Page 32 of Score to Settle
I scrunch my eyes shut, frustration pulsing alongside my heartbeat. I meant what I said to Jake during our fight. I don’t know what I think anymore. Only that after a day of Jake’s grumpiness and avoidance, I need to get off this ranch. I need my life back. I throw on my workout clothes and grab my gym bag, hoping Mama meant what she said about me borrowing her truck. At the last minute, I snatch Jake’s sweatshirt from the chair and pull it over my head, breathing in the woodsy citrus scent of him.
I’m at the bedroom door when there’s a light tap on the wood and I open it to find Jake standing in the hallway. He’s wearing a Stormhawks baseball cap, sweats, and his usual playful smirk.
“Going somewhere?” he asks, nodding to my bag.
“The gym,” I reply, shooting him a defiant look that softens in a second. Maybe we both have some making up to do.
“Can you postpone?” He cocks an eyebrow. “I want to show you something.”
“What is it?” I ask.
He leans against the doorway, hands in his pockets. “It’s this thing I do once a month on a Saturday morning. It’s fun, I promise.”
So much for escaping. And yet I drop my gym bag without question and look down at my workout clothes.
“You’ll be fine wearing that,” he says, reading my mind. “Come on. I don’t want to be late.”
I follow him to his truck, my curiosity taking over my mood. Outside, the morning sun stretching over the mountains bathes the ranch in a soft glow. The air is icy cold. Frost glistens on the grass of the empty paddocks like scattered diamonds. The crunch of gravel beneath our feet is the only sound.
“It’s so beautiful here,” I say, my breath pluming in the cold air.
Jake’s feet slow and he follows my gaze over the ranch. “It’s my favorite place on earth.” A beat passes before he continues. “Playing for the Stormhawks is my dream. It has been for as long as I can remember. When we win—when I play well—it’s the best feeling in the world. When I have a bad game and the crowd turns against me, it’s like being kicked in the balls and I think of buying myself some horses and a cowboy hat and stepping away from football.”
I look up in surprise. “You ride?”
He shoots me a sideways glance and there’s amusement dancing in his eyes. When he turns to face me, the full height of him towers over me. “How many people do you know who live on a ranch and can’t ride, Cassidy?”
“How many ranches do you see without any horses?” I reply.
He laughs. “Good point.”
‘Why don’t you keep any animals here?” I ask. “It’s not like you don’t have the barn and the paddocks.”
Jake pulls his baseball cap from his head and runs a hand through his ruffled hair. His tone when he finally answers is brisk. “My dad was the rancher and he died.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, thinking of my mom and the photo of her on the fireplace at my dad’s house. The blue dress andwide smile I wish I could remember. I say nothing. Grief isn’t a competition.
“It was a long time ago. I miss him and I miss the horses. One day soon Dylan and I will be too old to play football. Then we’ll pick up where my dad left off.”
We reach the truck and Jake holds the door open for me. By now the gesture shouldn’t feel strange, but it does. Jake and I… we’re not dating. We barely make it an hour together before we’re arguing, but he still gets the door. My thoughts drag to my college ex, Scott. I can’t remember a single door he ever held for me, or a single act of kindness or chivalry in the year we dated.
“Thanks,” I say to Jake as I settle into the worn leather seats. I’m kicking myself for asking about the horses. After our fight on Thursday night and yesterday’s silence, the truce between us feels more tentative than ever, and I’ve just ruined the easiness between us again.
But then just as Jake is about to close the truck door, he leans against the frame and reaches a hand to my shoulder. “Is this my sweatshirt?” he asks, eyes narrowed but sparkling with amusement.
I flash my own sheepish smile. “It’s warmer than mine.”
“That’s because all your clothes are tiny.” He laughs and the tension seems to lift once more.
“Yeah, but I look good in them,” I joke.
“You look good in anything, Cassidy. Including my sweatshirt.”
The compliment takes me by surprise, but before I can find a reply, Jake’s closing my door and whistling for Buck. “Come on, boy,” he calls and a moment later Buck bounds through the open driver’s door, settling in the middle seat, all wagging tail and panting breath.
“Where are we going?” I ask as the engine rumbles to life.
“You’ll see,” Jake says, turning the radio on low.
