“I guess I see why Mom’s got you hiding out back here.” He flashed me a wink as he popped up beside me. “And no need to apologize.” He grabbed a white undershirt from the top of the pile and tugged it over his head. “I wasn’t complaining.”
I rolled my eyes and gently punched him in the stomach. Yep. It was as hard as it looked.
“And here I thought you cowboys were supposed to be gentlemen.”
Jesse lifted an eyebrow. “Emphasis on the men.” He was tucking his shirt into his pants when he paused. “Whoa. This is the whitest, most wrinkle-free undershirt I’ve ever slipped into.”
I patted the stack of shirts and pants on the counter that I’d taken a bit more care with. The clothes labeled with a JW on the inside tags. “I might have bleached your shirts and ironed them after.”
“You . . . ironed . . . my shirts?”
He looked and sounded a little shocked. All I could do was nod.
“Why?”
Exactly. Why? Why had I taken such care with Jesse’s clothes? My immediate answer scared me, so I decided it was time for a conversation change. “By the way, thank you for mentioning you’re not just a ranch hand at Willow Springs, but you’re the owner’s son.”
“You didn’t ask,” he said, tucking his shirt into his pants before buttoning and buckling his pants back up. It was a relief. And yet, it wasn’t.
With Jesse properly covered again, I had an easier time keeping my eyes on his. “Are we back to that whole question and answer thing? Because I don’t think the fact that you’re a Walker is something I should have to waste a question on. That should be common knowledge. A freebie, or something.”
“A freebie?” he repeated, like he was unfamiliar with the idea.
“Yes, a freebie. Things like last names, pedigree, shoe size, et cetera, et cetera, shouldn’t have to be revealed through this sick game of Q and A you forced me into. Some pieces of information should qualify as freebies.” Crossing my arms, I leveled him with a look. “Things like your last name being Walker.”
He crossed his arms, too. “I didn’t realize this was a rule to the game I made up. My bad. It won’t happen again.” He was amused. By me or the conversation or who knows what, but I could tell from the way only one of his dimples was on display. “And you expect me to believe you would or will give me any freebies in the getting-to-know-you department? Because really, Rowen. I’ve seen brahma bulls that open up easier than you.”
I knew that was true. I had a million issues, the most apparent one being my inability to open up to others, but hearing it from Jesse still hurt like hell. In a little over twenty-four hours, he had figured that out about me.
Only because I felt a little belligerent did I snap back when I should have shut my mouth and gotten back to folding. “Oh, really? Two ton bulls who can’t talk, have kiwi-sized brains, and basically want to kill you if you come within ten feet of them open up better than I do?” I stepped into him, trying to get into his face. I stepped back when I realized just how close that put me to his mouth. “What do you want to know then, Cowboy? What are you so certain I’ve been hiding from you? What could someone like you possibly want to know about someone like me?”
The words spilled from his mouth like he’d only been waiting for me to ask. “Why are you here?”
That was quite possibly the easiest hard question to answer.
“I want to go to art school in the fall,” I said, hoping that answer would appease him. Knowing it wouldn’t.
“And what does Willow Springs have to do with art school in the fall?” He searched my face like he expected the answers to be there if he looked close enough.
I inhaled slowly to give myself a chance to put together my answer. “The school I want to go to is expensive. My mom only agreed to fund it if I came and worked here this summer.” I did an internal cartwheel; honest, yet vague. Just the way I preferred my answers.
“Why would your mom only agree to pay for school if you worked the summer here?” Jesse asked with genuine curiosity. He leaned into the island and waited for my response.
“Your dad and mom didn’t tell you why I was coming here?” I found that hard to believe.
He shrugged his shoulders. “They told the girls and me that the daughter of one of Mom’s old friends was coming to spend the summer with us. There weren’t any additional details.”
“They didn’t tell you why?” If it wasn’t for the innocence of Jesse’s expression, that would have been utterly impossible to believe.
“No,” he said with another shrug. “And I didn’t ask.”
I didn’t know what was worse: assuming Jesse knew what a bad egg I was all along, or realizing I’d have to tell him face-to-face.
Either way, I was about to find out.
“I’m here because I mess up, Jesse. I mess up a lot. So much my own mom has pretty much written me off as a lost cause. I’m a failure at pretty much everything—I barely graduated high school—and, for whatever reason, she chose Willow Springs as the place I could redeem myself and prove to her I’m not the piece of shit failure she thinks I am.” The words came out strong, but I felt anything but. Admitting that to Jesse, a person I wanted to like me, I really wanted to like me, made me feel weak and vulnerable.
Jesse’s expression didn’t change. His eyes didn’t leave mine. Nothing I said ruffled him. “Rowen,” he said, moving his hand toward mine like he wanted to grab it. At the last moment, he pulled back. “I’ve known you a solid day and a half, and I would swear on my life that you’re not a lost cause. Or a failure.”