that way.
But reminders of him are everywhere.
Owen had taken me straight to the house that star-watching night, and I’d set my alarm early to finish packing those lunches. Yet when I’d arrived at the lodge kitchen that next morning, the brown bags were finished and waiting in the fridge.
Borrowing some of Owen’s avoidance techniques, I’d managed to steer clear of Mitchell. I got up and scurried out of the house before him, bypassing morning coffee time in the kitchen. And I made Elizabeth serve him all his meals. Except for a few run-ins, it had gone fairly well.
But now, as the evening rain pummels against the lodge windows, I spy Mitchell at the head of his table, waiting for dinner. Like a captain of a cruise ship, he sits with the Jessen family, which includes two rowdy young boys. Levi, the six-year old, looks just like his older brother, John, except thanks to leukemia, Levi wears a ball cap to cover his bald head. The boy has a thing for puns and chocolate, and his family has become my favorite so far.
In need of a little information, I deliver dinner to Mitchell’s table myself, balancing my serving tray over my head away from prying eyes. “Who’s hungry?”
“Me!” Both Jessen boys raise their hands high.
“Well, guess what the first course is?” I set my tray on the table. “Dessert!”
At Mitchell’s request, every Saturday night kicks off with something sweet before transitioning to the main dish. I don’t know if it’s more for Mitchell’s benefit or the kids.
As the kids fight over the biggest ice cream sundae, I hand one to Mitchell.
“How are you, Avery?” he asks.
“Good.”
“I hear you’re adjusting well. The food’s been excellent.”
“Thank you.”
Thunder rattles the windows, and I know the night of S’mores will now be replaced by craft time with Elizabeth in the Great Room of the lodge.
“I haven’t seen Owen in a while.” I’m about as subtle as a torpedo. “Is he okay?”
Mitchell frowns and checks his phone. “Been waiting for a text from him. We can’t find a calf, and Owen’s out in this weather looking for it. I told him I’d go, but he insisted.” He slides the phone away and shakes his head. “Haven’t heard anything yet. Maybe you could take dinner to him later?”
“I would like to talk to him.”
Mitchell glances at the window beside him and grimaces. “He’s gonna need something to eat for sure.”
“Keep me posted.” I turn to go.
“Avery?” Mitchell calls.
“Yes?”
“Owen’s a good man. I’ve known him since he was born, and there’s no finer person. But he’s seen some heartache too.”
I move in closer, as if I don’t want the entire table to hear of Owen’s past. “What do you mean? Did a girl treat him badly?”
“Yeah,” Mitchell says. “His mother. She left when Owen was about ten and never came back. I think he still occasionally sends her money like some sort of reverse child support. He helps a lot of people around here.” Mitchell dabs his lips with a napkin. “No one finer than Owen Jackson.”
***
With rain spattering behind me, I step onto Owen’s porch and pause before knocking on his door. Should I go with two knocks or three? Was one any sexier than the other?
I settle on four.
And when I get no response, I add two more.
I know he’s in there. At eight o’clock, Mitchell texted me that Owen had returned. It couldn’t have taken me but a handful of minutes to make Owen a plate, grab an umbrella, and run across a few puddles to his cabin.
I knock again. Harder.
The door swings open, revealing a shirtless Owen in dark jeans and a wilted towel draped around his neck. “Yes?” He’s probably given warmer welcomes to rabid skunks on his porch.
His hair still drips, and he lifts the end of the towel to scrub it over the back of his scalp. The muscles in his shoulders flex, revealing sharp angles honed by years of heaving hay bails and wrestling cattle.
“Did you need something, Avery?”
I pull my eyes from the water beads on Owen’s chest and try to think of an answer that’s half-way appropriate. “I, um.” I clear my throat and try again. “I brought you dinner.” There. A complete sentence and everything. Holding out the foiled-covered plate, I force my lips into a pleasant smile, as if I’m just a friend stopping by for a chat.
Owen regards my offering warily.
“It’s steak, potatoes, and a salad. Nothing weird here, I promise.” Except me.
Like a dog trying to sniff out danger, he hesitates before taking the food. “Thank you.”
“Can I come in?”
Refusal is all over his face, so I utilize those Cr
awford genes, assume an air of confidence, and walk right past him into his cabin. He closes the door behind us as I step into his small living room. A beige couch sits beside a leather recliner, both pointing toward a TV that takes up almost the entire wall. The little kitchen is too cozy to ignore, so I follow the wood floor to check out the gleaming gas stove and matching refrigerator. The granite countertop is clutter free, though two bar stools made of saddles are tucked beneath it. Feeling emboldened, I open the fridge and peek inside. I’ve been in so many kitchens that I can tell a lot by the contents of a person’s perishables. Inside I find water, six brown eggs in a bin, a bottle of Coca-Cola, a package of hot dogs, and half a gallon of what appears to be raw milk.
“You don’t cook much.”
I close the door and turn, only to bump right into Owen. Shirtless Owen.
He doesn’t smile. “I don’t have time. And I can eat at the lodge any time.”
“But you didn’t today. Or yesterday. In fact, you haven’t been there in three days.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Busy avoiding me?”
“We have lots of baby calves right now. It’s one of our busiest seasons.”
The kitchen is nearly too small for the both of us, and every attempt at moving out of Owen’s way just nudges me against him. His frustration at my presence all but hums in the air, and his face looks unfamiliar without that smile.
“Owen, I wanted to apologize for—”
“You don’t need to apologize.” He tunnels his fingers through his damp hair and contemplates the ceiling for the space of three heartbeats, like he’s editing his words before letting them slip off his tongue. “If anyone owes an apology here, it’s me. You made your position clear, and I pushed the boundary anyway. So. . . I’m the one who’s sorry.”
“I don’t want you to avoid me.”
“I had a lot of work to do.”
“How did this morning’s trail ride go?”
He sends a pointed glance toward the door. “Fine.”
“Bad night to be working outside.”
“It is.”
With a huff of frustration, I squeeze past him, pull out a saddle bar stool, and sit down. I’m going to make this boy talk to me. “Did Levi get the horse he wanted? How did Hannah do? She looked kind of tired this morning.” Owen crosses his arms and says nothing. “I want to hear about it.”
Wild Heart Summer Page 5