Jack ignored him. “We were supposed to keep one another out of trouble, but I think we managed to get into more scrapes together than we ever would have alone.”
“Double the trouble.”
“You’ve been talking to my mom?”
She laughed. “I wish. I like your mom.” She ducked her head as if admitting that was admitting more than she wanted to. “I like your family. They’re real.”
Except for the fact that they were all hiding a tremendous secret. He took care of the last corner and put his shovel on the wheelbarrow—she did the same. “I guess that’s it. Let’s get you back to Tinsel Town.”
She tucked her hands in her pockets and looked around. “This is a nice barn. You wranglers don’t do anything halfway, do you?”
“Nope.” He set the wheelbarrow in front of the next stall for when he came back to finish up.
Natasha walked slowly, her shoulders hunched.
“Everything okay?” He worried that he’d said something to upset her.
“It’s good. I think this made me a little homesick.”
He sniffed the air. “Really?”
She laughed and pushed his shoulder. “It’s been a long time since I cleaned out a barn, okay?”
“You did your family proud,” he joked.
She grinned. “Mind if I take a pic?” She pulled out her phone and turned around, so she took a selfie with the cleaned stall floor. “That’s a job my dad will brag about for weeks.”
“Why don’t you go home for Christmas?” He leaned against the door jamb, not quite wanting their moment to be over. As soon as he opened the door, the spell would break.
“Truthfully?” she grimaced. “I dated a guy all through high school and into college. Everyone thought we were going to get married—we were that couple.”
He nodded slowly. “I’ve known a few of those.” Including his younger brother, who lost his chance with a great girl.
“Well, we didn’t get married, and every time I’m home, I have to hear about how great my life would have been if I’d been able tohang onto him.” She put air quotes around the last three words. “It’s a horrible way to spend the holidays.”
He nodded. “I can see how that would be a problem.”
Her eyes found his, intense and probing. “What about you, Jack? Any ghosts of girlfriend’s past haunting you?”
He shook his head. “I had a high school sweetheart. She lives one county over—married the quarterback who stole the state championship from me.”
“Ouch.” She grimaced.
“I’m good. Small-town gossip. No biggie.”
“Except you brought it up. So it might bother you a little.”
His mouth dropped open. “You asked. That’s the only reason—” He cut off at her grin. “You’re pushing my buttons.”
“Guilty. Sorry. Sometimes I just---” she poked his chest. “I like buttons.”
His gaze dropped to her lips, and he couldn’t pull it away. His throat went dry, and his palms warmed. He reached up and ran a finger down her cheek. “You know, you sure seem country for a girl from Hollywood.”
“I have deep roots,” she rasped.
He leaned closer. “I can see that.” Her eyes drifted shut, and she listed toward him. He took that as a sign and brushed his lips over hers. Hers were velvety soft, and she tasted like cocoa and…
“You like marshmallows in your cocoa,” he mumbled. “I like that.”
