Rebecca Zanetti - Against the Wall

“No.” The color of Jake’s eyes deepened, and his hand slid to the back of Sophie’s head.

“No,” she said as she placed both hands against his chest and pushed to a seated position. “No way. Not that.”

“Why not?” Jake sat up, his eyes intent on her mouth.

Despite her resolve, heat flared in her abdomen. “Because this is business. We’re on opposite sides.”

“We don’t have to be.”

“Yeah, we do.” Her brain told her body to get a grip. “Unless you’re going to support my design?”

“No.” Regret colored his words.

They were on opposite sides, no matter how sexy he was or how much she wanted to kiss him again. “We should get back.” Sophie shivered as the wind caught a chill.

His gaze ran over her face. Then, with a nod, Jake rolled to his feet and held a broad hand to help her up. “Yeah, we should. The spring storm season should be arriving any day, and while impressive, you don’t want to be caught outside.”

“Spring storm season?” She moved to help him repack.

“Yes. Probably not until next week, though the breeze coming off the lake has more of a chill than it should.” He turned and lifted her onto the mare, helping her insert her new boots in the worn stirrups.

Sophie felt slightly more at home on the pretty horse, but while her body relaxed, her thoughts spun. What had he meant that his wife had run away from him? How had she died? What would it be like to kiss Jake again? Maybe the first time was just a fluke. And it didn’t matter that she wasn’t Kooskia—one silly kiss didn’t mean anything.

What she needed to concentrate on was how Sophie could convince Jake to change his mind and help her get the tribe to support her proposal.

They arrived back at the paddock before she knew it. Jake’s indulgent sigh as they drew closer should have provided warning to who obviously awaited them.

“Hello, Sophie.” Chief Lodge strolled out the big double door.

“Afternoon, Chief Lodge.” Sophie gratefully took his offered hand and swung down from the horse. Her leg muscles protested in spasm, and she stumbled.

“Did you talk to the land?” The chief steadied her until she could stand on her own.

“I sure tried.” She put both hands on her hips and stretched her back, ignoring the loud pop from her spine.

“And?”

“I think the land wants a golf course there.” She grinned at the elder.

The chief threw back his head and guffawed. “Oh, Sophie, you’re a pip.” He wiped his eyes with one gnarled hand. “That settles it, then.”

“Settles what?” She shrugged tense shoulder muscles. Her entire body revolted from her earlier ride.

“You have to come to the branding picnic tomorrow, out at Rain’s.”

“Grandpa…” Jake swung from his horse to stand at her side.

She threw a disgruntled look his way. His muscles seemed fine.

“There now, Jake agrees. We have to be there early, but I can give you directions.” The chief patted her on the back. “Besides, the entire tribal council will be there, so you can talk to all of them about your proposal.”

“Well…” She chewed her bottom lip while flicking another glance toward Jake. It would be nice to talk to the entire council, so maybe she should go. Though the frown on his tanned face didn’t warm her heart any.

“Good. Saturdays are meant for fun.” The chief offered her an arm. “Now, why don’t we let Jake take care of the horses, and I’ll give you a ride back to Shiller’s B & B.”

“Oh, er, okay.” She’d grab any opportunity to sell him on her plan. Taking his proffered arm, she gave Jake a small smile over her shoulder. “Thanks for the picnic.”

“No problem, Sophie. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Why did that sound like a threat?

After a quick ride to the general store, Sophie spent the rest of the day fine-tuning her proposal. She ignored the new note on her Jeep. This time the note had been more explicit: Your development will destroy the land—please rethink your plan.

She placed it with the first one, wondering if she should file a police report. But the last thing she wanted was to appear like a hysterical female—and the notes weren’t exactly threats. They were more like pleas. Nice, polite pleas. She could handle this. The tribe was certainly against the development. But she couldn’t imagine Jake leaving a cowardly note for her. He was more likely to beat down her door to challenge the proposal.

She ate a quiet dinner with Mrs. Shiller, the sole proprietor of the B&B. After helping clear the dishes, she escaped to her room and the purchases she’d been thrilled to find in the general store. She pulled out the sketchpad and new charcoals from the brown bag. They were beautiful, untouched, ready to be used. The charcoal felt warm and solid in her hand as it vibrated with possibilities. The blank sheet before her called for something. With a sigh, she reached out to create.

Her first drawing captured the clearing with its amazing view of Mineral Lake, tall pine trees, and bouncing robins. Flecks in the rocks sparkled light back to the hazy sun as clouds dropped toward the ground. The movement of charcoal against paper calmed her; even the smell of charcoal dust inspired her to continue.

Her second drawing took hours as she lost herself in every line and shadow. About midnight, she stretched her aching neck and scrutinized her work while spraying a light coat of fixative. Her nerves hummed as Jake stared unapologetically back at her from the paper, his eyes warm and serious, his cheekbones sharp angles over dark hollows, and his mouth full and slightly tipped. Black hair cascaded back from a broad forehead—strength and power flowed through every line across his face.

He was perfect.

And he wasn’t hers to draw.

Her cell phone shattered the peace and she jumped, then dropped the sketchpad and checked the number. Preston. She thought about it. With a sigh, she turned the phone on mute and went to bed.

The hours spent drawing had calmed her to the point that she fell asleep easily. She dreamed a dark, dreamless sleep until the early morning hours. Then, it was no surprise to find herself on her rock near the cliff with robins hopping nearby.

“Bob?” She swung her pretty new boots back and forth, feeling warm in faded jeans and a red sweatshirt.

“Nice boots, Sophie.” In a blink, Bob appeared on his rock.

“Thanks. I like yours, too.” Bob wore deep green lizard cowboy boots under dark jeans and a bright purple cowboy shirt. She probably shouldn’t be so blasé, considering she was meeting with some spirit guide in her dreams; perhaps she was going crazy. But she didn’t feel crazy…she felt content. “Your shirt looks like something Roy Rogers would’ve worn.”

“Where do you think I got it?” Black eyes twinkled at her from his perch on the next rock.

“Did you really know Roy Rogers?”

Bob puffed out a laugh. “It’s your dream. You tell me.”

“You’re not part of my imagination. That’s a fact.”

“Maybe.” Bob shrugged “Maybe not.”

“Well, let’s pretend the answer is ‘maybe not.’ Why are you here?”

“Maybe you’re crazy, Sophie.”

“You know, as a spirit guide, you suck.”

Bob laughed out loud. “Your spirit is just fine. It’s your heart that’s aching.”

“What?” She turned incredulous eyes to an empty rock. “That just sucks,” she yelled into the peaceful meadow. “Get back here.” But only the birds remained.

Sophie sat up in bed with a startled gasp. The pressure of saving the company must be driving her over the edge. “Damn it. Maybe I am crazy.”

She pushed snarled curls off her forehead and swung her feet over the bed. The cold wood floor forced a chill up her legs, and she darted to her suitcase for socks and a comfortable cardigan. Her eye caught the soft light filtering through the silk curtains—and the clock. She gasped as she noted the time—she’d better hurry. What did one wear to a branding party?

With a shrug, she donned dark jeans and a light purple blouse and grabbed a sweater in case the weather turned. A quick swipe of mascara and a clip to contain her curls finished her look. After pulling on her new boots, she secured the chief’s directions in one hand and darted out the door.

Once in the Jeep, she sat for a moment. With an irritated sigh, she jumped out of the car and back inside to grab her sketchbook. She was going to be late.

The directions were simple. Sophie drove through town and turned left at Rain’s Crossing. Soon enough, freshly painted white fences lined both sides of the road where horses ranging from light tan to colorful paints frolicked to the right, while steers and cows dotted the field to the left. She’d have to return when she had more time to sketch the placid scene of contrasting colors.

She pulled in behind a green Ford pickup beside a trio of large brown cows chewing grass in their large mouths. Sophie gave the three an uneasy smile before following the line of trucks up a slight hill. She stopped at the rise and surveyed the ranch below. To the left of a large two-story log-planked house, colorful picnic tables perched among the trees near a large bunkhouse. Several barns, paddocks, and fenced areas stood to the right, as did most of the crowd.

Her boots clomped a rhythmic tune down the hill, toward the sounds of hooting and hollering. Several people stood on or by a three-slatted white fence, shouting encouragement. She spotted Dawn standing on the bottom rail of the sturdy fence and made a beeline for her new friend. She had just placed one foot on the bottom rung when a cheer rose from the spectators.

“This way, Colt!” a man called from inside the square corral.

She knew that voice. Awareness fluttered in her stomach at hearing Jake’s deep baritone. She shifted up to see over the top rung.

Good God. The man was in chaps.

Actual chaps.

Jake’s worn cowboy hat perched atop a grimy forehead as sweat ran in rivulets down his dirty face. Mud and dust caked his black shirt, and light jeans poked through the deep brown chaps protecting his legs. He dug scuffed cowboy boots into the earth while twisting two large horns in his leather-gloved hands, rolling a massive steer to the ground. Jake’s face set into hard lines of determination as he battled the beast.

The steer bellowed when Jake shifted to press one firm knee into its neck, his hands pressing the horns to the ground, effectively immobilizing the animal’s body. Colton rushed in with a needle and inoculated the animal just before another man pressed a hot iron to its flank.

The stench of burning fur filled the air in tune with the steer’s protest. Jake released him and jumped back. The steer leaped to its feet and ran out a narrow side exit into another pasture. The beast had to weigh at least a ton, maybe two. Fortunately, the pen safely kept the spectators from danger.

Jake grinned at Colton across the dusty pen, his dimple winking through the grime. “It’s your turn to roll ’em to the ground.” He yanked off his hat and wiped his forehead with one muscled arm.

“But you’re so good at it,” his brother returned, his face caked with mud.

Sophie stood in shock as warmth pooled deep in her belly. She was so completely out of her element. Yet what a display. She had never seen such masculinity before.

Man against beast.

And man won.

He was filthy. Covered in dirt and who knew what else. The urge to kiss Jake again tempted her. Her mother would be shocked.

His dark gaze found her, and she forgot all about her mother. She may have forgotten how to breathe. Then he smiled and she forgot how to think.

“Well hello, Sunshine.” He pounded his cowboy hat on his chaps and dust flew as he stalked toward her. “You look pretty today.” Then his dimple winked again. “I like your boots.” He stopped just on the other side, eye-to-eye with her as she stood, riveted, on the fence rung.

“Me, too.” Warmth flushed her face. “They’re my favorites.”

“You wear them well.” Something unidentifiable flashed through his eyes. For some reason, his look streaked heat through the rest of her. “Are you going to eat lunch with me?” The dimple returned.

“I didn’t bring lunch.” Her eyes fixed on his mouth.

“I brought enough for both of us.” The sound of another steer prodding toward the pen echoed behind him. “I have about ten more to do before lunch.” He turned back just as the beast rushed into view. “Dawnie, tell Sophie the rules for watching,” he called over his shoulder, his attention on the animal.