Second Chance Cowboy

by A. J. Pine

  Jack ran a hand through his hair. “I can handle a hammer and some plywood.”

  “Good as you can handle your pitching arm?” He grinned.

  Luke was always grinning. Did nothing faze the guy?

  “Look,” Luke added. “You’re gonna do whatever it is you need to do, and if that means getting us up and running and then heading to New York, then that’s your call. But you fit here once, Jack. You could fit here again.”

  Jack’s eyes widened. “Jenna told you?”

  He crossed his arms and shook his head. “She didn’t need to. I know you think you’re the one who keeps tabs on us, but I can read. I check on the San Diego Sun every now and then. Caught the article on how your firm was making you its youngest partner—in their New York office.”

  “Shit,” Jack hissed.

  Luke laughed. “It’s a good gig. Walker’n I have just been waiting for you to grow a pair and tell us.”

  “I was waiting for the right time,” he said, not taking his brother’s bait.

  “Hope you’re taking it because it’s something you love to do, though,” Luke added. “Not because you think we need the money.”

  “You do need the money,” he said. “You got a mortgage to pay.”

  Luke shrugged. “Ranch isn’t in the red yet. And do me a favor. Ease up on asking Jenna to keep your damn secrets. It’s enough to ask her to pretend she’s not that boy’s aunt. Don’t make her keep more from her family. That’s not her way.” He opened his mouth to say something else but didn’t.

  “It’s my way,” Jack said, finishing his brother’s thought. “That’s what you were going to say.”

  “Looks like I didn’t have to.” Luke turned and began to stride off.

  “How can you stand it?” Jack asked.

  His brother stopped and spun back to face him, overgrown blond hair in eyes that now squinted from the sun. “There was no alternative for me. No baseball scholarship—not that I wanted one, by the way.” He laughed, but for once it wasn’t an entirely happy sound. “I was born to work the ranch. Never wanted anything else.” He turned his attention toward the pasture. “I’m happier out there on my horse or in the rodeo arena than I am anywhere else. Jenna was good to us, but when Dad couldn’t take care of the place anymore, I wanted to come back.”

  “Why?”

  “Not for him,” Luke said. “No fucking way. But for her. For what they built for us.”

  Jack squeezed his eyes shut and let the sun beat down on his cheeks, trying to remember what he used to love about Crossroads Ranch. Because he had loved it once. He knew that much.

  When he came up blank, he dropped his gaze back to where his brother stood, but Luke was already gone.

  That seemed to be the theme today.

  Ava left him in the shower.

  He left the house.

  Luke left him here to take his frustrations out on the stable.

  Leaving had been the right answer once—when he was a messed-up kid in a messed-up life he couldn’t fix.

  He’d sworn things would change once Jackson Everett Senior was dead and gone, but his ghost was everywhere, reminding Jack that his life was still a mess—and that he still had no damned clue how to fix it.

  But he would. He’d fix the barn, fix the damn vineyard, and fix things between him and Ava. No more lapses in judgment. He wouldn’t let them hurt each other again.

  He shook his arm out one more time and headed back to the house. Jenna’s car was parked behind Ava’s now, which meant it was a goddamn party inside. He clenched his jaw and prepared himself for his aunt’s third degree. But when he entered the kitchen, they were all talking. And laughing. And passing food around the table like they’d done this a hundred times before.

  Jenna patted the seat next to her, and the tension in Jack’s muscles relaxed slightly. He sat, kissed his aunt on the cheek, then narrowed his eyes at a scabbed-over cut on her upper lip.

  She waved him off. “Nothing more than the aftermath of me trying to give a little smooch to one of my chicks. The cute little shit nipped me.”

  Jack let out a breath. Jenna was okay. They were all okay.

  Ava handed him a plate covered in plastic wrap. Beneath it was a cheeseburger piled high with all the fixings and, next to it, a grilled cob of corn.

  “Hope it’s still warm,” she said, her smile soft and conciliatory.

  We’re okay, he let that smile tell him.

  And for the remainder of this impromptu family meal, he let himself believe what his brother had said to him. He’d fit in here once—and maybe, for the short time he’d be here, he could find a way to fit again.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Ava shifted in the passenger seat, trying to admire the beauty that was San Luis Obispo wine country. The rolling green of the vineyards—endless rows of grape plants leading straight to hilltops shadowed in the setting sun. Today she sat in Jack’s truck, and she should have been grateful for the freedom to appreciate the view. Instead she was restless.

  Jack settled a palm on her bouncing knee and she sucked in a breath.

  “What’s going on?” he asked, his hand flexing at her reaction before he quickly pulled it away.

  Um, we’ve been working together for five days now, and this is the first time you’ve touched me since Monday’s bee sting incident. But that was their deal, right? One time only. But instead of scratching an itch she’d opened the floodgates of need. Not that she could tell him that.

  “Nothing,” she lied. “And you really didn’t have to be my chauffeur to and from the ranch today. That’s a lot of time in the car, and I don’t mind the drive.”

  He shrugged, both hands back on the wheel. “You’ve been working your ass off this week pruning those vines. Least I could do is save you some mileage on the Jeep. Plus, it’s not exactly a punishment to spend a little extra time with you.”

  She let out a breath and tried to force her gaze out the window instead of to her left where he sat in that fitted gray tank and jeans, his work uniform for the warmest weather they’d had this week. And she definitely wasn’t noticing how his blond hair curled above the tops of his ears—or how a few days without shaving had lined his jaw and mouth with a sexy scruff he’d never had as a teen.

  Nope. She wasn’t noticing any of that. And she certainly wasn’t squirming in her seat because of it.

  “Something’s up,” he said, calling her bluff.

  She crossed her arms and groaned as he slowed to turn into her long driveway.

  “It’s nothing. Thanks for the ride,” she said as he rolled to a stop. Then she hopped out of the vehicle before she said anything stupid.

  She was almost inside the house when she heard his car door slam, effectively stopping her in her tracks.

  “Ava.”

  Damn him for that insistence in his tone, for that deep voice that spoke her name like no one else ever had and—she was beginning to realize—like no one could. That voice could make her core tighten and her heart ache, and it was succeeding at both right now.

  She turned to find him leaning against the truck’s hood, all six-foot-who-knows-how-much-more feet of him, his hands in his pockets and his biceps flexing as if to say, You know what’s up, Red. And the longer you look at me, the more powerless you are against me.

  She dropped her bag at her feet and pointed at him. He wanted answers? Fine. He’d get them.

  “This,” she said. “You standing twenty feet away from me. It’s been like that all week. Every day out in the vineyard you’ve made sure there are at least two rows between us. We’ve eaten lunch at BBQ on the Bluff four times rather than step foot together inside the ranch. And I’m pretty sure you’ve either been marking your territory around the vines so no rodents eat the plants, or you can go several hours without needing to pee because you haven’t stepped foot in your own home at any time that I’ve been inside it since Monday afternoon when, if you don’t remember, you made me orgasm until I could no longer stand.” Sh
e hefted her bag from her feet and tossed it over her shoulder, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity. “Now, if you don’t mind, my parents will have Owen home in about an hour, and I need to clean myself up and get dinner started. Also, Owen has spring break next week, which means he’ll be home—which also means I’ll have to be home.”

  He crossed his arms. “So you’re not…”

  “I’m not going to be able to come by Crossroads next week,” she said, mustering up as much finality in her tone as she could. Because she was on borrowed time with this man. And she had an application to complete—her future depended on it. Him pulling back should have made it easier for her to do the same. Instead she was losing the ability to think straight in his presence. Or maybe she’d never had it to begin with.

  Besides, she said to herself, this is probably for the best because I need to reset my damn libido so I stop reacting to you like this.

  When he didn’t respond right away, she pulled open the screen door and stepped through to safety. She was in the kitchen facing the back window, already pouring a much-needed glass of wine, when she heard his work boots scuff across the tile.

  “And here I thought my dramatic exit would mean you’d drive away and forget about my verbal vomit.” She spun slowly to face him, holding up her glass before taking a sip.

  She watched him watch her, not sure if the heat spreading through her veins was the wine or the weight of his stare. She guessed it was a little of both.

  He just stood there, strong and silent as always, yet his eyes didn’t waver. He never looked away.

  “It’s not that easy to forget,” he said, his deep voice a low rumble in the quiet house.

  She laughed, the sound tinged with bitterness. “No kidding. That’s why they call it ‘verbal vomit.’ Too much comes out.” She waved her free hand in the air as she took another sip. “Makes it hard to clean up.”

  He scratched the back of his neck, and there went those arm muscles, flexing and contracting with the slightest movement.

  “I mean you, Ava.”

  She set the glass down and wrapped her arms around her midsection.

  “I never forgot about you, not since the day I forced you to push me away.”

  She opened her mouth to say something but he shook his head. “I won’t hurt you like that again,” he said, the muscles in his jaw tight. “No matter what I said ten years ago, I’m going to figure out a way to do right by you and Owen—even if that means stepping back to make sure neither of you get hurt.”

  He still hadn’t moved from the kitchen entryway, so she took a step toward him.

  “You’re not him,” she insisted.

  His chest rose and fell with a few quiet breaths before he spoke. “Neither was he for a lot of years. But things change. He got pushed over the edge and never climbed back up. This shit—there’s heredity to think about.”

  She splayed a palm against his chest, his heart thundering against it. “Maybe you need to prove that to yourself,” she said. “But not to me.”

  She took a chance and tilted her head to where his tanned skin met the collar of his tank, kissing him softly. He sucked in a ragged breath, but he didn’t push her away. She met his gaze again.

  “I know you’re moving across the country—and that you’ll do right by me and Owen no matter where you are. Because that’s who you are.” She swallowed past the knot in her throat. “And I’ll be okay if you leave again. When you leave again.” She forced a smile. “But I have a confession. This heat between us? Monday wasn’t enough to get it out of my system. So if worrying about hurting me is the only thing holding you back, don’t. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself. But if it’s something else—”

  She didn’t get a chance to finish because his lips were on hers—rough, insistent, and exploding with need. He pivoted her around the corner so her back was against the kitchen wall, his hands roaming up her sides to cradle her face.

  The kiss was deep and unrelenting, and her fingers grappled for purchase in his thick, soft hair.

  “Not out of your system either?” she managed, breathless against him.

  “Fuck no,” he growled, and he slid a palm up the front of her T-shirt to cup her breast.

  She whimpered and arched against him as he pinched her tightened peak outside her bra. Heat pooled between her legs as he nipped at her lip, as he peppered kisses across her jaw and down her neck. He hiked her up onto his hips, and she wrapped her legs around him, his erection pressing against her pelvis. Her arms snaked around his neck as she held on for dear life.

  She was wet. She could feel it. From just his damn kisses.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever gotten you out of my system,” he admitted. “And now the woman you’ve become? I don’t know how to stay away.”

  He ground against her, pushing her harder into the wall, and she cried out with need.

  “Then I guess we’re going to have to keep at this until we’re both free and clear of—of whatever this is.” Right now she didn’t care. She wanted more. Whatever he was willing to give.

  “Ava?” she heard faintly in the recesses of her mind. Or maybe she imagined it. “Ava?” The voice was louder this time. “The front door was open…”

  “My parents and Owen!” she whisper-shouted and Jack all but dropped her to her feet.

  She smoothed out her shirt but knew her face was flushed, her lips swollen.

  Oh well. Here went nothing.

  “Mom!” she said, rounding the corner into the living room. “You guys are early.”

  She could see her dad and Owen grabbing his school and baseball bags from the car. Scully, who must have been in the backyard, came barreling through the dog door and bounded toward the front entryway, as if he could sense his most favorite human in the world was about to step foot in the house.

  Jack’s presence was palpable behind her. She didn’t have to turn to know he was there. Her parents would have seen Jack’s truck in the driveway, but the look on her mother’s face—jaw agape and eyes wide—told her they weren’t hiding anything.

  “We left practice early because Owen said he had a tummy ache.”

  Ava snapped straight into mommy mode and strode toward the door. “Why didn’t you call?” she asked.

  Her mom grabbed her wrist before she made it to the door. “Because this happened ten minutes ago. I knew you were either an hour away or already heading back, so I figured we’d wait for you. I wasn’t expecting…” She trailed off.

  Ava glanced back over her shoulder at Jack, who gave her mother a polite nod. “Evening, Mrs. Ellis.”

  Her dad was the first through the door, baseball bag over one shoulder and Owen’s backpack over the other. He kissed Ava on the cheek, but his jaw tightened when he laid eyes on Jack.

  “Be nice,” she insisted in a whispered plea.

  And then she was stooping to hug her son while fending off a very excited Labrador. She pressed her cheek to his, letting out a relieved sigh when he felt cool to the touch.

  “I don’t think you have a fever, bud. Can you tell me where it hurts?”

  Owen shrugged. “It kind of comes and goes. I think I maybe didn’t eat enough for lunch today.” He wrapped his arms around her neck and squeezed tight. Not that he wasn’t an affectionate boy, but something felt different.

  She kissed him and finally backed away so the dog could get his fill, and in seconds Owen was on his back, laughing as Scully lavished him with slobbery, wet kisses.

  Ava’s dad dropped the bags in the small entryway and walked straight past Jack into the kitchen. She turned to her mom, who pulled her back to where Jack stood so Owen couldn’t hear above his own giggles.

  “He’s missed you,” she said. “You’re doing a good thing—helping out with the Everett vineyard”—she smiled at Jack—“but you’ve missed both practices this week. Plus, you’re out the door as soon as the bus comes each morning, and you barely make it back before sundown.”

  Ava’s
heart sank. It had only been five days, but her mom was right. This was the least present she’d been as a mother in all of Owen’s life, and the guilt seeped into her bones.

  “It’s my fault,” Jack said. “I took you up on your offer without realizing the sacrifice. It was never my intent to take you away from your son.”

  “Jack!” Owen called, springing to his feet once the dog set him free. “Mom said you read the Sports Illustrated article about the pitcher for the Dodgers. Do you think he’ll get them back to the Series this year?”

  Ava stepped back, allowing her son into their small huddle, and she watched the warm smile spread across Jack’s face.

  “Sure as hell doesn’t hurt their chances. Does it?” he asked, giving Owen’s baseball cap a friendly swat. “Might even win it this time.”

  “Sure as hell doesn’t,” Owen parroted, and at this Ava raised her brows at both boys.

  “Language, you two.” But she couldn’t help smiling as well.

  “I hear he’s got a wicked curveball,” Jack said.

  Owen nodded. “I’m still trying to figure that one out. Maybe you could show me sometime? Mom said you were a good pitcher.”

  It was Jack’s turn to raise a brow. “Good?” The corner of his mouth quirked into a grin, and Ava wondered if he knew how gorgeous he was when he did that. “Just good?”

  She laughed and backhanded him on the shoulder. “I never had the pleasure of seeing you in action. I had to take your word for it—and trust that whole scholarship situation.”

  Ava inwardly winced at the possible memories this would bring up, but Jack’s smile never faltered.

  “Sure, Shortstop. Sometime sounds good. But I should let you all get settled in for the night.”

  Owen grabbed his bag from where his grandpa had set it on the ground. “Or we could do some pitching practice while Mom makes dinner?” He glanced at his mom and grandma. “I’m feeling a little better,” he said, then bit his bottom lip.

  Ava’s heart squeezed so tight at her son’s pleading eyes—eyes so much like his father’s. She wouldn’t ask Jack to stay. He had to want it. He had to want to spend time with his son.