Sunlight (Haven River Ranch)

Three months later . . .

A clunk echoed through my shower. A clunk that lingered, like it was making its way through a maze of pipes.

My hands were in my hair. My fingers were covered in shampoo suds. Lukewarm water cascaded down my naked body.

Until it didn’t.

“No. No, no, no.”

The water slowed to a trickle.

“Oh my God.” I still needed to rinse.

“Come on.” I twisted the knob, turning it back and forth. “Please.”

Off. On. Off. On. Nothing.

The only water left rushed down the drain with a gurgle.

I groaned, dropping my forehead to the wall. “You’ve got to be kidding me. How is this my life?”

I hated this shower. I hated this rental.

I hated Montana.

Goose bumps spread over my skin as the air turned cold. I hurried out of the shower, wrapping my body in a towel. Then I squeezed out as much soap and water as I could from my hair before rushing to my closet to pull on a pair of warm sweats.

Maybe the water would come back on soon, but if I waited too long, I’d be late for work. And at the moment, work was the only positive thing in my life. I couldn’t be late.

That, and there was a shower in the women’s locker room guaranteed to have hot water.

So I quickly collected clothes, a brush, my hair dryer, and my makeup case, then stepped into a pair of snow boots before heading out the door.

The cold air was startling. One breath and my lungs froze. Before I even made it to my car, my wet hair began to turn white with icicles.

I slid behind the wheel of my Mazda, my body shaking with the chill that seeped into my bones. It took me two attempts to get the key into the ignition. The engine made a wheezing sound, protesting the start, but finally turned over. When I cranked the heat, it just blew frigid air into my face, so I shut it off.

As the dash illuminated, the thermometer read negative ten.

“What am I doing here?” I rubbed my hands together, then cupped them to my mouth as I blew hot air into my palms.

Teeth chattering, I waited a few minutes as the car warmed up, and when the windshield was finally defrosted enough for me to see, I eased onto the snow-covered street, shooting a glare at the duplex attached to mine.

The neighbors were probably still asleep. They’d spent their night having loud, wild sex and making sure their headboard banged against our adjoining wall as many times as possible. Assholes. It had gone on until three in the morning. I’d climbed into the shower around five.

God, I needed to move.

Somewhere warm. Somewhere quiet.

Somewhere with hot running water.

Except for now, I was stuck in Montana. I was stuck in a shitty house. I was stuck with the below-zero temperatures. I was just stuck.

Stuck in so many ways, I’d stopped keeping track.

But at least I was stuck with a good job.

I took Big Timber’s side streets slowly as I made my way to the highway. Driving on snow was a skill I had yet to master, and my two-wheel-drive car handled ice about as gracefully as a giraffe would roller skates.

It made for a harrowing forty-five-minute trip to the Haven River Ranch. Every day, I looked forward to this drive less and less.

When I’d moved here three months ago, I’d enjoyed the drive from home to work. I’d liked the time alone on an open road. I’d soaked in the scenery, the sprawling fields stretched between rugged mountain ranges.

But then the first winter storm had blown in, and the commute had become pure stress. I actually missed California’s rush-hour traffic, not something I’d ever thought I’d admit.

My knuckles were white by the time I turned off the highway and onto a frozen gravel road. But I didn’t truly breathe until I passed beneath the resort’s archway. “Made it.”

This trip might be the only victory for today. One I needed to repeat on the drive home.

I forced my shoulders away from my ears as I inched my body back from the steering wheel. Then I tapped the brake to slow for the last bend in the road.

One moment, I was aimed straight down the gravel lane. The next, my rear tires skidded to the side.

“Oh shit.” I turned the wheel, frantically trying to correct.

It only caused the front wheels to start skidding too.

“Stop. No.” I gasped as the car moved closer and closer to the ditch. “Please stop.”

I stomped on the brake.

The car just kept on sliding. Straight into the ditch, where it stopped with a muffled thump.

“Damn it.” I pressed the gas. The engine revved, but the car didn’t so much as budge.

This wasn’t happening. Not today.

I was so close. I could see the red tin roof of a guest cabin ahead. I could practically smell the bacon and eggs cooking in the lodge’s dining hall.

“Ugh.” I dropped my forehead to the wheel. A lock of wet hair fell from my tie and smacked me in the cheek. “I hate Montana.”

Maybe if I was an outdoors person, I wouldn’t mind trekking through the glittering morning snow. Maybe if I’d slept for more than two hours, I wouldn’t have snoozed my alarm and my shower wouldn’t have been cut short. Maybe if I had made better decisions over the past ten years, I wouldn’t be in Montana in the first place.

Yet here I was, collecting my tote crammed with toiletries from the passenger seat. Because like it or not, I’d be walking to work.

The car was tilted sideways, and when I attempted to open the door, it just slammed closed on my arm. So I twisted, using my feet to push hard enough to shove it wide. Then, with my tote looped over a shoulder, I wiggled out, instantly sinking into knee-deep snow.

Icy clumps filled my boots. “You suck, winter.”

Like Mother Nature heard me, a gust of wind whipped ice crystals into my face.

Bitch.

I trudged forward, practically clawing my way out of the ditch and onto the road. Then I brushed as much snow as I could off my sweats before slogging toward the lodge.

My breath billowed around my face in a white cloud. My hair regrew those icicles before I’d even made it fifty feet. The sting of cold in my nostrils was so sharp it brought tears to my eyes.

People chose to live here. Permanently. People came to visit here. For. Fun. Seriously?

I was not that kind of person.

But I was the kind of person who needed a paycheck, and this one was the best.

An engine rumbled in the distance. “Please be West. Please.”

Indya’s husband would rescue my car and not make a production out of it. He wouldn’t ridicule me for the rest of my life for driving into the ditch.

It wasn’t West’s truck that appeared from around the bend. Of course it wasn’t. My luck showed no signs of improving today.

The gray Silverado that came into view belonged to the last person on earth I wanted to see this morning.

Jax Haven.

He wasn’t alone. Of course he wasn’t alone.

Mindi, one of my front desk clerks, was riding in his passenger seat.

Which meant by noon, everyone on the resort would know I’d gotten stuck.

“What am I doing here?” I muttered. “This is not my day.”

Jax slowed to a stop, rolling down his window to flash me an arrogant smile as white as the snow. “Morning, Sasha. Stuck?”

“No, I just thought I’d test out a new area for employee parking,” I deadpanned. “Of course I’m stuck.”

Very, very, very stuck.

His sky blue eyes crinkled at the sides as he looked me up and down, his grin turning into a lopsided smirk.

That freaking smirk. It was just so cocky, like whatever retort went through his head was infinitely amusing. On any other man, it would have looked condescending, but somehow, it worked on his gorgeous face—which made it all the more aggravating.

Did he smirk at everyone? Or was I just the unlucky recipient? In the past three months, I couldn’t think of an encounter with Jax when that smirk hadn’t been an obnoxious intruder.

Well, there’d been the grocery store. He hadn’t smirked at me then. But I did my best not to think about that day. About how differently that day might have gone if Jax wasn’t technically my boss.

“Hey, Sasha.” Mindi leaned forward and gave me a finger wave. Her smirk was condescending.

“Hi, Mindi.”

“Your hair is freezing.” Mindi excelled at stating the obvious. “You should dry it on cold mornings like this.”

“Great advice,” I muttered, then shifted my attention back to Jax, who was fighting a laugh.

“Hop in.” He jerked his chin to the back seat. “I’ll run you to the lodge, then we’ll get your car out.”

“Thank you.” I climbed in the truck, sighing at the warmth and scent.

Cedar and spice and citrus, like he’d peeled an orange this morning and the smell lingered on his fingers.

He’d probably peeled that orange for Mindi.

She was wearing a hoodie that was massive on her petite frame. She’d probably stolen it from Jax’s closet. She’d been flirting with him for weeks, and apparently, all that effort had finally paid off.

Well, I hoped she didn’t get too comfortable in that seat. Since I’d moved to Montana, I’d heard from more than one woman that Jax was a brazen playboy and flirt.

Considering how we’d met, it wasn’t hard to believe.

“I was just telling Jax this weather is, like, really cold,” Mindi said.

“Yep.” I popped the p. “It’s cold.”

I hated small talk. I really hated small talk about the weather.

Jax’s eyes met mine through the rearview mirror as he turned us around for the lodge. “Mindi, Sasha hates talking about the weather.”

“She does?”

“She does,” Jax and I said in unison.

Wait. How did he know that? “How did you know that?”

“Your lip curls whenever it comes up.”

It did? Huh. And he’d noticed. Why?

“It’s just the weather.” Mindi giggled. “Everyone talks about the weather.”

My lip curled automatically.

This time, Mindi noticed it, too, and held up her hands. “Fine, no weather. Jeez.”

“I just . . .” I massaged my temples, the headache blooming in my skull. “It’s been a morning, and I just want to wash the shampoo out of my hair. I’m not good company at the moment.”

Not that I was particularly chatty with Mindi on a normal day. We hadn’t exactly hit it off in the three months I’d been working at the Haven River Ranch. I was her boss and was perfectly fine maintaining a professional relationship.

That rule extended to Jax too. Besides, cowboys weren’t my thing.

“Figured you’d take the weekend off,” Jax said.

“There’s a lot happening. I want to get in as much time as possible before Indya goes on maternity leave.”

“Even on a Saturday?”

“Even on a Saturday. Not everyone can gallivant around on the weekends.”

He scoffed and glanced to Mindi. “I don’t gallivant. Do I gallivant?”

“No.” She batted her eyelashes as she giggled.

When Jax chuckled, I eyed the door’s handle. For the first time in my life, I considered a tuck-and-roll exit.

Had I already become the laughingstock? During my first week here, I’d been talking to a guest who lived in Big Timber. He’d brought his wife out for their anniversary weekend, a short getaway to enjoy our spa and chef’s cuisine. When I’d told him I was from Sacramento, he’d joked that most Californians only endured one Montana winter.

Maybe he was right.

What the hell was I doing here?

I didn’t belong. Everyone in this truck, everyone on this ranch, knew I didn’t belong.

But my job as the resort manager paid nearly double my previous salary. And sure, I’d run out of water this morning, and my neighbors were amateur porn stars, but the rent was dirt cheap.

Right now, I needed every penny.

So Jax and Mindi could laugh. They weren’t wrong. I didn’t belong.

But I wasn’t leaving. Not yet.

I breathed as Jax pulled up to the employee entrance at the lodge. At least he wouldn’t make me walk through the lobby with frozen, soapy hair and sweats that had seen much, much better days. I wasn’t even wearing a bra yet.

“Thanks.” I jumped out, about to make my escape, when Jax rolled down his window again and held out a hand. Was that for like a high five or something? “What?”

“Keys.”

“Oh.” Subzero temperatures, yet my face flamed around this man. Damn it. That really, really needed to stop.

“Um . . . thanks.” I fished the keys from my purse and handed them over. Then, as I backed away, I curtsied.

In a parking lot, wearing ratty sweats, I curtsied like I was greeting the queen of England. My tote slipped off a shoulder, nearly throwing me off balance before I straightened.

What was that? I didn’t curtsy. Ever. Not once in my life had I curtsied. Why the fuck was I curtsying? This was a nightmare. This was like those moments when a waiter said “Enjoy your food,” and I replied with “Thanks, you too.” What was wrong with me today?

Jax, as expected, smirked.

Before he rolled up his window to drive away, I raced for the door.

The employee locker rooms weren’t spacious, but thankfully, they were empty. And after a long, hot shower—dressed in a pair of jeans and my warmest sweater—I tracked down a cup of scalding coffee and retreated to my office.

“A curtsy?” I cringed as I sat behind my desk.

Someday, when I was far, far away from Montana, I’d probably think back to that moment and laugh. But not today. Today, I fought the urge to curl into a ball beneath my desk and hide for all eternity.

Since that wasn’t an option, either, I spent the next few hours buried in work, doing everything in my power to forget about the morning. To get Jax’s smirk out of my mind.

Three months I’d been on the receiving end of that smirk. The first had come the day after we’d met, my first morning as manager of the Haven River Ranch. The morning I’d pretended I’d never met Jax before.

He’d smirked, and I’d been seeing it ever since. And after three months, everything about him set me on edge.

That man took nothing seriously, and any time that we had a management meeting, he acted more like an employee than an owner. He was so cavalier. So carefree. So ridiculously attractive it made me irrationally angry.

Why did he have to be so hot? Why did he have to be the grocery store guy? Why couldn’t he work anywhere else?

“Hi, Sasha.” Indya knocked on my open office door and stepped inside. Her curly blonde hair cascaded around her shoulders, a section draping into her face as she dug through her purse, retrieving my keys to set them on the desk. “West parked your car in its usual spot.”

“Thanks.” I blew out a long breath. “I feel like such an idiot.”

“Don’t.” She waved it off. “People get stuck around here all the time. No one cares.”

“I’ll tell him when I see him next, but would you pass along my thanks to West?”

“Sure.” She moved to a guest chair, not so much sitting as leaning back far enough to finally recline in the seat, her hands automatically splaying across her pregnant belly.

Indya, along with West and Jax, owned Haven River Ranch. They had more wealth than I could ever dream of amassing—not unlike most of our guests at the resort. We catered to a rich clientele across America. But despite her riches, Indya was sweet, down to earth, and . . . normal. Working for her these past three months had been a dream.

In another life, I would have wanted to be her friend.

In this life, I’d settle for being her employee.

“It’s beautiful out today.” Her eyes drifted past me to the windows overlooking the patio.

I pivoted my chair, following her gaze.

The sun sparkled off the snow. The sky was a cloudless blue. Steam billowed from the outdoor hot tub. It was a winter paradise. At least, that’s what we pitched to our guests.

Yes, it was beautiful. But why did it have to be so cold?

“You don’t like winter, do you?” Indya asked.

“I’m partial to summer.”

“Do you like it here? In Montana?” The look on her face was so hopeful I almost lied.

“It’s, um, different. I’m not really the outdoorsy type, so it’s been . . .” Awful. “An adjustment. My rental isn’t exactly dreamy either. The neighbors are, um, loud. And there’s been a couple maintenance problems.”

Indya’s eyes bulged. “Do you hate it here?”

This time, I did lie. “No, I don’t hate it.”

She studied my face for a long moment. “Sasha, be honest. Do you like this job?”

“Yes.” It was the truth. “I’m just struggling with winter. It’s not my favorite.”

“Are you miserable? I don’t want you to be miserable.”

“Not miserable.” I wasn’t happy, but I wasn’t miserable either.

“Please don’t quit,” she whispered, panic lacing her voice.

“I’m not going to quit.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“What can I do?” Indya held out her hands like she could magically bind me to this chair. “What can I do?”

“Nothing. It’s fine. Really.” More lies. Nothing about me being in Montana was fine. But it was necessary. For now.

“Can I ask a favor? If you decide to leave, please come and talk to me first.”

I nodded. “I’m not going to leave. But if that changes, yes, I’ll talk to you first.”

Her shoulders sagged. “I’m spending the afternoon catching up in my office on emails if you need anything. West is bringing the boys over later for the Saturday campfire.”

It was a tradition at Haven River. Every Saturday, they built a fire outside on the patio where kids could cook hot dogs and roast s’mores. Guests would enjoy burgers grilled over the open flame. Before the snow, there’d been yard games and activities on the lawn. Sometimes, Indya hired a local musician to sing and play guitar.

The Havens made sure to attend every Saturday. Usually, West and Indya were here. Though Jax often came too. I made it a point to be available as well to support the staff and mingle with guests.

The smell of campfire smoke always stuck in my hair. It usually wasn’t a problem because I’d go home and shower before bed. But tonight, there were no guarantees I’d have water.

“Do you mind if I miss tonight’s campfire?”

“Not at all,” Indya said. “It’s always optional.”

“Thanks. I can be sure to attend after the baby is born.”

“Jax promised to be here too. Maybe you two can coordinate.”

“Of course.” I stifled a groan.

Whether I liked it or not, Jax was unavoidable. And with every smirk he sent my way, it was a silent reminder of the day we’d met. How I’d been shouting over a shopping cart. How I’d shamelessly flirted while my ice cream had melted in a paper grocery bag.

I was a mess. I’d been a mess for ten years.

Fake it until it breaks you. That was my motto. I worked hard to hide the disaster that was my life. But Jax had seen the real me. He’d seen the disaster that was Sasha Vaughn.

Was it really a wonder that he smirked?

At least we didn’t work together on a daily basis. Unless he was in the lodge to visit with Indya, our paths didn’t cross often. West spent most of his time doing work for the ranch and cattle operation. Jax managed the guest excursions and worked primarily out of his office in the stables.

“Before I have this baby,” Indya said, stroking her belly, “I’d like to have you start coordinating with Jax on guest excursions. He manages most of it, but we usually meet once a week to sync up.”

“I doubt he’ll need my input.” Ugh. My lip curled before I could stop it.

And Indya, sharp as a tack, definitely noticed. “Is Jax a problem? Did he do something?”

“No. It’s . . . I just don’t think I’ll have anything to offer. That’s his area of expertise. I don’t think he’ll appreciate me getting in his way. We’re not exactly, um, friends.”

“So he is a problem.”

“No.” I waved it off. “It’s fine. He’s fine. Everything is fine.”

Indya stared at me so long I began to squirm. She didn’t want me to quit. Thank God. But I definitely couldn’t afford to get fired. Especially if she thought I had a beef with Jax.

“I’m happy to meet with him,” I assured her. “No problem. Coffee? I’m going to get more coffee. Can I get you anything? Water. Tea. Cookie.”

“No, thanks.” She narrowed her gaze. “Sasha, are you okay?”

“Great!” I lied, swiping my empty mug from the desk as I shot to my feet. “Probably too much coffee. I’m a little jittery. I’d better switch to water.”

She was still in my office, still in the chair, looking at me like I’d sprouted wings, as I breezed for the door, then vanished down the hallway.

“Shit.” Freaking Jax.

This was his fault. He’d flustered me this morning, and now I was frazzled. Or maybe it was the shower. Maybe it was the car. Maybe it was the lack of sleep.

This was not my day.

I refilled my coffee in the lobby, desperate for the caffeine, then retreated to my office. Indya had moved to her own. The moment I sat behind my desk, my phone rang.

Micah.

I scrambled to answer. “Hey. Hi. Thanks for returning my call.”

“Hey, Sasha.”

“How is he? Is he okay?”

“It’s, uh, been an adjustment.”

I almost laughed at his word choice. But as far as adjustments went, mine was minor compared to Eddie’s. “But is he . . .” I couldn’t even finish the question.

Alive. Was he alive?

How bad was it that I simply wanted him to be alive? How had we gotten here?

“He’s all right,” Micah said. “Like I told you last time, there’s not much I can tell you.”

“Can I talk to him?”

Micah hesitated, and it was answer enough. “Not yet.”

Was that Micah’s decision? Or had Eddie point-blank told him he didn’t want to speak to me? I wasn’t sure which hurt worse.

“Keep writing him letters,” he said. “He’s reading them.”

Did those even count as letters? So far everything I’d written had been short. “I don’t know what to say to him. They’re just notes at this point.”

“That’s all right. Say anything. They don’t need to be long or profound. Sometimes less is more. He just needs to know you’re there.”

“I am here,” I whispered past the lump in my throat. “Thanks for checking in.”

“No problem. We’ll talk soon.”

“Bye.” I ended the call and squeezed my eyes shut.

Not to keep tears at bay. There were no tears.

I’d cried myself dry a long time ago.

Sometimes, it felt like a bad dream, and if I closed my eyes tight enough, if I blocked out every sound and sight, when I opened my eyes, I’d wake up and it would all be okay.

Except when I opened my eyes, it was to that blinding white winter beyond my windows. I gave it my back and went to work. Lunch—two granola bars I dug out of a drawer—was spent at my desk.

Afternoon was bleeding to evening as I finally took a break to return my empty mug to the kitchen. The room was bustling with activity as the staff prepped for tonight’s campfire meal. I slipped in and out, not stopping to say hello to Reid, the resort’s chef.

A yawn tugged at my mouth on the way back to my desk. Voices drifted from Indya’s office, and I veered toward her open door, hoping to say thanks to West for rescuing my car.

I stopped short as Indya pointed her finger in Jax’s face. “You have to be nice to Sasha.”

“What?” Jax scoffed. “I am nice to Sasha.”

“Then why does she hate you?”

Hate was a strong word. I never said hate.

“Did she actually use the word hate?” Jax asked.

“No. But she’s not your biggest fan.” Indya clasped her hands together. “I’m begging you. Be nice. I need her to stay until after my maternity leave.”

“I am nice.”

“Then be nicer,” she said.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “Did you have to hire someone so . . . uptight?”

Uptight. Uptight? I was not uptight.

Before I could stop it, a growl clawed its way free from my throat.

West, Indya, and Jax all whirled at the sound.

But I was already gone, storming to my office. My hand gripped the door’s edge, ready to slam it shut. Yet I held back the rage, easing the latch closed with a soft click. Then I sat down and wrote Eddie a letter.

Voices drifted from the outside patio as I fixed a stamp on the envelope. Guests bundled in coats, hats, and gloves stood beneath propane heaters, every person wearing a smile with their winter gear. A group of men waved as West and Jax joined them around the campfire.

I gathered my things, pushed my chair into my desk, and turned off the lights before I retreated to my car in the lot. The drive home was as harrowing as it had been earlier.

There was a note tucked into my door from my landlord, apologizing about the water. He’d fixed part of the issue, so the cold worked, but I’d be without hot showers until Monday.

It should have been a relief. Coming home after a stressful day should have felt good. But as I crawled into my bed, I just felt numb.

The moment I closed my eyes, the shouting started. If the neighbors weren’t screwing, they were fighting.

I squeezed my eyes shut so tight it made me dizzy. “What am I doing here?”

Even a pillow over my head didn’t muffle the noise from next door. Finally, after an hour, they stopped screaming. I heard a door slam, then an engine roar to life. Then silence. Blissful, incredible silence.

I was asleep in seconds.

The sound of howling wind woke me with a jerk. It rattled the windows and screamed through the night.

“Seriously?” I grumbled and climbed out of bed, then shuffled to the bathroom. I flipped on the light and went to the sink—except the reason I hadn’t washed the makeup from my face was because I had no hot water.

Cold would have to do.

I turned on the faucet and squirted a glob of soap onto my fingertips. One moment, I was grimacing at the dark circles beneath my eyes. The next, the house went pitch black.

What. The. Hell?

The wind seemed to laugh, taking pride in knocking out my power.

“I hate Montana.”

Dear Eddie,

It was so cold this morning that when I went outside, my wet hair froze into icicles. It was like a blast into the future to see what I’ll look like with white hair. I’ve never felt cold like this before. I’m not sure I’m made for winter.

Are you warm? Do you like the snow? I think about you every hour of every day.

Someone at work called me uptight today. I was angry at first. It hurt my feelings. But he was right. I am uptight. I’m not sure I know how to relax and slow down. I pushed you too hard, didn’t I? I was so busy trying to stay busy that I didn’t realize things were bad until they were so far gone we couldn’t recover.

Stay warm, okay? I miss you.

S