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“You know what they say about making assumptions,” he tsked, sliding the ice-filled cooler from his truck in an easy, one-armed movement that would’ve sent Carly on her ass even if she’d used both arms and brought a friend for help.
Refusing to bite even though every sarcastic fiber in her being screamed in protest, Carly replied, “So, I take it this is a Fourth of July party.” She pointed to the festive red, white, and blue buntings fluttering from the porch railings. The smoky, hypnotic scent of a charcoal grill going full-bore made her mouth water, and the deep draw of fragrant air kicked her appetite into gear.
“Sort of.” Jackson bent down to unearth the two bags holding the ice cream from inside the cooler, and she saw his shoulders draw up with a hitch.
“Sort of?” she repeated, scooping up the bags while he replaced the lid with a muffledthunk.
“It’s a family get-together.” He led the way past the front of the house with the cooler in tow. Little beads of firelight glowed from within the wrought iron lanterns lining the brick walkway, casting the beginnings of shadows at their feet. The buzz of voices and occasional bursts of laughter carried over the breeze from the backyard, and a group of boys thundered past them toward the grassy front lawn, Frisbees in hand. Something loosened in Carly’s gut, washing over her with a familiar sweetness.
“Cousins or nephews?” She gestured to the boys, whose hooting and hollering carried over the air.
Jackson’s grin returned. “Both. The younger one is my nephew, but the older two are my cousin’s sons.”
Carly’s heart tugged at her ribs. “I have six.”
“Nephews, cousins, or sons?” Jackson asked, rounding the side of the house.
“Nephews,” she emphasized. “And four nieces.”
“Hey, me too. On the nieces, anyway. You’ve got me beat in the nephews department,” Jackson replied, then paused. “So, it doesn’t make you uncomfortable to come to a big family gathering?”
“I’m the youngest of four kids, Jackson, and I have ten immediate cousins. My family is massive. I think I’ll be fine. Although you could’ve warned me.” It felt pretty good to put the shoe on the other foot and tease him for a change, and she gave him a bump with her hip for good measure.
“It would’ve wrecked the intrigue, which is why you came.” He nudged her right back.
“You lured me with food,” she corrected. “That’s why I came.”
“Okay, okay. Let’s get this cold stuff where it needs to go and I’ll make good on my promise. Come on.”
As soon as the backyard was in full view, Carly had to resist the urge to stop and stare. Paper lanterns peppered the edges of a huge, white tent canopy, soft light glowing from the thin, white globes and mixing with the growing dusk. Beneath the tent, a small crowd of people milled around, filling their plates to the brim. Even more guests sat around small wooden picnic tables with little candles in brightly colored jars in the center. The thick, lemony scent of citronella hung in the air, mixing in with the smoky perfume of the grill. A cluster of men stood laughing and drinking from frost-covered bottles of beer at the far end of the yard, and Carly squinted at the familiar objects they were tossing toward a square patch of sand just shy of the tree line.
“Are those horseshoes?” A metallic clang resonated across the yard, followed by an enthusiastic cheer that punctuated the unspoken answer to her question.
Jackson glanced over his shoulder, which was still as wide as a doorframe and oh-so muscled beneath the white cotton of his T-shirt. “You’ve never played horseshoes?”
“The closest thing I had to a yard was my grandmother’s garden, which is a six-by-six plot of dirt in Brooklyn, surrounded by bricks and buildings.”
Okay, fine. So two of her three brothers had moved to the New York suburbs with their families years ago, and both had beautiful yards with green grass and fences. But Carly’s space had always been in the city, either in the duplex where she grew up or in the brownstone she’d hung a For Sale sign on the morning she’d left for Pine Mountain. Sadness swirled in her belly, but she mashed it down just in time to catch Jackson watching her with curiosity.
“What did she grow?”
“Huh?” Carly blinked, and the images of her grandmother’s garden faded as Jackson reached for the bags in her hand.
“Your grandmother. What did she grow in her garden?” The edges of Jackson’s callused fingers brushed hers, streaking heat to the base of her spine, and she let go of the handles even though she didn’t want to.
“Oh, um. Some flowers—Echinacea, cornflowers, star lilies. Mostly herbs and vegetables though. We ate just about everything that came out of that garden, like it or not.”
Jackson flagged down a young girl with a blond ponytail and coltish, long legs on the cusp of adolescence. “Hey, Sadie. Can you bring these into the house and put them in Aunt Cath’s freezer for me? Thanks, sweetheart.” He chucked the girl’s chin, which brought out a giggle, and he waved to her before turning his attention back to Carly. “Got something you might want to check out.”
Carly’s brow drew inward. “Okay.”
She waited while Jackson situated the cooler next to a bucket full of cheerily colored soda cans, but he didn’t elaborate. It figured he was going to make her work for it. Broad shoulders notwithstanding, he could be downright frustrating.
Finally, she caved. “What is it?”
“You’re a total go-getter, aren’t you? Always want to be doing something,” Jackson said, and in spite of his laid-back smile, she flushed.
“Sorry.” Being one of the only women in a male-dominated family and an even more male-dominated career, Carly’s tenacity was programmed into her DNA. While her take-no-prisoners attitude earned her more respect than heartache in the kitchen, it tended to bite her in the ass in the one-on-one arena.
