Jackson lingered on the concrete steps and watched Rose's back stiffen. Her long hair tumbled down her back, a rich, deep brown. It reminded him of the trees they'd climbed as kids, the rough, black-brown bark scraping their bare knees, Rose's locks swinging above his head. It was impossible to look at her and stay in the present. Everything about her reminded him of the past; she had been the main feature in all his boyhood summers.

The dress she wore was short and sweet, black with small flowers on it. From this distance, they looked like polka dots. Her bare legs, slender and tanned, tapered prettily to her calves, and a pair of well-worn cowboy boots covered her feet.

Jackson took a deep breath and looked around at the few headlights coming down the highway and the lit windows in the shops across the road. The dregs of a brilliant sunset still emanated over the mountaintops to the West. He shifted his gaze back to Rose. She'd turned to face him. Her eyes were shining and fathomless in the light from the pub's windows.

A shiver went through him though the night was warm.

"How have you been?" he ventured.

She didn't say anything, only watched him with distrust plain on her face. Jackson slowly descended the steps, then stopped. She was like a deer; he didn't want to spook her by moving too fast.

"I'm fine," she said. Her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat. "I'm quite well, actually. And—and you?"

He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "I'm all right, I guess. You know. Business is good."

She shifted her stance, folding her arms and lifting her chin. "What brings you to Dogwood?"

He studied her combative pose. Now was maybe a terrible time to tell her about the farcical marriage plot. He bit his lip.

"Just visiting," he said. "Me and the twins."

"I saw."

"I think the whole town saw," he said. The chuckle that came out of his mouth was downright bashful. He could feel himself blushing. He looked away from her and gestured toward the pub. "Or at least everyone inside did."

"You boys did make a name for yourselves." There was mirth in her voice, but she shut it down quickly. "I hope you don't intend to stay long."

He winced. If he'd had any illusions she might come around, she was dashing them straightway, and mercilessly.

"Just for the summer," he said quietly.

"Why?"

"No reason."

She cocked her head, the crease between her brows deepening. "Is this to do with the airline? I hope you don't intend to discontinue service to Dogwood. You're the only carrier flying into or out of here."

Jackson lifted his hands. "No, no. Nothing like that."

He didn't tell her that Maple Airlines flew into Dogwood at a loss and only at his father's behest. If it weren't for Jonah McBride's iron grip on the company—and the boys' presence on the board—service to this small, inconsequential town in the Rocky Mountains would have been axed long ago. It was not a money maker.

She nodded. "Good. I'm glad. The closest airport is hours away, otherwise."

He couldn't help the smile that tugged at his lips. "You sound personally invested."

"I am."

A black truck pulled into the parking lot off the highway, its headlights illuminating Rose as it slowed and rumbled toward her. She stepped out of the way, toward Jackson, letting her arms fall to her sides. The truck puttered alongside her and stopped, and a man of fifty or so leaned across the passenger seat.

"Evening, Mayor," he said through the open window.

Jackson started at Rose's title. Mayor? Something about the way the man said it raised his hackles. Like he was spitting at her. Rose's body language changed immediately. She stiffened up and planted her feet, and her hands clenched into fists before she relaxed them.

"Good evening, Mr. Decker," she responded.

Her tone was ice cold. Jackson frowned. He didn't recognize the man. Lanky, with blond hair, he was older than them. No one Jackson would remember. But he seemed to know Rose, and it was clear he didn't like her—nor she, him.

The moment stretched. Rose stood her ground. Decker leaned back into his seat.

"Always a pleasure, Rose," he said with a blatantly false smile. "Enjoy your night."

Rose nodded to him.

Decker pulled away, revving the truck's needlessly large engine, and Rose stepped back. Jackson strode up beside her and watched the man peal out of the parking lot and back onto the highway.

"He just stopped by to say hello?" he asked her. "Didn't seem very friendly to me."

Rose exhaled loudly and turned her head to him. "He's not."

"What's his issue?"

She rolled her eyes and flicked her hand in his direction as though he were beneath notice. "Alex Decker is the former mayor of Dogwood. I beat him in the last election. He's just sore. That's all. And now I'm commandeering his watering hole for a night. He's probably gone home to throw darts at a picture of my face."

Jackson frowned, staring after Decker. "Does he always talk down to you that way?"

Rose shot him a wry look. "I can fight my own battles, Jackson." Her voice softened. "You always were overprotective."

"Of you."

Her lips quirked up at the corners. "Of anyone you—" She broke off. When she spoke again, her voice had cooled. "Of anyone you considered family."

She turned away. Jackson stifled a frustrated groan. This was not going as well as he'd hoped.

***

Rose took a deep breath and tried to stay anchored to the present. She couldn't help the little bursts of remembrance that kept breaking her concentration, like carbonated bubbles rising to the surface in a glass of soda at the McBride family table.

Jackson was no longer the boy she'd given her heart to when she was a girl. Not anymore. He'd done over a decade of living since she'd seen him last, and most of it not for the better, if her occasional, late-night googling was any indication. He'd always had a healthy estimate of himself, even as a boy, and if anything on the Internet was true, he had only gotten worse as he'd grown. He was McBride, and he knew it. Privileged and wild.

But Rose had lived her own life, and she was proud of it.

She turned to him and lifted her chin. "It was nice to see you again, Jackson. Enjoy your stay in Dogwood."

His eyes flickered back and forth as though he were trying to read her, his brow furrowing before he spoke quietly. "Thank you, Rose. Congratulations on becoming Mayor, by the way. You really did it." His voice dropped so low it was barely audible, as though he were speaking to himself. "I knew you would."

She swallowed the emotion that rose in her throat. "Thanks."

"This town is lucky to have you." He gestured toward the bar. "I'm heading back inside. Can't leave Denny and Dally alone for too long. Who knows what they'll get up to."

Rose hesitated. Mom and Lily would be wondering what was taking so long. She ought to go back in, too. She started forward, passing Jackson on her way to the door. As she reached the stairs, he caught her hand and lifted it, his grasp gentle and steadying as she ascended the steps.

An ache as deep as a trench flared in Rose's heart at his touch. This was a courtesy he would never have offered when they were children. It was a warm and gentlemanly move, at odds with the man she knew him to be—cocky and self-absorbed, never sparing a thought for anything but his own desires.

He was upending her expectations with every passing breath. Where was the swagger, the self-assured charm? The absence was unsettling.

Jackson let go of her hand only to trot up the steps and open one of the double front doors. He didn't say anything as she walked through. She wasn't sure what to make of it. She could open her own doors—had done for years, in fact. She didn't need Jackson McBride.

Once inside, he brushed her arm lightly with his fingertips, a quick and seemingly innocent touch that generated sparks as though she were tinder and he the flint. Rose looked down at Jackson's hand, then up at his face. The low light inside the bar cast shadows under his eyes and beneath his cheekbones and coloured his hair a dusky rose gold.

"I'll see you around, Mayor Whitfield," he murmured.

She nodded, struck silent. Jackson turned and ventured back to his table while she lingered just inside the door, knees trembling, skin still seared by his touch.

Lily accosted Rose when she returned to the table.

"What was that about?" she asked in a low voice, leaning into Rose's ear.

Rose shook her head. "Nothing."

Lily retreated, but the shrewd look in her eyes told Rose she would be fending off her sister's nosy questions later. Rose sighed. Sometimes Lily was a little too much like their mother.

She took a sip of her drink. Her eyes flickered to Jackson's table. He was leaned forward, engaged in conversation with his brothers. Rose didn't remember much about Denman and Dalton from her summers at the McBride house. They were three years older than Jackson, and they'd always seemed to have little interest in what he got up to. They'd certainly never shown any interest in Rose. But the three of them seemed to show up together in the gossip rags on a regular basis nowadays, so they must have grown closer over the years.

Her eyes roved over Jackson's face. He was smiling a confident smile that looked natural on him. It reminded her of the boy he'd been—insufferable and self-important but very much hers. As she watched, his gaze shifted. He caught her eye and raised his glass slightly.

Rose blushed and ducked her head, pretending to be interested in whatever Lily and Mom were going on about. She couldn't let Jackson disrupt her focus. It was just as Lily had said: Rose had ambition, designs on success, and no man—not even Jackson McBride—was going to get in the way.

"No matter how handsome," she muttered under her breath.

"Pardon?" Mom paused with her glass halfway to her mouth. "Honestly, sweetheart, you really must speak up. Men love a woman with confidence." She sat up straighter, drawing her hand through the air as though she were displaying jewellery on the home shopping channel. "Verve, Rose. Moxie."

Rose rolled her eyes. "Yes, Mother. I get it. I'm going to grow old alone."

"Don't be bitter, dear. It'll age you prematurely."

Rose bit her lip to keep from screaming. This was going to be an interminable night.