Page 54 of One Wild Chance

“I was not in danger!”

“Summer.” He levels his gaze with mine. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

I stare at him. That doesn’t sound like the old Jaxon, who showed up ready to liquidate the farm and leave. That Jaxon would have informed me I was being reckless and would have made it a point in the ongoing scoreboard between us. After all, rivalry has always been our game—who can stay out the longest, work the hardest, do the best job. Maybe he’s finally letting me win. Or maybe I’m the one losing—I can’t seem to tell anymore.

He reaches into the back cab and pulls out a towel, holding it out to me. “Here.”

My hand brushes over the seat. “Sorry I’m dripping everywhere.”

“I don’t care about the seat.” He wraps the towel around me, his fingers grazing my shoulders.

He gives me one more look before he comes around to the driver’s side, rain dripping off the brim of his cap.

“What happened to your finger?” he asks after he climbs in.

The cut is still bleeding, leaving red dots behind on my jeans. “Garden shears.”

He reaches across my lap, pops open the glove compartment, and takes out a bandage.

“I can do it,” I protest, but he grabs my hand, then wipes the blood away, drying the cut with his shirt. He wraps the bandage around my finger, being careful around the cut, before smoothing it down with his thumb.

With the two of us alone in the truck, I am extremely aware of his fingers on mine and the way it’s setting off little fireworks in my body. His eyes drop to my lips, and for one moment, the world grinds to a halt. He leans toward me slightly, like what he really wants is a little sample. Maybe it’s the excitement of the storm or the way the windows are fogging up from our breath.

It lasts only a second, until my door flies open, and Wyatt is standing on the other side. “Hey, guys, I was just running in when⁠—”

Jaxon snaps back as I pull my hand away so fast I knock my towel off.

Wyatt pauses as his eyes drop to where our hands used to be. “I, uh, wondered if everything was okay?”

“Fine,” we both say at the same time. A flush of heat pricks my neck.

Wyatt’s mouth curves a little. “Okay?”

“I just…cut my finger.” I lift my hand, showing him the bandage as proof.

“Right.” Wyatt nods, like he’s trying to figure out what we’re doing. “Well. I’m glad Jaxon could be so helpful. Guess I’ll leave you to it.”

He shuts the door. Through the rain-blurred window, I watch him jog toward the house.

Jaxon turns to face the wheel, then clears his throat. “Do you want me to drop you at the old barn?”

“Please.” I stare out the passenger window before picking up the towel off the floor. “And I’d prefer you didn’t say anything to Wyatt about this.”

“I wasn’t going to.” He inches forward, squinting to see the farm lane through the rain. “I’d bet money he’s going to tell Grady, though.”

Great. Now everyone is going to be wondering why we were holding hands in Jaxon’s truck.

And it was nothing, really. He just helped me with a bandage. Even if my heart was racing.

He pulls up to the barn doors and puts the truck in park, looking over at me. “Stay there.”

Then he runs around to my side and holds open my door. We run for it, both of us breathing hard by the time we duck inside the door. I turn around and notice that Jaxon is completely drenched. Hair, shirt, even his eyelashes are wet. He looks—I swallow—really good.

I hand him the towel from the truck before I let my thoughts go wild. He drags it over his face, then takes off his hat and threads his fingers through his hair.

I look around at my beautiful, beloved barn, which currently looks about as much like a wedding venue as an abandoned building. I drag a finger over a dusty windowsill. It comes back black. “I was hoping to clean up the place, hang some lights today, maybe add a bouquet or two. Just enough to set the scene.”

“Okay,” he says, throwing the towel aside. “Tell me how to help.”