Against the Wind (2 page)

A
brilliant Wyoming sun shone down on eight inches of fresh snow that blanketed the landscape. In the distance, the branches on the pine trees climbing the sides of the mountains drooped with their heavy burden of white. Already it was melting. It was mid-May, a little late in the year for a storm this size, though it wasn't that uncommon, either.

In the mountains, the weather was always unpredictable. It was one of the things Jackson liked best about living here, the fierce storms and wild winds, the sun so bright it hurt your eyes. As he walked toward the barn, pulling on his work gloves, he smiled. When he'd left Wind Canyon sixteen years ago, he wasn't sure he would ever return.

Now he was home and he was damned glad to be back.

He glanced ahead, his steps slowing as he spotted
the Mercedes with the flat tire he had worked on last night. What in blazes was the car doing parked at the cottage?

Jackson turned in that direction, each step leaving a deep boot print in the snow. He had almost reached the house when he heard his housekeeper, Olivia Jones, calling from behind him.

“Jackson, wait! Jackson!” She was breathing hard as she hurried toward him, a woman of sixty, broad-hipped, thick-waisted and gray-haired. She'd been a real beauty in her day, still had the dimples in her cheeks to prove it, and the same sweet smile she'd had when she worked at the ice-cream shop in town when he was a boy.

She wasn't smiling now. “Jackson!”

“Take it easy, Livvy. You'll give yourself a heart attack.”

She cast him a look, then drew in a panting breath and slowly released it. “I forgot to tell you—I rented the cottage.”

“You what?”

“We talked about it, remember? You said we ought to do something with the place instead of just letting it sit there and rot into the ground.”

“I didn't say we should rent it. My brothers stay there whenever they come back to town.”

“Which is almost never. They're too busy making money.”

“Yes, but—”

“You said do something, so I did.”

He lifted his cowboy hat, then settled it back down on his forehead. “All right, I guess that's fair.” He looked over at the cottage. The gabled roof had just been replaced and the slight sag in the porch had been repaired,
making it nice to sit outside where you could watch the small, rushing stream that passed by the house. “So what's that car doing parked there?”

“That's the new tenant.”

“Tell me you didn't rent the place to some rich society woman from the city out here for the summer.”

“Of course not.”

“I changed the lady's tire last night and that's what she looked like to me.”

“She's not
some society woman.
She used to live in Wind Canyon when she was a girl. She recently lost her husband. She wanted to come home and I thought this would be the perfect place for her to recover from her loss.”

Jackson frowned. “What's her name?”

“Sarah Hollister.”

“Doesn't sound familiar.”

“She was Sarah Allen when she was a girl.”

Jackson took the news like a sucker punch to the stomach.
Sarah Allen.
Damn, he had known her voice sounded familiar. Sarah had been two grades behind him in school, though he was three years older. He thought she was the prettiest, sweetest girl he had ever seen.

Man, had he been wrong.

Oh, she was pretty. From what little he could see last night, she still was. But even back then, Sarah was a social climber, a middle-class girl who wanted to be part of the in crowd, to socialize with the kids whose parents had money.

It had taken him weeks to work up the courage to talk to her. That first time, she had seemed almost shy. A few
weeks passed while he madly saved his money. Like a lovesick fool, he had asked her to his senior prom.

Sarah hadn't just said no. When she realized some of her friends were watching, she had pointed at him as if he were something stuck on the bottom of her shoe, and started laughing.

“Jackson wants to take me to the prom!” She ignored his red face and the hands at his sides balled into fists. “How would we get there, Jackson? In that old, beat-up car of yours? Or maybe your brother could loan us his bicycle.”

He had turned and walked away when he wanted to punch something, maybe hit the guy laughing even harder than she was, the school's pretty-boy quarterback, Jeffrey Freedman. Jeff was the guy who gave him and his younger brothers, Gabe and Devlin, more grief than any of the other kids in school.

He and Freedman had gone at it once before and Freedman had come out the loser. Jackson might have hit him again except that by then he'd started team-boxing and his coach, Steve Whitelaw, had taught him that the street fighting he was so good at would only get him into more trouble. He was learning to channel the talent he had with his fists into a sport that eventually won him a scholarship.

Jackson glanced back at the cottage. He was no longer that same insecure boy who had left Wind Canyon sixteen years ago. But he would never forget the girl who had made him feel less than a man.

“You remember her, don't you?” Livvy asked, breaking into his thoughts. “She was real pretty, thick dark brown hair and big blue eyes. She was kind of shy back then.”

“Shy? I'm afraid that isn't the Sarah I remember. And I don't want her here.” He started toward the cottage, but Livvy caught his arm.

“What are you doing? I've already taken her money.”

“Then give it back.”

“She doesn't want it back. She wants a place to raise her little girl. I thought it would be nice to have a child around—and maybe some female company once in a while.”

“Fine, but not here.”

“Why not?”

“Because I said so. Go back to the house, Livvy. I'll take care of this.”

“But…but…”

Jackson just ignored her and kept on walking. He tried to tell himself he wouldn't get the least satisfaction from throwing Sarah Allen off his land.

But he knew it wasn't the truth.

 

Sarah hummed as she worked in the quaint little cottage, unpacking her and Holly's things. She had tied a bandanna around her head to hold back her heavy dark hair and though the place was immaculately clean, busied herself lining drawers with the shelf paper she had found in one of the closets and generally taking inventory of what was in the house.

She glanced around the larger of two cozy bedrooms, one with twin beds, the other with a queen-size four-poster, each covered with what looked like handmade quilts. Surprisingly, considering the age of the cottage, there were also two bathrooms, which Sarah viewed as a major bonus.

She was on her way back into the living room—wide-planked wooden floors, a stone fireplace, a comfortable sofa and chairs—when she heard a brisk knock at the door. For a instant, fear gripped her. Living with Andrew had instilled a defense mechanism that set her adrenaline rushing in an instant.

She forced herself to relax. Assuming it must be Olivia Jones, the lady who had rented her the property, she hurried over, lifted the wrought-iron latch and pulled the door open.

Her eyes widened. It wasn't Olivia; it was Jackson Raines.

And he didn't look happy to see her.

“Hello, Sarah.”

She wet her lips, which suddenly felt stiff as paper. “Hello, Jackson.”

“You don't seem surprised to see me. I guess you recognized me last night.”

“I…umm…figured it out.”

“And you must have been headed here and not the Whittaker Ranch.”

“I made the wrong turn.” She tipped her head back a little farther to look at him. He was even taller than she remembered, somewhere around six foot three. He had certainly changed in sixteen years. Each of his features seemed more distinct, his dark brown eyes more intense, his cheekbones more sharply defined. She remembered the slight cleft in his chin, but now there was a faint scar along his temple and another bisected one of his nicely shaped eyebrows.

A little tremor of awareness went through her that she was surprised to feel. It had been years since she
had felt any sort of attraction to a man. After Andrew, she thought maybe she never would again.

“Do you…umm…work here on the ranch?” she asked.

The corner of his mouth edged up. “You might say that.” He looked over her shoulder into the living room, surveyed the boxes on the sofa and the suitcases on the bed he could see through the open bedroom door. “I'm afraid we have a problem.”

“We do? What is it?”

“Mrs. Jones made a mistake. The cottage is not for rent.”

Her stomach tightened. “That…that can't be right. It was listed on the internet. The details have all been worked out.”

“I'll see your money is returned. And I'll pay for any extra trouble this might have caused. Just tell me how much and I'll write you a check.”

Her voice rose. “I don't want a check! This is going to be our home. Holly and I…we need this place. We love it here already.” Tears welled in her eyes. She couldn't stand to think of being uprooted again, of searching for somewhere else to live, of disappointing Holly. Just then the little girl raced into the living room.

“Mommy—there's a nest of baby robins under the roof right outside my window! The mother bird is feeding them!” She slid to a stop just a few feet away from Jackson. “You're the man from last night.”

“That's right.”

“Holly, this is Mr. Raines. Jackson, this is my daughter, Holly.”

“You saved us. Mommy said she didn't know what
we would have done if you hadn't come along. Maybe we would have frozen right out there on the road.”

His lips twitched. “I don't think you would have frozen but I'm glad I could help.”

“Please,” Sarah pleaded, “isn't there any way you could speak to the owner, tell him how important it is for Holly and me to stay?”

His eyes drifted over her turtleneck sweater and jeans, the white sneakers she wore that would be worthless out in the snow. “Just how important is it?”

A lump began to swell in her throat. Being here meant everything. Since the moment she had walked through the door of the cottage, for the first time in years, she had felt as if she were home.

“I have a job in town, working for the
Wind Canyon News.
It's freelance, so it's only part-time and I'll be able to take care of Holly. I had to pull her out of school two weeks early but I figured it would be worth it. She's never lived anywhere but the city. I want her to know what it's like to live somewhere free and open—a place where there are trees and animals and birds, where the sky is blue and clear.” She glanced away, afraid he would notice the glitter of tears in her eyes. “She just lost her father. She needs this, Jackson. Please…I need it.”

He was frowning. He looked down at Holly, who was staring at him as if he were a real-life hero—which, to her, being a cowboy and their savior last night, he was.

He took a deep breath and slowly released it. “I suppose it wouldn't hurt if you stayed for a while. Just don't get too comfortable. If things don't work out, you'll have to find another place to live.”

Relief hit her so hard her knees went weak. A bright
smile broke over her face. “Things will work out. We won't be a problem, I promise.”

He nodded.

“So you'll talk to the owner? You'll make sure it's okay for us to stay?”

He made a scoffing sound. “I'll take care of it.” Then he turned and started walking away, out the door and across the porch, out into the snow.

Sarah ran after him. “I meant to ask…” she called out. “What's the name of the man who owns the ranch?”

He kept on walking, his boots crunching in the snow. Over his shoulder he called back to her. “Jackson Raines.”

Sarah just stood there staring. Jackson Raines owned the ranch where she and Holly were going to live. Of course, after the way she had treated him all those years ago, no wonder he wanted her to leave! She dragged in a breath and slowly released it. Sooner or later, she would have to talk to him, apologize and try to explain why she had behaved so badly—not that there was any real excuse.

“He's a really nice man, Mama. I like him.”

She managed a smile. “It was kind of him to let us stay.” But clearly, it was only a temporary reprieve. He would be looking for a reason to get rid of them. He didn't want her here, and she couldn't really blame him.

Still, she wouldn't make it easy.

She intended to keep to herself, do her job in town and not cause any trouble.

Surely that wouldn't be a difficult thing to do.

 

Two days later, Jackson stood at the kitchen window, watching as a car hauler drove down the lane past the
ranch house and rolled to a stop in front of the cottage. There was an old Toyota pickup on the flatbed, rusted and at least ten years old. The driver unloaded the little truck that looked like a miniature version of a real pickup, then pulled Sarah's fancy Mercedes up on the carrier and began to strap it down.

Jackson frowned. What the hell was going on?

Taking a last swig of coffee, he tossed the rest down the drain, grabbed his jacket off the coatrack beside the door and headed toward the cottage. Most of the snow had already melted, leaving the ground a muddy, soggy mess. His old work boots squished with every step. As he strode toward the cottage, he spotted Sarah standing on the porch, dressed in jeans and the same white sneakers she'd had on the last time he saw her. He wondered why she didn't have the good sense to buy herself a decent pair of boots.

“All set, Ms. Allen.”

“Thank you, Mr. Roderick.”

The driver waved, got back into his truck, turned the carrier around in the open space between the cottage and the barn, and headed back down the lane toward the road.