Page 71 of Second Chance Saloon

Jackie squeezed her eyelids tighter under the low-pressure showerhead. The water squirted over her head, streaming down her arms and back.

Mitch stood under the next shower down from her, moving his hands over his chest like he wanted to lather up invisible shower gel all over. He pushed his hands against his eyes, his mouth firmly closed.

Unbothered that someone might see her staring at him, Jackie hungrily took in every inch of his bare skin. His teal swim trunks hung low on his hips, exposing the shallow grooves of his abdomen running down and disappearing beneath the fabric. His back was to her, muscles flexing and exposing two dimples near his tailbone. He pushed his fingers into his hair, separating the wet strands, washing off every trace of cenotes from him.

Then, Mitch turned, his eyes still closed, and the material of the swim trunks, much looser than his usual jammers, rode up on his left thigh.

The water running down Jackie’s spine turned to ice, freezing every single cell in her body. Her lungs imprisoned her breaths, the remaining air deflating from her as fast as Mitch pulled down the material, not realizing she’d already seen what hid beneath.

A long, rugged scar ran from the top of his thigh, finishing above his kneecap. It was thick, silvery-white and crisscrossed like it had been stitched up a while ago.

His hands moved down, resting on his hips and she dragged her gaze up to his face before he opened his eyes and caught her staring. He flashed her a brilliant grin and a pin of shame jabbed at her heart.

Where did he get that scar? What happened to him?

Jackie cast her mind back to the past few days, the nonchalant, well-practiced gestures of covering his legs from the knees up; every time his hands absentmindedly touched his thigh, in the exact spot where the scar was.

Busy with dissecting the hidden meaning behind it, she didn’t see him approach her until he stopped right in front of her, cupping her elbow.

“Ready to go?” he asked, all smiles and eyes lit up.

She swallowed, shaking off the unasked, unanswered questions. “Once we get in the car and go to the hotel, the cenote day is going to be over.”

“But there will be another day after that, and another one after that.”

A breath tore through her chest. She couldn’t really argue with that. Even though it was only going to be another week. “And what are we going to do in those days?”

It was safer not to bring up the fact a week was only seven days. Not a very long time at all. Though, compared to the past ten years, seven days felt like everything.

Mitch trailed a finger up her arm, lighting up her every nerve ending in its path. “We can figure it out.”

Her heart tripped over itself. Oh, how she wanted to let herself believe it. How fine it sounded. Long-lost lovers finding their way back into each other’s arms after years apart, conquering all the reasons why they couldn’t be together by sheer power of will and longing. What a perfect ending.

And what a tragedy that this wouldn’t be how their story finished.

Should she tell him? Lowering her burning gaze to his hopeful one, she couldn’t do it. But if she wouldn’t tell him, there was not even a shred of hope they would ever emerge from the Mexican bubble.

It was probably for the best. He’d go back home, to Oklahoma. Settle back into his practice, meet someone new again. Someone who could make him happy, the way he deserved to be. Someone who could give him children.

Yet … She was struggling to resist him, even though she knew there wasn’t really a happy ever after for them in the cards.

So, instead of replying, she tipped her head back, pulled him to her and kissed him. It was a short and sweet kiss, close-mouthed—the kind that people who thought they had unlimited time together shared.

Mitch smiled against her lips, dropping his forehead to hers for a split second. “I’m glad you’re on board with my plan.”

Jackie drew back, her lips pursed in a strained ghost of a smile. She didn’t respond, and instead, finding his hand with hers and lacing their fingers together, she led him back to the Jeep.

The drive back to the hotel seemed twice as long as the journey to Cenote Siete Bocas. Or did it feel like it, because her heartbeat dragged mercilessly as the scenery changed behind the windows?

Mitch switched on the radio but more static came through. “That’s unfortunate.”

She smiled, adjusting her grip on the wheel. If she focused on the road ahead, if she forced herself to forget what she saw on his leg, then maybe then she wouldn’t ask stupid questions.

“We’ll be back in range for radio signal soon,” she said.

He relaxed in his seat, flicking the brim of his straw Stetson over his eyes. “I don’t really want to listen to music. Was just looking for something to do with my hands, other than touching you.”

A stone of indiscernible emotion mixed with desire lodged in the middle of her throat. “That’d be distracting.”