Page 3 of Reuniting with the Mountain Man

Again, I had to rip my gaze off her as I stepped away and headed down the hallway, following the signs. I passed the banquet room and spa before reaching the restaurant that overlooked the pool area.

The bartender put my scotch and soda in a plastic cup after I told him I was heading out to sit by the pool. Then, drink in hand, I settled onto one of the Adirondack chairs next to a tiki torch. I sighed as I enjoyed the sound of the waterfall cascading over a group of large rocks next to the pool.

All that was left to do was wait.

My mind automatically drifted to a night seven years ago—the night I’d gone out to sit on my back porch and saw an eighteen-year-old walking a little white puppy on a leash. I couldn’t help but smile as I remembered the way Makenna Shelton had worked her way into my heart. As it turned out, she was still there.

3

MAKENNA

He was too old for me.

That was my first thought when I saw Jesse Turner that summer. He was twenty-eight and I was eighteen. He looked young for his age, but that wasn’t the case now. Back then, he’d been much smaller framed, although he always had muscles on him, thanks to working outdoors with his hands most of his life.

He wasn’t too old now. Twenty-five and thirty-five weren’t nearly as far apart in age as eighteen and twenty-eight. That was good news if it meant he wouldn’t treat me like a delicate young virgin like he did back then. Our kisses had been mind-blowing, but he’d been holding back, keeping his hands off all the parts of my body I wanted him to touch. And when my hands started to drift, he’d stopped things.

Yes, he’d been the perfect gentleman. I wanted him to be anything but.

Jesse was sitting directly in front of the pool when I arrived with a cup of pineapple juice mixed with lemon-lime soda in my right hand. He held a similar cup, but I was betting his had alcohol in it. I still had to make the five-mile trek home, so alcohol wasn’t an option.

“Hi,” I said as I approached.

He looked over with wide eyes. The sound from the fountain had no doubt drowned out my approaching footsteps. But then he smiled, his eyelids growing a little droopier. He was more relaxed than he’d been earlier, which probably meant the alcohol was kicking in.

“Second one.” He lifted the cup. “I guess I needed it after that eight-hour drive.”

My heart sank at the same time my butt sank into the chair. An eight-hour drive? That meant he lived even farther away than before.

“You did all that in one day?” I asked, staring straight ahead. “That’s a long drive on a motorcycle.”

I probably should find an excuse to get out of here, even if it was the opposite of what I wanted to do. The more time I spent with him, the more likely I’d fall back in love with him. I couldn’t let that happen. Not if he was leaving after Biker Blast.

But I didn’t budge. Instead, I took a sip from my drink and waited for his response.

“Wouldn’t travel any other way,” he said.

I looked over at him. His features had settled into a relaxed, almost blissful state. Upon closer inspection, I noticed it was from exhaustion, not alcohol—though maybe that was in the mix too.

“How long have you been into biking?” I asked.

The question carried an ulterior motive. I still couldn’t tell if he recognized me or not, but he hadn’t asked for my name. Maybe that was a sign he knew exactly who I was. And maybe my question would get him to admit it.

“Just a few years,” he said. “Started as something I did on weekends, but then I’d go on these group trips with local guys. A group of us joined a regional motorcycle club and soon I was way more into biking than I ever thought I’d be.”

Yeah, he still didn’t recognize me, and I couldn’t decide if I should tell him who I was. The longer I went without mentioning it, the harder it would be when I finally did.

But I couldn’t bring myself to say the words. Maybe it was because I didn’t want him to see me as that chubby, baby-faced eighteen-year-old. I wanted him to see me as a woman. A voluptuous twenty-five-year-old he wanted to…boink.

“I’ve never ridden a bike before,” I admitted. “Well, unless you include the bicycle I had when I was eight.”

“Did you grow up around here?” he asked.

It was official. He definitely had no idea who I was. Did I even look familiar? Could a person change that much in seven years? My features had become more angular, and my hair was now blonde instead of my natural brunette. That changed my look considerably.

I’d recognized him immediately, though. He had to at least think I resembled the girl he’d met in this very town when he was in his twenties.

“Nashville,” I said. “Well, the suburbs of Nashville. A town called Donelson.”

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