Love Me Again, Cowboy

Dillon’s laugh is devoid of humor. “She’s not in rehab at all.”

Landon sighs. “Can’t you just talk to Malia and tell her what’s going on. Tell her that we need her to tell the truth?”

I shake my head. “I can’t expect her to let her career suffer because my ex-girlfriend is blackmailing me. Brittany is my problem. I won’t put that on Malia.”

“But—” Dillon protests.

“No buts,” I say with a firmness that is rare for me. “We leave Malia out of this. End of story.” Then I soften my voice. “It will all be okay. Just have some faith, brothers.” But even as I say it, I can’t be certain that anything is going to be okay.

Chapter Eighteen

MALIA

It’s been a few days since the night I met Audrey and told Jax I love him. We take turns spending time at each other’s houses. Jax gets along great with my family, and more than anything, my parents have totally fallen in love with Audrey. She helps my mother with gardening, and my dad teaches her a new card game every time they come over. I love seeing our lives intertwine, and more and more I can see our future together.

Jax and I have kept up with my training sessions. He’s taught me to shoot a gun and rope a cow while riding bareback. Today he’s teaching me the basics of self-defense, as well as some offensive moves. One by one, I’m checking of the skills I’ll need for the role.

Jax hasn’t brought up the rehab situation since that night. I know it wasn’t really fair of me to pick that moment to tell him I love him, but I’d been wanting to tell him all night, and more than anything, I wanted him to know that our love is what matters most. I think he’s over the fake rehab for the most part, although there are times I catch him looking off into the distance and think he might bring it up again. Or maybe he’s upset that the world thinks I’m dating someone else. Either way, he hasn’t confronted me about it. Part of me thinks it’s good he’s holding back because deep down, I know he’s right. I should tell the public the truth. Lying is wrong. But the other part has noticed the good the lie is doing for my career, and what’s the real harm in a little fibbing anyway? Or at least that’s what I keep asking myself.

Jax stands across from me holding punching pads. “Don’t tuck your thumb into your fist unless you want a broken thumb,” he says, and shows me where my thumb should go when throwing a punch. He’s already taught me how to kick without falling on my bum and a few defensive moves. We’re in the barn where Jax has strung up a punching bag in the rafters. The smell of hay and horses is strong in the air, and particles of dust dance in the sunbeams. Major, the brown colt, neighs for attention for the hundredth time, and it’s taking all of my will power to keep from going over and rubbing his soft fur.

“Focus,” Jax says.

My attention snaps back to him, and I try not to smile. “He’s just so cute,” I protest.

“And I’m not?” he says with mock offense.

My eyes roam over him. He’s wearing Wranglers and a thin white T-shirt, damp from sweat, that beautifully hugs his muscles. My heart speeds up at the thought of running my hands over them. “Cute isn’t the word I’d use to describe you,” I say with a little purr. “Hot,” I say slow and deliberate. His eyes darken. “Sexy,” I add.

He drops the pads before reaching out and pulling me to him in one quick motion. “Now how am I supposed to keep things strictly professional when you throw words like that at me?” He moves my hair from my face.

I smile, feeling satisfied that with a few simple words, I know how to drive him crazy. But I do still need my lesson. “Play later, work now,” I give him a quick kiss before twisting out of his grip with one of the moves he taught me just moments ago. “Focus,” I say.

He chuckles, and I love the way his eyes dance and his dimple comes out playfully. “Nicely done. Okay, back to work. Fist up. Imagine an invisible line going from your knuckles to your wrist to your shoulder.” He touches each spot, letting his fingers slide up from my hand, to my arm and then my shoulder. Warmth flows through my body, and goosebumps form on my skin. It still surprises me how the slightest touch from him can have such a strong effect. He takes my fist and pushes it into his open hand. “This is the part that should hit, not directly on the top of the knuckles. Don’t turn your fist at all. Keep it square, or you’ll risk breaking your wrist.”

I nod. “Got it. Can I hit something now?”

“So violent,” he says. “And oddly, a little sexy.”

“We’re

never going to get anything done with continual talk like that.”

“Promise?” he asks. I tilt my head and give him an exasperated look, earning another chuckle. “Start by hitting the pads.” He picks up the discarded punching pads and holds them out. I practice hitting them over and over again. He stops to correct me when needed. Once he’s sure I have it down right, he wraps my hands and we move on to the punching bag. He teaches me some basic combos, and we work on those. Then he shows me a few combinations with someone striking at me, so I can get my blocking and dodging down. By the time we’re done, we’ve both worked up a sweat.

We’re drinking water while sitting on a couple hay bales that Jax put a thick blanket over.

“This is supposed to be your last lesson,” he says. “Do you think you learned everything you needed to?”

“According to JulieAnn, yes. But for all I know, she has told the casting director that I can sky dive and do gymnastics.”

“What kind of movie would require rock climbing, fighting, shooting, and cow roping?”

“You know, I don't even have all the details yet. All I know is that it’s a Harry Wilson film. His movies always have a ton of action and explosions and go on to be box office hits.”

“So what happens when you get the role?” he asks. I notice that he’s not meeting my eyes. Instead, he’s picking at some hay at the edge of the blanket, which means this is something he’s uncomfortable talking about. I wonder why.

“If I get it,” I say.