“I’m so sorry.” I’m out of the car in a second, forcing a smile. “We didn’t mean to overreact.”
“Skylar,” Bronwyn hisses behind me from her seat.
No, noSkylar. We owe Jett an apology, and I’m giving it to him.
“No harm done.” He extends his hand, and I take it.
His huge, calloused fingers swallow mine as we shake.
I introduce myself as politely as I can. I won’t slip up again and make a face at his smell, that mix of pie and something decaying. After we greet each other, he steps back a couple of paces, giving Bronwyn room to get out and join Easton and me.
When Jett offers Bronwyn his hand, I shoot her a pointed look. God, I hope she gets the message and doesn’t make some comment about this place, or him, or the smell.
I don’t want to upset her further, but I also don’t want to upset Jett.
When neither she nor Easton shakes his hand, heat spreads up my neck.
Despite being painfully embarrassed on their behalf, I infuse excitement into my voice. “So, Mr. Colbert?—”
“Jett.” His smile is the biggest I’ve ever come across. Unwavering. Unsettling too.Stop it, Skylar. “Mr. Colbert is Papa. Grandpa too. But even they don’t like to be called that.”
“Gotcha.” I glance behind me at the sounds of Easton and Bronwyn murmuring. “You guys?”
Nothing.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper to Jett, wringing my hands. “They’re really tired. We’ve been driving for hours.”
“We get that all the time.” He sounds honest and truly unfazed.
My relief from that lasts for a second. That’s it.
The next, the hair on the back of my head stands on end and my skin prickles all over again.
I’m hot.
Everywhere.
There’s no doubt about it anymore. Someone’s eyes are on me. Probing into me.
That pull has nothing to do with Jett, who I can see isn’t paying attention to me. He’s over there, already pushing a button to close the electric gate.
His gaze is trained on the exhibit he’s about to guide us through. “Let’s start.”
Discreetly, I pinch my arm, forcing myself to snap out of it, whateveritis, and say, “Let’s.”
Jett launches off, offering information and stories about the first exhibit. It’s a gorgeous piece of tanning equipment from the 1800s, mildly rusty but otherwise in perfect shape.
Bronwyn and Easton don’t pay him much attention, trailing behind us as we go. Easton’s brow is furrowed as Bronwyn mutters something about not having a signal out here.
I hate the fact that, much like them, I can’t focus on Jett. He’s giving me thorough explanations of each exhibit, but I’m somewhere else entirely.
My gut tells me I’m not being watched anymore.
I’m being hunted. Tracked down, preyed upon.
Impossible.
“I hope y’all don’t mind the smell.” Jett chuckles as we reach the last exhibit. By now the sun’s gone down, and the streetlamps throw a flat, white light across his face. “Livestock.”
