Page 72 of The Convict Gets His Girl

He winced at her words and nodded. "I'll step outside if you'd like to change." He didn't move, just stood holding his coffee and staring down at her with a guarded expression. Finally, he sighed and said, "Have you thought about the plan for today? What would you like to do?"

She licked her lips and glanced away, picking at the blanket. "I—I wouldn't mind hanging out with you today. Talking. Is the MacDonald place in good shape after all these years? I didn't actually look at it when I was looking at listings with Jade."

His shoulders seemed to relax as he smiled. "Only one way to find out. Get ready and let's go see it."

He grabbed a t-shirt from the dresser, a flannel shirt from the back of a chair, and his boots by the door. With coffee cup in his hand, the door clicked behind him.

Jewel dressed quickly, pulling on comfortable jeans and a soft sweater. Her movements were tentative, her mind still processing the intimate vulnerability of the night before. This same thing had happened fifteen years ago. That summer, after their first time, she'd run off to college because she'd been so—she still couldn't describe it. Scared wasn't the right term, but the intensity between them had shocked her.

She found her mushroom coffee packet and prepared it with shaking hands, the cabin's silence punctuated only by the beeping of the microwave that heated her drink. She easily found a travel cup in his meager belongings, and she took her spare medication that she kept with her. As a vet, she never knew when she'd end up getting called in the middle of the night. She'd long ago learned to always be prepared with a go-bag in the truck.

She brushed her teeth while the microwave counted down, then cleaned up after herself, making the bed and wiping down the prep area she'd used.

When she stepped outside, Chase was chopping wood beside the cabin, his axe rising and falling with practiced precision. Each swing revealed muscles rippling beneath his skin, scars telling stories of hard living. He stopped when he heard her approach, wiping sweat from his brow.

She licked her lips, desire sending a knot in her stomach once more. It was like she couldn't get enough of him.

"Ready?" he asked, leaning the axe against a nearby stump and grabbing the t-shirt that sat on top.

She nodded, trying to hide the flush creeping up her neck and fighting the urge to trace the muscles moving beneath his skin as he pulled the shirt on. "Ready."

As they climbed into her truck, she was suddenly nervous about seeing the house. The MacDonald property represented more than just potential real estate—it felt like a potential future, something she wasn't sure she was ready to contemplate sharing with him.

The truck ride was quiet, comfortable in its silence. No forced conversation, just the soft rumble of the engine and occasional glances exchanged.

ChapterTwenty-Seven

The MacDonald property sat on a gentle hill that looked over the west side of town, the back surrounded by pine and cedar. A weathered two-story Victorian with peeling white paint stood sentinel over several acres of overgrown land. An old barn listing slightly to one side completed the scene.

She pulled up slowly, cutting the engine as Chase cleared his throat. "Been abandoned about five years now. Previous owner died, no family to inherit. It needs a little work, but the bones are good. Landry inspected it, and there's nothing major to replace except the roof. The roofers come two days after I sign."

Jewel's veterinary eye swept the property.

The fencing needed repair, the drainage ditches were overgrown, and several fence posts had rotted at their bases. But she could see potential—acres perfect for horses, maybe even a small animal rehabilitation center she'd always dreamed about.

"How many acres?" she asked, her voice soft with wonder.

"Twenty," Chase responded, watching her reaction carefully. "Good pasture on the east side, some timber on the west and north, but there's a nice clearing behind the barn that could be perfect for… well, whatever we might want."

She heard the hint of vulnerability in his voice. Whatever they might want, together. Her breath caught at his casual use of "we." Was he already assuming they would be doing this together? Her mind raced with possibilities and hesitations.

The unspoken possibility hung between them like morning mist.

Chase stepped out of the truck first, walking around to open her door. His gentlemanly gesture felt both old-fashioned and genuine. When her feet touched the ground, he didn't immediately release her hand.

"Want the grand tour?" he asked, his thumb tracing small circles on her palm.

Her breath caught, and she nodded, words failing her as he led her, hand-in-hand through the broken gate and up the sidewalk to the front door. The front porch creaked under their weight, paint chipping away beneath their boots. Chase pulled out an old key, its brass surface dulled by years of disuse. The lock turned with a reluctant groan.

The door swung open, revealing a dusty interior frozen in time. Sunlight filtered through grimy windows, illuminating faded wallpaper and antique furniture draped in yellowed sheets. The musty smell of abandonment hung in the air, mingling with hints of cedar and old wood.

Chase moved first, pulling back heavy curtains to let light stream in. Dust motes danced in the sudden brightness, swirling around their feet. "My grandpa would've loved this place," he murmured, more to himself than to Jewel. "I think the previous owner had owned it since the seventies, but a few of the key rooms have been updated, probably in the late nineties."

She followed him, her veterinary training making her scan the space methodically. The hardwood floors were solid oak, scarred but unbroken. Original crown molding traced the ceiling's edges, intricate and surprisingly intact. A grand staircase curved elegantly to the second floor, its wooden banister smooth despite years of neglect.

Her fingers traced a delicate path along a built-in bookshelf in the living room, leaving clean tracks in the dust. The mantle and fireplace were made of local stone, carefully fitted together generations ago. She could imagine winter nights spent here, a fire crackling, generations of families sharing stories and warmth.

"The kitchen's through here," Chase said softly, his hand still holding hers. "Might need some work, but the appliances look like they were updated maybe ten years ago."

---