Page 77 of Jameson’s Salvation

“That they do.”

“You ready to get your garden sorted?”

I pulled away and looked up into his handsome face and I couldn’t get over how lucky I was.

“I am. You know what’s funny? It’s like we have a complete role reversal going on.”

“What do you mean?” Jameson tilted his head in question.

“Well, you’re normally the one whose attitude is…how can I describe it…”

“Hateful,” he supplied.

“That’s a good word for it.” I smiled. “And I’m the one who’s always taken it on the chin and did it with a smile. But when I was ready to throw in the towel, suddenly you had a sunshine attitude.”

“Don’t get used to it,” he grumbled.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Besides, I love the grouchy, prickly side of you too much.”

Jameson gave a small jerk, then his eyes softened. “You know I love you, right?”

“I do.”

“Good.” His smile was bigger than I’d ever seen it.

“You know I love you, too, right?”

“Yeah, Kennedy, I know.”

“Good.”

His hand went to my ponytail and he yanked it back so my face was tilted up. I lost sight of his eyes when his lips crashed onto mine. His tongue glided against mine and I groaned into his mouth. This was the first real kiss he’d given me since I’d been attacked.

I don’t know how long we stood in my meadow, but with each stroke of his tongue he washed away all of the fear and bad memories I had from that day. And as the minutes passed, he gave me back my home. My security, my hopes, my dreams of a future filled with happiness.

Just like that—all I needed was Jameson.

* * *

Chasin was cutting my grass, smiling like an idiot while he mowed circles in the yard. I guess when you didn’t have to spend an hour-plus on the mower every few days, zooming around on a zero-turn mower could be fun. It’d taken Chasin a few minutes to get the hang of using his hands to both turn and accelerate. But after he figured out how to use the handles, he was off zipping around.

Men and machines—I guess it didn’t matter what they were operating or how old they were, they’d find a way to screw around.

Jameson and Holden had taken my chainsaw to the edge of my property to cut some branches that had fallen. Later I’d split the logs into manageable pieces and use them for firewood. But for now I appreciated them just getting them out of the way.

McKenna was in the house working, listening in on Reggie Coleman, and Weston was in his car following him. So far nothing exciting had happened.

Nixon and I were in my barn and he was looking at my Case tractor.

“It doesn’t have an enclosed cab,” he noted.

“Nope.”

“At least it has a shade cover.”

Nixon was still pointing out the obvious. Some tractors had enclosed cabs and even offered a heater, air conditioning, and a radio. My dad used to say those were for sissy farmers who were afraid of sweating. He only said that because we’d never been able to afford one. With price tags upward of a hundred thousand dollars they were out of our price range. Even when the farm had good years, and the prices of corn and soybeans were high, he still wouldn’t have bought one.

“When Mr. Nickels died, Mrs. Nickels sold it to me. I replaced my dad’s old John Deere,” I told Nix. “My dad knew just what to do to make the old beast run but I never could. The Case has a straightforward diesel engine. And really, it’s all I need. I’m working up forty-eight acres, not five-hundred.”