by Torsha Baker
My heart skips a beat, and the wrench falls from my hands with a clatter. I’d know that voice anywhere. It plagues my memories and dreams. As determined as I was to come back to Bisbee and face the owner of that voice with confidence and poise, I find myself frozen, drowning in emotions, and speechless in the presence of Jaxon Wyle.
Chapter Five
JAXON
Eight Years Earlier
I just got dumped and it feels great. I walk down main street a free man. No more overly jealous rants, no more having to prove my loyalties, no more getting yelled at for the smallest thing. And even though it has only been a couple hours, I’ve decided that single life is the best life.
The year-round Christmas lights zigzag over a street lined by old buildings with antique shops, art galleries, bars, and cafes. Every month Bisbee, Arizona, has a new theme to bring in tourists. It helps keep the town alive. This weekend’s theme happens to be Aloha in Bisbee, which means all the girls are wearing short shorts or cute little Hawaiian print dresses. Not a bad start to the summer—especially now that I’m free to flirt all I want.
I spot my friends, Brock and Isaac, waiting for me just outside the coffee shop. Brock wears a T-shirt with a tanned, overly muscled torso on it and a pair of Hawaiian print shorts. The shirt hangs loose over his tall, thin frame. Isaac, who’s a good two inches shorter that Brock, has a Billabong shirt with a hang-loose hand on it.
I chuckle. “Nice shirt, Schwarzenegger.” I nudge Brock.
He smiles and jabs my torso. “Not all of us have the real thing.” He shrugs. “Besides, the chicks like it.”
Isaac shakes his head. “Just because they’re laughing, doesn’t mean they like it.”
Brock gestures to my clothes: Wranglers, boots, and black t-shirt. My typical attire. “You not in the festive mood?”
I brush dust from my shirt. “On the contrary,” I say. I haven’t felt this good in months. “I didn’t have time to change. Just got done training a new colt.” Ranch work might give me muscles, but it isn’t kind to my wardrobe.
The three of us set off toward the open stage that sits on top of the old cemetery. It’s not a cemetery anymore, of course, not since a huge storm started washing bodies into the streets of Bisbee. That was when the town decided it was time to move the bodies to a non-flooding spot. They built a park and a stage on top of the old site, because what better place to have a bunch of kids play than on top of Great Grandma’s old resting place? Tonight they’ve set up the evening’s entertainment at the stage. If there are any old ghosts hanging around, hopefully they enjoy Hawaiian dancing.
As the sun makes its descent in the sky, the streets become more crowded, and we have to weave through the foot traffic.
“How did it go with Brittany?” Isaac asks.
They knew I was planning to talk to Brittany about her latest outburst. She freaked out on me yesterday when I got her a drink from the coffee shop. Yelled at me for a good five minutes about how I was flirting with the barista. I tried to tell her it wasn’t my fault the girl found me irresistible and left her number on the cup. I just have that effect on girls with no added effort on my part. Telling her this only led to more yelling and the contents of her cup over my head. I’m still confused as to how things escalated so quickly.
When I went to apologize and smooth things over today, she broke up with me. She told me there was no point in carrying on any longer because she’s planning to move to New York in a couple of months and it’s obvious I don’t have the maturity for a long-distance relationship. She said some other stuff about outgrowing me, but to be honest, I was so surprised by the rush of relief that washed over me that I tuned out after that.
“She dumped me,” I say.
They both laugh, but when I don’t join them, Brock says, “Seriously?”
I shrug. “Yeah, man.”
“Yes!” Isaac pumps his arm in the air. “No more psycho-chick.”
“Oh, come on,” I say. “She wasn’t that bad.” I might be glad that the relationship is over, but that doesn’t mean I want to go bashing Brittany.
Isaac’s jaw drops, and he looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Yes. Yes, she was. She slashed your tires when she saw you hug your cousin Samantha.”
I wince and shrug. “It was a misunderstanding.”
“It was a misdemeanor,” he counters.
We pass some older guys drinking on the balcony of the Queen Mary Inn all dressed in matching kilts—a bachelor party. I can’t help but feel sorry for the poor sap about to get married. Being single is so much easier.
“Wow,” Brock runs a hand through his hair. “Jaxon Wyle got dumped. I mean if it happened to you, then there’s no hope for us.”
I step around a few stoners and hold my breath for a moment—trying not to get a contact high from the distinct smell coming off them. “It’s not so bad getting dumped. You don’t have to hurt anyone’s feelings, and you still get your freedom. Win-win if you ask me.”
Isaac kicks a rock and drops his head a little. “Yeah, well, wait until it happens when your heart is involved. Not so fun then.”
Isaac got his heart broken a month ago, and he’s still not over it.
I wrap an arm around his shoulder and shake him. “This is a good thing, man. We’re all single and heading off to college in a couple months. Imagine the fun to be had.” I slap his chest before releasing him and start to climb the steep steps up to the park. “Relationships are just too much work,” I say over my shoulder. “Not worth it.”
“So, what? You’re swearing off women now?” Brock’s skepticism drips from his words.
Just as my sight clears the top of the staircase, I falter and almost trip. There, about ten feet away, the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen is placing a floral lei over someone’s head. She looks like she’s straight out of a Hawaiian Airlines magazine. Her dark brown, wavy hair spirals at the ends all the way to her waist. She has sun-kissed, bronze skin and the most alluring smile. I can’t help but notice how her white tank fits her hourglass curves perfectly, and she wears a floral sarong over her shorts, showcasing an amazing set of toned legs. She’s a tropical flower in the middle of a desert.
Isaac comes up beside me. “You’re drooling.”
I turn to look at him and Brock, only then realizing I’ve stopped in my tracks near the top of the staircase. I chuckle at myself and continue to climb the last few steps. The park is decked out, luau style. Tiki torches flicker their orange-yellow glow every few feet, giving off the district scent of citronella. Behind the makeshift stage, a backdrop of a beach scene makes a pathetic attempt to turn the desert into a tropical landscape. A gathering crowd sits in the stadium-style seats, talking with one another while they wait for the entertainment to begin. As we approach the Hawaiian beauty, I slow my pace and ask Isaac, “Who is she?”
“Dunno,” Isaac says.
Brock leans in. “That’s Ala’s sister.”
“Ala? Is that Ben’s wife?” Ben is a few years older than we are and works at Fort Huachuca Army Base in Sierra Vista. My brother had him over a couple of Sundays ago to watch football.
“That’s the one,” Brock says. “Ala’s on the events committee with my mom. That’s her younger sister, visiting for the summer. My mom said to be friendly to her since she’s new.”
“Oh, I plan on being very friendly,” I say just before she approaches, earning a chuckle from my friends.
She places a lei over Brock’s head. “Aloha.”
“I just got lei-d.” Brock winks. “Get it? Laid?”
She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, brah. Real original.”
I laugh. Girl’s got spunk. When she turns her attention to Isaac, I slug Brock on the arm. He shrugs it off, still laughing at his own joke.
“Aloha,” she says to Isaac and places one of the floral loops over his head.
“A-lo-ha,” Isaac says back, smiling at her with an overeager grin.
I sigh, grimacing. It’s like they’ve l
earned nothing from me over the years. She pulls another flower necklace off her arm and turns in my direction. With her hands already lifting to put the lei over my head, she hesitates a moment. I smile, knowing she’s interested by the way her gaze roams over me with approval.
Her eyes linger for a moment on my boots before making their way back to mine. “Aloha, Cowboy,” she says in what seems a more sultry way than she’d spoken to my friends.
I decide to give her my signature move. It works every time: the smolder. I concentrate on my sexiest come-hither gaze just as she’s about to give me the lei.
She hesitates again, and her eyes narrow. “Are you okay?”
What? It didn’t work? That’s never happened before. My smolder usually has girls swooning the instant I lay it on them.
I drop the smolder and give her an easy smile. “Yes, darlin’. I am now.”
She returns the smile, and I can tell she likes the country drawl and being called darlin’.
She goes onto her tiptoes and places the lei gently over my head. When she’s close, I smell the sweet scent of some exotic flower, and suddenly all my plans of staying away from girls vanish along with the last of the daylight.
I stare after her when she moves to the next group that just ascended the stairs. She doesn’t give me another glance. I stay for a moment longer waiting to see if she’ll steal a look my way, but nothing. Have I completely lost my touch? Has getting dumped for the first time somehow ruined my game? Can girls smell that kind of thing on a guy?
I walk over to my friends who are waiting for me while they take turns putting their hands in the fire of a torch, but I halt. I’ve never been a quitter, and I’m not about to start now.
“You coming?” Brock asks.
I give them a wicked grin. “In a minute.”
They laugh and shake their heads. I turn back and find the girl with the leis standing alone now, waiting for more people to walk up the stairs.
When I approach, she looks over at me and raises her brows as if to say, Yes?
“Hi.” I give her my best smile. “I wanted to introduce myself since you’re new here.”
She tilts her head a little, like she’s waiting. When I don’t say anything, she asks, “Well, are you going to introduce yourself, cowboy? Or am I supposed to guess your name?”
“Oh, right. Sorry.” My name is idiot because that’s what I am right now . . . or moron. Moron works too. “I’m Jaxon Wyle.” And because it must have been a fluke the first time around, I give her my smolder once more.
Her brows scrunch together. “Why do you keep looking at me like that?”
I drop it again, completely shocked that it hasn’t worked twice in a row. How is it not working? Is she even human? “Seriously?” I ask. “Do they not have the come-hither stare where you’re from?”
“The what?”
“You know . . . the smolder.”
She laughs, and it’s the most enticing sound I’ve ever heard. I make a new goal to do everything I can to get her to laugh again, even if it’s at my expense.
“Is that what you were doing?” she asks. “Sorry. It’s just, well, you kinda looked constipated.”
I chuckle in spite of myself. I am miserably failing at flirting here. I need to take it in a new direction. “Constipated? That’s a first. You’re the only beautiful girl the smolder hasn’t worked on.”
“Nice slip of a compliment there,” she says, calling me out.
What is this trickery? It’s like someone has taught her all my moves. “Doesn’t make it any less true,” I add for good measure.
She smirks at that one at least. Then she lowers her voice as if telling me a secret. “Hate to break it to you, brah, but you might need a few lessons on that smolder of yours.”
Ah, now this I can work with. “Are you going to school me?”
I see the teasing in her eyes. She’s enjoying this. “The problem with your smolder is that you direct it as if the girl should be honored that you’re showing her attention. The trick is to make the other person feel as if no one and nothing else is holding you to this earth but their gaze. They are everything in that moment. Make them feel as though you’re honored that they’re looking at you, not the other way around.”
Wow. She’s a genius. I lean in a little closer. “Are you going to show me exactly how to do that?”
“Malia!” a woman shouts at us from the stage area. I see the similarities between the woman and Malia: bronze skin tone, long dark hair, and similar bone structure. She must be Malia’s sister, Ala. Ala wears a long floral dress and has a microphone in her hand. “Quit flirting, Lia-girl. We’re starting.” She motions for Malia to come.
“Watch and learn, cowboy,” Malia says and then trots off to her sister.
I wouldn’t think of doing anything else. I make my way to Brock and Isaac and take a seat on one of the cold stone steps, eager for the show to start.
Malia’s sister, Ala, turns on the mic. It makes a thump sound, and that’s when I notice a PA system is set up with two large speakers pointing to the full audience around me.
Ala speaks into the mic. “Welcome to Aloha in Bisbee. I have a special treat for you. My sister, who has come to us all the way from Hawaii, will be performing a special Tahitian dance. Listen to the drumbeats of the South Pacific while, through dance, the lovely Malia Kalama tells a story of love lost and found again.”
She turns off the mic. Malia, now wearing a magnificent headpiece with shells, tall feathers, and a matching hip band, sashays to the center of the stage. She stops with her head down. A slow drumbeat spills from the speakers. It weaves its way through the air surrounding us in its cadence while Malia sways her hips to the sound in slow, circular motions. Her hands slide up the sides of her body, making turning motions as they do. She raises her head in time with her hands, then follows their path all the way up to the sky before her fingers dance in the air, arching their way back down. She looks as if she has been transported somewhere else, somewhere magical, where ancient lands listen to the story she weaves with her hands and hips.
She flows effortlessly from one move to the next. Turning and spinning, her hair swinging with her. As the drumbeats quicken, so do her hips until it looks as if they are moving completely on their own. And just when I think I’ve seen everything, her gaze locks with mine, and she brings me into her magical world. The depth in her eyes takes my breath away. Just like that, everything else fades away. She’s dancing for me and me alone. The distance between us is both torrential and nonexistent. I lean forward, wanting to be closer to her. The drumbeats speed up, and my heart thunders in my chest with it, increasing in volume and intensity, as does Malia’s hips, a hypnotic, unspoken language. Suddenly the music stops abruptly. Malia ends in an elegant pose, breathing heavily, her powerful gaze still locked on mine. It whispers to my heart, musings of what might be between us.
The crowd erupts in cheers all around me, and I know nothing in my life will ever be the same. It will now always be the time before Malia came into my life and the time after.
Chapter Six
MALIA
Eight Years Earlier, Continued
I can’t seem to take my eyes off the hot cowboy in the stands. My heart pounds in my chest, and it has nothing to do with the dancing. I’m confused and intrigued. And my smolder has seriously improved. I’m both impressed with myself and with his quick learning because at some point in our shared moment he turned the smolder back on me with bewitching force.
In his dark blue eyes, there is an openness, a vulnerability that I didn’t see before. It’s like he’s offering all of himself to me right here and right now—not caring who else sees, not caring that we don’t even know each other, not caring what I might do with it.
My sister comes onto the stage talking into the mic, but I don’t listen to what she’s saying. I’m too caught up in my moment with the cowboy. I finally turn away, breaking the palpable connection, and quickly make my exit. I take off
my hip band and headpiece and place them behind the PA system. A Hawaiian song comes on, and I know my sister is starting her hula number.
My veins buzz with adrenaline, and I can’t seem to stay still. I want to run or laugh or jump in cold water. I walk over to a tree and watch the flames dance in one of the tiki lamps, thinking about the moment I put the lei over Jaxson’s head. He smelled of hay, leather, and pure spicy male. I lean against the tree and let the cool night breeze wash over my heated skin like an inviting wave on a hot summer’s day.
I didn’t come here to meet anyone. Bisbee is supposed to be a quick vacation with my sis before going off to college and then start my acting career, and yet, meeting Jaxon Wyle has instantly changed my thought process. I want to know more about him. I want to explore the connection we have and see where it takes us. And besides, the late, great Audrey Hepburn once said, “I have learnt how to live . . . how to be in the world and of the world and not just to stand aside and watch.” Truth be told, I’ve never been one to let life pass me by, and I’m not about to start now. I turn to go find Jaxon, but he has already found me.
He stands a foot away, looking at me as if I truly am the only thing holding him to this world. He’s six-foot-one with dark hair, blue eyes, and enough muscle to prove he can do the ranch work that goes with the cowboy boots. He doesn’t say anything. He just steps closer until he’s gazing down on me, surrounding me with that incredible scent of his. My stomach tightens with want, and even though I know how crazy it is, I want nothing more than to close the small distance separating us.
“You have the best smolder I’ve ever seen.” A smile pulls at the corner of his mouth reveling a sexy dimple. “Please tell me that doesn’t happen in every performance.”
“That,” I say, my voice airy and breathless, “whatever that was, has never happened.”
