Meredith has done a complete about-face in recent days. Ever since Sunday morning, when she told me—with splotchy cheeks and puffy eyes—to not bother fixing up the shack, she’s been hardly recognizable. It’s like she’s walking on eggshells around me, and if possible, I find it more annoying than when she was giving me hell. I don’t have a problem with being nice; I have a problem with people being fake nice. I can tell she’s keeping herself restrained. When I snapped at her for color-coordinating my closet, I could see the shackled passion behind her eyes. I think she wanted to tell me to eat shit, but she just smiled and cowed.

Something isn’t right.

Edith swears she hasn’t noticed the change, but then again, I can’t really trust Edith when it comes to Meredith. She’s been on her side from the beginning.

This morning, she told me to go easier on her.

“She’s a nice girl,” she said in Meredith’s defense. “One who, for reasons beyond my comprehension, puts up with you.”

“Yeah, well it seems everyone’s seen Meredith’s ‘nice girl’ side but me.”

“A mean dog doesn’t ever see a cat purring. You make her hackles go up. You’ve been nothing short of cruel since she first arrived.”

Maybe that’s why Meredith has changed her attitude around me. Maybe she agrees with Edith about how I’ve been acting and she’s sick of me losing my temper with her.

Who cares? I remind myself I don’t have time to worry about Meredith or her opinion of me.

After I wrap up work for the day, I go looking for Alfred. It’s been a few days since I’ve played fetch with him. Normally he hangs around me all day, but he’s been noticeably absent lately.

I don’t find him around the farmhouse, and when I ask Edith, she says the last time she saw him he was heading down to the creek.

Odd.

He’s never wandered down that far without me. Our property is huge, but he prefers to stick close to the house, which is convenient for me because then I don’t have to chase him down at the end of the day.

I set off down the trail, appreciating the solitude. I haven’t gone down this way in a while. When I was a kid, I lived at the creek in the summer. My friends and I would fill our inner tubes and hike over to the top of the property so we could catch the current and float all the way back down. For my twelfth birthday, my dad installed a rope swing on one of the oak trees and I spent months doing fool-ass backflips to impress the Carrie Suthers. My efforts weren’t in vain—she let me kiss her at the end of summer, right on the edge of the bank.

I’m smiling, thinking about that summer, when I stumble upon a pile of clothes stowed on the path just up ahead. I don’t hear any voices, but Alfred’s definitely down here swimming with someone, and from the look of the jean shorts, it’s Meredith.

I continue down the path, hear a small splash, and spot Alfred swimming in a circle in the creek, barking and whining with worry. There’s no Meredith in sight, but then a few seconds later, she breaks the surface of the water with a wild laugh.

“There!” she declares proudly, wiping her dark hair away from her face. “Did you time me like I asked you to? I counted to 35 Mississippi, which is like four minutes in dog time!”

Alfred barks right in her face, obviously glad to see she wasn’t drowning like he thought she was, and she doesn’t even flinch like I expect her to.

“Okay, well then,” she continues, “you’ll just have to take my word that I just set a world record.”

When I take a step toward the creek, a stick crunches underneath my shoe. Alfred’s ears perk up as he turns, spots me, and a second later, he’s bounding out of the water to say hello.

Of course, he stops a foot in front of me and shakes like crazy, covering me with water. I hold out my hands, but it’s no use.

“All right, all right! You got me!” I crouch down and pet him while he pants. He’s breathing hard and his barrel chest is heaving, which means they’ve probably been swimming for a while.

“Okay, you’ve had your look! You can go now!”

I jerk my head up and find Meredith retreating to the deep area, leaving only her head visible above the surface.

I frown. “What?”

“I don’t have a bathing suit on!”

Jesus Christ, she’s naked?! Fuck. My gut clenches at the idea and in a flash, I push to stand and prop my hands on my hips. “You’d better not be skinny dipping in my damn creek!”

Of all the idiotic things she could be doing. Any ranch hand could easily wander down here and find her like this. I thought we discussed this the other day—her respecting the fact that this is a working ranch with dozens of young, hormonal dolts wandering around.

“I’m not skinny dipping! I have my underwear on, you perv!”

“Then there shouldn’t be a problem, and for the record, I came down here to find Alfred, not spy on you.”

She stands and her shoulders become visible above the surface. They’re tan and freckled from the sun.

“He followed me down here, uninvited—clearly takes after his master.”

I glance down at my dog, who looks mighty proud of himself. “Yeah, well, he loves this place, and I haven’t taken him in a while.”

“Why?”

“You know why.” I sigh. “I’ve been busy.”

I glance over to see her bottom lip sticking out just a bit, her eyes downcast on the water. It almost looks like she feels sorry for me and I’m about to tell her not to bother, but then her eyes brighten and she smiles, snapping her attention up to me. I can see an idea forming in that pretty little head of hers.

“Actually, I’m glad you’re here! Does that rope swing still work?”

She’s pointing over to the old oak tree.

“What do you mean?”

“Is it safe? Like if I try to swing off will it break and send me to my death?”

I wipe away a smirk. “It’s sturdy. It’s been up there for years and it’s held much heavier than you.”

She thinks about that for a second before replying, “Oh, you’ve used it before? So it’s held, what, like 400 pounds?”

My eyebrow quirks like she just issued a dare. “Ha ha. You’re looking at the reigning backflip champion of Cedar Creek.”

“Well, perfect. The truth is, I’ve been working up the courage to use it for the last thirty minutes, but I don’t want to go first.”

I look around as if trying to find another willing participant. “I don’t see how you have any other option.”

Her eyes meet mine as she smiles, and the air leaves my lungs like someone just drove a dagger straight into my chest. In that moment, there’s no denying that she’s gorgeous—not just pretty or sweet, but the most tempting heartbreaker I’ve ever seen. Her dark hair is wet and hanging in a tangled sheet around her face. Her eyelashes are long and thick, boldly framing expressive blue eyes. Her lips are dark red, and her small nose has the same dusting of freckles her shoulders have. She’s the girl next door all grown up, and she’s swimming in my creek in nothing but her underwear.

“I want a tutorial from the supposed champ.”

“I don’t have my bathing suit on.”

My voice is flat and emotionless. I’m trying hard to step back in time to a few minutes ago, to when I hadn’t allowed those thoughts about her to take root in my mind. Acknowledging my attraction to her is a dangerous game I don’t want to play.

“That’s a pitiful excuse,” she says, completely oblivious to what she’s doing to me right now. “I got in without a bathing suit. Also, I wash enough of your underwear to know you don’t go commando, so either shimmy out of those Wranglers and show me how it’s done or prepare to lose the crown.”

I can’t resist giving in to the subtle temptation to flirt with her.

“Y’know, you’re trying pretty hard to get me to strip. In fact, the last time a woman told me to take my jeans off and ‘show her how it’s done’, she wasn’t talking about a rope swing.”

Her face goes beet red. “That’s not what I meant and you know it!”

I grin and turn back to make sure we’re alone. If it’s just her and me, I can pretend like this isn’t a terrible idea. I can give in to the here and now and worry about the rest later.

“Wait!” she shouts. I pause. “If you do stay and swim, you can’t get weird on me. Just pretend I’m wearing a tastefully conservative bikini instead of my undies.”

I roll my eyes and start to work my t-shirt off over my head. “Meredith, don’t kid yourself. I’m not like those hands back there—I don’t lose control of myself at the first sight of bare skin.”

“You’ve never seen my skin,” she taunts.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“I don’t know. It sounded cool in my head. Now just promise me.”

I sigh as I kick off my boots and work the zipper of my jeans. “I promise that I, a grown man and not a horny teenage boy, won’t think twice about seeing you in your—how did you put it? Tastefully conservative underwear. Besides, I have the benefit of knowing you’re a married woman.”

I meant to say the last part as a reminder to myself more than her—I’m practically panting at the idea that she’ll walk toward the shore and I’ll get a glimpse of her wet bra clinging to her curves—but the mention of her past and her husband back in California dampens the light in her eyes in one fell swoop. It’s like I just cut the music and flipped on the lights—party’s over.

She turns to look up the creek, and I berate myself for once again putting my foot in my mouth. We were having a surprisingly good time, and I bet it could continue if I swallow my pride a little bit.

“Forget I said that, okay? Here, look, I’m in my underwear now too, so we’re even.”

She turns back and I catch the subtle way her eyes widen when she sees me standing on the shore in my boxers. She does the quickest scan from head to toe I’ve ever seen and then her gaze flips to the sky. She looks like she’s praying.

“I thought it was implied that the whole ‘not getting weird’ thing goes both ways.”

“No, no, I’m fine.” Her voice is high and squeaky, but she recovers fast. “Wait, so you really know how to do a backflip?”

She sounds thoroughly impressed, and I can’t help but think, Move over, Carrie Suthers. Looks like my rope swing skills are still paying dividends.

It takes her a few tries to toss the rope up to me on the shore, but then I grab hold of it and climb up to the highest part of the bank.

“Shall I count down?” she asks.

Alfred barks from a few yards down, anxious about what I’m about to do. He’s seen me swing plenty of times, but it still makes him nervous.

“Sure.”

“Twenty-five, twenty-four, twenty-three—”

“Meredith.”

“Okay, threetwoone GO!”

I jump off the ledge and arc out over the water. When the rope extends to the farthest point, right over the deepest part of the creek, I let go and allow muscle memory to take over. Warm wind rushes around me as I flip then plunge into the icy water with a splash. I kick up to the surface and shake off the feeling of tiny needles stabbing into my skin. I always forget just how intensely cold it is in the spring-fed creek. The water bubbles straight up from an underground aquifer, so it’s never warm, not even in the heat of summer.

Meredith claps as I break the surface. “Bravo! I totally thought you were bluffing.”

“It wasn’t bad for my first of the season. I’ll get more air next time.”

“More air!? You were practically flying there for a second. How’d you do that?”

“You’re just trying to talk your way out of your turn.”

She feigns shock. “What? Me? No! I just want to hear all about how you learned to do a backflip. Tell me in excruciating detail. Don’t leave anything out.”

“Meredith.”

She throws up her hands and they splash back into the water. “All right! Okay. I’m going…”

With a sigh, she starts swimming for the shore while I hold the end of the rope. For the record, I don’t try to leer at her as she walks out of the water. I have every intention of keeping my promise about not letting things get weird, but then the water starts to slip away inch by inch and I’m a man at a complete loss. The sun shines on the water in just the right way to create a shimmering reflection, and the effect is two Merediths, different but the same. One is an illusion, the other all too real.

Holy hell.

Her tan, toned back gives way to a small waist and long legs. Her bra is lacy and pale cream, sexier than I was expecting. Her underwear are full-coverage cotton panties, yet somehow I find them cute as hell, especially while they’re clinging to her ass.

I knew she had a good body, but not a killer body—not a body that makes me abundantly grateful that the water concealing the lower half of my body is ice cold.

Get a fuckin’ grip, I scold myself.

Once she’s on the shore, she wraps her arms around her chest, as if she’s embarrassed, and then makes a mad dash to the rope swing.

“Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look.” She turns to me and probably sees that my brain has lost all control of motor function. “I said don’t look!”

I slap my hand over my eyes comically. “There? Better?”

“Yes. For the record, these aren’t thrift store tighty-whities. They’re designer tighty-whities.”

“Really? I’m pretty sure they’re the same ones Edith wears. Cute that you guys match.”

“Why do you know so much about your grandma’s unmentionables?”

“Haven’t you heard the rumors about us in the Deep South?

“Wow, is that a genuine joke from Jack McNight? Color me shocked. Now just throw me the rope, will you?”

I drop the hand covering my eyes so I know where to aim. She’s forced to uncross her arms so she can catch it, and I really fucking wish she was wearing a different bra, something that matched her underwear, because the tiny lacy thing covering her chest is sopping wet and I doubt she realizes just how translucent it is. I’m pretty sure I can see the tips of her breasts, and for some reason, I miss the mark on my first few throws.

“Jeez, you suck at this.”

I don’t even respond because I know my voice would come out hoarse and crackly, like a twelve-year-old in his first week of puberty. I’ve never seen a sexier sight. A naked woman is one thing, but a woman barely concealed, covering just enough to make you wonder if you’re seeing something or if your eyes are just playing tricks on you? It is without comparison.

I try my damnedest to keep my attention on her face.

I toss the rope and she misses it.

I think this is what they refer to as cruel and unusual punishment.

“Okay! Just like that. I swear I’ll catch it now.”

If she doesn’t, I’m going to drown myself as penance for my sins. I promised her I wouldn’t let it get weird, and I’m a goddamn liar.

I toss the rope one last time and she catches it at the last second. “Woo! Okay, now move back so I won’t hit you.”

I do as she says, though I know there’s not a chance in hell she’ll make it out this far.

“Either hold your bent elbows close or let your arms extend out fully, because once you get to the bottom of the arc it’s going to feel like you weigh twice as much.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m sure it’s not that hard.”

She jumps and barely clears the edge of the bank before inertia wins out and yanks her into the water. It was less of a rope swing and more of a rope drop.

“Oh my god! I barely even made it off the ledge.” She laughs once she surfaces, burying her face in her hands. “You made it look so easy!”

“About average for your first try.”

It was below average.

“Oh please, I basically just flopped into the water like a dead fish.”

I laugh. “Next time leave your arms fully extended like I told you and make sure to bend your knees. Want to try again?”

“I don’t know.” She bites her bottom lip, thinking it over. “That was pretty embarrassing.”

“No one saw it but me,” I reassure her.

“And Alfred.” She points over to where he’s lounging on the bank, basking in the sun, half asleep.

“Something tells me he didn’t care. Here, c’mon. Now that you know what to expect, it should go a lot better.”

She swims over and climbs back out onto the bank. Her underwear has crept up and I can see the edges of her tan butt cheeks. I’ve seen bikinis more revealing than what she’s wearing, but it’s still such a turn-on. I shift my gaze up to the oak tree and focus in on a nest. Yes, look at that—ahhh, the beauty of nature.

“Ready!” she declares.

This time she does what I tell her and actually manages to swing out toward me before she lets go of the rope and drops into the water like a pro.

She’s so proud of herself when she surfaces. I swim toward her and see she’s beaming then realize my mistake after it’s too late. I shouldn’t have gotten this close. Her eyelashes sparkle as small beads of water catch the light, highlighting the bluest pair of eyes I’ve ever seen, a blue so vibrant it looks electric, like the sky right before a thunderstorm.

The water laps up around her shoulders, and it’s tricking my brain into thinking she’s not wearing anything at all. She’s a siren. She stands, and the water barely conceals her breasts. I want to skim my hand down her delicate neck and smooth shoulders and tug down one of those delicate straps.

Then I blink and realize my wants and desires have turned into actions. My brain is the last thing to catch up. My fingertips are already on Meredith’s shoulder, dipping beneath her bra strap. Everything I imagined doing, I am doing. Her skin is wet silk. A gentle tug and she’s standing right in front of me. Her hips brush against mine in the water.

She’s holding her breath, lips parted as she stares up at me.

“You’re trembling.”

“The water’s cold,” she explains, wetting her bottom lip. “Wh-What are you doing?”

Her tone is perfect innocence.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

I’m about to kiss the hell out of her.

Her hands hit my chest and I blink my eyes closed, inhaling the feel of her palms on my bare skin.

Then she whispers my name, trying to snap us out of this moment, but I won’t let her.

“I really should get back,” she says, voice wobbly.

I snap my attention back to her face and see an expression that punches me in the gut: fear.

Before I can tell her to stay, she turns and starts swimming for the bank. “Thanks for the lesson. I’ll see you back at the house.”

I’m already swimming after her. “I can walk back with you.”

“No! No, you stay and keep swimming. I need to go home and shower. My fingers are shriveled and it’s getting late. I haven’t eaten dinner, and I should clean up a little bit.”

She’s firing off excuse after excuse as they come to mind, one after another—“Big day of cleaning tomorrow, I’m tired, I really need to call my parents”— then she’s out of the water and covering herself as she runs to gather up her clothes. She’s sopping wet yet she still tugs her shirt and shorts on rapid fire. I make it to the shore as she’s slipping her shoes on, but I don’t rush after her. I know when someone’s trying to get rid of me. She’s being smart, putting distance between us. I’m sure she saw the way I was looking at her, but it doesn’t come close to what I was thinking, the seduction I was planning in my mind. She should run away. She should scurry right on back to the shack, or better yet, all the way back to California, because the thoughts flitting through my head were filthy. Had she been a little closer and I a little more naive, I would have tugged her close and wrapped her legs around my waist. I’d have angled her face up to mine and pressed a string of kisses to her lips, her chin, her throat. That bra would have been peeled off and those panties would have followed. Nothing good would have come from it. Everything good would have come from it.

I might’ve had my first kiss underneath that oak tree, but I’d have taken a lot more than that from Meredith.