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of his hat down. “I’m not playing with children’s toys, Allie. And I don’t see how they’ll ever get me to where I can read a book like Jax Angle, much less function as a literate foreman of a ranch.”

“They’re not toys. They’re manipulatives.”

“You can call them whatever you want, but they’re blocks. For kids.”

And I’m a fully grown man.

Just in case she hadn’t noticed he was a fully grown man, he undid the top few buttons of his shirt. It was hot out, after all.

Alice bit her lip. Cleared her throat.

Got the message.

She put the blocks back in the bag and returned to the rock, leaf, and stick. Then she began digging in the dirt with her toe.

“What are you looking for?”

“Aha!” she said, leaning over and picking up an acorn. “We’re going to try this again. Pretend these are sounds.”

She spoke gently, but instead of calming him, her words made him feel jittery and strange. Damn, it was a good thing it was hot outside. Otherwise the heat in his cheeks might be visible. He might spend all of his time outdoors, and he might have a five o’clock shadow by noon, but he’d always been an outrageous blusher, and embarrassment was a trigger.

He yanked on his hat again. “I don’t need to play pretend games. Just teach me the way you’d teach anybody. Let’s do it the regular way.”

“But Beau, the regular ways haven’t worked for you. And this is a process that helps a lot of people. Every time you see the acorn, think of the soft a sound. And this”—she picked up the leaf—“is going to be a hard c sound.”

This was beyond ridiculous. Where were the books? The letters? The tablets? Acorns and leaves didn’t make sounds. Words weren’t made out of acorns and leaves. Suddenly, he wasn’t in the mood for this lesson.

He was hot.

Hot from the sun. Hot from the frustration. Hot from watching a small bead of sweat drip down Alice’s chest and disappear between her breasts.

He looked at the Rio Verde. It would feel fantastic to dive into its refreshing depths and disappear with a little sizzle and a puff of steam.

He’d learned as a kid that when things got tough, it was time for a diversion. A distraction.

A bit of fun.

“Let’s go swimming.”

“What?” Alice stammered.

“Let’s go swimming. We can cool off a bit, and then it will be easier for me to focus.”

Alice glanced at the river. “I didn’t bring a swimsuit, and I doubt you did, either.”

“Who needs swimsuits?”

Alice raised her hand. “Me. I need one.”

“Aw, come on. I think every kid in Big Verde had their first skinny-dipping experience right here at this dam.”

Alice arranged the items. “This might look like a leaf, an acorn, and a twig. But together, they spell the word can.”

It didn’t look like can to Beau. It looked like a damn leaf, acorn, and twig. “How old were you the first time you went skinny-dipping?”

Alice moved the twig and replaced it with the rock. “Now it spells cat, and I’ve never been skinny-dipping.”

Everybody had been skinny-dipping. She just didn’t want to admit it. “You’re fibbing.”

Alice stared at the word she’d spelled. He glanced at it, too. She’d only changed out the last object—a twig for a rock—and that had changed the very last sound. Suddenly, he kind of had an inkling to see what would happen if he changed out the rock for something else.

Leaves and twigs didn’t move around like letters.

“I’ve never even been to the dam before,” Alice said softy. “Believe me, I was not at any of the parties held here, or anywhere, for that matter.”

Beau thought back to when he was twelve and Alice was sixteen. He remembered that ponytail, and how it bounced around like it had a mind of its own. Alice swatted at a gnat, and he realized, with a grin, that her ponytail still seemed to have a mind of its own.

He remembered how she’d laughed at his and Bryce’s jokes, and how it had made him want to do tricks and show off and be royally obnoxious, just to hear that sound. And he also remembered how much he’d wanted to impress her by being able to do his homework quickly and correctly. By talking about books and whatnot, like Bryce did.

“Seriously, Allie? You’ve never been swimming here? Not even once? Not even on senior skip day?”

Alice had been pretty and smart, and his twelve-year-old mind had assumed she’d been popular. Was it possible he was wrong, and that maybe she’d sat at home while other kids were out having fun? It was hard for Beau to wrap his mind around. To him, Alice had been beautiful and sophisticated. Smart and talented. To him, she’d been . . .

Well, hell. She’d been everything.

Why did Beau have to look so surprised? Surely not every kid in Big Verde had skinny-dipped here. Alice swatted at a fly that was buzzing around. “Anyway, who cares about high school?”

She grabbed a notebook out of her bag and opened it. She tried to write the letters she planned to work with, but her arm was sweaty and it stuck to the paper, tearing it. “Dang it!”

“Come on, Allie. Let’s cool off. Then we’ll work.”

How childish could Beau be? “That’s not how it works. First you work, and then you play.”

Beau raised an eyebrow.

Wait a minute. Had she just committed to playing? “Don’t look at me like that. I have no intention—”

“I’ll mess around with your rocks and acorns if you’ll go skinny-dipping with me first.”

“I’m not skinny-dipping with you, Beau. Get the idea out of your head right now.”

“Okay, fine. You can keep your underwear on.”

“I didn’t come all the way down here to go swimming. I came down here to tutor you—”

“Bucket list.”

“Pardon?”

“Write skinny-dipping on your bucket list, right below horseback riding, and then let’s cross it off.”

She stared at him. He was speaking her love language, and he knew it.

“Let’s cut a deal,” he said. “Twenty