Page 5 of A Whisper of Summer Magic

“Home,” she said automatically. No ER for her. “The farmhouse.”

Even that felt like an impossible distance as she’d walked to the orchards instead of taking the Gator.

With his arm slipping around her back, he helped her to sit up, making her feel even older and more out of shape, which she wasn’t exactly.

His face was closer to hers, and she tried not to breathe him in or notice how unfairly long his darkish lashes were, and how they curled at the tips, which should have looked feminine but instead just seemed like a poke in her stomach as if any woman would miss the power of those clear, light blue eyes, graced by thick, straight brows and all set in a mischievous angel face framed by golden-brown, sun-streaked hair that could have used a trim a month ago. His tousled hair skimmed his sculpted jaw that actors and millionaires paid money for, and Jackson ran his fingers carelessly through his hair, making her want to sigh.

She was being ridiculous. Maybe she did have a head injury. Jessica preened and flirted with hotties, not her.

As if oblivious to her mortifying hyper-Jackson awareness, he had her track his finger. She did. Thought about biting it but didn’t. Then she stuck out her tongue, earning another smile.

“Welcome home, I guess,” she said since his grandmother had been G. Millie’s closest neighbor growing up. His grandparents still lived there, in a small, rundown mill-style house on several overgrown acres. Jackson and his mom had moved in with them when he’d still been a kid. She wasn’t sure if he’d moved back after his stint in the army or not, but she knew her father had griped for years because he’d wanted to develop the rest of Cramer Mountain. G. Millie had refused to sell the homestead farm to her son, and apparently Jackson’s grandparents had somehow held on to their property as the rest of the mountain had bloomed with massive, expensive homes on one- to two-acre estates, a private golf course and clubhouse, pool, tennis courts and award-winning restaurant.

Jackson prodded the back of her head and then, satisfied, he helped her to her feet, urging her to slowly put weight on her ankle. She couldn’t.

“My house is closer,” he stated the obvious. “I can drive you home.”

He swept her up in his arms without warning. “Hey.” She squeaked—totally unlike her.

He smiled. “Welcome home, yourself, Meghan.” His smile was amused and did something unholy to her body.

And then he winked.

*

“Really, I’m fine,”Meghan clung to the last of her patience, but she could feel it tattering down to her ankles, much like her ruined dress.

The ER at Piedmont Medical Center had been slammed, but she’d hopped to the front of the line, not due to her Maye name—nope, not this time—but because Jackson knew everyone. She’d been carried in—subtly as a celebrity.

Of course he did. Small town. Home-boy hero. Former soldier. Paramedic. Firefighter. Former high school quarterback. Handsome as a demon.

And everyone on staff, especially the female nurses and ER docs and technicians, not only knew him but also liked him. There had been much joking, casual flirting, and discussion of weekend plans including meeting up for drinks after seven on the deck of the Wild Side.

Barely anyone had spoken to her, the patient. She’d felt like a stranger in her hometown and in her body. Irrelevant. Jackson had explained the accident and listed his concerns. He answered the questions fired at him as if she had as much sentience as a sack of russet potatoes. Meghan struggled to hide her embarrassment, irritation, and humiliation even as her alarm grew in proportion to her painfully swelling ankle.

She did not want to make a scene in case someone got a big idea to call her parents or one of her sisters.

Meghan had been stripped of the sweatpants and T-shirt Jackson had loaned her when he’d carried her to his grandparents’ house on Maymont Drive and then tricked her—driving her to the ER instead of back to the farmhouse. And even though she hadn’t seen him in well over a decade, he’d been consulted about her sprained ankle, two cracked ribs, deeply bruised hip, and a knot at the back of her head that might be—but probably wasn’t—a concussion.

The doctor’s declaration that she’d need to be observed for twenty-four hours had been the cherry on top of the unappetizing sundae.

“I thought attorneys made their money with words,” Jackson said breezily as he helped her through the front door of the farmhouse—finally.

His scary-looking dog padded at Jackson’s six, and Meghan had the eerie feeling the dog was protecting her. She was only here for the weekend, and Jessica would freak if there was dog hair on the sofa. But she’d been released because Jackson said he’d check on her—not that she had any intention of him lingering, but she’d be vacuuming for months, if he didn’t take his Belgium Malinois named Whiskey, and go. He’d said Whiskey was a retired military dog and highly trained, but a dog couldn’t be trained not to shed.

“Home sweet home,” Jackson said, and it was too much trouble to correct him, but hadn’t that been part of the reason she’d come this weekend? To get a feel for the farmhouse, the orchards, the berries? To see if it would feel more like home than her townhouse in Charlotte’s South End where she slept—but did little else—when she wasn’t traveling to troubleshoot negotiations with clients.

She could feel the adrenaline ebb to nothing and could barely keep her eyes open.

“We lawyers make our money with keen strategy, honed work ethics, knife-edge sharp writing, fierce determination, and confrontational arguing, when necessary.”

“Figured.” Jackson smiled. “But you’re not going to win this one.”

“Want to bet?”

“Sure,” he said, his voice light. “I’m not opposed to a sure thing, but I prefer a challenge and Cammie, Doc Wilson, said…”

Meghan practically rolled her eyes. Cammie was friends with her sister, Sarah. They’d attended medical school together. Cammie was apparently a cougar because she’d reminded Jackson about the get-together tonight at the Wild Side, which he absolutely should go to instead of playing nurse with his dog.

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