The afternoon sun hit me full in the face as I stepped outside town hall, like Montana itself was trying to burn away my frustration. I paused on the steps and breathed in the heavy scent of pine. Hard Timber sprawled in front of me in a patchwork of weathered storefronts, pickup trucks, and century-old trees. Despite what people like Rowan March might think, I loved this place. Loved it enough to fight for something that would make it even better.
“Well, if it isn’t Trouble himself.”
I turned to find Nellie bustling up the steps, her silver hair gleaming in the sunlight. Nellie was a living testament to what staying active could do. She moved with the energy of someone half her age. That was exactly why I needed those damn pickleball courts.
“Nellie,” I greeted her with a genuine smile. “Looking good. Are those shoulder exercises helping?”
“Don’t change the subject,” she said, her eyes crinkling with affection. “I heard you’ve been raising hell about pickleball. Planning to smooth-talk your way past Rowan, were you?”
I grimaced. “Not going so well. She called me The Butterfly.”
Nellie winced. “Don’t take it too hard. Those nicknames someone came up with for all of you boys are just a bunch of silly nonsense.”
“Not according to most folks in town,” I muttered. The Ex-List had been a thorn in my side for weeks now. Some anonymous asshole’s rundown of Hard Timber’s most “dangerous” bachelors had blown up, and people couldn’t stop talking about it. At least the other guys on the list got good nicknames. Not like The Butterfly.
Dane Thorne, The Butterfly. He’s the Thorne brother least likely to stay put. All easy charm and restless energy, he’s a man who treats commitments like gym towels to use once and toss aside. Ask around town and you’ll hear the same story… He starts fast, burns hot, and moves on before the dust settles. Women. Work. Wild ideas. Nothing seems to hold him for long. Fun? Absolutely. Dependable? Not a chance. If you want a fling, he’s your man. If you want a future, look anywhere else.
Even thinking about it made my gut simmer with anger.
“Well, I know better.” Nellie patted my arm, pulling me out of my head. “You’ve only been open a few months, but I’ve already seen how you show up for people. That counts, Dane.”
“Try telling that to Sergeant March in there.” I nodded toward the building. “She’s coming to inspect the site tomorrow. I’m pretty sure she’ll find every reason to shut down my plans.”
“That girl…” Nellie shook her head. “She’s not as hard as she seems. Just cautious. Life hasn’t been especially kind.”
That caught my attention. “What do you mean?”
Nellie gave me a sad look. “It’s not my story to tell, but there’s more to her than color-coded files and frowns.”
I snorted. “Could’ve fooled me.”
“Hmm.” Nellie studied me.
“What?”
“You care about what she thinks.” Her lips curved into a knowing grin.
“Don’t go getting any ideas, Nellie. The only thing I care about is that she’s standing between me and my pickleball courts,” I said, but even I could hear the defensive edge in my voice.
“Of course,” Nellie said, her eyes full of innocence. “Well, I’m off to pay my water bill. And Dane?”
“Yeah?”
“Sometimes the ones who put up the highest walls have the most worth protecting behind them.” With one last smile, she continued up the steps, leaving me staring after her.
I shook my head and headed down Main toward The Woodshed. Nellie was just being Nellie. As the town’s self-appointed matchmaker, she saw the potential for romance everywhere. But the thought of her trying to put me and Rowan March together? That was the funniest damn thing I’d heard all week. Rowan was all rules and order. I was the guy who’d built a climbing wall in my living room because I got bored one weekend.
Still, I couldn’t help wondering what Nellie meant about life not being kind to Rowan. Was there a story behind the thick glasses and frosty attitude? And why did I suddenly care?
My phone buzzed, pulling my attention away from Rowan. My brother Holt was checking in.
Holt: Did you get approval?
Me: Working on it. Mrs. Murphy’s out, and I’m dealing with Rowan.
His reply was immediate.
Holt: March? Good luck with that. She’s immune to you.
