Chapter 2 Jackson
JACKSON
Maeve calling and begging me to drop off firewood at the cabin is a welcome interruption to my workday.
It’s a warm morning, even for mid-July, and the ride from the barn to the cabin—windows down and music blaring—provides a nice reprieve from ranch work.
This rental is one of the ways we earn money to offset the cost of my father’s long-term care.
Most days, I feel so helpless when it comes to his condition.
Doing something, even if it’s to fetch some firewood, gives me a momentary sense of control.
Rosalie Masters is the last person I expect to find outside the rental cabin.
Offering for her to live with me for a week is probably one of the craziest things I’ve done for a pretty woman. But as she follows me back to my place, I can’t deny the thrill that runs through my veins.
I mean, she’s right. This is probably a horrible idea, but I had to make the situation right. It was my mistake, after all. Still, I wouldn’t have offered my home to just anyone. This is Rosalie.
The woman who rocked my world and then proceeded to ignore me for the better part of a year.
Still. We can cohabitate without any issues.
Okay, yeah, this is a fucking disaster.
I shake my head. It’s not like she wants me, at least not anymore. Maybe it won’t be so bad. With as much as I work, we’ll hardly see each other.
For some reason, that realization floods me with more disappointment than it should.
The thing is, most women are so obvious. Both in their intentions, and their behaviors. I figured out at a young age, my last name, along with a flirty smile, can get me just about anything in this town. But Rosalie is a mystery. One that sparks constant intrigue and curiosity.
Maybe with her in my house, I’ll finally figure her out.
Like, why she never once called or reached out after the best sex of my life.
Or why, when we’re in the same room, she barely glances in my direction.
I kept my side of the deal. I haven’t told a soul. But there hasn’t been a day that’s gone by when I don’t think about our night together. Or one I don’t wish she came knocking at my door for another round.
Apparently, I’m the only one who feels that way, and honestly, it kinda fucks with my head.
Did she not have as much fun as I did? Did I disappoint her?
Fuck. There’s no way she faked the orgasm I gave her.
Or did she? Rosalie doesn’t strike me as the kind of woman to pretend to get off to inflate a man’s ego.
So, why has she barely acknowledged my existence since our wild night?
Fuck.
Am I that undesirable? Or worse, an average lay?
I shake off my intrusive thoughts as I turn onto the long private driveway that leads to my cabin. I glance in the rearview mirror to make sure she’s still behind me. Her eyes are hidden behind a pair of sunglasses, but my mind recalls how they filled with tears back outside the rental.
I can’t stand to see a woman cry. Doesn’t matter if she’s angry, frustrated, or just plain sad. The minute her eyes gloss with tears, I want to make it better.
The urge to take away Rosalie’s pain when tears filled her eyes overcame all common sense.
I should’ve asked more questions. Or demanded she explain her situation. I’d love to know why she wants to hide in plain sight.
I pull up next to the front porch and park, hopping out of my cab and moving to open Rosalie’s door before she cuts the engine of her car.
Her expression is cool, unreadable and unimpressed as she gets out of her vehicle.
“Let me help you with your bags.”
“I’ve got it.” She shakes her head in refusal and retrieves her suitcase from the trunk.
I notice the ice chest on the back seat, along with what’s got to be a week’s worth of groceries and a case of wine. Yeah, no. My momma raised me better. I’m not gonna sit back and watch her do all the heavy lifting.
Taking the suitcase from her hands and ignoring her gasp of annoyance, I press my free hand to the small of her back. “Come on, darlin’. Let’s get you settled so I can get back to work.” I tip my chin toward the front door.
“You don’t have to do this,” she grumbles, but quickens her steps and doesn’t turn around until she reaches the front door.
I set down her bag and reach into my pocket to retrieve my keys.
“I’m surprised you lock your door.” She removes her sunglasses and busies herself with placing them into the case inside her purse.
“Now, why’s that?” I chuckle as I twist the key in the lock and push open the door. “You implying I’ve got nothin’ worth stealing?”
“No.” Her eyes briefly meet mine as she passes by, stepping inside while I hold the door. “But I can’t imagine anyone could find this place unless they knew it was here.”
My cabin is set the farthest from the main roads on our family property, and she’s right. There’s little to no chance of random traffic. “I lock it to keep the bears out.”
“Bears?” She looks around, her expression concerned. I bite back laughter, schooling my features.
“And other critters.”
“Critters?” She blanches and her body shakes, as if a shiver runs down her spine.
“Don’t tell me you’re scared of wildlife?” I can’t help but laugh. “You do realize you live in Wilder Valley? A mountain town in northern Arizona?”
“I know where I am,” she snaps. “But I live closer to town, and I’m not trying to get maimed by a bear.”
“Don’t worry, darlin’. I’ll protect you.”
“Okay.” She rolls her eyes.
“They don’t come in the house,” I reassure her, but can’t help but tease. “Mostly.”
“Well, I won’t be leaving this building.”
She glances around, her gaze taking in my living room.
I might be wrong, but she almost appears impressed.
That’s right, I might be a bachelor, but I don’t live like a slob.
I take pride in my home. And yeah, I might have recently gotten a little design help from my sister-in-law.
She offered her expertise, and I did all the work to bring her vision to fruition.
“You redecorated,” Rosalie states.
“Yeah, you like it?”
Her eyes dart to the lush, oversized chair next to the fireplace and she stares longingly. “It’ll suffice.”
“Do you remember where my room is?” I ask, handing over her bag.
Her brows dart up. “What?”
“If you need me to remind you, I can.” I smirk, knowing I caught her off guard with my question. She remembers exactly where we fucked.
“I’m not taking your room.”
“Sure you are.”
“Don’t you have a guest room?” She glances around.
“Technically, yeah. But there’s no bed.”
Her mouth falls open. “Then, where are you going to sleep?”
“If you invite me, I could sleep next to you.” Her horrified expression gives me more entertainment than it should, and I can barely contain my chuckle. “But since that’s unlikely, I’ll crash on the sofa. Or bring over one of the cots from the bunkhouse.”
“But this is your house. And that’s your room.”
“And I invited you here.” I sigh, shaking my head. “Rosalie, this is the least I can do after messing up the reservation you made.” I nod toward the staircase that leads to my bedroom. “Now, go get unpacked. It’s not up for debate. You’re taking my bedroom.”
I turn away and march outside to get the rest of her things before she can argue.
I know she likes to call the shots, and I don’t have a problem with that most of the time.
But if she thinks I’ll allow her to sleep on my sofa, or worse, the floor, she’s completely mistaken my character.
Is that really the kind of man she thinks I am? That bruises my ego more than anything.