Cocky Cowboy: A Second Chance Romance (Cocker Brothers of Atlanta Book 3) Page 4

  For a whole second.

  “You were.”

  “Jaxson!”

  Laughing, I pulled off some bark and tossed it as far as I could as though I were skipping rocks on a docile stream. She started to do the same, but her fingers faltered. I glanced over and saw she was staring down at the tree, not happy.

  “I was just messing with you, Rachel,” I said, thinking she was mad at me.

  I secretly hated when she was mad at me, even though I needled her any chance I could get.

  With her eyes locked on the resistant piece of bark she listlessly told me, “We’re moving away, Jaxson.”

  I blinked and stared at her for a long moment. “Where?”

  “New York. My dad got a job there.”

  I pulled off a larger piece and there was a sinking in my stomach as I tossed it. “That’s far away.”

  Her eyes rose to meet mine. “Yeah.”

  She and I picked at the bark for a long time while cicadas chirped unseen in the darkness. I sat on that branch with Rachel Sawyer feeling like something bad was happening but there was nothing I could do about it.

  “We should go.”

  “Okay,” she unhappily whispered. Sniffling, she looked at me and asked, “Will you help me down, Jaxson?”

  She’d never asked for help before and it made her leaving feel real. “Sure,” I whispered, my mind on a future without Rachel.

  Rachel

  I can’t stop fidgeting. Even reading a book on my Kindle didn’t calm me down. I couldn’t focus on the story and that never happens to me. Ever. Books are my escape. I lean into them with the relief of an athlete after a hard game when they soak their aching muscles and let the battle wash off their souls.

  But for me the battle is simply day-to-day life.

  Books can usually make all my troubles disappear, except when my boyfriend ends things, leaving me to sweep up the ashes while my parents watched. What a nightmare that was.

  “I’m sorry, Ellen. I was really looking forward to this weekend of getting to know you.” he’d lied when I followed him downstairs to meekly watch him catch his Lyft. “But this case my firm is working on just took a turn for the worse and I have to get back.”

  He left the rest to their imaginations.

  Which of course as soon as his taillights vanished twisted it into, “He works too hard, Rachel. He’s like your father was. And you know that nearly ruined us.”

  “Now Ellen,” Dad defended, his voice harsh.

  “John, remember Tanya?”

  He shut up at the reminder of the mistress who almost broke my parent’s marriage into bloody pieces, eight years ago. Then Mom turned back to me.

  “When you’re young you think work is sooooo important, but Rachel honey, take my life experience for every drop of gold it’s worth. Life is about the time spent together. That’s what matters!”

  Deciding to drown this anxiety with attempted sleep I pull the comforter back, forgetting I’m still in my dress.

  A pebble hits my window.

  I straighten up like a shot and drop the blanket.

  I haven’t heard that sound since I was a kid.

  “No,” I whisper. “It can’t be.”

  My heart beats faster as I wait for the rest of a coded signal Jaxson and I thought up at age eight, one I’d completely forgotten about until now.

  Two more pebbles hit the glass, one right after the other.

  My hand floats up to parted lips as I stare at the gauzy curtain. “Okay, that can’t be a coincidence.”

  Three more pebbles hit it.

  That’s it. Our signal.

  Gasping, I rush to look.

  A mirage is staring up at me, work boots firmly planted on my parent’s lawn. I’ve seen that head craned up so many times, but in a smaller face with boyish features. Long gone, they’ve been replaced with a grown man’s rugged stubble, sharp lines and eyes that have seen hardship and joys I’ve been left out of.

  I yank the window up, a gust of wind lifting my hair. Silently I mouth, “How did you know I was here?!”

  He mouths back, slowly, so I can read his lips, “Is the douche bag with you?”

  On a stifled smile I hesitate, then shake my head.

  He waves me down, mouthing, “Come on!”

  Come on…

  Just like he always used to say.

  Slipping my heels back on, I swear under my breath, and then past the quiet of my parent’s bedroom and down the stairs I tiptoe.

  Just like I always used to do.

  Suddenly I’m no longer thirty-two.

  I’m eight, nine and ten.

  And I could get grounded.

  Ever so slowly I close the front door behind me and turn to find him waiting, dangerously close to me.

  Seeing Jaxson Cocker standing here so tall on my parent’s new porch in a house I’ve never slept in until this weekend, feels incredibly strange and familiar.

  His deep voice takes me again by surprise as he asks in his lowest volume, “They didn’t want you staying in the same room?”

  “He went back to New York. We…had a fight.”

  “Did you punch him, too?”

  I can’t help but smile. “No.”

  Jaxson blinks to my lips. “All bark no bite, that’s always been you.”

  “What are you doing here, Jaxson?”

  Without warning, he takes me by the arm. I’m expecting him to guide me to the small park just up the road like the old days, but instead he stops on the lawn an audibly safer distance from the house, and asks me in the strangest voice, “Do you love him?”

  Stunned, my lips slowly part. “That’s a very direct question.”

  “Yes or no.”

  Never leaving his eyes, I whisper a true, “Yes.”

  He huffs, lips tight. “So you won’t come with me right now.”

  “To the park?”

  “To my house.”

  I whisper, “To your house?” shocked.

  That’s a much deeper invitation than sneaking off as children, platonic because you’re too young to be anything else.

  We’re both thirty-two now.

  Jaxson Cocker was always terribly cute when he was a boy, but he has grown into the type of man who has undoubtedly had dozens of women in his bed who never tell him no, which is what I’m thinking as jealousy flies into my veins from out of nowhere.

  “To your house,” I repeat like I want to make sure I heard him right.

  “Yes. Now.” He’s staring at me like the answer should be obvious.

  “You’re very sure of yourself,” I mutter.

  “What?” he frowns. “No, I just want to see you. Spend a little time with you. See how you’ve been.”

  From the chemistry crackling between our bodies I know that’s a load of crap. And even though I know this, I have this crazy urge to throw myself into his arms. It’s killing me that the two feet of distance between us feels way too far.

  “Oh Jaxson…” I cover my face with both hands, aching to say yes. He says nothing, waiting for me to decide on my own what I want.

  If I go to his house, we won’t be just talking.

  It’s all over his face and the way his muscles are tense like he wants to pounce on me right now. Like he’s struggling against the same urge I am.

  My body is screaming to accept him in.

  His bedroom eyes are impossible to deny.

  I can’t do this.

  I think we should take a break…

  “I shouldn’t.”

  “No, you shouldn’t,” Jaxson grimly agrees. “And I shouldn’t be asking you.”

  “As if that’s ever stopped you,” I mutter to the lawn.

  He reaches out and lifts my chin, forcing me to look at him again. “Rachel. Why did I run into you?”

  “I don’t know!”

  With calloused fingers holding me steady, he stares into my eyes like he’s about to kiss me come hell or high water.

  I try to object.
>
  I open my mouth to speak.

  No words come out.

  Jaxson leans in so close that the sexy heat of his breath brushes my lips.

  “How did you leave it?”

  “Oh God, Jaxson, I can’t.”

  “How?”

  “We’re…taking a break.”

  “Come on.” He takes my hand, leading my reluctant heels hobbling on the grass toward a black Jeep parked ahead.

  Come on. Come on. Come on.

  Those two words dictated the favorite memories of my childhood.

  They made me feel special that Jaxson, the boy who needed no one, wanted to spend his free time with me.

  I also got into more trouble following those three words than any little girl should.

  But I’m not a child anymore. I can resist Jaxson Cocker if I try.

  I tug away from his hold, feeling a chill rush into my arm at the loss of his touch. Ignoring the unexpected sensation I set my jaw firm and tell him, “I can’t.”

  We stand here at the edge on the front lawn, staring at each other like we wish we were naked. I’ve never felt this type of chemistry before.

  Jaxson takes a step closer.

  I take one back.

  He rakes fingers through his thick sandy-brown hair and cuts an angry look to me.

  No, it’s not angry.

  It’s desperate.

  “Do you think this is a coincidence, Rachel? You coming to that market today? My being there?”

  “I…”

  “Because I wasn’t supposed to be there! I’m part of a co-op. That cheese originates from my farm but I don’t make it. I sell the milk to other people who do, and they sell it at markets. I was helping out a sick friend today.”

  Embarrassed about Ryan, I overlap his speech, stammering to explain, “—If you’re trying to defend yourself because he called you a loser, please stop! He only said that because he saw something between us, whatever this is.” I motion in the air from his body to mine. “I know you’re not a loser, Jaxson! There’s nothing wrong with hard work.”

  I gasp as he closes the distance, his voice a low rasp as he looms over me looking absolutely gorgeous. “I punched him because when it comes to that douche bag, I am the loser.”

  “Jaxson—”

  “—Not because of what I’m doing with my life, but because he has you.” Off my shock, his voice shifts. “Rachel, I don’t work those things unless I have to. I hate crowds. I wasn’t meant to be there! Or maybe I was. I’m not going to talk you into anything. I don’t even know what I’m doing here. This can only end badly.” Pulling out his keys Jaxson heads for his Jeep with his face contorted like he can’t believe he just said all that. His back is tense under the denim shirt and his hands are fists.

  As I watch him go my heart tears into two distinct shards – one half that’s committed to a man in New York City, and the other half walking across a quiet road in Georgia, never to be seen again if I walk away.

  Holding my breath the ache grows stronger, but I turn and head back to the porch. He’s right. It can only end in tears.

  Get in the house, Rachel.

  Keep walking.

  I wasn’t meant to be there.

  I hear the Jeep fire up and glance over my shoulder.

  Revving the engine from the driver’s seat Jaxson looks tortured as he mouths, “Come on.”

  I shake my head and continue to the sensible choice.

  The rumble of the Jeep must have woken my mom, because their upstairs window jerks open and out thrusts her confused face.

  I wasn’t meant to be there.

  His wheels squeal off the curb.

  She and I lock surprised gazes. She spots the Jeep and her eyes narrow then shift back to meet mine.

  Or maybe I was…

  An explosion in my bloodstream spins me around to sprint faster than I ever have in my life. “Jaxson! Wait! Stop!!”

  The running lights enflame bright red as he hits the brakes.

  My mother shouts into the quiet of the night. “Rachel! Where are you going?!!”

  I make it to his hood and lay my hands on it holding his eyes for a quick beat through the windshield before yelling to my mother, “Jaxson Cocker is a bad influence, Mom!”

  Hanging out the window so far she might fall out, she yells at the top of her lungs, “NO, RACHEL, DON’T!”

  But she’s too late.

  I jump in the passenger seat.

  He’s flooring the gas before the door’s even closed.

  The tires squeal triumph down the street as jasmine-scented wind whips through my hair.

  If this is a mistake, I’m making it.

  Rachel

  With our windows rolled down Jaxson and I drive over an hour, our silence charged with chemistry and consequences.

  Here I wanted a proposal this weekend.

  If Ryan had proposed on Friday, this wouldn’t be happening.

  Would it?

  I can’t say for sure that it would have stopped me, and that is deeply disturbing. This man to my left has a connection with me I’ve never been able to deny, and my sitting beside him right now after my mother was screaming for me not to go, is a testament.

  I glance over to the grown Jaxson Cocker beside me, seeing him as he was then, and also who he’s become. He owns a farm? He has cows? I guess that solitary, rural lifestyle makes sense knowing what a loner he always was.

  He only ever spent time with Jerald or I when we were children. The other boys at the school would have loved to have him as a friend. He was popular without a posse because he didn’t want one. He ignored kids who didn’t interest him, which was everyone outside of his brothers…and me.

  He never needed much to keep him happy back then. Sometimes just the quiet and other times outdoor adventures. And maybe pissing a few people off along the way.

  Which might be the reason I’m here now that I think about it.

  Jaxson hated Ryan on sight, standing for everything Jaxson isn’t, very much like how the teachers at our elite elementary school were. Buckhead is the ritziest neighborhood in Atlanta and our teachers were upper class and encouraged us to behave the same way.

  Jaxson was never impressed with material things or status symbols.

  And there Ryan was this morning wearing expensive everything, his hair fucking perfect, his shave close, calling Jaxson a loser.

  Clean, upscale snob meets rough, ready to fight, tattooed cowboy.

  Pissing Ryan off by absconding with his girlfriend is exactly the type of thing Jaxson would enjoy.

  Feeling my curious gaze resting on him Jaxson looks over to hold my look before turning back to the road with his strong, stubble-covered jaw clenching and unclenching. Just like my stomach.

  I turn my focus to the window but there is only darkness outside.

  After a while, he reaches over and touches my leg, then withdraws his hand and rests it on his own lap like he’s struggling with this, too.

  As I see his hand form a fist suddenly it settles into me that he’s not doing this to get back at my boyfriend, just for sport. He’s doing it because he has feelings for me.

  “Are you as freaked out as I am,” I whisper, wondering if I’m right.

  He frowns and murmurs, “Yes,” as the Jeep turns left onto a long driveway.

  The air crackles between us and I shiver with apprehension, scanning the pitch-black night until I make out an old two-story barn up ahead. To the right of it is a long one-level structure, separated by at least twenty feet, but I’m not good with distance. Could be longer. I squint at it and finally give up trying to figure out why, from the looks of it, he has two barns. Fences extend far in both directions and it’s impossible to see what is out there. The long driveway becomes bumpy as gravel replaces cement, punctured with jarring potholes created over time by the famously unpredictable and dramatic Georgia storms.

  The wheels come to a halt and dust fogs the air around us.

  If Ryan saw this pla
ce, he’d laugh his ass off. And if I didn’t know Jaxson from childhood I’d be scared shitless right now.

  “Wait there,” Jaxson says as I go for the handle. He comes around and opens my door, helping me down. When my heels are securely on uneven ground he still hasn’t let go of my hand. “Remember the oak tree that last night?” he asks.

  Staring into his eyes and knowing now I’m right about him caring for me, I whisper my answer, “Of course.”

  Jaxson nods satisfied he’s not the only one who remembers the night I told him we were moving. He heads for the two-story barn. As I follow him, I’m surprised to find gorgeous patio furniture tucked invitingly into an enclosed porch there. Behind them large glass windows on either side of the front door span the entire structure. They’re modern and almost floor to ceiling.

  It’s dark inside them so I can’t see anything else yet, but I’m beginning to believe this isn’t a barn after all, at least not anymore.

  He picks out the right key then looks over his broad shoulder. “I can’t believe I’m looking at you.”

  Without waiting for my response he lets us inside and my breath hitches with surprise at the sight. My eyebrows rise up as I walk around and take in all the little details of his home.

  This first level is a large, high-ceilinged, open space with a living room to the right and kitchen to the far left. Two things separate them, a gorgeous iron and wood kitchen that houses a stove and oven, with silver pots hanging over it.

  In the other direction an enormous steel and stone fireplace in front of a masculine, comfortable couch and worn dark chocolate leather chairs.

  To the left where the kitchen ends are stairs leading to the second story. Under it, beside the kitchen is a guest bathroom he motions to, asking if I need to use it.

  “I’m fine.”

  Square grey-brown wood beams are strategically placed throughout the lower floor. And now I know why the windows are so tall and run the entire front and south walls – they’re to enjoy the view of his property during daylight.

  A gorgeous dining table with heavy chairs on one side and a bench on the other is placed in the far corner, most likely to bask in the beauty when he starts his day.

  Everything is rustic in style but I know quality and this unique home is laden with it.