Page 71 of One Wild Chance

She dangles them at the edge of the pond. “You’re going to have to do better than that, cowboy.”

“Fine,” I huff. “I’m sorry for not telling you. How about more pictures, any location you want.”

“Even for the newspaper?”

“Yes.”

“And a promise that you’ll keep Rebel.”

My mouth gapes. “You’re bartering for horses now? Rebel is a drain on the farm.”

“Until you train her,” she says. “Then again, maybe you want to walk home.”

She picks up my T-shirt too, bundles both of them under her arm and whirls around.

Leaving me with absolutely no clothes to wear back. I will have to walk buck naked to Lucky Chance Ranch, wearing nothing but my boots.

And if Colleen Cromwell happens to be driving out this way for any reason whatsoever—which she probably would, knowing my luck—I’d be the talk of the Golden Springs Women’s Committee for years. I can only imagine the nicknames they’ll come up with: Unlucky Chance, The Full Moon Farmer, Jaxon “Bare Bottom” Chance.

“I’ll agree to it,” I grumble. “Rebel stays.”

“Hmm.” She taps her chin. “I didn’t hear any enthusiasm in your tone.”

“You got me to agree,” I argue. “That’s the best you’re getting.”

She turns around, winds up, and throws the shorts directly into the water about twelve feet to my left. I watch them land, then look back at her. “Your aim is the worst.”

“I played softball for about two days in fourth grade,” she says. “I was not good at it.”

I twirl my finger in a circle. “Can you turn around?”

I wade toward the shallows, keeping low enough that I can get them on under the water while her back is turned. “Okay. I’m decent now.”

She turns and looks me over to confirm I’m dressed. “Why are you even out here?”

“The house was too quiet,” I answer without going into details. “You planning on getting in, or are you just here to stand on the bank and steal my shorts?”

She looks at the water, then at the rope swing. “That thing still hold?”

“Yes, it does. Found out when I jumped in.”

She sets her towel down and pulls the T-shirt over her head.

I look at the opposite bank so she doesn’t feel like I’m watching her, but I still catch enough skin to feel a rush of heat prickle through me.

“Turn around,” she says. “I don’t want you to watch me do this in case I belly flop.”

“You won’t,” I say, turning my back to her.

I hear her grab the rope, the creak of the branch, and I peek over my shoulder right before the splash.

She doesn’t belly flop so much as she goes all in on the jump—arms windmilling as she hits the water with an enormous splash, screaming on the way down.

It’s adorable and hilarious at the same time.

I’m treading water when something connects with my ribs. She surfaces right next to me, gasping and laughing at the same time. “You turned around too soon!”

“I wanted to see your jump,” I say.