Page 25 of The Convict Gets His Girl

"Too scared," Jewel corrected softly, reaching out to stroke Medusa's mane. They sat there together, bound by the past but anchored firmly in the present, ready to usher in new life as the storm raged on outside.

ChapterNine

Jewel stepped out of the tight single toilet closet in the corner of the barn's tack room and washed her hands with the industrial hand sanitizer on the wall. Her feet ached in these heels, now muddy after hours in the barn, and the hay was making her skin itchy.

Rain drummed steadily on the barn roof, a staccato rhythm that was as comforting as it was relentless. Medusa's delivery was progressing nicely, and her dad and Gemma had stopped by to check on both the mare and Jewel. Exhausted and headache still present, she'd asked Gemma to stay with Medusa so she could go home with their dad.

Henry and Ava had both shot that plan down, insisting she see the job through. Gemma had frowned and when the elders had walked away, asking, "Can you make it? I'll do it if you really need me to."

Jewel had sighed and shaken her head. "No, I'll see it through." She had to prove to her dad and sister that she could be a valuable part of the practice. Only Gemma knew about her Lyme diagnosis. She didn't want dear old Dad treating her differently. Well, not treat her differently than he already did. Everyone knew Gemma was his favorite.

Jewel felt the tension in her shoulders ease slightly as she stepped out of the tiny bathroom and into the dimness of the aisle. She glanced up to see Chase making his way toward her, carrying a tray filled with food in one hand and a pair of boots in the other. His shirt clung to him like a second skin and dripped water, outlining muscles that hadn't been there in their youth.

She stumbled in her wedge heel sandals, her mouth going dry at the sight of him.

"Hey," he called softly, raising his voice just enough to be heard over the rain. He set the tray down onto a nearby bale of hay, droplets from his soaked shirt splattering onto the ground. "Thought you might be hungry."

"Thanks, Chase," Jewel murmured, taking a seat on the hay bale and picking up a sandwich. It was simple—ham and cheese with a generous helping of mustard—the kind she had always preferred. She closed her eyes and hummed appreciation.

"Glad you're still a fan of mustard. When Ma made the sandwiches, I added it." His smile was calm and satisfied with himself, and Jewel smiled back, surprised by his memory.

"Always a fan of mustard. It's the spice of life," she said between bites, the tangy flavor grounding her amidst the swirl of memories the night had brought.

Chase chuckled, a low, warm sound. "You're the spice of life, my Jewel. Always have been and always will be."

Jewel choked on her sandwich, and he passed her a bottle of water. What the hell? He couldn't just go around saying things like that. He was a flirt, just like always. He hadn't changed a bit.

She chose to ignore the comment and deflect to him. "You know, you could easily win a wet t-shirt contest right now," she teased, gesturing at his drenched attire and deflecting like a pro.

He waggled his brows and struck a pose that was worthy of any photo shoot, running his hands through his hair. "Want to step outside and get wet with me? We can dance in the rain, then we'll see which of us wins the wet t-shirt contest."

"Please." Jewel laughed, shaking her head. "I'm pretty sure moms are disqualified from those things."

"Disqualified?" Chase's eyebrows shot up in mock indignation. "Jewel, you'd take the crown easily. You're every bit as stunning as you were back then. More so, maybe, with curves I never dreamed of."

Heat crept into her cheeks, and she looked away, the sudden intimacy and sincerity of his words sending her heart skittering. The air between them seemed charged, thick with unspoken thoughts and the remnants of a past too complex to unravel.

"Sorry," he said after a moment, his voice softer. "Didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. How was the spaghetti at lunch? Did you enjoy it?"

"Delicious," Jewel replied, though her word came out more awkward than she intended. "Not the best for my stomach, though. These days, I have to stick to healthier options. That pasta is going to haunt me later."

"Ah, I get it. My stomach can be a finicky thing too. After all the years of bland, starchy prison food, I crave all the flavor I can get, but it usually tears my stomach up," Chase confessed, a shadow passing over his features. "You wouldn't believe how good it feels to taste spices again. Makes the heartburn almost worth it."

"What did they feed you in there?" she asked as she finished her sandwich.

Something vulnerable flickered across his face. "No one's asked about that time… except for maybe my therapist and parole officer."

His gaze met hers, intense and raw. In that look, Jewel saw layers of hardship and longing—a man remade by time and trials. She realized just how much they both had changed, how life had shaped them in ways neither could have predicted.

"Chase, I—" Jewel began, but the words snagged in her throat. There was so much she wanted to say, so many questions that yearned for answers. She'd lost so much time with him and wanted to know everything about him. The more she saw him, the more she wanted to see, learn, understand.

If the past repeated itself, her need to know more about him would lead to a dangerous place where she craved him all day and night. She was a damn adult now. She couldn't afford to moon over a man, much less her ex-boyfriend's brother.

And possibly the father of her daughter. She didn't want Destini or anyone else to get their hopes up. Based on how Ava was throwing her together with Hunter, she suspected the woman would throw her at Chase too, if he would help keep Destini closer.

Jewel wanted to bridge the gap between them, to delve into the depths of Chase's experiences and understand the man he had become. But her courage faltered, and she remained mute, the weight of her curiosity and adult responsibilities heavy stones pounding against each other in her chest.

The gravity of his stare and their shared history held her silent, their past and present colliding in the quiet space of the barn. The silence stretched between them, filling the barn with a tension that seemed to pulse with the rhythm of the rain drumming on the metal roof.

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