“Stay out of the goddamn woods, yeah?” he warns before making a tight clicking sound with his jaw. And then he’s gone, leaving me filthy, standing in the driveway of my cabin, before I even have a chance to say thank-you. Or tell him he’s an asshole. I may not have a concussion, but I definitely have a good dose of whiplash from the man who just saved me for the second time in twenty-four hours.
CHAPTER 6
Asher
“Asher! James! Please … someone … please!”
My mother’s screams the last time I ever heard her voice fill my head. They only haunt me when it’s quiet like this. I turn up the Deftones in my ears. The slow, steady rise and fall of my breath quickens as I sink into an ice bath and the muscles of my body go rigid as I flex my aching fists under the water. I went hard in my weight session this morning. My daily workouts have been a routine I’ve kept up since I went to prison when I was younger.
There was nothing to do there but get stronger. Some men turn to drugs inside, some to sex, but I wanted to become as strong as possible to ensure I’d never end up in the type of situation that put me in that shithole in the first place. As a habit still, when I feel stress creeping in, I push my body to its limit. Like today. Physically, a harsh deadlift session was just what I needed. But mentally? My brain never shuts off, and over the last five days since Olivia’s fire, I’ve been thinking about herwaytoo much.
Something about how she looked up at me so helpless andafraid outside her burning house. And then again when I found her in the dirt on the Silver Pines trails. It’s like she can’t help but put herself in dangerous situations and I can’t help but interject. Even if it means bringing her closer to me in the process. Which is the last place she should be.
Fourteen long minutes pass as I soak in ice and my own fucked-up thoughts and feel the familiar needles creeping in under my skin. I stand and step out onto my deck. Wrapping a large towel around my hips, I take a deep breath of fresh mountain air. The only sound in my yard is the birds chirping. Just how I like it.
My property sits at the west side of Laurel Creek, almost out of town, on ten acres. The house itself is a smaller two-story farmhouse from the seventies, but I’ve remodeled it over the two years I’ve spent here. The expanse of land is what I always wanted. The fields ahead are shrouded by trees and, behind the main house, my deck faces out toward lush woods and the big red barn that I’ve turned half of into a state-of-the-art woodshop. The other half remains in its original, rough form and is where I store my yard equipment, guns, and feed for the chickens that roam freely here in the summer months. I spend most nights I’m not on duty, or at the bar, in the workshop. My hands always need to be busy, and I can turn my music up as loud as I like to drown out the demons that like to haunt me when it’s quiet.
I shake my hair out, letting my body air-dry as I place my thumb and finger between my lips, whistling short and sharp just before I head inside my house. With the sound, my hundred-pound black cane corso Duke stands reluctantly from where he was snoozing in the sun to follow me. He’s just shy of three and it’s taken me almost two to fully train him. He’s a beast—strong and fiercely obedient. He’s also a big sucker, though only for me. He loves to run through the trails on my property with me, or snooze in his bed in the corner of myworkshop at night while doubling to scare the shit out of any foxes or possums that linger around here.
Duke is at my heel as I enter the kitchen and close the door behind me. The space is clean but sparse, with deep stained-pine cabinets and a natural wood ceiling. It’s decorated with iron accents and the walls on the main level are a light gray. A living room with a wood-burning fireplace, an office, and a flex space I haven’t finished off just yet rounds out the area. My bedroom and a full bathroom are on this level and upstairs are two more bedrooms and another full bathroom. I glance over at the table where my phone is vibrating.
I pick it up immediately when I see it’s Wayne.
“Got some news for me, deputy?” I ask, setting my phone to speaker on the counter then reaching down to scratch Duke behind the ears.
“We’re meeting the insurance adjuster at Olivia’s place in an hour. Can you make it? He’ll need your official report.” He pauses for a beat. “And, with it being a heritage house, the governing office from the county may come too.”
In other words, this reno could take a while. “Fuck,” I huff out, heading to my room to get dressed.
“Yeah. With the cabinetry and the floors, she’s gonna have a lot of hoops to jump through with the repairs on this one.”
“I swear to Christ, Laurel Creek is the only town in America where the heritage designation matters on the inside of the house,” I say as I drop my towel and pat my arms dry.
“You’re right about that one.” Wayne chuckles.
Looking at the clock, I realize I could just stop by the department to give my report before I head to the Horse and Barrel for my shift. But, like anything that has to do with Olivia, before I can tell myself not to, I’m moving toward her instead of away from her.
“I’m on my way, Wayne.”
CHAPTER 7
Olivia
“I’ve got this, babe,” Lucy, my shop manager, says as I grab my purse to head to my house. My store is ready for the day. We just finished stocking some new crochet maxi dresses. I tend to curate the store based on what I like, which are soft color palettes and neutrals for everyday wear. My staple is what I’m wearing now: a soft floral skirt and a black tank paired with gladiator sandals. I stock lots of those and they always fly off the rack. So do the linen cover-ups in the summer months. Now we’re heading into busy season, our inventory is looking great. The shop is the first project my dad and I ever took on, and I am so proud of the colorful space that welcomes locals and tourists alike. Unlike a lot of people, I love going into work every day. Don’t get me wrong, running your own place is not without its challenges: leaky pipes, a pesky debit system that drops out at least once a week, late shipments. But it’smine,leased and stocked five years ago with the help of my parents and every penny I could save throughout college, where I earned my degree in fashion merchandising.
“Thanks for holding down the fort. I’ll be back as soon asI’m wrapped up at my house. Here’s hoping the debit system holds up for you.”
Lucy smiles at me, her half-light-brown, half-pink hair up in two cute little space buns today. She’s young, only twenty-three, but she has an incredible eye and the customers love her. “Praying to the shady-as-hell debit gods,” she quips as I head for the door.
The short drive between the shop and my house passes quickly. This will be the first time my parents are seeing my house since the fire. There’s a sign in the window that gives notice of impending construction and abatement, the front door is wide open, and my parents are already here, along with Deputy Wayne. I see my insurance company’s truck and a staunch-looking lady with white hair pulled back off her face carrying a clipboard as she exits the vehicle markedLaurel Creek Heritage Society.
I take a deep breath and move to get out of my car before I’m stopped dead in my tracks by the sound of a thunderous motorcycle. I glance up to see Asher cruising down my street; his matte-black custom bike is a beast and, though I’ve seen it many times at the firehall and the Horse and Barrel, I’m still transfixed as he gets closer. Worn-in, distressed jeans hug his thick thighs as they straddle the wide bike. His black T-shirt clings tightly to his inked arms, and, on his face, he wears his uniform black aviator sunglasses.
He cuts the engine as he pulls into the end of my driveway.
I stand at my car, door still wide open as I watch him.
“Are you coming in, honey, or are you just going to stand there staring?” my mom calls from the porch.
