A Bet Worth Making (Grayson County #2) (6 page)

Chapter Six

Casey

I finished the dishes in silence. After our little tiff about Jordan’s ridiculously prejudiced comments regarding small town folks, I was sure she was going to storm out. Hell, at one point, I considered doing the same. I recognized bitterness when I heard it, though, so I let it go. Chalked it up to a bad experience. Obviously someone had burned her. An ex-boyfriend maybe. Not my business.

But the idea of her walking out, of never seeing her again, wasn’t a thought I enjoyed. This girl was sexy and mysterious and the first interesting thing that’d happened to me in a long time. Her outer shell was pretty hard to crack, but the glimpse I’d caught underneath her armor intrigued me. I wanted more. Of what, exactly, I didn’t know yet. But I damn sure wanted the time to figure it out.

So, I’d resorted to flirting. Shameless, unfiltered flirting. And I’d laid it on thick too. It was probably too much. But the look on her face when I’d chugged her beer was priceless. And the fact that she didn’t know what to say after was just as good. I had to bite my lip to keep from grinning while I finished a month’s worth of dirty plates.

When the last of the pans were washed and set aside, I dried my hands and wandered into the living room. Jordan had settled on the far end of the couch—a clear message. The set of her shoulders said she was in deep thought. I knew better than to interrupt that. Curiosity was killing me, though.

I sank onto the center cushion and punched the remote until the TV powered on. Sports channel. Good as anything else. I wasn’t really paying attention anyway. But I leaned back and propped my feet up on the coffee table all the same.

It wasn’t like I hadn’t seen a stunner before. But shit, girls like Jordan didn’t exactly find their way to Grayson often. Or, more specifically, to my front door. I couldn’t help but shake my head at Frank again. What was that guy cooking up? Did he really think it was that easy to overcome whatever melancholy I’d been fighting these past few months?

Hell, did he think he could deliver me a beautiful girl and I’d what? Fall in love? Settle down? Was that his idea of happiness for me? I definitely needed to set him straight because that was absolutely not happening. Especially with a city slicker like Jordan. Beauty. Brains. Ambition. Nobody like that would ever be interested in what I had to offer—which wasn’t much.

The TV droned on and I snuck a glance over at her. She stared back at me in a way that suggested she’d been doing it for a while now. Her bottom lip caught between her teeth and when she let go, she blew out a breath. I didn’t miss the rise and fall of her ample chest.
Eyes up, Case.

“Fine,” Jordan said as if I’d just now asked her a question. “We can be friends and I’ll take the room. But it’s temporary. Just for the summer, and I pay cash.”

I muted the TV and turned in my seat until my eyes met Jordan’s. Clear Caribbean blue framed by wispy blonde hair. I could be all sorts of friendly with that face. “Friends. Just the summer. Cash,” I repeated, nodding. “Sounds good.”

“Two conditions,” she said.

“All right, lay it on me.”

“One, we are not the sort of roommates that walk around half-naked.” She eyed my bare chest pointedly.

I grinned. “Clothing is mandatory. Got it. And the second?”

“No more personal questions.”

I’d seen this one coming from her reaction earlier and already knew I’d have to agree, like it or not. It should’ve made the whole deal even sweeter. Hot blonde sleeping across the hall, doesn’t want to get personal. Anything could happen. But this girl was obviously on a mission to stay platonic and she wasn’t taking any chances. The problem was some part of me was disappointed at her shutting it down before it even began. Part of me wanted to know her story, an extra layer I usually left out of my relationships when possible.

Growing up here, dating the girls in a place like this, you couldn’t escape knowing someone’s story, baggage and all. So when someone came along whose dirty laundry I didn’t know, I usually opted to keep it that way. No strings. No stories.

But Jordan was different. She made me want to know what lay underneath the surface. What brought her here and what made her hate country folks so much. And for the first time in my life, I was determined to earn it. I’d have to be sneaky, though. She clearly wasn’t in the mood to share it willingly.

“Only public questions then?” I asked.

“What?”

I twisted so I could get a better look at her—or give her one last good look at me—and swung my arm over the back of the couch between us. “Public. You know, as opposed to personal.”

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t even know what that means.”

My fingertips extended just shy of her shoulder and I itched to lean in and let my hand brush her hair. “For example, do you have a boyfriend?”

She frowned. “That’s personal.”

“Not true. I need to know if you’re going to be bringing strange guys into the house. Maybe we should create a system. Like a sock on the door or a special knock or you take Mondays at one and I’ll—”

“I told you earlier, I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Great, just wanted to clarify. In case you’re wondering, I don’t have a girlfriend. See how easy that was? That definitely settles it. Public questions only.”

I grinned and went back to the TV. She scowled, but when I glanced over a minute later, I caught her staring at my bare chest—again. Hell, yeah. This was going to be so much fun.

Chapter Seven

Jordan

The next morning, the stillness inside the house was a direct contradiction to the chaotic aftermath I found in the kitchen. Dirty dishes and spilled egg yolk littered the counter and stove. I stepped cautiously, careful to avoid anything liquidy or spongy underfoot, and grimaced when my foot landed in something soft and not made of tile.

“Yuck,” I muttered.

And I’d thought the kitchen was bad last night. That was nothing. Girls, be careful what you wish for. Clearly, this guy could cook. But cleaning was a whole different—and obviously foreign—concept. The dishes he’d done last night had clearly been for my benefit only.

I managed to find the still-warm coffee pot and a clean-ish mug. Between that and the plain toast I snagged and heated inside an ancient—albeit mostly clean—toaster, I was fed and ready for my interview.

I made it all the way to the front door before I remembered my lack of transportation.

“Shit.”

I did not have time for this. Or energy. Or patience. Or—why was I here? Sure, I’d given up my apartment already and my job at the firm where I’d worked since graduation, but I could go home to Hartford. After Dad’s funeral, I’d announced my decision to start my own firm. Mom had immediately offered my old room, but I’d turned her down, not wanting all the reminders of him. Now I was rethinking that option. At least she had a car that worked.

Besides, I didn’t need all these complications. I could put my plans for my own firm on hold for now and just concentrate on one foot in front of the other. One sensible, reliably-transported foot—

“You going somewhere?”

I jumped and coffee sloshed along the edges of my mug.

Casey stood in the kitchen doorway looking way too at ease in his low-slung jeans and ratty T-shirt. I bit back a smile when I spotted the giant hole in the fabric. “You’re breaking rule number one,” I said.

Casey looked down at his clothes and then back up to me. “No way, shirt, pants, socks even. I’m covered.”

My lips twitched. “I can see your entire left rib cage.”

He smirked. “Not my fault that you’re looking.”

I pretended not to hear him. Or notice his cocky smile. Or the way his eyes just begged me to give in to his shameless flirting and banter right back again. Were all country boys this transparent? Or hot? I wasn’t much for teasing or flirting but Casey made it so easy …

Instead, I took a long sip of the coffee. I’d had worse. “I was going somewhere. Now I’m not.”

“Wow, the shirt worked better than I thought.” Casey’s brows lifted suggestively, and my belly jumped.

“Not even close. No wheels. And bad timing too. I’m supposed to meet Summer about that job.”

Casey hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Heritage Plantation is just through the trees in the back.”

“I’m meeting her at the site. Up on the hill,” I said, using his same vague description from last night.

“Right. Well.” He flicked something shiny and metal into the air. I barely managed to snag it and cup it in my palm. Keys. “You can take the truck. But if you crash it, you owe me fifty thousand dollars.”

“Fifty thousand?” My eyes bulged. The coffee in my mug threatened to spill over. “But it’s not worth that much.”

“Maybe to you. She means the world to me.”

“I don’t have fifty thousand,” I argued.

He shrugged. “Fifty grand or a date. Your choice. Drive careful.” He turned and sauntered down the hall.

It wasn’t worth the time or oxygen to argue. I took the keys.

***

Casey’s truck motored up the hill with quiet diligence. It wasn’t going to win any speed races, but it ran. More than I could say for my Nissan across town. I was grateful for the gesture on his part, not that I would admit that to him. I had a feeling a simple “thank you” to a guy like Casey was the same as an invitation.

Maybe I could wash the truck in exchange. Something that showed my gratitude without having to actually utter the words.

A date, he’d said…

Not happening. No matter how yummy that strip of exposed flesh had looked underneath the sad fabric of that ratty shirt. I wondered if it’d already been ripped or if he’d done it on purpose just to egg me on. Either way, it’d worked. I couldn’t stop thinking about the tanned planes of his smooth abs. And to make matters worse, the cab of his truck smelled like him. Engine grease and gasoline and underneath it all an earthy musk that was hard to expel once it invaded the senses. It was sexy in a rough-and-tumble kind of way. I never would’ve expected it to attract me in the first place.

I tended to go for clean-cut guys. Bookish, smart, ambitious. White collar stuff. Anything that remotely resembled down-home, farm-types were off the radar faster than a stealth plane. It was too risky. Too close to home. I owed it to my parents, to myself, to end up with someone better. To
be
someone better.

When I was a kid, Mom had always insisted growing up in a small town hadn’t held her back. “I’d met your father,” she’d pointed out. “And he’s a country boy. What’s not to love?” She’d laugh then and I’d laugh with her, but inside, I’d always made a mental note about how she left out the part that her life didn’t really start until she’d moved to the city. Opportunities, growth, a happy family—all of that had come after leaving a town like this one behind.

I didn’t intend to get caught up here, no matter how much I felt drawn to Casey Luck.

Following Summer’s emailed directions, I pulled into the grass and parked the truck next to the powder-blue pickup I recognized as Ford’s. The cab was empty so I grabbed my sketchbook and portfolio and headed down the worn path I recognized from the pictures Summer had sent. It led through a small outcropping of pine and oak. The leaves were bright green and small, still new-looking from a late spring, although the morning air already had a thick, summery layer of humidity to it. Without some rain soon, those leaves didn’t stand a chance. Then again, rain wouldn’t be great for business.

I made it through the trees and, when I emerged on the other side, I stopped short and stared. The email had said the path led to a grassy knoll that extended a couple hundred feet before dropping into a gentle cliffside on one end. That part was right. The camper, like Casey had mentioned, was tucked near the trees, an eyesore compared to the purity of nature.

Still, it didn’t detract from the breathtaking view below and around it. I’d seen pictures of the space via email a few weeks back but the images hadn’t revealed the stunning view that surrounded the build site.

To the right were mountains, gentle and rolling from one tree-covered hillside to another. I scanned left and watched as the trees gave way to reveal grass and then farmland. Empty fields, either currently unused or too early to be planted in. Rich dirt that left the scent of earth in the air even way up here where the wind caught and carried everything to you in a single smell.

As soon as I’d soaked up the scenery, I turned back to the site. My mind raced ahead to images of structure, foundations, positioning—which way was sunrise?—columns and antebellum accents and—

“Oh, good, you made it,” a friendly female voice interrupted my daydreaming and mental planning. I blinked and found Summer headed my way across the grassy yard from the camper. Shorts and boots and honey-brown hair flying free in the wind, Summer Stafford looked completely … belonging. It was a comfortable thought. A pleasant image. And for the first time, a small-towner didn’t put my back up.

“Miss Stafford.” I stuck my hand out, switching to professional mode automatically.

Summer scrunched her nose. “I’m not that much older than you. Just Summer or it’s weird.”

I laughed. “Got it. Then it’s just Jordan for me.”

Summer smiled and we shook.

“Is Ford here?” I asked, nodding at the camper behind me.

“He’ll be here later. Dad called him down to the house for some new seed-strain idea. They’ll be wrapped up in the greenhouse for hours,” she said with a good-natured eye-roll. “Thanks for meeting me. Did you make it up here okay?”

“Casey let me borrow his truck. And I found it just fine with your directions.”

Summer nodded, an apologetic smile already forming on her lips. “So you decided to take the room then? I wondered if I’d hear from you last night.”

“I…” I hesitated for a second, unsure how much to admit. Summer was close to Casey and I didn’t want to overstep. But she’d clearly been in on Frank’s little trick and knew I’d been pushed blindly into the whole thing.

I settled for vague but honest. My specialty. “I‘m taking it one day at a time. But for now, I’m taking the room.”

“Always a good strategy where Casey’s concerned,” she agreed. “I know Casey can be … a bit much sometimes. Glad to see you can handle him.”

“I don’t plan on handling him at all,” I said, snapping the words out before I knew it. I realized belatedly, I’d taken it way further than she’d meant it. But then it was too late. The comment was out there.

“Of course,” Summer said, nodding and giving me a look that made me feel guilty for a crime I’d yet to commit. “Look, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry about not telling you. I’ve learned to trust Frank and honestly, to stay out of it when he decides to pull something like this. I hope it doesn’t ruin things between us or the project.”

My shoulders relaxed and I shook my head. “I appreciate it. I was surprised but it worked out. I have a place to stay and Casey has some extra income. I just … I’ve been a little unbalanced lately. A lot of personal changes and my manners—and temper—are a little off. This project has been a great distraction.” I smiled brightly, knowing full well my eyes were brimming with moisture. 

Summer, to her credit, ignored it all and smiled back. “Well, let’s talk about this project then, shall we?”

I grabbed onto the subject change like a lifeline and ran with it. “Sure, I’d love to show you some sketches I did just based on our emails and the measurements you sent. Now that I’ve seen the space, I can make some changes to enhance your property and positioning but here’s the basic idea.” I held up my sketchbook and the printed schematics I’d brought and Summer leaned in to take a closer look.

For the next hour, Summer and I went back and forth on my sketches and ideas and mapping out a clear plan for design and the timeline of work to follow. Any grief or lingering stress I’d brought with me fell away and I became absorbed in describing my vision and fielding Summer’s questions.

This was my element. Nothing else could touch me here.

The sun rose higher and by the time we’d finished my brow and back were lined with sweat. I swiped at my forehead and Summer smiled. “Come on, I’ve got water in the truck.”

We made our way back down the wooded path just as a third pickup rolled to a stop beside Summer’s. Ford and an older man got out of the cab and came around.

“You made it. Jordan, I hear you met Ford yesterday,” Summer said, making the introductions as she handed me a water. She paused to plant a quick kiss on her fiancé’s cheek. When she pulled back, they lingered a moment, staring into each other’s eyes, and I found myself touched in by their obvious connection. “And this is my dad. Dean Stafford, owner of Heritage Plantation.”

Dean Stafford stepped forward, his weathered face an older and more masculine version of Summer’s. The resemblance between them was undeniable.

“Pleasure, Mr. Stafford,” I said, shaking his outstretched hand. He smiled back at me with the same friendliness his daughter exuded.

“Pleasure’s mine,” he said. “I hear you’re a genius with design. Summer can’t stop talking about your ideas.”

“Genius might be a little strong,” I said, shifting under the praise.

“I don’t know,” Ford said, slipping an arm around Summer’s waist. “If you’ve found a way to put up with Casey, maybe you’re smarter than the rest of us.”

Summer laughed and Dean shot me a smile that twinkled all the way into his eyes. I tried to match it but averted my gaze. I did not want to talk about Casey, but I couldn’t exactly tell them to back off, not when the man carrying the purse strings was staring straight at me.

Thankfully, Mr. Stafford seemed to understand I didn’t want to talk about it. “Well, I know my vote doesn’t count for near as much as Summer’s, but I’d like to have a look at the house I’m funding. Let’s have a look at those plans, shall we?”

I shot him a grateful smile and stepped up. “Sure, I think you’ll really like some of the ideas Summer came up with earlier.”

Ford lowered the tailgate on the truck and I spread the sketches out for everyone to see. Within moments, any apprehension or self-consciousness faded. Summer’s lit expression matched my own excitement as we laid out our grand plans for the men. I could practically feel Dad nodding over my shoulder in approval as I described my vision. And I knew, deep down inside me, this house was going to be the best thing I’d ever designed.

***

By late afternoon, the sun’s rays slanted sideways through the budding leaves and narrow branches at our backs. Summer’s honey highlights caught a sharp glint, framing her face like a halo.