A Risk Worth Taking (14 page)

I
sat back, feeling a little proud of myself. I’d been unsure when I’d picked
this after-dinner activity. We weren’t sixteen and I didn’t want her thinking
I’d brought her up here to make out or something. Not that I was opposed to the
idea, but Summer deserved a little more finesse than that.

“It’s
a good spot. As yet, undiscovered by the locals as far as I can tell.”

“How
did you find it?” she asked.

“Hiking,”
I said.

“Hiking?”
She finally turned to me, her nose wrinkling.

I
chuckled. “Yes. Hiking. Walking for fun. In nature.”

“I
know what it is. Can’t say it’s my favorite. I’d much rather experience nature
on the back of a dirt bike or from the seat of a tractor. Something that
travels faster than my feet.”

“You
like speed?”

“I
like the practicality of covering more ground in less time.”

Why
wasn’t I surprised? “I like spending the extra time. It allows you to see it up
close.”

Something
flickered in her expression and disappeared before I could catch it. She seemed
to change her mind at the last minute, as if she’d been about to say something
different. “I’ll have to take your word for it. You’ve seen a lot of places?”
she asked.

She’d
held something back. I decided to let it pass. For now. “A few,” I answered.
“This is the first place I’ve stayed in the south. And nowhere up north yet.
That’s why I’m doing South Dakota next. A friend of mine did some camping in
the Dakotas last year. Says the sunsets are beautiful. Says the sky’s so big
and close, it feels like you can reach right out and streak your hand across
the colors.”

“The
sky isn’t actually bigger,” Summer said, a touch of irritation in her voice.
“It just looks that way because the land is flatter.”

“Perception
is everything, isn’t it?”

“No.
Perception is about making people see what you want, not what really is.”

Ah,
we were getting closer to whatever it was she’d held back. “And when it comes
to Summer Stafford, what really is?”

I
hadn’t meant for the question to feel so heavy, but it was out there. The air
grew thick between us. Our eyes locked. I could see the question turning over in
her mind. She intended to answer, but she hadn’t yet settled on how much to
share. And even with the serious discussion between us, she kept glancing at my
mouth.

“That’s
a great question. When I figure it out, I’ll let you know,” she said finally.

I
could kiss her right now and she’d let me. But after what she’d just said, it
would be taking advantage. I wasn’t the guy who played on weakness. But dammit,
the way she looked right now with all her emotions and uncertainty on display,
I couldn’t do nothing.

“Come
on,” I said, shoving my door open and climbing out. I ignored the way my hard
leather shoes squished against the wet ground.

“What
are we doing?” she asked, following my lead and exiting the truck.

Her
feet made a squishing sound as she landed, much louder than my own. I froze,
waiting for her reaction. I expected her to shriek or curse or something
involving a demand to be driven home but after a beat of silence, she picked
her foot up, inspected it, and laughed.

I
rounded the truck and caught sight of her feet buried in mud to her ankles. Her
sandals had disappeared under the brown goo. The sight of her, top half
arranged to perfection, bottom half splattered and muddy—both halves sexy as
hell—undid me. I grinned.

“You
think this is funny?”

“Yes.
No. It’s—”

A
mudball the size of my fist hit me square in the chest, leaving a dark stain on
my newly purchased shirt.

For
a moment, I was too shocked to answer. Partly because she’d actually hit me
but, mostly, her unexpected playfulness threw me. I went with it. “That’s how
it’s going to be, huh?”

In
answer, she slid out of her shoes and scooted around the hood, a wicked gleam
in her eye. I backtracked to the tailgate. We crouched at the same time and
gathered a fistful of ammo.

I
stayed low as I crept around to the passenger side, looking for movement
between the tires. I caught sight of her feet pointed in the opposite direction
and smiled to myself. Too easy, I thought. Then I straightened and cocked my
arm back.

My
aim was off. I’d gone for her hand, hoping to knock free whatever fistful she
had ready. Instead, I hit her in the thigh. The mud left a rounded print on her
smooth skin. She shrieked and launched her own handful at me. It came apart in
midair, flinging small chunks across my arms and stomach.

Hands
empty, she darted away and I gave chase.

I
reached out, intending to lift her up and throw off her aim. My foot stuck,
momentarily holding me in place. I wrenched my ankle free but the shoe didn’t
come with it. I stumbled, thrown off balance by the unexpected feeling of my
socked foot sinking into four inches of mud. My arm closed around her waist and
both of us went down.

Summer

“Life’s more fun when it’s
spontaneous.” –Ford O’Neal

My
dress was ruined. That was my first thought, and I wasn’t sorry. I hadn’t done
something this silly since I was a kid—and never on a date. The simplicity of
the fun made it somehow charming. And ridiculous. And I couldn’t stop laughing.

Mud
was everywhere. I was pretty sure I had it in my ears. I tried to care, but it
wasn’t happening. This was the most fun I’d had in … I couldn’t remember. I
hadn’t planned a single part of this date and from the looks of things, it’d
spiraled into something even Ford hadn’t anticipated and it felt damn good.

Laughter
bubbled up, sticking in my chest when my breath whooshed out as Ford landed on
top of me.

“Shit,
I’m so sorry,” he said, his hands wrist-deep in muck as he tried to brace his
weight and lift himself off of me.

“It’s
okay,” I said, breathless from the fall.

The
expression on his face as he lay over me was pure horror. I was pretty sure
he’d expected a different reaction than the smile I gave him. Taking advantage,
I scooped mud into my hands where they rested at my sides. I kept my smile in place
and my eyes on his, hoping he hadn’t noticed my covert movements. When I’d
gathered a good layer, I brought my hands to his face and pressed them to his
cheeks, slowly smearing downward.

Ford
went perfectly still and I wondered if I’d gone too far. Very slowly, his hands
came up and pressed against my neck, smearing a layer of mud down my throat and
onto my shoulders.

“Now
we’re even,” he said with a grin.

My
pulse sped. My skin tingled where his fingers trailed. He noticed my reaction
and slowed, taking his time as his hands travelled down the length of my arm.
Somewhere along the way the movement turned sensual, the mud forgotten—or maybe
it only added to the moment. When he reached my hands, he took them in his own
and lifted them until my arms were locked loosely around his neck. Then, he let
go and trailed his hands up my shoulders and throat, stroking my cheek and
tangling in my hair.

He
leaned closer, but it wasn’t fast enough for my tastes. I raised my head and
brought my lips to his, meeting him halfway. His mouth was warm and hard
against mine, but it wasn’t adequate. I wanted more. I parted my lips and let
my tongue skim the inside of his lip. He pressed down, crushing his mouth to
mine. It was empowering, knowing that small act on my part had removed some
sort of barrier. I wondered what else he was holding back—and if I had the
power to unleash it.

I
tightened my arms around his neck, running my fingers through his hair. I could
feel the dirt and mud I left behind but it didn’t matter. Somehow, it made it
hotter being out here with him like this. Almost as if the layer of mud had
become a mask to hide behind, I could pretend to be a braver version of myself.
Someone sexier with fewer inhibitions.

His
hands roamed down my chest and over the thin fabric of the dress. His thumb
grazed my nipple before continuing lower to cup my thigh and press it against
his own. In answer, I pushed my hips upward against his groin and bit back a
moan when his hardness pressed against me. Ford groaned and pressed back,
grinding our hips together and making me squirm against the fabric that
separated us.

Maybe
it was the blood roaring in my ears, but I didn’t notice a single change in our
surroundings until a throat cleared a few feet away. Ford jumped clear of me
faster than I thought humanly possible. I sat up and blinked, more confused
than embarrassed.

A
gray-haired man wearing a battered, wide-brimmed baseball cap and an orange
vest stood a few yards away. Behind him, a shiny pickup idled loudly. I didn’t
recognize either one. And how had I missed the man’s arrival? I looked at Ford,
his eyes glazed over with the same consuming desire that had me breathless.
Right. That.

“Can
I help you?” I asked the newcomer, propping myself on my elbows.

“I
doubt it. Leastways, not in the way you’re helping out that fella.”

The
man’s comment was apparently the wake-up Ford needed. Already on his feet, he
glared at the older man. “Are you lost?” Ford asked.

The
old man took a step around the side of his truck. I followed his movement and
noticed the gun rack for the first time. “I was going to ask you the same
question seein’ as how this is my property.”

His
property? I looked around and remembered I was still on the ground. In the mud.
Suddenly, that didn’t seem like the most lady-like place to be. Or the safest,
as the guy seemed to be headed for whatever he had strapped to his gun rack. I
got to my feet and stood beside Ford in a dress heavy with mud and clinging in
all the wrong places. “We didn’t realize this was private property,” I said.

“I
haven’t posted a sign yet. Guess I better get on that,” the man muttered.

“Right.
We’ll be going, then,” I said, pulling Ford toward the truck.

“You
do that and see that you’re more careful.” The man pulled a rifle free and
turned to face us. “It’s hunting season and I don’t want anybody getting hurt.
Helen would kill me.”

I
stopped at the familiar name. “Helen Meckelberg?”

“That’s
my Helen.”

“You’re
Bobby,” I said.

“That’s
what it says on my birth certificate. And you are?”

“Summer
Stafford. My father owns Heritage Plantation. Helen is a friend of my family.”

“Bobby
Gresham.” Bobby extended a hand. I did the same but stopped halfway, holding it
up to show it was covered in mud. Bobby retracted his and I did the same, my
expression a silent apology. Ford didn’t bother extending his. He and Bobby
nodded at each other.

“Ford
O’Neal,” Ford said.

“Nice
to meet you both. Well, considering,” he said with a wry smile. “You’re Dean
Stafford’s girl, huh? Met him a few times. Good man. Tell him I said hello.”

I
grimaced. “I will,” I said, hating that I would have to. Otherwise, he’d hear
about it anyway. No stopping the gossip mill on this one, not once Helen heard
about it. I’d have to hide at the farm for weeks if I wanted to wait this one
out. I hustled Ford into the truck with another nod and goodbye and we drove
away.

“Where’s
the fire?” Ford asked as he maneuvered Darla out.

“That’s
Bobby. He’s engaged to one of my mother’s friends.”

“And
you don’t want her to know we were here?”

“I
don’t want the free world asking me about it for the next six months.”

“And
now they will?”

I
shook my head. “You’ve never lived in a small town.”

“Sure
I have.” He grinned and it looked wicked, all those white teeth contrasting
against dark-brown cheeks caked with dirt. “It’s a form of flattery being the
inspiration behind the story.”