Page 93 of Axe Marks the Spot

“That there’s nothing I want more than to put that smart mouth of yours to good use.”

Arousal lights in my lower belly, and all I can feel and think about is the heat of Dane’s body, the spark of his words in my veins, and images I know we’re both seeing in our minds’ eyes.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

The surprise of the knock makes me jump, and Dane and I nearly bonk heads.

“Mom! Are you pooping or something? We’re going to be late to the course!”

Heat flushes my cheeks, and Dane bites his lips to keep from laughing. I guess Kas and I are even on embarrassing each other now, even if she doesn’t know that she’s embarrassed me.

“Mom? Are you in there?” she calls again.

“Yeah, honey. I’ll be right out.”

Dane’s still smirking, and I gesture for him to get behind the door. He does as I ask, and it hits me that if Kas were to see him here, she’d have a lot of questions, questions I can’t answer.

I put my lips to his to tell him to be quiet, and before I can open the door, he pulls me to him until his body is against mine, the heat of him pressing into my back. “Answer my messages.”

I turn my head, look him in the eye, and nod, mouthing Yes, Sir with a small smile. He releases me and hides behind the door. I turn off the light for good measure before opening it just enough so I can get out.

Kas is standing there with our reusable grocery bag on her arm, looking annoyed. “If Logger Dane gets mad that we’re late, I’m blaming you and your IBS.”

“Kas!” Knowing Dane is in the bathroom just made that comment so much worse. “I don’t have IBS, and how do you even know what that is?”

“Moira said her dad has it, and sometimes he—”

“Okay,” I stop her. “We’re not going to talk about the sheriff’s bathroom habits or make light of his health. That’s rude. Now let’s go.” I point to the exit and pretend I can’t feel Dane’s presence still behind me and that my kid didn’t just reveal that our sheriff has IBS.

What a weird day.

28

Dane

FOR SOMEONE WHO’S NEVER taught a class, much less a class to children, I think I’m doing well. Today, we did some more balance work, and they also learned how to hold the rubber axe and throw it at the special target that grips the axe’s edge so it will stay in place if they hit it.

Once we were done with that, I gave them a ten-minute break, and I think they were more excited about a bag of trail mix than they are about the course as a whole. I wasn’t sure how to feel about that, but I guess kids like snacks.

“Okay, for the last twenty minutes, you can go practice whatever obstacle you want.” They all cheer, but before they take off running, I stop them. “Only use the ones we’ve gone over so far.” There are a few groans, but they all run off in groups toward different stations.

It isn’t until I look to my side that I see Kas is still here, staring at a group that went to the axe throw. The group includes her friend Moira, another girl, Sara, and one of the boys named Tyler. Her usual happy expression is gone, and in its place is a sad one, one that looks so similar to how Lindsey’s was when I found her in the grocery store earlier. My brow furrows, and my first thought is to see if Lindsey is here yet, but she’s not. Most of the parents chose to leave today, leaving only a couple of them watching from the benches.

I step toward Kas, who’s sort of wandering aimlessly now, kicking at imaginary rocks in the grass. She was fine when she got here, sassy and funny like she’s been the last couple of times we’ve interacted. Obviously, something’s changed, and it looks like it has something to do with Tyler by the way she keeps looking over at him.

“You okay, Kasnado?”

She scrunches her nose. “Logger Dane, no.”

I chuckle, but the dumb nickname did the trick. She’s smiling a little now. “I’ll keep trying till you like one.”

She nods and looks away from me, her feet going back to kicking at the grass.

“You don’t want to go play on the course?”

She shrugs. “Been there, done that.”

God, this kid. The more I get to know both her and her mom, the more I see how much they are alike. “You haven’t done all of it.”