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It was about seven in the evening, and nightfall came around ten. I had time to wander. I headed out to the trails and mounted the hills, feeling the fading sunlight dapple over my skin through the breaks in the tree covers.
It was quiet out here by my lonesome. All I heard were the constant thud of my horse's hooves and the occasional bird twitter or a critter’s rustle in the underbrush. This was the quiet I needed in order to think. What was I going to do about Rayna?
Every base desire I had was trained on her; everything Ishouldn’tbe thinking about her obliterated whatever professional code I had left. Hell, we’ve already fucked, so almost every code was out the window with her…except the one where we do it again. And God knew I wanted to. I hadn’t worked her out of my system yet—which was strange because when I did find a woman to share the night with, that was it. Nothing about her lingered.
Rayna was the exception to the rule.
I broke through the trees and came to a hillock that crested over a wide valley. From this vantage point, the scale of the rolling hills and sun-dappled valleys took my breath away. Wildflowers of every color, shape, and size dotted the landscape, with the far-off mountains sparkling in the distance. There wasn’t another home in sight.
What did I want to do? Play it cool and shove the past behind us or…make it known that I still wanted her and see where that went? How did I even start that conversation?
The constant battle ofwe’re all adults here, versusshe works with my childreplayed in my head like a merry-go-round. Should I do the right thing or let my desires take over? What was I going to do?
Here’s a thought. What if I make it plain what I want and leave the ball in her court?
It would all be up to her…and God knew I wanted her to want the same thing I did. We’d keep it discreet; no one would know.
But why did a treacherous voice in my head start laughing?
ChapterSix
Rayna
Ihad not expected to find John in my office, on Thursday morning, almost a week after our first meeting. This time, he was not sitting, but standing near my windows, looking extremely handsome in his fitted blue suit. His dark hair looked damp and was curling around his collar. I felt the sudden urge to brush the stray locks off his high forehead.
As he gazed out the windows, his still, solitary pose made my heart twist. He looked... alone, as if he carried the world's weight on his broad shoulders. My eyes traced over the broad expanse of his back before I cleared my throat.
“Mister Maxwell?”
He turned, his brows lowered, and a tight draw had his mouth rigor mortis. Now, I grew worried, “May I—” I changed tactics, “—Is something wrong? Is Samantha doing well?”
“I…am not sure,” he replied. “Last week, I did as you’d advised, and we went to talk; she kept brushing the situation off. I pressed the issue, asking why she had punched Tyler, and she blurted out that she didn’t know. Is…is that acceptable? Can she react without reason?”
This is what I had feared.
“Please, sit,” I said, then eyed his suit. “Unless you have a prior obligation, that is. I wouldn’t want to keep you.”
But then, I wondered if those words made any sense. Why would he come to me and instigate a conversation if he did not have time?
“Oh, now.” He shook his head. “I just got off the plane from Dallas. I have time.”
I wanted to ask him what was in Dallas, but from his attire and knowing his job, I guessed it was some corporate meeting, a few hours of dialogue, hand-shaking, and moving more money around than I would ever see.
“Now, would you tell me what Samantha said?”
His face took on the confliction of a man who did not know up from down when dealing with an unruly child. He rubbed his forehead. “She said she didn’t know. How can you not know why you did or did not do something?”
I reached for my notes on Samantha. “John, I think there is something more to the story between Samantha and Tyler than what we were told, but I cannot seem to get the true story.”
His handsome face dimmed, and he leaned forwards, fiddling with his Fossil Watch. “Maybe we can get someone to tell us…” he murmured, wincing. “…her sister, Harper. Those girls tell each other everything, and though I don’t like it, I don’t think there’s any other way. I’m a bit desperate here.”
“You want me to ask Harper?” I asked quietly, making sure that was what he wanted. “I will if you think it is the best course of action.”
“Unless you can magically make what we need to know to present itself on a paper in the air, then yes,” he replied. “I hate knowing this is what I must resort to, but it is what I must do.”
“All right,” I said calmly, standing. “I’ll go get her from Miss Jackson’s class.”
Moving from the room, I headed to thethird-grade row, and after a quick conversation with Harper’s teacher, I gently guided the young girl back to my office. She was confused, but I assured her she was not in trouble.
