Hometown Reunion. Lisa Carter
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doubt, she fell back on what she did know. And Shirley knew kayaking.
Brody was too cute in his navy blue crocs, his legs straddling the child-sized kayak.
And with Jax engrossed in perusing the company website, she took her first good look at Brody’s father. As lanky as ever, tall like all the Pruitt men. Corded muscles rippled along his forearms.
He’d fulfilled the physical potential of the boy she’d once known. Always handsome with his brown hair and melted-chocolate eyes. Problem was, back then he knew it. He knew just how to use his charm and good looks to his advantage.
The clean, pleasing aroma of his soap teased her nostrils. Her pulse jumped. She jolted at Jax’s voice.
“How do you schedule the outings?”
The faster she updated Jaxon Pruitt on the business he’d bought out from under her, the faster she could return to her own life. Clicking the mouse, she showed him how to access the booking calendar.
“We offer one- to three-day kayaking expeditions, in addition to half-day trips. Anything from day-tripping to navigating the entire hundred-mile length of the Seaside Water Trail. From the tip of the peninsula at Cape Charles north to Chincoteague.”
“Aunt Shirley did this by herself?”
Darcy shrugged. “After high school, I came on full-time. We worked in tandem on the water. But in the last few years, I’ve led the paddle groups while Shirley coordinated details at the shop.”
Jax ticked through the website tabs. “Where do clients overnight on multiday expeditions?”
“For the more adventurous, we pitch tents on the barrier islands. Others prefer accommodations at B and Bs we’ve established relationships with, like the Duer Inn.”
He rubbed the back of his neck.
“Of course, you’ll need to teach paddle school before every excursion. And memorize the chart routes.” At his dazed look, she stopped. “It’s a lot to take in all at once.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Yeah.” His shoulders drooped.
At the uncertainty blanketing his features, a begrudging compassion filled her. “It will get easier, Jax.”
His gaze cut to hers. “Will it?”
Darcy’s breath hitched at his bleak expression. “Like riding a swell, it’ll come back. You’ll catch up.” Her heart pounded. “I’ll help.”
“I need all the help I can get.” His gaze shifted to the window. “Brody likes you.” Jax’s eyes dropped to the keyboard. “He’s been so closed-off since his mother died. I’d begun to think he’d never—” His voice choked.
The Jax she remembered wasn’t given to displays of emotion.
She closed the laptop. “Brody is a sweetheart. It’s entirely my pleasure to know your son.”
Giving Jax time to recover his self-control, she went over the list of gear presented to clients after booking an excursion.
He shuffled through a folder he’d brought with him. “I’ve been thinking about a new marketing strategy to lure in more locals. What if we—”
“Not a good idea.”
His nostrils flared. “How about listening before you dismiss my ideas?”
She jutted her chin. “How long has it been since you’ve been kayaking, Jax?”
His chiseled features hardened. “A while. Adrienne was from Utah. She preferred to snow ski.”
“Well, here’s a little news flash for you. Nothing—including kayaking—stood still while you were spanning the globe.”
“I never said—”
“Typical Jaxon Pruitt. Always assuming he knows more than he really does.”
He gritted his teeth. “That’s not fair. Hear me out.”
“Based on experience, I know locals aren’t interested in the tours we operate. Nor, for the most part, able to pay the premium we charge.”
“Darcy, I’ve been reading—”
“Reading?” She sniffed. “If only your high school English teacher had lived to see the day.”
Jax exhaled. “Look, for this partnership to work we’re both going to have to get on board with compromise. As the new owner, I think—”
“I wouldn’t get on board with you, Jaxon Pruitt, if the ship was sinking and you were the last lifeboat available.”
“Darcy, if you’d just—”
Scraping her chair across the tile, she rose. “We’re done.”
He got to his feet. “You’d rather drown than paddle with me?” His jaw went rock solid. “Fine.”
Toe to toe with him, she glared. “Great.”
His brows furrowed. “Fantastic.”
She started for the door, her flip-flops punctuating her angry stride. “A jock like you shouldn’t use big words he doesn’t know how to spell.”
“Takes one to know one.”
She wheeled. “Did you call me a jock?”
Confusion flickered in his dark eyes. “Tomboy Darcy would’ve taken it as a compliment.”
“Tomboys grow up.” She curled her lip. “Something you should try.”
“I didn’t mean...” He growled. “Why do you have to be so obstinate, Darcy Parks? So hardheaded? So—”
She whirled toward the door. “Like you say, takes one to know one.” Never looking back, she fluttered her hand over her shoulder. “Goodbye. Good riddance. Have yourself a good life, Jaxon Pruitt.”
“Darce...”
Storming out, bell jangling, she let the slamming door frame her response.
Her and Jaxon Pruitt work together? Impossible. He was impossible. Same old arrogant jerk. She must’ve been delusional, imagining he’d acquired even a shred of humility.
She was breathing hard when she flung herself inside the SUV. Strangling the wheel, she forced herself to take a cleansing breath. Of all the people she’d ever known, Jaxon Pruitt possessed a rare ability to send her into orbit.
After cranking the key in the ignition, she pulled out of the parking lot and passed her father’s car at the church. On Saturday afternoons, he liked to practice preaching his sermon to the empty sanctuary. Reverend Parks would’ve told her she needed to pray about her attitude. Like Jax didn’t?
When she rounded the village green, one of the volunteer firefighters waved from the open bay of the station. Small town friendliness. Some things never changed. Which used to drive her crazy. But now?
There was something incredibly soothing and comforting about the unchanging rhythm of life on the Eastern Shore. As predictable as the tide. A surety in an otherwise uncertain world that, at age thirty, she’d finally learned to appreciate.
A cocoon of safety... She grimaced. Until Jaxon and his heart-stealing son had arrived.
Completing her drive-by of the square, she turned into one of the residential side streets radiating out from the green like the spokes of a wheel.
Oaks and maples arched over the street. Streaming through the foliage, sunshine splattered the sidewalk. Averting her gaze from Jaxon’s family home, she pulled into the driveway of the neighboring Victorian parsonage, her home since birth.
Such a cliché. Literally, the girl next door. After parking in the half-circle drive, she trudged toward the backyard, where Shore folk did most of their living. She was careful