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Chapter 2- Taken by the Wind

All your life you've never seen a woman
Taken by the wind
Would you stay if she promised you heaven?
-Fleetwood Mac
-Rhiannon

Spike slowed the convertible down to accommodate the rough gravel driveway. The huge oak trees cast long shadows across the narrow drive, while early blue and yellow wildflowers had begun to spring up along the way. It made a sudden and welcome change from the noise and brightness of the highway. In fact, it felt like another world. Following the sign, he parked the car in the gravel lot and strolled over to a small wooden cottage.

A pretty young woman with long chestnut hair, sat at a short wooden counter, writing something into a ledger. She looked up and smiled. “May I help you?”

“Yes. I have a reservation, name of-”

The girl's smile widened. “Jamison. I know. I'm Dawn Summers. It's a pleasure to meet you in person.”

Spike gave her a tentative smile. Nice kid. How does she know who I am? Oh God, she probably found out somehow. Horrendous visions of autograph hounds and noisy television crews sprang to mind. “Thanks.”

She noticed the tension in the man's frame and tried to make him feel more at home, continuing to chatter. “I'll bet you're wondering how I figured that out."

At his tentative nod, she grinned. "That's easy. As I explained in the email, we're just starting out and we've only been open for guests for the past week. It's really quiet, and you're the only reservation for today.”

She slid a form over the scarred desktop. “Please sign this and I'll get your key.” The girl continued to talk as she bustled around the desk and Spike, relaxing a bit, began to warm up to her.

“Let's see, you've already filled out everything else through the website. The cottage is down that gravel path. You'll need to leave your car parked here. Do you want some help with your luggage?”

Spike let out the breath he didn't realize he was holding, and shook his head. “No, I didn't bring much. Thanks.”

Handing him a key with the number 4 tagged on it, Dawn watched him turn and stroll out the door. She called after his retreating back. “If you need anything, just let me know.”

God is he ever cute, even if he's seriously quiet. I love the British accent and with those cheekbones and that body, wow.

She walked over to the window and watched him reach into the convertible to pull out a suitcase and a laptop case. The muscles under his tee shirt flexed nicely. Dawn figured he was somewhere around thirty, which was too old for her, but not for Buffy. Watching the man's retreating back, she pondered the conundrum of her anti social older sister.

Spike enjoyed the walk down the shady path, slowing down to look at the trees and the same flowers he'd noticed on the drive in. The tang of salt air tickled his nose while the leaves and gravel crunched underfoot. He could almost literally feel the tension drain from his muscles with each step.

He rounded a curve and saw his home for the next month and a smile creased his face.

The weathered gray two story cottage sat perched almost on the cliff's edge, with a wide porch facing the ocean below.

He dropped his luggage beside an old fashioned porch swing with gaily colored cushions and walked over to look down at the ocean.

Twenty feet down, the surf roiled and tumbled against huge rocks. A small stretch of beach, sand glinting in the morning sun, was nestled between huge rocks. Spike though that it looked like something from an oil painting.

*****

Buffy was walking around the bed she'd finished making when she heard a noise on the porch. Looking out the bedroom window, she noticed a blonde man in a black leather jacket staring out over the water. Lean blue jean clad legs were spread widely apart. He had his hands on his hips.

He's definitely of the cute and a butt that good should be illegal. He must be the new guest. Too bad he's a guest. Where did that thought come from? Who wants to make time for a guy? I sure don't. I don't want any complications in my life at all.

She sighed, hoping his check would clear.

He turned toward the cottage, so she quickly pulled away from the window and ran down the stairs to the front door.

Spike reached down to put his key in the door when it suddenly opened. Startled, he dropped the door key. It clattered loudly across the porch floor.

“Oh, I'm sooo sorry. I didn't mean to surprise you like that.”

A petite blonde woman, with huge hazel eyes reached down to pick up the key. She stood and handed it back,as a wry smile crossed her face.

“Guess that made a good impression on the new guest, huh? Hi, I'm Buffy Summers. I'm one of the owners and also your maid.” She held up the towels still in her arms. “My powers of deduction, and your key, tell me that you must be Mr. Jamison.”

She added gorgeous blue eyes to her mental list of his attributes. Buffy looked into the handsome stranger's face and watched his surprised expression quickly change to amusement. She put a sense of humor on the list.

“Great deduction and please call me William. It's nice to meet you Ms. Summers. This is a beautiful location. I'm looking forward to walking on that beach.”

Visions of the two of them walking hand in hand popped into his mind. He chastised himself. Damn it, Spike, why can't you just keep your hands to yourself? You're here for more important things than chasing the local innkeeper, even if she is gorgeous. And I'm not sure gorgeous even covers it.

Buffy stepped aside to let him in. Strolling into the cottage, he took a quick look around. He dropped his bags next to a small overstuffed chair. “This is a lovely cottage, Ms. Summers, it's exactly as I'd hoped.”

Smiling in a noncommittal way, she replied. “Thank you. Please call me Buffy. We're very informal here.”

She quickly placed the towels in the bathroom. Stopping at the front door, she turned back to him. “If you have any questions or need anything, just let my sister know, she's always in the office. The steps down to the beach are through those trees to the left. There's some information about Sunnydale and a map in the desk. I hope you enjoy your visit.”

“Thank you.” He watched her through the window as she followed the path back to the office. Anyone that lovely probably has a boyfriend, or even a husband waiting for her somewhere.

He frowned. God, Spike, get over it. It really doesn't matter, she's obviously not interested and you just can't be.





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