It didn't work.
Because Jack was thorough. Attentive in a way I’d never experienced before. And my body—my traitorous, well-satisfied body—was not interested in forgetting a single second of what that thoroughness felt like.
I caught my reflection in the mirror and wanted to scream at her.
What were you thinking?
I wasn't thinking. That was the problem.
"This is fine," I told my reflection. "This was a lapse. A momentary weakness."
My reflection looked skeptical.
"It won't happen again."
Now she looked downright unconvinced.
"Shut up," I told her, and stepped into the shower.
The hot water helped. A little. Enough to get my brain back online and my priorities in order. By the time I was dressed—practical jeans, work shirt, hair in a tight braid that said I am a professional who definitely did not spend last night doing unprofessional things—I had a plan.
New rules. Effective immediately.
Rule One: No more nights. Wild Creek was forgivable. Last night was a lapse. There would not be a third time, no matter what I’d agreed to on my porch.
Rule Two: No lingering looks. No charged moments. No situations where we might end up alone together in spaces small enough to touch.
Rule Three: At work, he was an employee. I was operations director. That was the beginning and end of our relationship.
Rule Four: Under no circumstances was I to think about the way he'd said, “Eyes on me, Maggie,” while he?—
Moving on.
I grabbed my hat and headed for the main house, armored in efficiency and denial.
Momma was in the kitchen when I walked in. Because of course she was.
Louisa Blackwood had a sixth sense for moments when her children were trying to avoid her. She'd probably felt a disturbance in the force the second Jack knocked on my door last night and had been lying in wait ever since.
"Morning, sweetheart." She didn't look up from the coffee she was pouring. "You're up late."
"Slept hard." Not a lie. After Jack had finished with me, I'd slept like the dead. "Long week."
"Mm." She handed me a cup of coffee, her eyes doing that thing they did—scanning, assessing, cataloging every detail ofmy appearance like she was reading a book only she could see. "You look rested."
"I feel rested.” That wasn’t a lie either. I hadn’t felt this rested in…well, since the last time I’d slept with Jack.
"That's good." A pause. Deliberate. "How's the new hand working out?"
I took a sip of coffee to buy myself time. "Fine. He's good at his job."
"Your father's impressed with him.” Daddy absolutely would not be impressed with him if he knew what Jack was doing to his daughter last night.
"Daddy's easily impressed."
"No, he isn't." Momma's voice was mild, but her eyes were sharp. "Your father is one of the hardest men to impress I've ever known. If he says Jack Remington is something special, that means something."
Something special. The words sent a flutter through my chest that I ruthlessly suppressed.
