Rose cut the engine. As she stepped out of the Bronco, movement behind Dad's cottage caught her eye. She shaded her eyes. It was Jackson and one of the twins emerging from the trees. She cursed under her breath. She was not in the mood for the McBrides. Not when she felt so raw.

Her eyes strayed back to Jackson's muscular form. He was wearing a simple white T-shirt that bared his strong arms along with dusty-looking khaki pants. She tilted her head, brow furrowing. He looked as though he'd been rolling in the creek bed or something. His hair was mussed, curling where it was tucked behind his ears, and there were grass stains on his knees.

He saw her and held up a hand in greeting. She sucked in a sharp breath and looked away. She shouldn't be checking him out. She was still mad at him. She fiddled with a tie-down strap in the box of the truck, trying to catch her breath. She ought to scuttle into the cottage and see Dad, but she was frozen.

Jackson's footsteps came closer, then stopped.

"Hello Rosie," he said softly.

She risked a glance at him. Up close, his skin glistened with a sheen of sweat, and beige dust clung to his forearms. He smelled like freshly sawn wood. It was a strangely appealing, woodsy scent.

She struggled to keep her voice neutral. "Hello Jackson. Hi Dalton."

Dalton smiled at her, then clapped Jackson on the back. "I'll be at the house. I think I should talk to—"

"No," Jackson interrupted. He clasped Dalton's arm. "Please don't. Not yet, Dally."

Dalton nodded to him. "All right, Jackson. Whatever you say." He looked at Rose. "Good to see you again."

"Likewise," she murmured.

Dalton strode off toward the house, leaving them alone. Rose looked everywhere but at Jackson—at the trees dotting the grounds, the forest behind the cottage, the white-peaked mountains in the distance. Anywhere but into Jackson's bright, too-perceptive blue eyes.

"How have you been?" he asked.

She shrugged, keeping her head down. There was a gentleness in his voice that pained her.

He shifted his feet. "I just...I haven't seen you all week. I was getting worried."

"I've been around." She summoned the courage to look at him. "You weren't here."

His brows were drawn together, and there was a downturned cast to his mouth. He folded his arms and hugged himself tightly as he spoke.

"I'm sorry for what happened, Rosie."

She took a tremulous breath. "That still doesn't change it. You lied to me."

He raised a brow. "Did I?"

"Yes. You said you came back for me." She turned to face him fully. "That was a lie."

Jackson's shoulders fell. "I don't believe it was. I meant every word."

"But that's not why you're here." Rose mirrored his pose, folding her arms protectively.

"Yes and no. I didn't come here to get married, Rosie. Honest."

She let her arms fall and grated out the words. "Then why are you here? I swear to God, Jackson, if you tell me that it's complicated one more time—"

He rubbed his temples, looking pained. "It's just not that simple, okay?" He let out a frustrated growl. "What do you want me to say?" His eyes shone with pain. "Do you want the truth? I'll tell you the truth. I'm here because I never forgot you. I'm here because I'm stupid. I'm here because—because I couldn't stay away, even when it meant I would lose everything. I never came here expecting to win, Rosie. If you only knew."

"Win what?" Exasperation crept into her voice. "A wife?"

"No, goddammit." His voice was rough. "Maybe. Yes. Fucking hell."

He crossed the space between them in a heartbeat. Before she could respond, he swept her into his arms, pulling her close enough to kiss. She blinked up at him in shock. With her arms caught between them, her hands found the rock-hard planes of his chest. Instead of pushing him away, she went still, caught in his embrace. She could feel his breathing, ragged and bursting with emotion.

"I came back for this," he whispered.

"But..." She licked her lips. "I don't understand why you left to begin with."

He groaned. "That is complicated."

She pushed against his chest. "I don't want to hear it, Jackson."

"Rosie." His voice was stern.

She paused. "What? For goodness' sake, what do you want from me?"

"This," he growled.

He kissed her. He explored her mouth fervently, as though he wanted to convince her of something, as though he needed her. She gave herself over to him without thinking, uttering a soft moan that only seemed to inflame him more. There was a roughness to his touch, to the way he held her head with his fingers buried in her hair. She couldn't tell where frustration ended and passion began, but the energy in his kiss worked for her. When he broke away, his breathing was wild. She inhaled shallowly, trembling.

"This and more," he whispered. "Why can't I have it?" He rested his forehead against hers. "Why is it so complicated?"

Rose whispered, "You tell me."

He let her go with a sound of vexation, stepping away from her so suddenly, she almost stumbled.

"I have things to do," he said, almost to himself. "I have to take a stand." He looked up at her, eyes gleaming with some emotion. "I have to say my piece."

Rose studied him, unsure how to respond to his abstruse statements.

"I mean it, Rosie. I came back for you, and I'll prove it. I just need you to give me some time."

She exhaled abruptly, almost laughing at the absurdity. "I've already given you fourteen years."

"Then a little longer won't hurt." He stroked her face. "Will it? Please. Don't give up on me yet."

She compressed her lips, at a loss for words.

His gaze roved over her body quickly, as though her were impressing a picture of her into his brain.

"I'm asking you to trust me," he said softly. "I know. It's a lot. But I'm yours, Rosie." His voice lowered earnestly. "Remember that. I'm yours."

Then he was off, striding toward the McBride house. Rose sagged against the Bronco, gripping the box of the truck to stay upright. Tears blurred her vision. Something about the way he'd said it made her want to believe him.

"Dammit," she cursed as she pushed away from the truck.

Nothing with Jackson was ever easy.

Rose shivered. She could still feel his body under her hands, as though touching him had lit a spark in her palms that yet burned.

"Rose?"

She looked up. Dad stood in the doorway. He wore his usual beige coveralls, and his crutch was gone. Rose cleared her throat and stepped away from the Bronco. Her cheeks flamed. She'd forgotten she was standing right outside her father's cottage.

"Hi, Dad."

"You want to come in?"

She nodded, still a little breathless. "Sure."

His lips twitched with what looked like mirth. "When you're ready, dear."

***

Jackson's heart pounded like a caged animal as he entered the house. He closed the door behind him, then leaned against the jamb, his chest heaving. His eyelids slid closed. He could still feel Rose in his embrace. The way she trembled. The way she yielded to him. He wanted more. One kiss was never enough. He let out a slow, measured breath to calm the pulse that raced in his blood vessels. He could feel his own heartbeat in his throat.

Slowly, he opened his eyes. The Creek House was as he'd left it, but it seemed emptier than before. He envisioned Rose in the space. He couldn't help it. The thought took on a dreamy quality the longer he pictured it. Him and Rose. Here. Together. Like old times—but very much not, as well. The way he felt right now, if he had his way, he would make love to her on every surface in the house. He wanted her here. At his side.

He shook himself out of his reverie. "Get it together."

Denny's voice startled him. "Yeah, man. Come back down to Earth. Where are you?"

Jackson glared at his brother, who stood in the hallway to the kitchen with a bowl of potato chips in his hand.

"I'm right here," said Jackson.

Denny wore a knowing smirk. "I doubt it. I think you're still out there putting the moves on Rose."

Jackson groaned. "For Christ's sake, can I even take a piss in this house without someone knowing? Were you spying on me?"

Denny pointed out the window. "You're literally in my line of sight when I look outside. It's not my fault you manhandle Rose all over the Creek House grounds. Get a room."

"Where?" Jackson threw up his hands. "Where exactly should I do that, Denny?"

"I don't know. You're the one with all the secrets."

Jackson shook his head and brushed past Denny and into the kitchen. His brother followed. As they entered the spacious room, Denny stuffed a handful of potato chips into his mouth and took a seat at the island.

"So, give," he said around his mouthful.

Jackson shot him a wry look. "There's nothing to tell."

Denny snickered. "That sure looked like something to me."

"Well, that's weird, Denny, because I'm your brother, and you probably shouldn't watch me make out with pretty girls."

Denny scoffed. "Again, line of sight. Why are you being so cagey about Rose, anyway? And what the hell have you been doing all week? You look...blue collar."

Jackson fished a beer out of the refrigerator. "Is that such a bad thing?"

"No." Denny munched on another chip. "I'm just saying. For a guy with an inheritance with a lot of zeroes at the end, you look like you just got off a day's hard labour on a construction crew. It's weird and unnecessary."

"This entire conversation is weird and unnecessary." Jackson popped the cap off his beer. "Can we talk about something else? I don't see you wooing any women. What gives?"

Denny laughed. "Not all of us had a woman to come back to, Red. So I'm choosy. So what."

"Don't be too choosy. There's a lot riding on your nuptial bliss."

"Yeah, yeah."

Jackson took a long swallow of beer. It went down easily after his day in the sweltering treehouse. He set the bottle down on the island and exhaled heavily.

"Denny, there are some things I need to do." He fixed his brother with a level look. "There are things about my life that need to change. I don't want to get into it, but I'd like your support. No jokes. For real."

Denny screwed up his face. "What, you think I wouldn't support your choices? Jackson, I'm your brother. We're basically the three musketeers. All for one and one for all, and all that shit."

Laughter made Jackson's chest shake. It was about as much of a heart-to-heart as he'd ever had with Denny, but that was Denny's way, and he loved him for it.

"Thanks." He leaned over the island and plucked a potato chip out of Denny's bowl, then stuffed it in his mouth. He made a face. "Oh, Jesus. Dill pickle. Really? You heathen."

Denny guffawed loudly and swept the bowl of chips out of Jackson's reach. "It's the easiest way to save all the chips for myself."

Jackson felt his heart soften toward his brother as their laughter filled the room. Maybe Dally had been right out there in the woods. Maybe Jackson did keep too many secrets. He stilled as he thought about that long-ago day when his father had used his brothers against him. That ultimatum had driven a wedge between him and the twins. He could still feel it today, an artificial distance between him and Denny, and it was a shame. The twins deserved the truth.

He clapped Denny on the shoulder and gave him a squeeze. "Thanks, brother."

Denny raised a brow. "For what?"

Jackson grinned. "I don't know. Just...thank you."

"You're welcome, Red."

"Don't call me that."

Denny smiled and popped another chip into his mouth.