A Bet Worth Making (Grayson County #2) by Heather Hildenbrand Page B

sunset, and cropped jean shorts revealing more legs than any one female should own. The longer I looked at her, the more I knew for completely fucking certain I was totally screwed.
    I veered off before I reached her, a little too worked up to have a casual conversation just yet. She was here, this northern angel with a devilish temper, at my bonfire. On my hill. In my county.
    I wasn’t sure when I’d begun thinking of her like some apparitional love goddess, but the longer I tried to resist, the more I wanted her. So there it was.
    I wanted Jordan DeWalter. Shit, she was already in my head. But I wanted her in my bed. The matter of her “strictly platonic” mantra wasn’t going to faze me tonight.
    I’d watch her and I’d wait; just like with a faulty motorcycle engine, I’d listen for her weakness. And when I found it, I’d make it work for me.
    It crossed my mind that I hadn’t gone after anything this single-mindedly since mechanic school. That probably said a lot about the state of my life or ambition for it, but right now, I didn’t give a shit about what I should want. I only knew I wanted her. And it was probably going to bite me in the ass before it was all over.
    I made my way into the hay bale setup and headed for the guys and the keg—both in the same place.
    “What’s up, man? Where you been?” Ford clapped me on the shoulder and Josh, a buddy from high school, handed me a red Solo cup, foam dripping down the side.
    “Went out for a ride,” I said, relaxing all over again as I remembered the way the YZ’s motor hummed underneath me on that last leg earlier. It’d taken me weeks to identify the problem, take everything apart, and rebuild it. But now, she was golden.
    “Summer said she went by your place for setup. Said you were MIA today.” Ford nodded at the girls gathered ’round the stacked wood in the center of the seating area. Leslie, a longtime friend and Joe’s wife, knelt at the base, ready to light it, while Joe kept an eye beside her.
    “Had some things to wrap up,” I said vaguely and went to work on the drink, hoping they wouldn’t press it. I’d spent the day driving to meet a motocross friend in West Virginia about a rebuild he wanted and traffic had been a bitch. I’d hoped to be here and back before anyone noticed but I’d forgotten all about the bonfire tonight.
    “Worked out, I guess. Jordan ended up pitching in,” Ford said.
    I swallowed hard and took a second look around. “Jordan did all this?”
    “She’s been here all day,” Ford said. “Hefting hay bales and setting up the keg with Summer.”
    I stared at Jordan’s profile, watching her talk to Leslie and Summer. She laughed, her blonde hair shaking freely as it spilled down around her shoulders. She looked more relaxed than I’d ever seen her. And those shorts again … Damn. I could almost picture her out here hauling hay bales to some George Strait.
    “For a northerner, she sure has the country-girl-next-door look down,” Josh said, watching Jordan over the rim of his beer.
    I frowned. “She’s not the girl next door,” I said, adding a warning to my tone. “She’s the girl rooming with me. And she’s off limits. Besides, aren’t you just visiting?”
    “Whoa,” Josh said, throwing up his hands. “I surrender, relax. Ford’s already informed me you’re interested. I only introduced myself and then backed off.”
    “Interested?” I repeated, heat rising to my neck. I cut a glance at Ford, who shrugged and looked away.
    Fucking Summer.
    I turned back to Josh, rolling my shoulders. “I’m just saying she has a lot going on. She doesn’t need a lawyer grilling her with twenty million questions about her life,” I said. “It has nothing to do with being interested. We’re just friends.”
    Her rules, not mine, I silently added.
    Josh nodded and winked at Ford. “If you say so.”
    Behind me, the stereo came to life and a Blake Shelton song poured out.
    A few more people arrived,