Shayla’s uneasy groan rang in her ear as a bitter warning. Right on cue, her old nemesis guilt appeared, tapping her left shoulder with a pitchfork.

“I will.” Her voice slipped into a softness, nearly inaudible. “I have to, Shayla. Honestly, I’ve tried, but the words just won’t come out. I don’t know how to start the conversation.”

Shayla’s tsk of understanding, delivered little comfort. “Promise me you’ll tell him before you come home.”

Carrie Ann drew in a never-ending breath. She filled her cheeks full of air, expanding them like frightened blowfish, before slowly releasing the pressure through tightly compressed lips. “I promise.”

Chapter Twelve

‡

She’d spent ten years trying to force him from her memories, but the days that followed were a magical rediscovery of a love neither had ever truly let go of. The window to her soul had been pushed wide open, welcoming Summer like a breath of fresh air.

Carrie Ann couldn’t get enough of him and Summer seemed just as content being glued to her side. And her front. And her back. They kissed passionately, danced randomly, made love zealously, and laughed constantly. The simple act of holding his hand felt like a lifeline to their future. Happiness welled from a place deep down inside, bringing life to a place she thought had been wiped from her spirit.

The word vacation took on an entirely different meaning. No schedules, no clocks, no social media. This was relaxation at its finest. An unadulterated week of being unplugged from the world and uninhibited from one another.

They went for short hikes, soaked in the mineral pool, lounged by the fire, and had several serious rounds of Who Sunk My Battleship by candlelight. Summer broke out a script and read to her, actually read to her, in front of the fire. The script was touted as a masterful title that would bring the literary sub-genre Domestic Noir to the forefront. Mixing the seductive thriller, or at least the good parts, with his privately distilled whiskey made for an erotic evening. Remaining in character, he slinked down her waist, hooking his thumb through the thin material of her panties. “You are my addiction,” he said with conviction. Taking it a step beyond the sensual scene written on the pages, he plunged his mouth to her apex, bringing her to pieces with his wickedly talented tongue.

After reaching her peak, she panted, “Just so we’re clear, you’re not taking this role, right? Cause I’d hate to have to hospitalize one of Hollywood’s finest leading ladies.”

“From now on, you are my only leading lady.”

“That’s a definitive no, right?”

A low chuckle simmered in his chest, taking a bite of her inner thigh. “That’s a definitive no.”

Weather permitting, they took a day trip to Jackson Hole. The upscale sleepy village offered limitless opportunities to outdoor enthusiasts of every age and acted as a magnet for fast paced family fun during the peak seasons. Pup in tow, they meandered the streets, hitting a few galleries and designer boutiques infused with authentic western flare. He bought a few trinkets for the cabin, a souvenir hoodie for each of them, plus several handmade candles and oils, promising to use them that night, their last night, at the cabin.

Though they opted to keep the day casual, Carrie Ann wore a cerulean blue cotton summer dress and her favorite converse while he dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. Though he sported a baseball cap, backwards, people still noticed him. Summer’s height and size made him stand out in any crowd, but his ruggedly handsome features made him a target for women of any age. Not to mention he was named Man Crush of the Year by People.

Passerby’s pointed and stared, snapping photos from a distance. She found herself on edge with the added attention, but Summer was in his element. He was confident, yet on guard, fully aware of everything going on around them. His ready smile and laid back charm was on full display as he held her hand and kissed her sweetly, openly showering her with affection.

Children lined the streets and their father’s shoulders, as they gathered in the town square taking in the old fashioned gun-slinging showdown between an infamous outlaw and a posse hot on his trail. The Jackson Hole Shootout Show had been a Montana tradition for more than fifty years.

After the showdown, they stood in a small informal line, waiting to take a touristy picture under the iconic arch made of elk antlers. A little girl waiting in line behind them wearing pigtails and a water bottle fanny pack, lingered closer, making fast friends with Aspen. Her mother strolled over to oversee the friendship.

Getting a glimpse of Summer, she squealed, loudly, sending a shriek of excitement throughout the square. “Oh, my God! Oh, my God! I can’t believe it’s you! I love your movies!”

Summer immediately offered his hand as a polite hello, but the woman was in the middle of a total full-blown fan girl meltdown. She bypassed his extended hand, and dove straight in for a full embrace. Thankfully he had good footing or she might have tackled him to the ground. Carrie Ann stepped back, though she didn’t have much of choice. The mother wedged herself between them, throwing her arms around his waist, like a small child clinging to a giant teddy bear.

Unable to disguise her shock, Carrie Ann’s eyes popped wide and mouth gaped open. She wasn’t mad, but the element of surprise, left her a bit dazed. Noticing Carrie Ann’s reaction, the woman’s husband clasped hold of his wife’s elbow attempting to draw her away.

Not happening. There was no way she was letting go. Smashing her crimson cheek against his chest, she drew in a big breath through her nose, indulging in the scent of his cologne. The woman’s eyes drifted shut and her smile filled with wonderment as if he smelled exactly as she hoped he would.

Summer’s demeanor switched like a flip. No one else seemed to notice, but Carrie Ann witnessed his energy shift one hundred and eighty degrees into work mode. He greeted her with a polite hello and a brief hug before holding her at bay, reaching for her husband’s hand. The two men exchanged a nod, a gesture of sorts, an underlying indication that the man needed to peel his wife from Summer’s frame.

The thirty-something man, who appeared to be somewhat mortified by his wife’s behavior yet a little star struck himself, collected her by the arm, encouraging, “Honey, step back and give Mr. Ryan some breathing room.”

A small crowd started to gather. Carrie Ann’s gaze sifted defensively through a sea of curious onlookers. Summer snagged Carrie Ann by the waist, pulling her to his side, graciously offering a quick picture in hopes of quieting her outburst.

“You want me in the picture?” she whispered in his ear. “I don’t think she wants me in the photo. Really, I don’t mind. Go ahead.”

The words I don’t mind tumbled from her mouth so easily. Too easily. And Summer knew it. She minded. The fact that the majority of women in the world ranging from birth to ninety-nine found him one of the sexiest men on the planet would take some getting used to and some learned restraint on her part. However, having a father known for his savvy courtroom tactics that may or may not have allowed more than one criminal free to walk the streets, Carrie Ann did more than enjoy her privacy, she cherished it. One little crowd in the middle of nowhere wouldn’t compare to the chaos that would be waiting for them in Hollywood. Stepping foot on the tarmac in LA was going to be a three-ring circus.

Summer tucked a loose piece of hair behind her ear, bringing his eyes around to meet hers. “I mind,” his undertone, profuse with emotion.

One by one phones lifted to head-height, snapping pictures that would surely be added to a dozen Yellowstone family vacation photo albums. They posed for a picture with the woman, and a few with the entire family, Aspen included.