by Sienna Parks
I’ve had boyfriends who were sexy as hell, but I never felt the urge to strip them naked and sink to my knees. All I could think about that night was how much I wanted to taste Jackson. Without speaking a word or exchanging surface pleasantries, I was fantasizing about the length of his cock, how it would feel on my tongue, and his hands clutching my head as he bucks wildly against me.
I wasn’t ready to face the secrets this place harbors.
Jackson McKinney has infiltrated my dreams every night since I first laid eyes on him, but I need to focus on why I came back here. I’ve got work to do, and he’s part of it. I’m going to Ellen’s Diner today to see if I can get some of the town gossips to give me some information. I’ve noticed that no one around here cooks their own breakfast. If you want to find someone, Ellen’s is the place to go. I plan to sweet-talk the ladies into giving me some history on the families of Kingsbury Falls, and then later today, I’ll go in search of Jackson. I’m an intelligent woman—my libido is not the boss of me. I can talk to this guy without spreading my legs for him. Sure, he’s unbelievably handsome, but from what I know of him, he’s an asshole.
As I thought, the diner is standing room only this morning. Almost every face I’ve seen since I arrived in town is here. I place my order and wait for a vacant seat taking the opportunity to say hi to the rumor mongers.
“Good morning, ladies. Such a beautiful day.” I can tell I’ve piqued their interest.
“Well, I’ll be, I don’t believe we’ve met.” One of them holds out her hand in greeting. “I’m Mrs. Hawthorne, but you can call me Ida.”
“So nice to meet you, Ida. I’m Savannah.” I reach out and shake her hand nodding to the group of women hanging on my every word.
“Are you new or just passing through?”
“I’m not sure yet. Maybe you would be kind enough to tell me a little about Kingsbury Falls? I’d love to learn some of its history. I’m a sucker for small towns.” I play on my youth, knowing their type. Whether you come from the big city or a rural setting, the elite women control everything, and they can’t pass up the chance to share their wisdom with the next generation of desperate housewives. At twenty, I’m a perfect conduit for them to impart their knowledge.
I may look innocent, but I’ve been playing this game of cat and kitten since I was old enough to tie my shoelaces. Ida Hawthorne is no different than my mother and all her cronies—she thrives on feeling important.
“Why don’t you join us, young lady? We’d be happy to tell you about our little slice of heaven, wouldn’t we, ladies?” In unison, they answer with a resounding yes! “Although, you’ve come on the heels of a sad time. We lost one of our own a few months ago. Bobby Hale was a good man and didn’t deserve the hand he was dealt. He ran the local ranch.”
“Mustang?”
“Why yes. Please, come, sit.”
“I’d love to.”
We sit long after the breakfast rush is over nursing a pitcher of sweet tea. After a short retelling of Mr. Hale’s unfortunate demise, they regale me with stories of every family who ever lived here. It’s just what I need. These ladies seem to be fueled by each other trying to top the last story with something even more scandalous. No matter how much research I did before I arrived, I could never have gleaned such intricate knowledge of the residents. It quickly becomes apparent that a lot of activity has revolved around Mustang Ranch in recent years and throughout generations of the Hale family. They seem to be a central cog in the works.
It’s glaringly obvious that the McKinney’s have been a huge part of this town since they helped found it. McKinney Hardware was one of the first stores to open its doors to serve the people of Kingsbury Falls, and it has been passed down from father to son for a hundred and fifty years. The chink in their armor is Jackson. He’s a loose cannon—a bad boy on a small-town scale. He wouldn’t make headlines in a big city, but here, he’s notorious—his boyish antics gracing the gossip column of the Kingsbury Tribune more times than I can count.
Maddox Hale is the only person who has been cited more than McKinney. A champion bronc rider deserted by his high school sweetheart, he left to pursue his dreams of being number one on the rodeo circuit only to return years later with a wife and a baby on the way. The biggest front-page story there has ever been in the Tribune was Maddox’s wife walking out on him leaving him to raise their baby girl, Sally Rae, alone. It’s heartbreaking on multiple levels. Not only did this tragedy happen to him… it was treated as fodder to sell newspapers. There’s obviously a darker side to this town—how could they do this to one of their own?
I want to stop Ida from fanning the flames of the Maddox mill, but I don’t want to piss her off either. She knows everything there is to know about this town, and she’s sizing me up to see if I’m going to be a new topic for them to discuss over lunch.
“Don’t believe everything you hear,” a sensual Southern drawl whispers in my ear. The table goes silent, their eyes wide as they look behind me. I already know who belongs to that voice. It sounds just the way I remember it—like melted chocolate slowly dripping down my body, pooling between my thighs, ready to be licked clean. I turn to face him, my heart racing so fast, I think it’s going to burst right out of my chest.
“Jackson McKinney. I’ve heard a lot about you.” He takes in the company I’m keeping, a slight curl at the corner of his lips.
“As I said, darlin’, don’t believe everything you hear. This… town… has a way of missing the forest for the trees.” He dips his hat.
“Mornin’, ladies. I hope you haven’t been telling this innocent young girl about the size of my… whip.” As their gasps of horror ring in my ears, he doesn’t give me a second glance as he heads to the counter. Ida and the others begin muttering amongst themselves. I tune out unable to focus on anything but Jackson. He’s deep in conversation with the woman sitting beside him laughing and flirting. It shouldn’t bother me, I’ve never even introduced myself to him, but a part of me thrived on his efforts to get my attention. Today, he gave up without a fight, and it irks me.
I try to be incognito in my attempts to watch him for any signs he’s looking my way, but the woman to my left notices. “Don’t waste your time with that one, honey. He’s as handsome as they come, but he’ll break your heart. He likes to get the milk for free… if you know what I mean?” I nod all the while concentrating on the sound of his voice. His laugh is sexy as hell, but it’s followed by a shrill, fake cackle from the shrew sitting next to him.
“I’m sorry, ladies, I forgot I need to be somewhere. It was lovely talking to you all, and I hope we can chat again soon.” I grab a notepad from my bag, scribble my number, and rip out the page. I know this is a bad idea, but I need to talk to Jackson if I’m going to get to the person I came here for. I take a few deep breaths before walking over to where he’s sitting. He doesn’t acknowledge me, his focus intent on the woman next to him. Something about him tells me that he’s not as unaffected as he’d like to appear.
“Ugh. Rude much? Move along, little girl.” She’s got that resting bitch face.
“Shut up, Amber.” He comes to my aid without so much as a glance in my direction. It’s now or never. I slam the folded paper in front of him.
“My number. Call me.” I don’t wait for an answer. Instead, I turn on my heels and make a quick exit. As I reach the door, he shouts behind me, the whole diner stopping in their tracks.
“You didn’t tell me your name!” With a renewed confidence, I turn to face him.
“No, I didn’t.” The door shuts with a bang as I stride out into the morning sun. He doesn’t follow me which is good. My surge of adrenaline has already passed leaving me lightheaded and sick to my stomach. I can’t believe I just did that—it’s so unlike me. I turn the nearest corner in case he changes his mind and decides to come outside. In the shadow of a quiet, tree-lined street, I take a moment to catch my breath. The humidity is so high, I feel like there’s no air to draw into my lungs.
>
I finally understand why people from the South seem so laid back—they physically can’t do anything faster in this heat. The walk back to the B&B seems to take forever. Even in a summer dress, I want to strip down to my underwear to try to cool off. You could walk around here naked and still be too hot! I don’t know how anyone can work outdoors. I think I’d burst into flames if I were out in this heat for more than an hour. It’s as if they have a different sun—bigger, brighter, and closer.
By the time I make it back to my room, I’m sweating more than I do after an hour at the gym. I strip and take a cold shower before settling in for a long day of staring at my phone. I try to distract myself and write down everything I found out before I forget, but every few minutes I find myself willing the phone to ring. I hate that Jackson has gotten under my skin. He’s a means to an end. The only reason I need him to call is so I can get the information I want—not for a date or a roll in the hay.
Is he serious? My phone beeps with a message from an unknown number, and I just know it’s that jackass McKinney.
Unknown: Tonight, Cardinals, 8:00 p.m.
I gave him my number three days ago. He was practically stalking me before he saw me with those old biddies the other day. I put myself out there, gave him my number, and he doesn’t bother to call or text me until now—could he be more predictable? Not even a hello or thanks for giving me your number but instead barking orders at me like an animal. Maybe some women are sucked in by his ridiculously good looks, but he obviously lacks personality. He probably doesn’t think he needs to make an effort to even fake common courtesy.
If he can fuck with me, then I’ll do the same to him.
Me: Tom?
I can see that he’s typing. Those tiny pulsing dots are the worst invention in history.
Unknown: Well played, darlin’.
Me: I’m not your darlin’.
Unknown: Do you have a name?
Me: Yes.
Unknown: …? This is Jackson McKinney BTW. Everyone calls me Jax.
Me: Savannah. If you’re so much as a minute late, I’m leaving.
Unknown: See you at eight.
This boy is trouble with a capital ‘T,’ but my stomach flips at the thought of sitting down for a drink with him—hearing that sultry Southern drawl of his again. I spend the day pouring over all the information I’ve gathered on the resident bad boy readying myself for battle. By 5:00 p.m., a jar of fireflies awakens in the pit of my stomach.
It takes me hours to decide on an outfit. I don’t want to look like I’m going on a date, but in this Texas heat, it limits my options to a soft summer dress. After choosing the least revealing one and applying minimal makeup, I fix my hair in a simple ponytail to keep my humidity-fried locks in check. It’s 8:05 p.m. by the time I walk to the bar stopping at the door to compose myself. I swear, if he’s not here, I’m turning straight around and leaving.
Cardinals is packed—there’s live music and couples dancing on the beer-stained floor, as people enjoy a few drinks at the end of a long week. I scan the room, my eyes finding Jackson propped up at the bar. As soon as he sees me, he gestures to his watch letting me know I’m late. His wry smile is hot enough to melt a block of ice. I work my way through the crowd to where he stands to greet me dipping his hat.
“Good evening. Please, take a seat.” He moves to let me sit, the barstool still warm. “Glad you finally made it. I was almost out the door.” I turn to face him and am taken back by his proximity. I can feel his breath on my cheek as his arms reach behind me pinning me to the bar.
“You didn’t think I was going to be here waiting for you, did you?” My voice is barely a whisper, a slight waver as I attempt to play it cool. The smell of his shirt mixed with cologne is a heady cocktail.
“A man can dream. Can I buy you a drink?” His eyes find mine, and an explosion erupts inside me. The stubble on his jaw screams sex—rough and raw—and everything you’d expect from a cowboy. My breath is shallow as my heart stammers to keep a steady beat.
“Jack and Coke.”
“Yes, ma’am.” As I turn back to the bar, Jackson leans over me caging me in, the taut muscles of his chest pressing against my spine. His hips push forward ever so slightly catching me off guard as I feel the hard line of his groin at the base of my back—it’s both delicious and torturous at the same time.
When our drinks are ready, he hands me the glass and raises his. “To… getting to know each other better.” I gulp it down like a shot. It packs one hell of a punch. I can’t look up as I repeat his sentiment. I already know more about him than I do my own family. He reaches down and grasps my chin gently lifting it until my gaze finds his. “It’s okay, darlin’. You won’t break if you look at me. I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Why does everyone here say otherwise?” My eyes search his for the truth. It’s been gnawing at me since I first saw him. He plants a soft, chaste kiss on my lips before pressing his lips to my ear.
“Why do you care? You’re the one who gave me your number.” He gently runs his hand over my cheek, and I can’t help darting my tongue out to feel the warmth of his skin on mine.
“Yes, I did.” His sharp intake of breath is a welcome response.
“Where did you come from, Savannah? Do you have a last name?”
“Adams. I grew up in Chicago.”
“What brought you to Kingsbury Falls? I saw you here a few months back.” I knew he saw me that day at the funeral. There’s no easy way to explain my presence at a funeral for someone I didn’t know.
“I… research. I’m working on my thesis with a focus on small-town history. I was here a while ago, but the town was mourning. I paid my respects and decided to leave you all in peace to grieve. I still have some unanswered questions… so here I am.”
“Well, this place is as small town as it gets. Does that mean you’ll be sticking around for a while this time?”
“I’m pretty flexible.”
“I bet you are.” A sly grin spreads across his lips, his stunning blue eyes sparkling with mischief.
“You wish, cowboy. Us city girls expect some wining and dining before we put out. Although, I’m sure those dimples make it unnecessary for you to bother with such obstacles most of the time.”
“You like my dimples?” I try to be serious, but his easy-going demeanor is infectious.
“Of course, that’s what you took from my statement!”
“If I’ve learned one thing growing up here, it’s not to focus on other people’s negativity. Ain’t no one looking out for me, but me. I take the positives and ignore the bullshit.” I know he’s trying to come across as confident and cocky, but his words are so telling in many ways.
“So, it doesn’t bother you that the gossips spread details of your copious quantity of conquests? You’re as bad boy as it gets according to them, and it seemed to annoy you the other day when they were warning me to stay away from you.”
“Wow, you don’t sugarcoat it, do you?”
“No. I’m sick to death of everyone in my life passing off lies as sugarcoating.” I’m the worst kind of hypocrite right now. Every word I’ve spoken since I arrived has been a lie.
“You’re my kind of girl.”
“I guess that remains to be seen.”
Hours pass like seconds. This man is so easy to talk to, and the more I listen, the more attractive he becomes. I couldn’t even pinpoint a topic of conversation—nothing and everything—flowing effortlessly.
“So, tell me something real about yourself, Jax.”
“Not much to tell. Born and bred here in Kingsbury Falls. I’m a wrangler over at Mustang Ranch.”
“You work at Mustang?” I’d forgotten my reason for coming here tonight. The mention of Mustang throws me for a loop.
“You’ve heard of the ranch? I’m surprised. You’re not from around here.”
“Why is that surprising?” I’m scrambling to think on my feet. “Isn’t that Maddox ‘Hail Mary’ Hale’s fami
ly ranch? Anyone who follows the rodeo remembers who he is.”
“Is that why you’re here? Cowboy catchers roll through here all the time still jonesing for a ride on the rider.” I can’t hold his gaze shifting my focus to the glass in front of me.
“I told you. I’m here to do research.” What kind of research requires a trip to the backwaters of Texas? I should have thought of a better cover story beforehand. I’m not sure he believes me, but he lets it go for now.
“Would you like to dance?”
“I’ve never line-danced before.”
“Well, darlin’, that sounds like a challenge.” The moment he slips his hand in mine, my brain turns to mush. He has the hands of a man who works outside—warm and callused, smooth but rough in places.
“Maybe it is.”
He pulls me up onto my feet. I don’t question it simply falling in line behind him as he strides onto the dance floor. I’ve had too much to drink, but I’ve never felt more sober in my life. There is a strange clarity of thought when I look at him. The feel of his skin on mine is so natural but also thrilling. With every step we take, the tension builds between us, my gaze fixed on him. The way his body moves as he dances sends a bolt of desire straight to my core. His smile is truly gorgeous as he throws his head back laughing at my attempts to keep up with him.
When the song finishes and the band begins to play Think a Little Less, he pulls me into his arms and starts to slow dance. My breasts are pressed tightly against him, the rapid rise and fall of his chest hammering against me with anticipation palpable in the air. His hand holds firm at the base of my back, his other clasping my hand between us. I’m drunk on the sensation of our bodies moving in time to the music—a slow sensual screw. Everything around us fades into the background. Any thoughts I had about keeping things strictly platonic between us vanish from my mind and are replaced with a yearning to feel his lips on every inch of my naked flesh.
