CHAPTER NINE

The gusts were stronger now, a prelude to the storm"s crescendo. April's chest tightened with each forceful blow of the wind, her heart drumming a rapid cadence in sync with the escalating tempo of nature. Her feet pounded the earth, matching rhythm with Jackson's strides as they sprinted toward the pasture where the horses grazed, oblivious to the brewing tempest.

She reached out, her hand closing around the cool coils of a lead rope, and she cast a sideways glance at Jackson. His jaw was set, eyes squinting against the dust swirling up from beneath their boots. They wasted no time, urgency propelling them forward as they neared the fence.

One by one, they approached the horses, their movements fluid yet filled with unspoken tension. The animals, sensing their keepers' haste, grew restless. With a practiced hand, April clipped the lead to the halter of a chestnut gelding, murmuring words lost to the wind but felt by the creature that towered over her.

Jackson's silhouette cut through the thickening air as he guided a dappled gray mare with reassuring pats to her flank. He called out over the din, his voice barely piercing through, "I'll go get the mare!"

April nodded, lips pressed into a thin line, and set off in the opposite direction. The stallion stood like a statue at the far end of the field, dark mane billowing in the gale. Approaching him, April exuded calm despite the storm churning within her; it was a skill honed in courtrooms, now repurposed for the wild hearts she tended.

Together, they orchestrated the procession of equine refugees seeking shelter in the sturdy barn. Stall after stall was filled, the sound of hooves on wood punctuating their efforts. April could feel the weight of the lead rope in her hands, the warmth of the horse"s breath clouding the space between them as she secured the last latches.

They had done it—each horse safe within the confines of their temporary sanctuary. The barn was a bulwark against nature's wrath, and as the first heavy drops of rain began to fall, a fleeting sense of solace settled over April. She glanced back once more, ensuring all was secure, before turning her focus to what lay ahead.

"Whew," Jackson said as they finally settled into the barn. "It's getting rough out there."

"No kidding," she replied, breathless and already tired from the long day.

April thrust her hands into the sweet-smelling hay, muscles working to tear away a generous flake for each horse. The barn resonated with the contented munching of the equines as they nestled into their temporary refuge. She moved from stall to stall, her steps softened by the sawdust below, ensuring every feeder was full.

As she reached the last stall, April paused. A young mare, her coat a dapple of chestnut and white, shuffled restlessly from one corner to the other. Her brown eyes held a glint of confusion, her movements betraying a sense of unease at the confinement. April extended a hand, smoothing it along the horse"s neck in an attempt to impart some tranquility. The mare nuzzled against her palm, her breath warm but uneven.

"Will she be alright?" April"s voice carried over the partition, finding Jackson who was methodically distributing hay in the adjacent row. The worry in her tone was unmistakable, her gaze locked on the pacing animal before her.

Jackson straightened, brushing strands of dark hair from his forehead with a forearm marked by the day"s labor. He leaned against the wooden frame of the stall, observing the mare with a practiced eye. "She"s been in here before," he reminded, his voice carrying the steady timbre that often soothed April"s own storms. "It's not something brand new, but she's probably scared. Unfortunately, there's nothing we can really do. It"s for her safety."

April bit the inside of her cheek, acknowledging his point without words. Her eyes continued to trace the mare"s path, the image conjuring memories of her past self—imprisoned by expectation and convention before this island granted her release. She longed to offer the same freedom to the creature before her.

The horse was used to being out in the pasture most of the time. She was one that April kept her eye on to make sure she had enough time on the grass to get her energy out. There was something about the freedom of roaming the pen that the mare liked.

The mare let out a soft whinny, her hooves clattering against the floor as she resumed her pacing. April lingered a moment more, her hand resting on the cool metal of the stall door. There was little else to be done; the storm outside would dictate their actions, holding them all captive until its fury waned. With a final pat to the mare"s flank, she turned away, leaving the horse to adjust to the enclosure, and herself to face the tempest brewing beyond the safety of the barn walls.

April felt the warmth of Jackson"s hand as it found its way to the small of her back, a silent balm against the worry that knotted her muscles. The gesture anchored her to the moment, to the man beside her whose presence had become as essential as the air she breathed on Dune Island. His touch was light, but it carried the weight of shared burdens and unspoken understandings.

The mare, still unsettled, snorted and shuffled in her stall, her hooves kicking up tufts of straw. April watched her, the anxiety mirrored in the animal"s eyes a reflection of her own heart"s unease. But as Jackson"s fingers drew slow circles over the fabric of her shirt, April found herself relenting to the quiet promise in his touch—he was there, they were together, and this storm too would pass.

With a sigh that seemed to carry away the last of her tension, April pulled away gently and turned to face the task at hand. Together, she and Jackson moved with practiced efficiency, their movements a choreographed dance born of many shared days and nights attending to the needs of the ranch.

They worked in harmony, securing latches and checking each door twice, ensuring nothing could succumb to the fury of the wind that now howled outside like a chorus of restless spirits. Each bolt slid into place with a definitive clunk, a testament to their determination to shield their equine family from the elements.

The barn, once filled with the sounds of life and work, grew quieter with each secured entrance, the only noise now the intermittent shuffling of horses and the distant rumble of thunder. In these walls, they had created a collage of care and resilience, threads of their lives intertwining with those of the creatures they cherished.

As the final lock clicked home, they exchanged a look—a silent conversation passing between them. It was a moment of solidarity before they stepped out of the sanctuary they had built, leaving the dim, safe warmth of the barn behind.

Outside, the wind greeted them with a fierce embrace, tugging at their clothes and whipping April"s hair across her face. She squinted through the onslaught, her steps quickening to match Jackson"s as they made their way back to the main house, their silhouettes bending against the storm"s insistence, yet unyielding as they faced the tempest side by side.

The door of the main house slammed shut behind April, a barrier against the storm"s growing ferocity. Caroline stood by the window, her reflection a ghostly overlay on the panes rattling with each gust. Her gaze lingered outside before finding April, lines of concern etching her face.

"Is it still happening?" she asked, her voice barely rising above the wind"s howl seeping through the cracks. "Are you still having the wedding?"

April paused, the question anchoring her to the spot. The wedding—a whirlwind of celebration caught in an actual whirlwind—had slipped from the forefront of her mind, overtaken by more immediate worries. She scanned the room, where guests mingled with unease, their eyes darting to windows and doors as the building shuddered.

"Mom, I…" April trailed off, her chest tightening. "I don"t know."

"April," Caroline pressed, her tone sharpening with urgency.

"Everyone," April called out, commanding the attention of the room. Her words cut through the murmurs like a ship parting waters. "We need to stay inside. It"s not safe out there."

Disappointment flickered across the faces gathered in the common space, a collective shadow of letdown. April held their gazes, her own resolve wavering for a moment before steeling again. She braced herself, knowing the safety of every soul under this roof rested on her shoulders.

The room fell into a tense silence, broken only by the occasional creak of the old bed and breakfast as it braced against the storm"s wrath. April stood among the huddle of her extended family and the few guests who"d come for what was supposed to be a weekend of celebration. Her eyes flitted over each face, tracing lines of concern, lips pressed into thin lines of suppressed frustration.

In a corner, Vera clutched her shawl tighter around her shoulders, a small, involuntary shiver betraying her stoic expression. Eamon, always the peacemaker, laid a comforting hand on Chloe's back, but even his usual warm smile had faltered, lost in the gravity of the situation. Leo, youthful impatience writ across his features, shifted from foot to foot, the restless energy palpable.

April"s gaze lingered on Jackson, who stood near the window, his profile cast in shadow against the flickering light. His hands were steady as he checked the latches for the umpteenth time, a silent sentinel guarding against the tempest outside. She could feel the weight of his calm, a stark contrast to the storm brewing within these four walls.

It was then that the magnitude of their predicament settled heavy on her chest, a realization cold and sharp. The bed and breakfast—a quaint haven now transformed into an involuntary ark amidst the squall—would be their world until the skies cleared. No escape from the close quarters, no reprieve from the simmering tensions or unspoken grievances that might surface among kin not accustomed to such proximity.

"Everyone needs to grab what you need from your cars and get ready to lock in for a while," April explained.

A pang of something akin to claustrophobia tightened around April"s heart. Memories of courtroom battles flashed before her eyes, where every word was measured, every argument calculated. But this—this was a different kind of challenge, one that couldn"t be navigated with legal expertise or a well-timed objection. Here, in the eye of the storm, she would have to broker peace without the gavel"s authority, soothe egos without the luxury of recess.

In the dim light, April caught sight of her reflection in a mirror—eyes wide, the edge of resolve that always seemed to find her in moments of crisis. She drew in a deep breath, the air tasting of old wood and anticipation. This wasn"t just about surviving a hurricane. It was about steering them all through the tempest of forced companionship, the emotional currents that threatened to rise higher than the winds outside.

With a subtle straightening of her spine, April acknowledged the inevitable. There would be no walking away, no retreating to neutral corners. They were all lost here, together, adrift in a sea of uncertainty.

This, she thought, could very well be a disaster.