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Knox had known his truck was surviving on a prayer to even make it as far as his hometown. But he’d brought it regardless, needing to haul his rodeo stuff. He didn’t trust it on a plane—besides, he wasn’t flying back to Montana. He was done with that place, and he’d already been picked up by the pro circuit in Texas.
What he hadn’t wanted to happen was this exact scenario. Stranded on the roadside just when his time slot for practicing at the rodeo grounds was about to start.
Maybe the cowboy who’d pulled over on the side of the road could take him into town really quick to get a U-joint—at least, he hoped that was what needed to be fixed. But no cowboy climbed out of the older model SUV. A least not of the male variety. And he couldn’t have been more surprised if five clowns had popped out of the vehicle when he saw that the person now walking toward him was none other than Jana Harris.
It was like he’d wished her here. Well, not here, exactly, but into a place where he could finally talk to her. Yet, the timing couldn’t be worse.
Jana was no longer the teenager he remembered—her curves and the sharper definition of her face were that of a grown woman. She wore sunglasses atop her hair, and yeah, he remembered all that red hair. Except it was darker now, almost an auburn. She wore a red T-shirt, black cowboy boots, and body-hugging jeans that would probably cause a car wreck in a bigger city.
But Knox wasn’t checking her out. Nope. Not at all. Because Jana Harris was one hundred percent off-limits—maybe even two hundred percent. Some things just couldn’t be forgiven.
Still, his gaze flicked to her left hand, but he didn’t see a wedding ring. Not that it would matter. At least not to him. And there was no sign of her smile—the one that used to make him rewrite every single one of his dreams about leaving Prosper and becoming a rodeo star. That had eventually happened, but in the most backward way possible.
Jana didn’t look happy; in fact, she looked mad.
So, why had she stopped in the first place?
“Jana,” he said, the word almost foreign to his tongue. He might have thought about her a few dozen—or a few hundred—times, but it had been years since he’d actually spoken her name. “Uh, thanks for stopping. I’m kind of in a bind here.” He motioned toward the open hood of his truck, as if it weren’t obvious.
Jana stopped a few feet from him, and he could swear he smelled raspberries. Folding her arms, her gaze slid past him to the engine of the truck.
Yep. She still had those dusky hazel eyes. And those freckles that he’d tried to count one time.
“What seems to be the problem?”
Knox rubbed at the perspiration forming on the back of his neck. Had he been sweating before she pulled over? She wasn’t looking at him, but that didn’t seem to matter. It was still early in the morning, but it felt as if the noonday sun was beating upon him. “I don’t exactly know, but I’m hoping it’s a U-joint.”
Jana’s hazel eyes shifted to him once again. Her gaze flickered down, then up.
Was she checking him out?
“You need a ride into town to get that part?” she asked, her arms folded, her jawline tight. But no matter how tense she acted, her lips still looked soft.
Knox blinked. “That would be great, ma’am. Unless you’re in a hurry. I can wait for the next person to come along.”
Jana’s brows lifted. “The only other person who might come along this morning is Bud McIverson, and he’s gone before the roosters crow.” She turned then and began walking toward her SUV. “If you’re coming with me, put a shirt on.”
Knox stared after her, then he felt laughter bubble in his chest. The shirt was no problem. Not at all. He dropped the hood of his truck, then reached into the open driver’s side window and snatched the button-down he’d discarded in favor of keeping it semi-clean while he checked out his truck’s engine. It wasn’t like he was staying in a fancy hotel with a laundry room.
The SUV was already running when he climbed into the passenger seat. Sitting this close to Jana confirmed what he’d smelled. “Been picking raspberries?”
Jana didn’t answer for a moment as she pulled on the road.
In fact, as the silence stretched between them, Knox wondered if he should just drop the small talk and come right out with his question.
But then, she said, “I’m making raspberry jam.”
Knox looked over at her, surprised. “That’s very domestic of you.” He used to tease her about not ever having any desire to cook or bake.
Her gaze didn’t move from the road ahead of them. “It’s a business. My parents. They live in San Antonio now, and I fill the orders.”
Knox hadn’t expected any of this. Jana had been the kind of girl who was always reading a book in high school. So much so, it had affected her grades, or at least that’s what her parents had accused her of. If he remembered right, her older sister had been valedictorian or something.
“Huh, that’s great,” he said. “Do you like it? I never thought you’d be a baker—or whatever it’s called. A jam-maker?”
She looked at him then, and her hazel eyes were cool. Almost frosty.
“Whoa,” he said. “What did I say wrong?”
