Chapter 7

Ash

I wince as I get out of bed, my body sore and muscles tight. It's not a surprise. I've been neglecting my routine while getting settled at Darling Ranch, not the wisest decision on my part. At least today is Sunday, so I'll have some time to recoup.

I stop by the empty upstairs bathroom before heading downstairs to the kitchen. The breakfast crowd is long gone by now, the house relatively quiet. I can hear some activity upstairs, but I'm not sure which Darling brother it is.

I'm just sticking my rice-filled heating pad in the microwave when there's a shuffle of feet behind me. The teen in the doorway stops still, head cocking as she looks at me.

"Um, hi," I offer.

"You're new," she says, crossing her arms.

"I am. Ash Alcott, the new cook."

She tentatively accepts the hand I hold out her way, shaking once before letting go and refolding her arms. "Wendy Darling."

"Wendy Darling?" I repeat. "As in Peter Pan?"

The teen immediately scowls, reminding me so much of Jackson that I have to bite back a laugh. "Go ahead," she says. "I've heard it all."

"No, it's a great name," I assure her.

She rolls her eyes. "Have you seen my dad?"

For a heartachingly long second, I wonder if I am looking at Jackson's daughter. Not that it would matter one way or another. Would it? But then Lawson stops outside the kitchen, and his expression is so fond and full of pride, there's no doubt in my mind who Wendy's parent is.

"I thought I heard you," he says, smiling as he steps forward to tug the teen in for a hug. Wendy's own face softens as she hugs her dad back. "Did you meet Ash?"

"Just did," Wendy says.

Lawson kisses the side of her head before letting go.

" Dad ," Wendy grumbles, raking a hand through her hair, although I swear she looks pleased.

"Ready to head out?" Lawson asks her.

She nods decisively. "Yep. See ya, Ash."

"Nice to meet you," I reply.

Wendy leaves the kitchen, but Lawson lingers, maybe having sensed my curiosity. "We're going trail riding," he explains.

"How old is she?" I ask.

"Sixteen."

"I didn't know you were a dad."

He nods idly, picking at the wooden door frame as he says, "Yeah. It's been…hard with the divorce. Wendy has been staying with her mom."

"Well, go," I say, not wanting to keep him. "Enjoy your day with your daughter."

He gives me a grateful smile before disappearing from sight.

These damn Darling brothers. Could they be any sweeter?

Getting back on track, I set the microwave for two minutes. I'm just pulling the heating pad out when I hear a grunt.

My pulse jumps, and I reflexively place a hand on my chest as I look over my shoulder. "What is it with people popping up in this doorway?"

Jackson frowns at me. "Something wrong?"

"Yes. You scaring the crap out of me."

"No," he says, waving a hand at the heating pad. "That."

"Oh." I huff a laugh as I shut the microwave door. "No, I'm fine."

His frown deepens. "Clearly, something is the matter if you're using a heat pad. What is it?"

I raise an eyebrow. "I'm fine, honestly. Just sore."

"From working too hard?" he asks.

It takes everything in me not to roll my eyes. "Not exactly. I just have…issues. With my back. It's not new."

"You should get that checked," Jackson says, following me out of the kitchen.

"I have," I say, working to keep my voice even. "Many times."

"And?"

" And . It hasn't helped."

He tsks. "Well, there must be something the doctors—"

"Jackson," I say, stopping and whirling around on the stairs. He halts abruptly, looking up at me in surprise. "I'm going to stop you right there before you start mansplaining my own healthcare to me. I've seen many doctors. Over a dozen, okay? I've been poked and prodded and run through MRIs. I've done multiple rounds of physical therapy, osteopathic manipulation, and tried all sorts of alternative therapies. It's better than it used to be. It is. But the pain doesn't go away, and it might not ever. I've gotten used to it."

He doesn't say a word, staring at me with a look of intense concentration on his face.

"Okay?" I check.

He nods.

I turn and finish walking up the stairs. He follows.

Jackson stands in the doorway to my bedroom—the guest bedroom—as I plop the heating pad on the bed.

"Are you just going to stare?" I ask.

"How long?"

"How long what?" I say around a sigh. Maybe I shouldn't be so short with my employer, but he's the one barging uninvited into my room, so he can deal. I climb onto the mattress and lie down with my shoulders on the heating pad, letting out a groan. It's almost too hot, but I relish the temporary burn.

Jackson clears his throat. "How long have you had back pain?"

I think that through. "Five years, give or take?"

He's quiet, so I turn my head to look at him.

"What is it?" I ask.

"Is it from something? An injury? Or the symptom of a bigger problem?"

My lips twitch despite myself, and I let my arms drop wide. "Damn it, Jack. You just can't help yourself, can you?"

"Can't help what?" he asks briskly.

"Your mother hen thing," I answer, smiling when Jackson scowls.

"I don't do that."

"Mhm. Whatever you say, darlin'."

Jackson's reaction is instantaneous. I don't know if it was me throwing his words back at him or the darlin' . But his chest rises and his eyes sharpen, and oh , do I want to push. I want so badly to make his control snap.

"You didn't answer the question," he says gruffly.

Sighing, I turn my head back toward the ceiling so I don't get a crick in my neck. "I don't know what it's from," I tell him truthfully. "And neither do the doctors. It started slow and got worse. For a while, it was pretty bad. I had a lot of accompanying neuropathy. Tingling in my hands, pins and needles in my feet when I walked, numbness, that sort of thing. But they ruled out just about every diagnosis under the sun. Physical therapy helped. Stretches and heat help. It's gotten better, and now, I'm managing."

"But it doesn't go away," he says, his tone rough enough to have me looking his way again. "In five years, it's never gone away."

"No," I confirm.

He looks incredibly upset by that.

"It's not so bad most of the time," I say, wanting that damn look off his face. "On an average day, the pain is minimal enough that I can ignore it. I haven't been doing my regular upkeep since I got here, so it's my own fault I'm having a flare-up. I'll be fine in a day or two."

He chews on nothing for a moment, reminding me of the cattle he tends to. I manage to keep the thought to myself.

Finally, he says, "Do you need anything? Water or…a snack?"

Oh Jesus.

"Jackson," I say seriously, "if you want me to back off, you're going to need to stop being so thoughtful."

He looks almost alarmed, but I'm pretty sure he knows exactly what I'm talking about. I'm not surprised when he whirls away, his boots thudding down to the first floor. I am surprised when, less than a minute later, those boots stomp right back up the stairs.

My heart gives a great big thump as Jackson storms through the door. He sets a glass of water and a bottle of acetaminophen down on the nightstand and takes a step back. "Doesn't mean anything," he says.

A smile curls my lips. "Sure."

"Doesn't."

"Okay," I repeat, smiling wider. "Whatever you say."

He grunts impatiently before turning, but he stops at the doorway. "Text me if you need something."

And then he's gone, and I'm left staring at a wide-open door, a stupidly big grin on my face.

You've done it now, Jackson Darling.

Get ready.

Sunday marks the beginning of Virginia's weekend, the first of two days she has off from the bar. She picks me up late morning, a big pair of sunglasses perched on her dainty nose. Even with the shades on, I can tell she's tired.

"Ginnie," I say, stepping out onto the porch before closing the door behind me. "You look rested this morning."

And uh-oh. She bristles.

"Really?" Virginia says, spinning and stomping down the porch steps. "This is the first time I've seen you since you arrived, and that's what you have to say to me?"

"Ginnie—"

"Nuh-uh, Ashley fucking Alcott. You damn well know Saturdays are my longest shift of the week. Plus, I woke up late and had to scramble to get your sorry ass, so I haven't even had my coffee yet. I am not in the mood ."

By the time I catch up to Virginia, she's standing in front of her car, hands on her hips and a frown marring her face. It's cute, but I don't dare say so. I pull my friend into a hug, ignoring her responding squawk.

"I love you so very much," I tell her seriously. "You are gorgeous and smart, and I adore you from the top of your head to the bottoms of your feet. And the fact that I'm close enough to do this?" I squeeze her a little harder for emphasis. "Makes me ridiculously happy. I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean anything by it."

"Goddamn it, Ash," she mutters, hugging me back. "I'm glad you're here, too."

"I know," I say gently. "So where can we go in Darling that has coffee? My treat for behaving like an ass."

"The bakery," she says with a huff, stepping back. She gives me a shove before rounding her car, not quite ready to let me off the hook. I head for the passenger seat with a chuckle.

Darling's bakery is right in the center of town, not that far from The Barrel. Its awning is pink, and the smells of chocolate and bitter coffee hit me the moment we walk through the door. I'm impressed by my friend. She waits until we're seated, a latte in front of her and a croissant in front of me, before she pounces.

"Spill."

My lips quirk. "Ginnie… I'm pretty sure I'm in love."

Virginia lowers her sunglasses slowly, pulling them off her face and revealing skeptical hazel eyes. "Ash, I know you tend to move fast, but it's been four damn days. I think you're confusing good dick with actual emotion."

I huff a laugh, slapping my friend's shoulder. "I meant the town . Or the job. Take your pick. Not… that ."

"So you haven't…"

"No, I haven't," I say.

She hums and sips her drink. "Is it because of Nick? Has he called?"

It doesn't escape my notice that she called my ex Nick , when she knows he hates it. Virginia is nothing if not loyal…and a little vindictive.

"He called once," I admit. "I didn't answer. And don't give me that look—he's not so bad."

"He wasn't good for you," she counters.

"I'm not denying that. But he's not a bad guy, Ginnie. Just…"

"Anal-retentive. Stuck up. Lacking a funny bone," she lists, ticking the points off on her fingers. I have no doubt she could keep going if she wanted. "I never understood what you saw in him, Ash."

I fiddle with the flaky edge of my croissant before shrugging. "He was really supportive with, you know…"

Her face softens, and she curses quietly. "I know, and I'm sorry. I forget sometimes how bad it was."

Nicholas was one of my physical therapists. I'd been seeing him on a professional level for three months when he asked me out. I switched therapists after that, but Nick… At the time, I appreciated how much he looked after me. Now, having hindsight and the experience of years with the man, I can admit to myself I think he saw me as broken. As someone he could fix and take care of. He liked that more than he ever loved me.

"It's beside the point," I say, waving a hand. "We're done. It's in the past. Moving on."

"Good," she says. "So when are you gonna move on to Jackson Darling?"

I groan, even as a smile pulls at my lips. "I regret telling you about him."

She makes a psht sound. "Please. Like you'd be able to keep your feelings a secret from me. You're an open book, baby boy."

I can't refute that.

"He's my boss. It's a bad idea," I say, even though I don't believe it. Despite me working for Jackson's family, I'm not the least bit concerned about the dynamic between us causing issues. He's not even the one who hired me. Marigold is.

Virginia sees through my flimsy attempt to skirt her scrutiny. "Mhm. Try again."

"He's hot," I admit.

She grins, her dimples appearing. "Uh-huh."

"And a total sweetheart," I add. "Even though I'm fairly sure he'd deny it to his last breath."

She waves for me to go on.

"And, fuck, Ginnie, he came galloping up on a horse the other day, and I damn near popped a boner. I didn't realize I have a thing for cowboys. Especially grumpy cowboys."

My friend doesn't even try to hide her amusement. "So you're going after him?"

"I am," I tell her. Why even try to deny it?

Virginia squeals under her breath.

"You really want me past Nicholas, huh?" I saywith a chuckle, popping the last of my croissant in my mouth.

Virginia puffs out a breath. "That's not it. Or, well, not all of it. Maybe I just want you to have a reason to stay, all right?"

I reach across the table and give her hand a squeeze. "I'm not going anywhere anytime soon," I assure my friend. It feels too soon to say or ever , but I can admit to myself the idea of returning to Maine doesn't feel right.

Darling? It feels right.

Virginia and I hang out for a couple hours, playing catch-up long after her coffee is gone. Some of the more touristy businesses in town are closed today, but she points out the food options, including a sandwich shop and a restaurant that serves an eclectic mix of cuisine. After that, we amble through the antiques market. I end up finding a small figurine of a cowboy on a jet-black horse. Virginia snorts when I buy it, but she looks secretly pleased.

Virginia drops me back off at the Darling Ranch when our afternoon is up. "You know," she says almost fondly, looking through the window of her car, "I used to come here when I was a kid. Went trail riding a time or two. Visited the petting farm a lot."

Virginia grew up here in Darling. She traveled to the east coast for college, which is how we met. But she moved back several years ago. It bummed me out at the time, but seeing her at home like this…it fits. I can understand now why she wanted to come back.

"You should stop by sometime when the petting farm is open," I tell her. "We can cuddle the baby goats together."

She huffs a laugh. "It's a date. Now get outta my car. And don't forget to tell me every goddamn detail of what happens with you and Jackson."

"Every detail, Ginnie? Really?"

"Every. Single. One. Until I get my own cowboy, I'll be living vicariously through you."

I give her cheek a kiss, making no promises one way or another, and get out of the vehicle.

As Virginia pulls away in a small cloud of dust, I jog up the porch stairs of the ranch house. I've just toed off my shoes and am rounding the corner into the hall when the man of the hour appears.

Jackson stops at the other end of the hallway, looking flustered. If I didn't know better—although how I know better is a mystery—I'd think he was angry.

"Where've you been?" he asks, tone tight.

"Enjoying my day off," I answer, the little cowboy figurine tucked in my hand. I step closer, stopping at the bottom of the stairs, just a foot in front of him.

He eyes me up and down, as if checking for injuries. "So you're fine?" he practically grits out.

I smile. "More than."

He grunts, skirting past me.

"Jackson?" I call before he can get far.

He stops and turns, eyeing me warily.

I open my hand and hold up the little cowboy for him to see. "Look what I found in town. Kinda reminds me of someone." I close my fist before adding, "I think I'll keep him near my bed."

The emotions that pass over Jackson's face move almost too quickly to follow. But I don't miss the naked want . It's there, plain as day, before he hides it away behind a mask of indifference.

It's all the confirmation I need.

Jackson doesn't voice a response. He simply nods, once, and walks off.

I clutch the cowboy tighter in my hand.

I think I have my work cut out for me when it comes to Jackson Darling.