Page 98 of One Wild Chance

I open my mouth to say of course I can walk, but my knees buckle without warning, and I go down like a rag doll.

Jaxon catches me before I hit the ground. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs, tightening his arms around me to keep me upright. Even now, I’m aware of his warm, solid body where my cheek meets his shirt, and the faint scent of sandalwood on his skin.

“I can walk,” I mumble, which is laughable, since my legs feel like Jell-O.

“Not a chance,” he says, sweeping me off the ground. “You’re coming with me.”

He carries me the rest of the way. For once, I decide this argument can wait until tomorrow.

Chapter 28

Jaxon

The fact that Summer isn’t complaining right now is an alarming sign.

I carry her through the dark, into the back of the house, and she doesn’t say a word the entire way. I ease her onto the cushions, one arm behind her shoulders. Her hair fans out against the pillow, and she looks up at me with lids only half open.

Still so beautiful.

“Did I just faint?” she asks weakly.

“You did.” I crouch next to her, checking her face. Color is coming back, which is a good sign.

She rubs a hand over her eyes. “That wasn’t supposed to happen—fainting, like some kind of Victorian woman who needs smelling salts.”

“There are worse things.” I brush a strand of hair off her forehead, like Mom used to do when we were sick. “What if I hadn’t been there to catch you?”

“It would’ve been less embarrassing.”

“Until I found you with a goose egg on your head.”

She starts to push herself up onto her elbows. “I think I need to eat.”

“Stay there.” I lay a hand on her shoulder gently. “I’ll bring you something.”

I head to the kitchen and pour iced tea from the fridge, then heat the leftover meatloaf. When I come back, she’s looking at a family album from the coffee table, mostly photos of Mom and Dad with four boys who couldn’t sit still long enough for a decent picture.

“Is this you?” She holds up a picture of a little kid riding a pony for the first time, wearing nothing but a diaper and a smile.

I take a closer look. “I’m sure that’s Wyatt. He loves to walk around in his underwear.”

“No way. That’s very clearly you.” She studies it again. “You look so proud of yourself.”

“I was only two. Probably thought that was how a boy should dress for horseback riding.”

She grins, enjoying my toddler pictures way too much. “You were stinking adorable.”

“I want that back.” I reach for the album, but she pulls it out of reach.

“Absolutely not,” she says with a laugh. “This is staying right here.” She balances it on her lap, protecting it. “For future reference.”

“Future reference for what?”

“I don’t know yet, but I feel like it’ll come up.”

I give her a look. “You’re not posting that picture on social media.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you.” Her grin turns mischievous. “Even if it did cross my mind.”