His hand beckoned again. “We can hold hands. Friends do it all the time.”
“I don’t think we should.” His touch affected her too much. She might lose control.
“It’ll keep McCaffrey off your back.” His enticing fingers wiggled.
Against her better judgment, she slipped her hand into his large, masculine grasp, straining to remain still when sparks shot through her nerves. His hand tugged, leading her toward the ranch store, their boots crunching the oak tree acorns along the path.
“I have a confession to make,” he said, as he limped along beside her. “I lied.”
“About what?”
“I was never sorry about kissing you.”
Her mouth opened, ready to spout a sharp comeback, but not a single thing came to mind.
7
“It’s called Orange Zest. I know it feels weird, but I think you’re going to love it. It makes you look very bright and cheery.”
No reply came from Jessica’s toes, wedged apart with a blue foam separator.
“You probably don’t remember, but you wore it all the time last summer. I’ve been neglecting you since you’re almost always hidden in boots.”
Pressed for time, Jess tried to rush on the next foot, painting a bit more than the nail on her big toe. She used a tissue to rub off the excess, but it left the skin discolored.
“Great—now you look injured, and I don’t have any polish remover.”
She could borrow some remover from her grandmother, but then she’d get a thorough inquisition about why she was painting her toenails. She was hoping to sneak out of the house without being seen. Living in the main house, rather than the bunk room with the other staffers, had major advantages, like the entire upstairs to herself, along with access to the upstairs wraparound screen porch. But along with a private bedroom, p
rivate bathroom, and private breakfast came a not-so-private social life. “Sorry, toe. You’re just going to have to be orange, like your nail.”
Jess stood and hobbled to the bed, where she’d laid her outfit for the evening—one of only two dresses she’d included in her hurried packing for the summer at the dude ranch. Though she was excited about going to dinner at The Cabernet, the nicest restaurant in Sage Valley, she worried it was a bad idea to do something so date-like. It was one thing to eat ice cream together. She’d insisted on buying one for him the next day, to cement the friendship aspect of the relationship. They’d finished out the week with a daily ice cream bar, alternating who picked up the tab. But she didn’t have the funds to reciprocate in kind for a dinner like this.
“I have more money, so I can afford a nice dinner,” Cord had argued, as he pulled the wrapper down on his ice cream sandwich. “It doesn’t mean anything.”
She should’ve turned him down when he invited her that morning, but a chance to eat at her favorite restaurant was too tempting.
“It makes me nervous,” she’d said, coughing as she moved to her left, giving a blessed inch of separation between their legs as they sat on the iron bench under the tree in front of the general store.
An impudent smile had slid onto his face, a bit crooked from the lingering swelling on his lip. “Nervous looks cute on you.”
His hand had lifted, moved slowly toward her face, and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. The gesture had felt so intimate, her cheeks had burned, along with something deep in her gut. She’d licked the outside of her fudgesicle to catch a drip and taken a bite, with a vain hope it would cool her off, inside and out.
“Don’t touch me like that.” Her objection had sounded ridiculous. After all, they’d held hands each day when walking to their ice cream outings, even though Mason was no longer acting aggressive. Jess gave a lame explanation. “It tickles.”
His mouth had twitched, and she’d wondered if he was somehow reading her mind. He’d leaned closer, his warm breath feathering her ear. “Would you rather I kissed you?”
“No,” she’d lied, her grip tightening on her fudgesicle stick. “We’re friends, only. You promised not to push me.”
“I never said anything about pushing you. My exact words were I promise not to kiss you.” Then his brows had waggled behind his glasses. “But I didn’t promise to resist if you decide to kiss me.”
She’d gulped a lump of air. “Then I think we shouldn’t go to The Cabernet tonight.”
“Does that mean my plan is working? Are you afraid if we go out to a nice dinner, you won’t be able to stop yourself? One bite of juicy end-cut prime rib and you’ll lose control and throw your arms around my neck and kiss me senseless?”
“No, of course not—” She’d stopped, as his words sunk in. “End-cut prime rib?”
“You told me it was your favorite. I called yesterday and paid in advance so they would save it for you.”