A Bet Worth Making (Grayson County #2)

by Heather Hildenbrand

  I thought about making a sarcastic comment, letting it all roll off like a joke. It was my programmed response to anything heavy. But this time, I didn’t.

  Instead, I caught strands of her sunlit hair in my fingers, stroking it softly. Then, I slid my fingertips up her arm until my hand rested lightly on her shoulder. Tension and attraction zipped between us but I left it there, not egging it on like I normally would.

  For once, I didn’t want to skip the conversation. “You want to tell me about it?” I asked quietly.

  The refusal was there on the tip of her tongue; I could see it. But then she seemed to change her mind. She tugged my hand and together we sat on the porch step. She was going to talk. To me. About her day. It was the smallest thing—but for Jordan, I knew it was huge.

  “Everything was fine at first. When I drove up, I met my … John. My dad’s dad. He was nice, sort of. We bantered. He changed when I told him who I was, though. And then Sharon, his wife, invited me inside.” She spoke haltingly and I could see she was still processing it all even now. I waited while she picked at her boot. “She wanted to know why I’d come after all this time. She accused me of wanting her money. She thought I was pregnant.”

  “What the hell?” I blurted, staring at her profile. I hadn’t seen that one coming. Judging from the rigidity in her jaw as she stared ahead, she hadn’t either.

  Jordan finally looked over at me then shook her head. “She said something about history repeating itself. I think…” Her brow furrowed. “My dad said that’s how it happened for him. The night he told them my mom was pregnant with me, they disowned him. Told him he was no longer a part of the family.”

  “Why would they do that?” I asked.

  “They didn’t like my mom. Thought my dad had married down or something. They fought over it a lot according to Mom and I guess getting pregnant with me was the last straw. They told him to get out and never come back. My parents and Gavin moved to New England and we never spoke to them again.”

  “God, Jordan, that’s awful. I’m sorry. I can’t imagine… Family is supposed to support you, not judge you and punish you for how you live your life.”

  She sighed. “My parents understood that. They were great. In fact, my dad forgave them even though they never reached out to ask. Mom says they wrote asking about us kids. Gavin called them once right after he graduated high school, but I refused to talk. The past few years, my parents encouraged me to contact them, to try and establish some sort of relationship.”

  She shook her head and I saw the familiar burn of anger on her cheeks. It was the same expression she’d worn the way we met. It was her wall, I realized. Her layer of protection against feeling whatever it was her family’s issues threatened to make her feel.

  “I never contacted them. I refused to forgive them,” she said at last. “It’s not like they were actually apologizing. They never so much as sent a birthday card. And then today … with their assumptions and judgment … Obviously, they aren’t the kind of people I want in my life anyway.”

  “So, you’re done then,” I said, hating how those assholes had made her feel. They clearly had no idea who Jordan was, and they didn’t deserve to from the sound of it.

  “No. I have to hear them out over what happened with my parents in order to satisfy Dad’s request.” Her expression crumpled. “God, someone could have at least notified them he’d passed.”

  “They didn’t know?”

  She shook her head. “When they didn’t come to the funeral, I just thought they were being hateful again,” she whispered. “Anyway … they know now,” she added and the heartbreak in those three words took a minute for me to understand. She’d been the one to tell them. And it hadn’t changed a damn thing.

  “Shit, Jordan, I’m sorry.”

  “Me too. I can’t believe Dad thought this would be a good idea.” Her voice wobbled then steadied again. “He was always my number one fan. As a kid but especially when I chose design. He said when I was ready, he’d help me open my own firm. We would be partners. He was my best friend. But now … this promise he asked of me … I hate it. And I’m angry with him for asking it.”

  “And you feel guilty being angry when you should be sad,” I added.

  She nodded. “I wish I didn’t have to go back and do all of that again. I just want to move on. Stop being angry so I can just miss him.”

  “You could just give up,” I said, knowing full well what her answer would be to that. “Forget about them and move on now. You tried. Your dad would understand.”

  Jordan didn’t answer. She leaned down, picking at a loose shard of wood on the porch step.

  “You think you’ll let him down if you don’t finish it,” I said finally. Jordan looked up at me in surprise. “I know a thing or two about it,” I admitted.

  “With … Frank?” she asked, her brows scrunching.

  I nodded even though my pulse was racing. The only thing I’d never told my own family, and here I went spilling it to a girl. “In Philly, I did a two-year program for auto mechanics. Frank paid for it and we both knew it was so that I’d use that knowledge to come back here and work for him at the shop and help Dean out on the farm. Cars, tractors, that sort of thing. What he doesn’t know is that I was accepted into a motorcycle program my last year on a full scholarship. I did that alongside the auto program.”

  I looked down at my hands, lost in thought as I recalled that final year of school. The hours I spent with my instructor after putting things together, playing with the factory schematics until I’d found my own way of building the bikes. And the months that followed as I came back home, secret diploma in hand.

  “You never told Frank about it?” Jordan asked.

  “Never told anyone.” I stared down at my hands. It sounded crazy to say it aloud after all this time.

  “So you what? Graduated with two degrees?” she asked.

  I nodded, my gaze darting around the yard. Why was it so damn hard to admit this? I’d kept quiet because I didn’t want to brag but that wasn’t what it felt like now. Instead, I felt like a dumbass for waiting so long to tell someone. “One for auto mechanics and another, with honors, for motorcycles.”

  “With honors?” she echoed and I ducked my head.

  I sighed and stared up at the gathering dusk. “Top of my class actually.”

  “Casey, that’s great. Why aren’t you doing anything with it?” she asked, shaking my arm. “Surely you could find time for both, right? And Frank would understand. He’d—”

  “I have a history of great ideas … and a lack of follow-through. The mobile pool business was a highlight. A tarp lining the back of my pickup. Charge kids for a quick dip in the summertime.” I snorted. “The last time I came up with a new business idea, Frank just shook his head. I don’t want this to be a joke. Besides, I can see how happy it made Frank when I entered into the family business working on the farm.” She opened her mouth to argue, but I cut her off. “It’s not something I want to get into.” I gave her a wry smile. “That fear of disappointing the people you love—it’s a bitch, isn’t it?”

  Jordan softened, nodding and taking my hand in hers. I tried to hide my surprise, but the contact gave me a jolt I wasn’t expecting. Our eyes met and I knew she’d felt it too, the electricity between us. Instead of pulling away, she hung on tighter.

  The urge to kiss her warred with my determination to take things slow. To make sure it meant something. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d turned down the chance to go fast.

  The waning daylight played across her bared legs and I watched as she absently rubbed her free hand over her shins. “Come on,” I said, pushing to my feet and offering my hand.

  “Where are we going?” she asked as I led her back to the truck.

  I’d made it a couple of steps when I felt the first rain drop, cold and fat, land on my cheek. “Home.” I picked up the pace as the rain fell harder. “You get first dibs on the shower. I’ll even make dinner.”


  “What about your dirt bike?” she asked, her hand lingering in mine as she stared up at me with heavy-lidded eyes. Rain hit her hair and shoulders, and despite the chill of it on my arms and neck, my insides heated as I stared back at her.

  “It’ll be fine until we get home. From there, I can unload it myself.” I could have loaded it myself too but I wasn’t about to tell her that.

  The rain had me ready to hoist her into the cab and run for the driver’s side, but Jordan didn’t move. She hadn’t even acknowledged the rain yet. Instead, she stared up at me, unmoving.

  Heavy drops splattered against her cheeks and the top of her head, seeping into her hair. We’d be soaked soon.

  Jordan’s hand found mine and held. “Thank you,” she said. “For today.”

  “Anytime.” I fought the urge to reach for her and tangle my hands in her hair.

  Something strange passed over her face. “I agree to the bet,” she said and I froze, realizing my hand had already started to rise toward her cheek.

  “What?” I shook my head to clear it.

  “The bet. My twenty-four hours is up. I owe you an answer and I’ll agree but I want to amend the terms.” She stepped closer until the toe of her boot was against mine. Water sloshed at our feet.

  I shifted my weight, confused at my disappointment. A heaviness settled inside my chest but I shook it away. I wanted the bet, I reminded myself. “What’s your proposal?” I asked.

  “If I win, you have to do something about your dirt bike obsession.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know, whatever it is you’re thinking of but too scared to do. Start your own business. Open a dealership. At least tell Frank.”

  I licked my lips, certain this was not what I had in mind when I’d spilled my guts to her just now. I’d just wanted her to know I understood. “Fine,” I said, irritated at being handled. “Then I will amend my terms as well.”

  “Name it,” she said.

  “If I win—”

  “You mean if I fall for you,” she put in.

  “Yes. If I become more than just a fling to you,” I said, jerking my head backward, “you take on this house as your next project.”

  Jordan’s eyes widened as she glanced behind me. “This house?” she repeated. “But we don’t even know who it belongs to or if they’ll let me renovate—”

  “They’ll let you. You’ll stay until the job’s done. Those are my terms.” I waited, certain she’d point out a project like this could take months. If she did, I’d happily tell her that was the damn point.

  But she didn’t. Her eyes narrowed and then slowly her full lips curved into a secretive smile. Her blonde hair shone in the dying sunlight and I wanted to fist it in my hands and kiss her until she couldn’t breathe.

  I leaned in, strangely out of breath.

  “You have a deal, Casey Luck.” Jordan licked her lips, her blue eyes trained on mine. “You want to shake on it?” she asked, close enough her breath washed over me. It was sweet, like I knew she’d taste. And dammit, I wasn’t holding back any longer.

  “Not a chance.” I hooked a finger into her belt loop and yanked her against me. “This one deserves to be sealed with a kiss.”

  My mouth landed hot and sharp on hers.

  And with that, our bet was cast.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jordan

  Five days after my first run-in with Sharon and John, I stood back in my little alcove at the edge of the woods, observing and studying the progress so far for Summer and Ford’s new house on the hill. The afternoon sun played strangely across the wooden beams that crisscrossed what would be the living room when Summer’s house was complete. Overhead, dappled light slanted in through thin, green leaves and the branches above seemed to angle in as if they wanted to greet their newest friend. As if the house was already somehow a part of the natural order here. It was a reverential sort of magic to watch.

  As of today, footers and foundation were already done. Apparently, Casey’s call to Miss Harriet had lit a fire. All of my permits had come through and I had a direct line to call Harriet if I had questions about anything at all.

  Unfortunately, paperwork and construction were the only things moving fast. Since making the bet last weekend, Casey and I had agreed to let things proceed naturally, but so far, the only progress was not arguing over the remote every night. He hadn’t so much as held my hand. I was beginning to think he’d only been interested because he thought he couldn’t have it.

  But a lack of progress would only make it easier to win, I reminded myself. And honestly, more than ever, I wanted that. Especially now that it meant Casey would have to step up with his dirt bike business. After his initial confession at the rehab house, he’d spend the ride home telling me about the bike builds he’d done and the orders he still had to fill. His passion for the work shone through so clearly as he spoke. Maybe I could give him the push he needed to pursue it after I was gone.

  In the meantime, I was fighting with myself over how I felt at the snail’s pace of our … relationship? I’d counted on Casey as a distraction from my family problems. It was working. Maybe too well.

  Summer stood not far away talking to the lead contractor and I was tempted—for the billionth time—to talk to her about it. But it felt weird knowing their history. I wouldn’t want Casey talking to Gavin about me.

  I’d never had girlfriends back home. Not any I’d been willing to confide in anyway. Most of them were too busy falling all over my brother and I’d never trusted anyone enough to share my secrets.

  So I left it alone.

  Instead, I pulled my phone out and checked for new messages. On Monday, I’d had a long conversation with Gavin about my trip out to Windsor. He’d cussed a lot when he found out no one had delivered the news about Dad ahead of time. And he’d pep talked me for a while but after that, it just got to be depressing.

  He actually wanted me to go back over there and try again. For peace. Whatever that meant. The whole idea of walking back into that shit storm just made me want to crawl into bed and not come out until—never. So, I’d backed off from Gavin’s calls. He’d taken to texting instead.

  A new message blinked on my screen and my heart sank a little when I saw it was Gavin again, not Casey.

  Mom called. Said you still haven’t checked in. Call her!

  I sighed and punched out a noncommittal response. Mom and I weren’t not talking, but we weren’t talking either. Especially since I found out she’d been sending pictures of me to Sharon. But I couldn’t confront her about that without having her give me the third degree about my grandparents or insist I come home. And I wasn’t ready for that. Having Gavin breathing down my neck was bad enough.

  I tossed the phone on a makeshift worktable and sighed, rubbing my hands over my face. Someone brushed my elbow and I yelped, automatically bringing my fist back.

  “Whoa. It’s just me,” Casey said, backing away and throwing up his hands. “I come in peace.”

  I glared to cover up the wave of delight that speared through me at seeing him show up here. No way would I act excited to see him here after days of him practically ignoring me. “I have a feeling wherever you go, there is no peace,” I said.

  Casey’s brows rose. “Is that how we’re playing it today?”

  I sighed and let my shoulders fall. “No, we’re—I’m sorry. I’m just … I have a lot on my mind.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “No.”

  “Want to not talk about it?”

  Now it was my turn to glance over, brow arched. Casey’s grin played at the corners of his mouth, just a hint of mischief, but it was enough. My mouth curved. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Do you have a pair of old jeans and boots?” he asked.

  “I…” This wasn’t where I thought this was going. “Yes, the ones I’m wearing—” I pointed down at my feet but Casey shook his head.

  “No, a
nicer pair. Fancier.”

  “Sure,” I said, eyes narrowing now. Definitely not where I thought he’d go with that invitation. “What are you cooking up?”

  Casey’s eyes gleamed as he backed away. “Oh, you’ll see, city girl. You just wait.”

  ***

  Country music, heavy on the guitar, hit me the moment I walked into the dimly lit bar. The stuffy air hung with the scent of whiskey and fried chicken. Two steps later, I felt something crack underfoot and found a crushed peanut shell on the floor. Just ahead, Casey beckoned me to follow and I found myself entering my first country bar. Not that I could refuse with such a tight pair of jeans leading the way. I watched Casey’s butt in appreciation.

  Summer and Ford followed me inside—the other half of our double date.

  Both of them wore brown cowboy boots, scuffed along the toes and fancy embellishments along the rim. Mine were nondescript, but if I had to name the style, I’d go with city snob. Casey hadn’t been specific when he’d told me to wear boots, and I realized now his definition of footwear and mine were miles apart. I hadn’t understood we were coming to a country bar until we’d driven up and parked under the neon sign that blinked the words “The Tipsy Cow.”

  True to its name, several cowboy hat-sporting patrons lining the bar already looked well on their way. Smiles too big, laugh too loud, eyes too wandering. It was right out of a George Strait song. Gavin would have loved it.

  “It’s not as bad as it looks,” Summer said in my ear as she pushed past me, Ford at her heels.

  At her words, I straightened and fixed my expression so I wasn’t scowling. Ford shot me a smile as he passed and the two of them disappeared toward the far end of the bar.

  Casey hovered in front of me. “You want a drink?” he yelled over the band as he led me through the crowd.

  “Beer’s good,” I called back, turning sideways to fit between a heavyset man in dirty jeans and a thin man that reminded me of Jack Sprat from my mother’s nursery rhymes. Except for his rat tail. That wasn’t part of the story.