"You'll be the first person I call."
I wouldn't. I couldn't. Because this wasn't the kind of thing I talked about. This was the kind of thing I buried deep and never mentioned and pretended had never happened in the first place.
I spent the next two hours doing exactly that.
But no matter where I went, I was aware of him.
Jack, talking to my father by the horse pens. Jack, crouching down to let a curious kid pet Sully. Jack, standing quietly at the edge of the arena, watching the events with that still, steady attention that had drawn me to him in the first place.
He didn't approach me. Didn't seek me out. Didn't do anything that could be interpreted as inappropriate or overly familiar.
He was the perfect new employee.
I wanted to scream.
I'd told myself that night was contained. A sealed box. A memory I could take out when I wanted to and put away when I didn't. I'd driven home feeling empowered, refreshed, proud of myself for taking something I needed without apology.
And now that sealed box had walked onto my family's ranch with that unnerving quiet and a gaze that seemed to read every thought I'd ever buried, and a dog who apparently remembered me, and I had no idea what the hell I was supposed to do about it.
My mother found me near the end of the day, hiding behind the food stalls with a beer I wasn't really drinking.
"Long day?" she asked, settling beside me with her own cup of something.
"You could say that."
"The new hand seems capable. Your father's impressed. Says he has a real feel for horses." Mom took a sip of her drink, watching me over the rim. "The kind of person who doesn't spook easily."
"That's good."
"Mm." She was quiet for a moment, but I knew there was more coming. “Anything you want to tell me, sweetheart?”
And there it was.
I looked at her. My mother, with her knowing eyes and her patient silences and her uncanny ability to see straight through every wall I'd ever built.
"Nope," I lied. "Nothing at all."
She nodded slowly, like she was filing that answer away for future reference. "Okay. But if that changes?—"
"You'll be the second person I call,” I finished for her.
Her brows furrowed. "Second?"
"Ivy already called dibs on first."
Momma laughed softly. "Fair enough." She squeezed my arm and stood. "Don't hide back here too long. People will start to wonder."
She walked away, and I sat in the fading light, beer in hand, wondering how the hell I was going to survive working beside a man I'd sworn I'd never see again.
Tomorrow I'd have to show him around the ranch. Walk him through the horse operation. Stand close enough to smell him and feel the heat of his body and remember exactly what it had been like to have that body pressed against mine.
And I'd have to do it professionally. Calmly. Like none of it mattered.
You can handle this, I told myself.
Jack Remington was just another problem to manage.
I told myself that all the way home.
