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“That’s her,” Jase replied, moving the hand on my back up a notch.
“Hi,” I said, waving my hand as awkwardly as humanly possible.
His father’s smile spread as he strode toward us, his head cocked to the side in a mannerism that reminded me of Jase. “You cannot be related to Cam. There is no way a pretty girl like you shares DNA with that ugly mug.”
A surprised laugh broke free. I think I liked this guy.
“And there is also no way you’re here with this one.” He nodded his head at Jase, who frowned. “You must be lost.”
Okay. I really liked this guy. “You’re right. I don’t even know who this person is.”
Jase’s frown slipped into a scowl as he glanced down at me. “What the hell?”
I grinned.
His father winked, and in that moment, I realized that Jase got not only his looks, but also his personality from his father. “So what are ya’ll doin’ here?” He pulled a red handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his hands as he eyed his son. “Jack’s with your mom, down at Betty’s.”
“I know. He goes there every day after school.” Jase dropped his hand, and the spot along my back tingled. “I’m showing Tess the horses.”
Mr. Winstead eyed his son. “Well, I’m going to be out back if ya’ll need anything.”
“We’ll be fine, Dad.” Jase started to turn.
“Wasn’t tellin’ you.” He looked over at me, mischief in his eyes. “If this boy’s improper with you, you let me know and I’ll take care of him.”
“Oh God,” Jase groaned, rubbing a hand down his jaw. “She’s a friend, Dad.”
“Uh-huh.” His father backed up, picking up the bucket. “Friends with a pretty gal like that, then you’re doing something wrong, son.”
My smile reached my ears as I turned to Jase slowly.
“Don’t even think it,” he warned. He looked like he wanted to strangle his dad as he reached down, wrapping his hand around mine. “Come on, before I embarrass my father with a good ole-fashioned redneck thumping.”
His father chuckled as he gave our joined hands a pointed look. “Friends?”
“Dad.” Jase sighed.
I giggled as he tugged me toward the fence and his father disappeared back into the barn. “I like your dad.”
He snorted. “I’m sure you do.”
“He acted like you don’t bring . . . girls here a lot.”
“I don’t.” Stopping, he let go of my hand and faced me as he stepped over a small retaining wall. “Then again, you just met my dad, so I’m sure you can understand why.”
Part of me was flattered that he had brought me to his home, a place where no other girl had traveled. But I was his friend and the other girls probably weren’t that.
“Here,” he said, placing his hands on my hips and lifting me up over the wall like it was nothing to him. “There you go.”
“I could’ve done that,” I murmured.
He shrugged. “I know.” Taking my hand again, he carefully led me through the high grass, toward the edges of the split-rail fence. “Be careful. There’s a damn groundhog or a family of them living on this farm. Holes everywhere.”
“Okay.” I wasn’t thinking about farms or groundhogs. Focused on the weight and feel of his hand wrapped firmly around mine, I had little room in my mind to worry about holes in the ground.
He was quiet as he guided me toward the gate in the split rail. Letting go of my hand, he unhooked the lock. Hinges groaned as the metal gates swung open.
I hesitated. “I don’t know about this.”
