Against the Wall mm-1 Read online

  They were truly alone.

  Sophie fought to relax her muscles, butt, and thighs as she balanced. She couldn’t help but remember Jake’s hard thighs bracketing hers on the big black horse he rode again today. She studied his broad back as he maneuvered two tons of near-wild animal along the old trail easily, naturally.

  Today he was all cowboy in faded jeans, black Stetson, and boots, his hair tied back at the nape. He was even bigger than she’d remembered. A dark gray shirt emphasized the breadth of a muscular chest that her body remembered well.

  She grinned, and then her gaze softened as one of her new boots caught her eye. He’d bought her boots. Then she shook her head. He was a cowboy. A lawyer, no less. If that wasn’t bad enough, his main job was to prevent her from doing hers. She needed to remember they were opponents in a battle about to begin. A battle that could determine the rest of her career and save her uncle’s company. Boots or not.

  As the trail angled upward, Sophie had to admit Jake was right about her horse. Slow and steady. Pretty safe. Mertyl had looked almost grateful when Jake led her from the deep rust-colored paddock on his ranch. Sophie had admired the color, and Jake told her it was the trim color of his parents’ paddocks, since he’d wanted consistency throughout all the ranches. His warm tone illustrated a closeness with his parents.

  She had looked around for his home, but several mature blue spruce trees down the private driveway hid it.

  Suddenly, the lake sparkled as the trail broke into a clearing of trampled wheat and sagebrush holding large rocks baking in the sun. Thick trees surrounded the vista on three sides while a steep incline led down to the water far below. The landscape was oddly similar to her dream the previous night, but not enough to cause alarm.

  Jake jumped lithely off his stallion near the edge of the trees, turned, and reached to lift Sophie from Mertyl. His hands remained warm and strong around her waist as she regained her balance and stretched already protesting muscles. He waited until she met his gaze.

  “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Amusement wove through his tone.

  Her heart accelerated as his midnight eyes ran over her face in an almost physical caress. Sophie shook her head. She’d agreed to the trip so she could see her client’s land from a different perspective, not to flirt with the sexy lawyer. So she stepped back, and he released her.

  Sophie turned toward the lake, letting its placidness calm her nerves while Jake tied reins to trees before grabbing two backpacks slung over his horse. He deftly shook out a tightly woven blanket with white, red, and brown-stitched patterns and spread it on the ground before adding plates, containers of food, and a bottle of wine.

  “You really come prepared.” Sophie sat gingerly on the beautiful blanket.

  A dimple flirted in his left cheek as Jake opened the containers. “My daughter helped pack the essentials.”

  “You have a daughter?”

  “Yeah.” Pride shone in his deep eyes. “Leila. She just turned six.”

  “Pretty name,” Sophie murmured. Caution stiffened her spine. “You’re not, I mean, you’re not married, are you?” The heated kiss from the previous afternoon flashed through her mind.

  “No. My wife died when Leila was only two.” Pain stamped down hard on the sharp angles of his face.

  “I’m sorry.” It wasn’t enough.

  “Me, too.” He handed her a plate before opening the wine.

  An orange-breasted robin hopped closer to the blanket, its beady eyes on the feast. “How did she die, Jake?”

  He handed her a glass of Chardonnay. “She died running away from me.” He effectively ended the conversation by passing her a container filled with fried chicken.

  They ate in silence. Sophie wondered about his deceased wife but didn’t want to spoil the afternoon with sadness. She’d ask later.

  “It’s so peaceful here,” Sophie mused as two more robins joined the first.

  “Yes. Without a golf course,” Jake said dryly.

  “Golf courses are peaceful places.” Sophie tossed her empty plate into a garbage sack. “At least if they’re designed correctly.”

  “Not the same, Soph.” Jake gestured at the deep green lake below them. “The risk isn’t worth it.”

  Irritation jangled her nerves. “The golf course won’t pollute your lake.”

  “The science doesn’t confirm that. Again, it’s not worth the risk. Besides, you don’t own any of the land, do you?”

  She exhaled slowly, holding on to her temper. “No. A private company owns the land. They just hired us to design the golf course.” The sun beat down, and Sophie inhaled the crisp air.

  “Well then, maybe we’re on the same side here.”

  Sophie rolled her eyes. “Is this when the land starts speaking to me?”

  Jake reached out one broad arm and yanked Sophie down beside him to face the clouds. “The land has been whispering since you arrived. You just need to listen.”

  Sophie quieted with her head on Jake’s muscled shoulder, her face turned to the sky, her back comfortable against the blanket. She really should get up. Or move away. But he was so warm, so solid. She ignored her inner voice and shut her eyes to listen.

  A breeze scattered pine needles to the hard earth. Honeysuckle layered the wind with sweetness. Birds twittered to each other in song, and Jake breathed deep and sure next to her. She opened her eyes.

  Clouds drifted lazily across a beach-warm sky as a sense of peace slid through her bones into her deepest marrow. “I don’t hear the land.”

  “Why aren’t you used to presents, Sophia?”

  “Ugh. Please don’t call me that.” The wind brought a chill, and Sophie snuggled closer into Jake’s side. Just a bit.

  “What’s wrong with Sophia?” Laziness coated his deep voice as he stared upward.

  Embarrassment heated her cheeks. “It’s pretentious. I mean, seriously. ‘Sophia Smith’? What was she thinking?”

  “Your mother?”

  “Yeah.” Unease settled in her stomach.

  “Is she French?”

  “No, she wasn’t French. She just wanted to be somebody.” And she’d reached her goal.

  “Wasn’t French?”

  Remembered pain slithered down Sophie’s chest. “Wasn’t. She and my stepfather died in a car accident when I was eighteen.”

  “I’m sorry. But she was somebody.”

  “How do you figure?” Sophie pushed old hurts out of her mind.

  “She was your mother.”

  “That wasn’t enough, believe me.” Sophie’s shoulders tensed.

  “I still don’t understand.” He tucked her closer.

  Sophie let out a deep breath. “I’m not sure she knew who my father was. If she did, she never said. We were poor. Trailer-park poor. She always wanted more.”

  “Did she get it?”

  “Yeah. She married my stepfather, Roger Riverton, when I was fourteen. Then she got to travel everywhere.”

  “What about you?”

  Sometimes loneliness snuck up and chilled her skin, like now. “Boarding school. It was all right, I guess.”

  “Did you like him? Your stepfather?”

  “Not so much. He was quite a bit older and had already raised his family. In business, well, he was ruthless.”

  Jake ran a hand down her arm, as if to offer warmth and reassurance. “How did you know he was ruthless?”

  Memories flashed, bringing a dull pain to her temples. “A girl at school. I guess Roger raided her dad’s company and then tore it apart. It’s what he did.” She watched the clouds drift. “Once a man came to visit when I was home for school break. He was almost crying, practically begging Roger not to destroy his family’s construction business. I shouldn’t have listened at the door, but…”

  Jake tightened his hold. “What happened?”

  “Roger didn’t care. He was so cold, so mean. Like a shark. Told the man to forget it, that he deserved to lose his company. That he was weak.” She shiv
ered. “But that’s how Roger made so much money.”

  “But some of the money went to something good, right? I mean, to your schooling?”

  Sophie tightened her jaw. “No. When they died, everything went to his kids. But I had a scholarship to school and took out some loans, so it all worked out.” She had never wanted Roger’s money.

  Jake was quiet for a moment. “How did you choose golf course design?”

  Sophie laughed, her heart lightening. “I loved art. Drawing and creating. When I met Uncle Nathan, Roger’s brother, he helped me to channel that into design. He’s my boss now.”

  “Ahh. You love him.”

  “Yes. When I was younger, I used to wish he were my dad. That Mom had married him instead.” Sophie rolled onto her stomach to face Jake. His muscles were relaxed, and he had one hand behind his head. “What about you? Are your parents still living?”

  “My mother is. My father died in a snowmobile accident when I was eight and Quinn was six.” Jake’s eyes darkened with pain.

  Sophie reached out to pat Jake’s chest. “I wondered about Colton and Dawn. They look so different from you and Quinn.”

  Jake’s eyes crinkled. “Yeah. Mom married Tom a couple of years later and then they had Colt and Dawnie.”

  “Were you upset she remarried?”

  “Not really. I mean, he isn’t Kooskia, so I wasn’t so sure for a while. But Tom’s great, and he makes Mom happy. Though Dawn…” Jake grinned. “She has been a handful. For all of us.”

  “Three older brothers? Poor Dawn.” Sophie grinned back. “Is it important to you? I mean, was Leila’s mother a member of the tribe?”

  “Yes. She was full Kooskia.”

  For some unknown reason, his admission deflated her.

  Then he frowned. “I thought being a tribe member was important—that we’d want the same things.”

  “But you didn’t?”

  “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?

  Chapter Five

  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, dr
eamless 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?