Cowboy SEAL Redemption

by Nicole Helm

He stepped to the edge of the pond, and she could see the downward turn of his mouth. “Yes, I have a tattoo.”

  “And here I thought you were Mr. Clean-Cut.”

  “I was drunk when I got it.”

  She laughed at that. “You’re drunk now. Lose the pants and jump in.”

  “I’m not taking off my damn pants.”

  “You can’t swim in jeans.”

  “The hell I can’t.”

  “What are you so afraid of?” she returned, scooping her hand through the water and trying to splash him.

  “My scars are not for public consumption.”

  That shut her up for a second. Which was good, because she was letting this giddy feeling overtake her, and then she’d say stupid things and probably do stupider ones.

  “This public can handle it. Take off your pants and jump in the damn pond.” Because she didn’t know how to be sweet or sympathetic, which was likely what Jack needed. Someone like Felicity, who would know how to give him a little peace and comfort that didn’t involve threats and icy water.

  Who did she think she was, really? Like she was ever going to know how to help some former Navy SEAL who had voluntarily signed up to fight far away from home. He’d actually been brave enough to want to do that. She’d only ever fought because she didn’t have a choice, and sometimes she hadn’t fought at all.

  She opened her mouth to tell him to forget it—maybe she’d even choke out an apology. Of course, that was when he decided to take off his pants anyway and jump in beside her.

  Chapter 6

  It was cold. Which shouldn’t have been a surprise. If there was anything Jack had learned about Montana in the handful of months he’d lived here, it was that everything always seemed to be too cold, even on a perfectly hot, middle-of-summer day.

  He didn’t know why that made him want to laugh, but suddenly he felt like laughing. Hysterically. He was in his boxers in the middle of Montana, swimming in some godforsaken pond with the most… He didn’t have a word for what Rose was.

  “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he muttered, the water feeling less cold as he moved and adjusted to the temperature.

  “Oh, believe it, baby.”

  She was treading water only inches from where he was standing on the cool mud. It reminded him of playing in the creek as a kid. Which might have been a fond memory if he hadn’t spent all that time with his brother or Madison.

  He didn’t want to think about them or dwell on that. Not now, when the moonlight glinted against Rose’s dark hair and made it silver. When her skin glowed like some magical, light-giving stone. When everything about her was so present.

  “How does it feel?” Rose asked, something like laughter in her voice. Laughter—that bright pop of a reminder that life wasn’t over just because it wasn’t what he’d wanted it to be.

  “Well, I feel cold. And baffled.”

  She laughed outright, that smoky, hazy sound that was like nothing he’d ever heard. So much of her was like nothing he’d ever experienced.

  He knew he shouldn’t drift closer. All of the things she’d done for him had been completely out of pity. She wasn’t interested in him. And never mind that, back at the bar, talking to Felicity, he’d wished he could make a move and couldn’t, but somehow, in this ridiculous moment, he felt like he could.

  But that wasn’t the point. Hitting on Rose wasn’t why he was here, and it wasn’t the right thing to do.

  What has doing the right thing ever got you?

  “Like a whole new man, right?” Rose asked, her voice suddenly hushed.

  Even though he didn’t remember moving closer to her, somehow he was. He could feel the water lap against him as she moved her arms and legs.

  All of those stuttering, mood-darkening nerves he’d felt sitting across the table from Felicity were completely gone now that he was treading water across from Rose. His pulse beat hard in his neck, and something south of the border that hadn’t voluntarily twitched in what felt like years was suddenly hard.

  The water was cool, and the air was hot, and Rose glowed silver in the moon, and there were all these things he’d forgotten existed swelling inside him.

  Excitement. Anticipation. Want.

  “Why did you bring me here, Rose?”

  He could see the way her eyebrows furrowed, but that didn’t answer his question for him.

  “Not sure I have a good answer for that, Jack.” She smiled ruefully. “This is where I go when I don’t know where to go. When I don’t know who I am or where I’m going. I’ve never brought anyone here with me. So I have no idea what possessed me to bring you here, but here we are. And if you don’t get something out of it, I’m going to take it very personally and think you’re a total jackass. So you better find something to get out of it.”

  “Something to get out of it,” he repeated, smiling. Because he didn’t know anyone who talked like Rose.

  He shouldn’t have been thinking about all the things he wanted to get out of basically skinny-dipping with her. Because that’s not what she meant—she meant his psyche or a therapy breakthrough.

  But she was close, and she looked like a goddess, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d looked at a woman and not compared her to Madison. There was no comparison. Rose was an entirely different creature.

  “What possessed you to come to my bar tonight when I told you I’d get you laid, even though that’s not what you wanted?”

  “I’m not sure I’ve got an answer for that, Rose,” he said, repeating her response from earlier.

  She grinned at him. “What’s your tattoo? I can’t make it out.”

  “It’s an anchor and a banner with the phrase ‘hold fast.’”

  “Were you really drunk when you got it?”

  “It was my twenty-first birthday. Alex and Gabe took me out. I actually don’t remember anything about it—I just woke up with this anchor on my arm. Not even a naked girl hugging the anchor. You’d think the guys could have thrown me a bone there.”

  Rose laughed her totally unique laugh, and they were close, and he wasn’t the one doing it. She was the one drifting closer to him.

  Her finger brushed against the spot on his bicep where his anchor was tattooed, and Jack forced himself to breathe slowly in, exhale evenly out.

  “Hold fast,” she mused. “What does that mean?”

  “I told you I was drunk when I got it.”

  “Sure.” Her eyes lifted to his. “It still means something to you. You could’ve gotten another tattoo to cover it. You could have gotten it removed. Hold fast—it means something though, doesn’t it?”

  “Because every tattoo on your body means something to you?”

  “Every single one. Except maybe the one on my ass.”

  Jack choked out a laugh. “Do you really have a tattoo on your ass?”

  “That’s a question for the ages, Jacky boy.” Her finger dropped from his arm, and she dived away from him, swimming to the opposite side of the pond. “Come on, Navy SEAL. Show me what you got.”

  “What I got is a bum leg.”

  “Okay, but aren’t you guys supposed to be able to breathe underwater or some such?”

  “Some such.”

  “Then I dare you to a contest—who can hold their breath under water the longest?”

  “How would we possibly know who wins?”

  “Whoever pops up first.”

  “The person who comes up first could just as easily go back down without the other person knowing.”

  She laughed at something about that, but then she shrugged. “We’ll hold hands.” She held her arms out, clearly kicking to keep herself above the surface of the water.

  He didn’t know why that, of all the things in the past ten minutes, would make him feel jittery. An offer to hold hands was nothing, but it somehow
seemed more intimate than anything they’d done so far. More so than stripping and swimming in their underwear. More so than the moment in the hall when she’d pulled a knife on him and he’d neutralized the threat—by holding her arm, being able to feel her wild pulse jump under his fingertips. Those should have all been more intimate than a little hand holding.

  “Chicken?”

  He knew she was baiting him, and yet something about Rose made him want to give in to the baiting. When he never, ever wanted to give in to anyone else.

  He took her outstretched hands. Rose seemed so large and in charge, but her hands were soft and small in his.

  “Ground rules,” he muttered, because they were just playing a stupid game, not…whatever. “When you need to come up for air, you squeeze my hand. The squeeze is admitting you lost to me, and we both come up for air together.”

  “Or you could lose to me.”

  “Keep telling yourself that, baby,” he said, using that word she was always using on him. “And if we start to freeze to death, there better not be a Titanic situation where you get an entire door and I get zip.”

  Her laughter echoed out across the inky dark around them, and it slithered through his chest like something bright and viral.

  Jack had the oddest sensation that this, right here, was the happiest he’d been in a very long time.

  Not just the past two years, but before that even. Before… He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure he could ever remember feeling this kind of simple, unaffected joy.

  Not with Madison, not on the farm, not anywhere but a picturesque Montana summer night in the shadow of a tumbling-down house with the most confusing woman he’d ever met.

  When she counted to three, he sank into the water holding Rose’s hands, wondering for the first time in a long time, with a sense of hope, what might possibly come next.

  * * *

  As much as Rose hated to lose, she knew winning against a Navy SEAL in this situation wasn’t going to happen. Still, she held her breath for as long as she could, enjoying the cool water around her, the silence and the dark, with her eyes closed tight.

  She did feel Jack’s big hands gripping hers. They were the center of her universe for a few fleeting seconds—fleeting enough that she didn’t fight that thought with everything she had, like she normally would have.

  She let it linger.

  Until she couldn’t take the lack of oxygen anymore and she squeezed his hands and kicked to the top, Jack staying with her as they both broke the surface at the same time.

  She blinked the water out of her eyes and gulped a deep breath of air. She settled her gaze on Jack, who seemed not at all out of breath despite however long they’d been underwater. He was grinning though, and that made her feel a little extra out of breath.

  She’d seen a few smiles out of Jack, but she’d never seen a carefree grin on this gruff, stoic man’s face.

  She wanted to touch it. With her fingers, with her mouth. She wanted to find the source of that grin and breathe it deep inside of her.

  Good men with good hearts are not for you, Rose Rogers.

  “This might be the most nonsensical thing I’ve ever done,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper.

  “I don’t mind being the voice of the nonsensical.” Her breathing was too shallow, and her skin was cold and shivery except where their hands were still clasped. Every atom of heat in her body centered there, where her fingers were threaded through his.

  She tugged a little, but Jack’s grip was firm, and his arms remained steady. She bobbed toward him instead, their legs brushing as they kicked to keep themselves afloat in the deepest part of the pond.

  They didn’t speak after that, and they didn’t let go of each other’s hands, and they didn’t look away. Rose’s mind was screaming a million things at her, but it seemed to be in a language she didn’t understand, because she simply kept kicking and bobbing, her body occasionally brushing his, her hands always so secure and tight in his.

  Would a kiss really be the worst thing in the world? The poor guy had only ever been with one woman after all. Wasn’t Rose the perfect candidate for a rebound mistake? At least until the next upstanding girl came along.

  She tugged again, drawing closer, and all she would need was to free her hands to be able to pull his mouth to hers. To give him what surely, surely, they both wanted—no matter how stupid it might be in the end.

  “Jack, let go of my hand,” she said, keeping that steady, blue gaze of his. Sounding as in control as ever, feeling as out of control as she never let show.

  For a second, it felt as though his grip was loosening, but then he squeezed and pulled her firmly against him in one fluid movement. Rose inhaled sharply, watching the way his grin hardened into something she didn’t ever think she’d seen on his face.

  Determination.

  “No, I don’t think I will.”

  She was pressed against his hard, warm chest, their legs moving in tandem to keep them afloat, their hearts beating against each other. She could feel his warm breath against her wet cheek, and his lips were only a whisper away from hers. In any other situation, she would have taken control. She would have barreled forward and left regret for another time, but here and now with Jack, she waited. She soaked in the wild anticipation of what his mouth would feel like on her.

  A phone went off from where they’d left their clothes, loud against the quiet country night. Loud against the heavy moment of stillness and anticipation that had settled over them.

  “Is that your phone?” she asked in a hushed whisper.

  “Ye—Oh, crap,” he muttered, letting go of her hands and swimming for the bank.

  She blinked at her new circumstances—alone in the middle of the pond, treading water in the cold, all by herself. “What?” she called after him.

  “Well, considering the bar closed about an hour ago, I’m guessing I have a few people wondering where I am.” He climbed out of the pond, and damn the moon for not shining where she’d like, including his leg that was supposedly all scar. She couldn’t see any of it in the dark.

  “And worried I’m off doing harm to myself,” he added.

  Rose swam after him, climbing out of the muddy pond as Jack fished his phone out of his pocket.

  “Is there a chance of that?” she asked, her heart doing an awful cartwheel of worry at the thought.

  “Not today,” he muttered.

  “That’s not comforting, Jack.”

  He flicked a glance at her, any emotions on his face hidden by the dark around them. “I wasn’t trying to be.” He typed something into his phone and let out a hefty sigh. “I have to get back.”

  “Right.” Right. She laughed, because of course. It figured she’d talked herself into doing something stupid, and poof, her stupidity was interrupted.

  Jack was already pulling on his pants and his shirt, and Rose had to mentally shake herself into movement. Pick up her pants, ignore that her legs were wet and her feet were muddy. Pull her shirt on over her sopping wet bra.

  Which was the best reminder, all in all. Stupidity only ever ended with wet, dirty discomfort, and an extra helping of frustration.

  She pulled on her socks and her boots, glancing over at Jack doing the same.

  “Thanks for this,” he said, not meeting her gaze as he laced up his boots, sitting on the grass, moonlight dappling his hair silver and gold. “I don’t know how to explain…”

  “You don’t have to,” she said, pushing herself to her feet on a sigh. “I get it.” There was something a little magical about this place, no matter how much she didn’t want to believe in magic.

  Because the truth of the matter was the magic was in the moon, in the pond, in anything and everything that wasn’t her.

  Chapter 7

  Jack sat in the passenger seat of Rose’s car as she drove up to
Revival Ranch and tried to ignore the fact that he was sitting in dry clothes with wet hair and boxers. Tried to ignore the fact that he’d had Rose Rogers pressed against him and hadn’t done a damn thing about it.

  She hadn’t said a word since they’d gotten in her car, and maybe that was all he needed to know. This whole bizarre night had been a trick of some liquor and the moon. Considering he was uncomfortable and his leg ached like a bitch, maybe all that back at the pond had been a dream and this was the waking up.

  Rose brought her car to the end of the drive, pushing it into park next to Becca’s truck. Becca’d have to drop him off at the bar in the morning to get the truck he’d left in Pioneer Spirit’s parking lot.

  The lights were on in the lower level windows of the ranch house, making the place where Becca and Alex lived look like, well, like a home. Nothing about that put Jack at ease in the least, because it wasn’t his home.

  They’d be able to see he was back though, and he could go to bed, and they could go to bed, and if Gabe tried to talk to him, Jack would…

  Well, he didn’t know, but he did know he had to get out of Rose’s car. She’d done something for him tonight. He didn’t know exactly what, and he certainly didn’t know why, but he knew he’d used up all her pity or whatever it was that had possessed her to include him in this whole thing.

  He pushed open his door. “Thanks for the ri—”

  “I’m walking you to the door,” she said, turning off the ignition.

  “You don’t have to do that. I can walk to the bunkhouse. I can deal with my friends.”

  “Of course you can,” she replied with a shrug. “But they’re worried about where you were, and they’re going to worry about what you’ve been doing. If I walk up there with you, lay on the fake-girlfriend thing a little thick, well, they won’t ask questions. They won’t worry, except maybe about your taste.”

  “I’m not going to lie to my friends. The fake-girlfriend thing is for my family and my family only.”

  She shrugged. “Your choice. Doesn’t mean I can’t go to the door with you and prove you weren’t out… How did you phrase it? Doing yourself harm.”