Page 15 of Second Chance Spring in Paradise

“Wow,” I whisper.

“Told ya.”

“Yes, you did.” To be fair to my Pacific Coast sunsets, they are as beautiful as this one. It’s everything else that takes my breath away. The emptiness of Paradise Valley compared to the Los Angeles Basin. The clusters of pine trees in the distance whose branches make arrows pointing toward the sky, even as they grow darker and less discernable with every inch the sun sinks. The houses spaced far enough apart that, as their lights grow more visible, make the valley look like it’s filling with stars.

It’s a different kind of beautiful than I’m used to. That’s what takes my breath away.

As the last rays of light disappear, leaving Rowdy and me shrouded in the cobalt blue of early nightfall, I turn to him. “That’s the kind of beautiful I wish I could find the words to describe. I’d put them on paper so everyone who missed this sunset could see it.” I look back to the spot in the distance where the sun sank behind the hills. “Does that make sense? I guess it’s the writer in me.”

“I’m no writer, but I’ve got an idea of what you mean. Beauty takes more than just your breath away.” Rowdy’s eyes are on me, and a happy flush rises to my cheeks.

I shift my weight to lean closer to him, wanting the warmth back that came from wrapping my arms around his waist. “I’m glad you brought me here.”

He inches closer. “I’m glad the sun cooperated and put on a show.”

Our shoulders touch. The sleeves of his jacket hang almost past my fingers, but Rowdy finds my fingertips and brushes his across them, sending tiny tremors through my body.

“You cold?” His words tickle my ear, leaving me breathless.

I shake my head and lace the tips of my fingers through his. “I should ask you that. You’re the one without a jacket.” His hand is icy, and I lean into him, like my shivering body might warm him up.

He huffs a laugh. “Takes a lot more than a cool summer night to make an Idaho boy cold. It’s you Californians we have to worry about freezing to death when the temp drops below sixty degrees.”

I nod. There’s no way to argue with that. “It’s true. I pull out a parka when it gets this cold in California.”

Rowdy lets out another soft laugh. “Let’s get you home then, before I have to give you any more of my clothes.” He hooks a finger around one of mine and walks me to the bike.

“I am seeing a trend here. I promise it’s not intentional.” I swing my leg over the seat and scoot back while he gets situated in front of me. I wait long enough for him to start the engine before I slide my hands around his waist.

He takes my hands and pulls them tighter around him. “Hold on. I’m not taking it slow anymore.”

Then he peels out of the turnoff onto the road, kicking up gravel behind us. I press my face into his back and smile.

I really hope he’s not just talking about his motorcycle.

Chapter 8

Rowdy

I take Tessa all the way around the lake, past Fish Haven, Mormon Junction, and every other blip of a town along the way. Everything is closed, and only the stars and houses interspersed along the way give us light. I should be cold, but just the thought of Tessa pressed against my back keeps me warm. The bike is too loud to make much conversation, and the total drive takes an hour, but there’s never a moment of awkwardness. She feels like she belongs there, on the back of my bike.

Or maybe on the front of it, with everything she knows about motorcycles. Obviously, just because she knows every important detail about my bike doesn’t mean she knows how to drive it, but she’s definitely driving my heart to places it hasn’t been. If Tessa knows anything about horses, then I’m going to have to take back everything I’ve ever said about love not being for me.

And there’s a big part of me that really hopes she knows horses.

There’s an even bigger part that’s telling me I shouldn’t care either way.

By the time we get back to The Garden of Eatin’, it’s way past my bedtime. Years of getting up at the crack of dawn to feed cows and horses and do other chores around my family’s small ranch have made me an early bird. I park next to the last car left in the parking lot with California plates—there’s always more than one during the summer season—assuming it’s Tessa’s. She looks like a VW bug kind of girl.

I shut off the engine while Tessa climbs off the bike and hands me her helmet. I take mine off, pack them both into my bike’s storage, and grab my Bronc Riding Nation cap. Once I’ve got my helmet hair covered with my favorite hat that’s not a Stetson, I notice the noise coming from The Garden of Eatin’.

Even though the restaurant is closed for the night, music spills from the open windows to the outdoor patio. Adam and the guys must be playing. He, his brothers, and their cousin Sebastian used to perform together before Adam followed Dakota to Salt Lake and then New York. They put the band back together when Adam and Dakota came back to Paradise in January. I’m not surprised they’re jamming tonight. Dakota always said, the only place Adam’s feelings really come out is when he’s playing guitar.

“Is that a live band?” Tessa asks, facing the restaurant while she slips off my jacket.

“Yep. Adam and his family.” Although I’m pretty sure I don’t hear a second guitar. Zach must not be playing with them.

Tessa’s smiles at me over her shoulder, taking my breath away. “Can we go in and listen?”

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