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Chapter Four
Jackson tossed his phone onto the couch cushion beside him and let out a frustrated growl. He’d been on calls all morning, desperately trying to get his hands on some dig funding and having absolutely no luck whatsoever. One contact he called referred him to another contact who referred him to another contact and deeper down the rabbit hole he went, not turning up a single goddamn carrot. Most people were delighted to hear from him, but that quickly morphed into a we-don’t-have-any-money-for-you-Jackson speech that he loathed.
He understood. He did. Times were tough and money was tight. The usual crowd of investors was being a little more careful with their dollars, choosing to fund projects that were sure to bring returns. An archaeological dig wasn’t that type of project. Sure, Jackson and the team that had been with him in Brazil had found several artifacts on their dig site, but aside from a gut feeling, Jackson didn’t have any solid proof those pieces would lead to a major find. Without solid proof, he was asking people to pour money into a possibility and that wasn’t enough right now.
“Oh, Uncle Patrick, you’d be as pissed as I am right now.” His history teacher uncle had been the one person who had completely understood Jackson’s drive to be an archaeologist. He’d encouraged it wholeheartedly and had gotten Jackson hooked up with a significant project right out of college.
A new compartment in a lesser-known Egyptian pyramid had been revealed right after Jackson had graduated. Uncle Patrick had done some work in the past as a historian with the lead archaeologist on the project and with a single email to his friend, Jackson’s uncle had gotten him a job assisting on the site. It had been a new graduate’s dream job and the stepping stone that had led to Jackson getting on more projects. He’d basically blinked an eye and his archaeological career had been launched. He’d been working hard to be worth that help his uncle had given him ever since.
“And now I’m stuck back on the launch pad without any rocket fuel.” Jackson rubbed his eyes and leaned his head on the back of the couch. He’d slept like absolute shit last night and it was all Isabel’s fault. She shouldn’t have been so damn gorgeous in what had appeared to be an oversized, male’s raincoat, the hood hiding her blond hair. Her face shouldn’t have been so crystal clear in his mind as he’d only viewed it through rain-irritated eyes under the illuminated circle of a floodlight, making the details shadowy. He’d apparently seen enough, however, to give her a starring role in his dreams all night long.
It would have been awesome had the dreams been wonderful ones. But they hadn’t been. Instead, he’d basically relived her walking away from him that day at the library when he’d told her he’d be going to college early. He hadn’t relived it only once either. Nope. That scene repeated itself over and over, only slight details changing each time. The color of Isabel’s shoes one time. The way she wore her hair the next. The weather another time. The type of tree they’d been near the time after that. By morning, Jackson had been ready to pull his hair out.
Hopefully, tonight would be better and the memory of seeing Isabel would fade back into the dark corners of his mind. Maybe he should ask Christian if the barn loft was still up for grabs. He’d wanted his own space while he was temporarily in Maplehaven, but perhaps it wasn’t worth it if Isabel was staying at Pine River Cottages too.
But why should he let her drive him away? She was the one who had ended them back in high school. He’d been committed to the idea of doing the long-distance thing with her. In fact, the idea of them breaking up because he was starting college early hadn’t entered his mind. While he’d sat in the guidance office, he had worried about what skipping two years of high school might do to his relationship with Isabel, but he never considered she’d leave him and certainly not right after he’d delivered his good news. She hadn’t even congratulated him on the achievement. Bi-passing two whole years of schooling was huge and she’d only focused on how him jumping ahead would affect her.
It was why he hadn’t chased her. She’d wanted to dump him instead of support him and she’d been free to make that choice. It had been the wrong choice, but he wasn’t the type of guy to force someone to think like him. Most people didn’t think like he did and that was okay. He’d hoped his girlfriend of two years—the first girl he’d made love to—would have loved him enough to see what an incredible opportunity he’d been given.
They’d been given.
Jackson blew out a breath. “If I sit here thinking about Isabel, I’ll never get more funding.” He leaned forward, prepared to grab his laptop from the coffee table and dive back into potential funding leads, but his phone hummed beside him.
“Where are you?” Donovan asked in his older brother detective voice of authority as soon as Jackson hit speakerphone.
He pulled his phone from his ear to check the time and saw it was noon. And he was late.
“Shit,” he hissed. “I’m sorry. I—”
“Lost track of time,” Donovan finished. “Yeah, yeah, we know. Get your ass over here.”
“On my way.”
Jackson bounded off the couch and hit the bathroom for a warp-speed freshening up. He grabbed his phone, wallet, and keys, and bolted out the front door of his cottage.
Only to plow right into Isabel.
He had a millisecond to realize she was falling backward. His arms shot out and grabbed her around the waist. They pulled her up against him of their own accord, effectively keeping her from cracking her head on the ground, but also bringing way too much of that curvy, feminine, absolutely rocking body of hers into his personal bubble. Something in his pants was about to pop that bubble if he held her like this for too long.
And why exactly was he still holding her? She wasn’t in danger of falling anymore.
He released her as if he’d just discovered he’d been hugging a bag of cobras.
“Sorry,” he said, the word barely audible.
Isabel smoothed the front of her sundress—a pretty green one that made her eyes look like summer leaves and revealed a hell of a lot more to drool over than that raincoat had last night. “I... I just wanted to...” She wrung her hands, avoiding meeting his gaze.
“Listen, I’m super late.” He stepped around her, more in an effort to get out of the air that smelled like sun-warmed lavender than because he was in a hurry.
Though he was in a hurry.
“I need to talk to you.” Her tone stopped him at the driver’s side door of the Wrangler. A little I-don’t-want-to-need-to-talk-to-you mixed with hey-you-can’t-brush-me-off-that-easily.
Fine.
“If you want to talk to me, get in.” He pointed to the passenger’s side and knew he was making an enormous mistake, but he couldn’t rewind and erase what he’d said so he had to roll with it now.
Besides, she wouldn’t get in.
