Page 23 of One Scorching Summer

“It’s only fair, Jorja. I comfortable dealin' with you, but behind you is Ogden-Keller. If your father balks, well, let Jamison know that I, as the representative of the Carpenter Ranch LLC, will negotiate with you only, not him. We all know there are other outfits interested in the ranch. We’ll go with one of them if our demands aren’t met. That’s my leverage. All the cards are out on the table. You fight for me and for our ranch. For our families. For you and me. Do I have your word?”

“Yes,” she said, ecstatic, committed to ending the fruitless hostility.

She and Rake could do this, yet nervousness circled like brackish water. Her father’s reaction and the guarantee of her mother piling on—influenced by his domineering personality—guaranteed an ugly fight.But you can win this, and you will.

Rake drove one of the paved ranch roads back to the main entry of the property, with Cody and Skye following. He chuckled as they passed the spot where Jorja had made herfirst impression. “Woman, how we met is seared into my brain forever.”

Jorja looked away from him, once again experiencing discomfiture.You need to get over it or you can’t move forward.

At the main house, Cody waved goodbye and left.

Skye trotted over and hugged Jorja. “I’m leaving tomorrow but hope to see you before I go to college.” She side-bumped Rake and trotted off.

He stared at Skye as she ran up the stairs and disappeared into the house. “Well, that was subtle.”

Jorja snagged the messenger bag after climbing out of the UTV. What a wild morning—a massive storm, sheltering in a cellar under one of the hunting cabins, hours of close proximity with Rake, and the tentative agreement on an enormous lease.

Rake looked up from his phone. “It looks to be all clear for your drive. The gas is topped off? Your phone is charged?”

“Yes.”

Suddenly, Skye was back and between them with an insulated lunch bag. “Here,” she said, thrusting it at Jorja. “For the drive. Four iced waters, two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on sourdough. Ruffled chips. They’re my favorite. Carrot sticks. They’re from the garden, which my uncle promised to tend while I’m gone. Oh, and Rake’s to die for oatmeal chocolate chip cookies, which is why I packed the extra water. Eating only one cookie is impossible.”

Jorja couldn’t remember the last time anyone had packed her a meal. “Skye. How on earth?”

“I had it ready for tomorrow’s trip, well, except the water because you know, you can’t take full bottles on planes. I figured you can eat and drive. It might make the time go faster. You can get the bag to Rake sometime later this week.”

Jorja hugged Skye and watched Rake, who was rubbing the back of his neck and gazing out at the distance. “Thank you for your thoughtfulness.”

Skye stepped back and looked from Jorja to Rake. “Okay … I’m really going. See you Jorja. Soon.” She raced to the house.

Rake laced his fingers with Jorja’s and walked her to the truck. “This is how I want to proceed. Cody will handle things on my end. Thanks for your time and for hangin' in there. Be careful goin' home.”

Not so happy with his farewell, she pulled her hand from his, pivoted on her heel, and reached for the truck’s handle.

A broad hand covered hers, stopping further movement. “Jorja.” Rake cupped her shoulder, turned her about-face, and pressed her to him. His eyes searched hers and then dropped to her lips. The kiss lingered. Slow and soft.

Wanting more, she surrendered to his kiss, its warm passionate energy, and their shared breath until he drew back, breathing heavy like her.

He and planted a kiss on her forehead. “I've been clear that I want you, Jorja. You want me, too, but there’s a generational dissension to address and the lease to finalize. I’m not comfortable with anything more until all that we discussed today is settled. It would feel wrong, and I want us to start on a clean slate.”

I want us to start on a clean slate.Yes. His words rang true. She wanted the same. “Okay.” Jorja hoped upon hope.

CHAPTER SIX

Tuesday, Landry …

Jorja should have expected it. Her father had berated her in front of others in the front office weeks earlier, when she asked to approach the Carpenter Ranch, making her feel as if she was delusional. This time was no different. She pivoted smartly on her Manolos and marched out of their headquarters, quaking, but with her head held high, not shedding one tear until she was safe in her townhome.

Her father’s demeaning treatment continued during the required weekly family dinner that night in front of Clem, who was visiting for a few days, her mother, and their cook and staff. It only strengthened her resolve.

“I’ve discovered I’m not hungry. Thank you for dinner.” She stood and set her napkin by her plate.

After waltzing out of the dining room, Jorja and drove to her place where she changed from the knee-length pink eyelet sheath, natural espadrille wedges, and minimal gold jewelry to an old tee and shorts. She opened a very nice Cabernet.

Clem arrived shortly thereafter with his duffel bag. “I’m only here for a few days and I’d rather it be time with you. I’m spending the night.” After changing into gym shorts and a rattyt-shirt, he poured himself a glass of wine and joined her on the veranda. Soothing jazz played through a Bluetooth speaker. “You’ve got this, sis.” He dropped into the chair across from her, took a sip, and swallowed slowly. “This is exceptional.”

“I might have filched it from Mom and Dad.”

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