Chapter 3 Rosalie
ROSALIE
I busy myself with getting unpacked and settled, mostly to avoid another conversation with Jackson. He brings all my bags inside and then heads out to finish his work on the ranch. As soon as his truck kicks up dust on its way down the drive, the web of knots inside my belly untangles.
What the hell am I thinking? Booking a place on the Wilder Ranch poses so many risks.
I should’ve just stayed at one of the boutique motels in Ember Ridge, or even at a motel in Show Low.
Being a few hours from my son would have sufficed.
Now, I’ve put myself in the exact situation I’ve been trying to avoid.
I’ve worked so hard to carefully craft a life where no one asks about my past, or more importantly, Edward’s father.
Now, all of that hangs on the word of Jackson Wilder.
It’s bad enough we already share one secret.
As far as I know, he’s made good on his promise to protect it. No one knows we hooked up, and hopefully they never will. I’ll take that memory to my grave.
Visions of his body over mine flit through my mind, as they do whenever I allow myself to revisit that night. My skin prickles with awareness, and arousal stirs in my lower belly. Goddamn. That man played my body better than any man had the right to.
I knew he was experienced. It’s no secret in this town that he gets around. Or that he prefers his women a little older. But I never intended to sleep with my friend’s younger brother.
And when I did, I didn’t expect it to be so damn fun.
Guilt surges forward, attempting to steal the joy from that night.
Every time since, whenever I hang out with Maeve or with her sisters-in-law, Val and Sarah, I worry they’ve somehow found out.
That if they do, they’re going to cast me out of their inner circle.
It’s not the most rational fear, yet it’s there.
My anxiety is even worse when Edward and I are invited to one of their family functions.
I avoid Jackson at all costs, because I just know Maeve will catch one look and be able to tell.
And if she does, she’ll either expect us to date, or worse, hate me for keeping something so big from her, and our friendship will forever be fractured.
Jackson’s a full-grown man. It’s not as though I took advantage or did anything to lure him in. Quite the opposite; he pursued me. He invited me back to this house. He fucked me like he knew exactly what I needed.
Fuck.
My eyes slam shut. Sometimes, I wish I could forget. Then I would stop wishing for something impossible.
What would my friends think about me hiding out at his house all week?
Ughhh.
I think it would be worse than if they found out about our hook-up. A one-night stand can be written off as a lack of judgment. This situation demands questions. They’d decipher the cracks in my story. They’d be curious, and that would be enough to risk the safety of my future in this town.
My heart aches at the idea of leaving Wilder Valley and starting over somewhere new. I could do it. I did it before. But this time, I’d know the pain of walking away from genuine friendships, from a community that cares, and a job I love. I’m not sure I could survive that.
Which is why no one can ever discover that I spent this week shacked up with Jackson Wilder and sleeping in his bed—even if he isn’t in it.
The minutes pass painfully slowly once I’m fully unpacked. At noon, I head down to the kitchen and make myself a snack. My original plan was to write, read, and sleep the time away. But I’m too amped up to sit still. It’s five o’clock somewhere, though, and I pour myself a generous glass of wine.
I glance around Jackson’s place, my temporary home for the week.
I have to admit, the décor is impressive. The last time I was here, the walls were bare and the furniture a random assortment of second-hand pieces that didn’t match. He upgraded the space in a significant way.
The floors are light with darker grains and knots, and I can’t tell whether he refinished these or replaced them altogether.
The walls are painted in hues of green. The honey leather sofas and chairs are accented with plush dark brown pillows and throw blankets, a haven for relaxing and reading.
Everything appears comfortable and inviting.
Unlike most cabins in this town, there are no hunting trophies on the walls.
Not one set of antlers in sight. Topping off my glass, I wander around the house to critique his design choices.
Only, I can’t. This place fits him. It’s warm, masculine, and the color scheme incorporates the same natural feel from the outdoors without being over the top.
Not overly modern or rustic, he’s brought the feel of the mountains into his living space.
Did he do this himself?
He must’ve hired Val. But I would have heard about it. Surely.
Another woman’s touch, maybe? I don’t recall him having a relationship, ever, in the years I’ve been here.
Could one of his hookups have helped him?
Maybe, but I have my doubts. From the town gossip, Jackson is a bit of an enigma.
He’s more likely to be seen sneaking out of a woman’s house the morning after, not playing house. But then again, what do I know?
He invited me back to his place that one night .
. . and while that was completely out of the ordinary for me, I can’t believe it was all that special for him.
So, maybe he’s not much of a mystery at all.
The only way to get an answer to that would be to straight up ask him, and I won’t be doing that.
Besides, I don’t believe everything I hear.
It wouldn’t be the first time our town’s gossip mill got things twisted.
I wander over to the fireplace and examine the framed photographs over the mantel. I recognize the landscapes enough to know they’re of Wilder Valley. They’re not professional photos, but they’re good.
I wonder if he took them.
God, why does Jackson have to be so damn interesting?
That must be the reason for my slight infatuation.
He doesn’t fit the usual bachelor profile, especially not of a single man in this town.
I wonder why he never settled down. It’s not as if he doesn’t possess the qualities to attract a wife.
He’s got a good career, the means to support a family, and a home of his own.
He’s attractive, and has no issues talking to women.
Maybe that’s the problem? Maybe he’s too much of a player to commit.
I don’t know why, but the thought is disappointing.
Maybe all men are cheaters.
Is it too much to ask for honesty and commitment from a partner?
That’s unfair. And untrue. Just look at my friends. Aiden is ridiculously devoted to Sarah. Ryan never looks at anyone the way he does Val. Rainer only ever loved Maeve. Then there’s Wild and Simone, two souls fated to reconnect.
There are plenty of men who follow through on their promises.
Just not for me.
Annoyed with my own thoughts, I pick up my book and head out the back door.
To my utter delight, I spot a hammock hanging not too far off the back porch.
It’s shaded by tall Ponderosa pines, and the perfect spot to enjoy my book.
I test the sturdiness of the ties, and when I’m certain it can hold my weight, I recline back with my book, cocooning myself away from the world and all my problems. My life might be a shitshow, but for the next few hours, I completely disassociate and find a blessed escape between the pages of this book.