Page 2 of Second Chance Spring in Paradise

True love and a stellar career as a bestselling author doesn’t feel impossible in this moment. I can have both, can’t I? Nothing feels out of reach while I’m sitting in Mother Nature’s Jacuzzi enjoying the sounds of singing birds, rustling leaves, and rippling water. I feel the tension leave my mind and body in equal measure and something else comes in to fill those spaces—hope maybe. Confidence. Peace. Story ideas.

I realize that I feel fully alive for the first time since things with Dan and me went south.

For ten minutes or more, I relish the peace. Then the breeze picks up again; only this time it’s a full-on gust that doesn’t stop until my clothes and towel are on the ground, a few feet further away from me than they were before. Not exactly what I had in mind for a new start, but I decide not to take the wind’s antics personally. I push myself up and gingerly make my way across the rocks out of the pool.

I grab my glasses, step over my tennis shoes and pad my way over tiny pebbles to my towel and clothes. But an even stronger gust travels down the crevice the spring is tucked into, whistling through and shaking branches until it skirts up my backside and reaches my things before I do. My skin barely has time to prickle before the wind picks up my clothes, tosses them around, then flings them away.

This time I do take the wind’s pranks personally. How else can I explain the way it picks up my towel and ALL of my clothes?

A tree catches my t-shirt in one of its higher branches, a juniper bush further up the hill grabs my leggings, and an outcropping of yellow wildflowers even further away tries my daisy-print bra on for size, making a lovely bouquet. My panties are nowhere to be seen after they crest the peak of the steep deer trail that leads to the spring.

My towel, however, is too heavy to get far and is almost within reach. I press my arm across my boobs and chase after it. But this wind thinks it’s pretty funny. Just as I reach my towel, Jokey McWindy carries it up the trail, tumbling it around in the dirt like a careless toddler would with a favorite blanket.

I glance between my shoes by the side of the pool and my towel. They’re equally far from me, but the trail only gets rockier, so I go for the shoes first. I shove my wet, dirty feet into the bright pink-and-orange Hokas, and by the time I’m charging up the slope again, my towel is out of sight. I could go for my clothes first, but my bra is the only thing anywhere within reach, and there are sticker weeds keeping sharp watch over the wildflowers holding my bra captive.

The whistling wind now sounds like huffs of laughter. It pulls my topknot of hair loose and blows it right into my face.

I’m out of breath as I reach the top of the slope. My shoes are full of dirt and tiny rocks, but I can see my towel a few feet off the trail, tangled in a tall thistle weed.

I gingerly step toward it. At the same time, twigs snap behind me, and I whip my head around. The lower branches of the giant limber pine that guards the trail are moving, and not from the wind. Before I can cover myself with anything more than my hands, a man in a cowboy hat steps around the branches onto the open path.

With his chin tipped down, the rim of his hat blocks his view of me. For now. I scan the surrounding space looking for a giant tree or building or something—ANYTHING,that might magically appear for me to hide behind.

Of course, there’s nothing. I’ve already used up my allotment of wishes today on a stupid second chance. And this is what I got. A second chance to rethink where I leave my clothes and a lot of other recent life choices.

I take a couple careful steps off the path and reach for my towel, but the monster weed clutches it with a hundred thorny hands. I tug. It tugs back.

Fortunately, Cowboy keeps his head down. But with the way things are going, there’s only so long my luck will hold.

With nothing to hide behind besides this waist-high, scraggly weed, my only choice is to squat behind it. I take another step off the trail, sending up a desperate wish for Cowboy to leave without looking up.

One more step and I’ll be safe-ish.

Suddenly sharp pain shoots through the bottom of my foot, and I let out an involuntary yelp. Cowboy’s head bolts up. Our eyes meet, his jaw drops, and I drop down, forgetting the pain from whatever has made it's way into my shoe.

I'm rewarded with a sticker in my… tush, which sends me right back to standing.

“Ma’am,” Cowboy says looking down again and shifting side to side. “These belong to you?”

He holds up his hands and unballs the fabric in them in perfect synch with my realization that what he’s holding does belong to me.

It’s my panties.

Cowboy is holding my panties.

And, of course, in the same moment that he holds up my underwear and we both realize what they are, his eyes drift up again. I am directly in his line of sight, even with my opaque, borderline-granny panties in front of his face. Our eyes meet, and the only thing I can think of is that it’s been a minute since I’ve shaved.

That thought is followed quickly by another.

If this is the universe’s idea of a meet-cute, it is, quite possibly, the worst meet-cute ever.

Chapter 2

Rowdy

I didn’t think this day could hold any more surprises, but life really is a lot like a bucking bronc. Soon as you think you’ve got it under control, it’ll throw you.

I’ve got to tip my hat to the powers that be today, though, because as far as surprises go, the naked woman is a nice touch. Wasn’t expecting that. Especially not one as pretty as the blonde with windblown hair desperately trying to cover her… self.

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