The Woodsman's Baby

by Eddie Cleveland

  The crowd gasps again. Apparently, these people have never heard someone swear before.

  “Don’t you walk away from me,” Ben’s voice drops as he growls at her. “I made you what you are.” I hear her cry out in pain.

  The crowd gasps again and I jump to my feet. I race down the aisle and storm the platform, dodging behind the curtains and down the hall where Ben has got his hands on my woman.

  “Let go of her now, you fucking creep,” I boom.

  “Sawyer?” Ashley twists her wrist from Ben’s grasp and rushes over to me.

  “Who the fuck are you?” He juts his jaw out at me, like he’s offering me a target.

  “Don’t worry about who I am, you just worry about keeping your hands to yourself.”

  “Get the fuck outta here, hillbilly,” Ben sizes me up and tries to push past me to grab Ashley.

  Except I don’t move.

  He might have had better luck getting the wall to budge out of his way.

  I grab him by his expensive shirt and crack him across the face with my meaty fist. In the conference room, I can hear the gasping crowd again. I swear, they’re probably fainting on the floor by now.

  Ben falls against the wall and holds himself up as he gets his bearings. “Whatever, I don’t even care about that bitch anyway,” he shakes his head and stands up like I didn’t just hand him his ass.

  Ben glares at Ashley and then at me before walking down the hall as nonchalantly as he can manage.

  Douche.

  “I thought you left.” Ashley looks up at me with tears in her eyes.

  “I couldn’t go without you,” I admit, pulling her into me. I crush her lips with my desperate kiss. A kiss I never thought I’d get to experience again. A kiss I’ll never let these lips miss for another moment.

  “I love you,” I murmur.

  “I love you too, Sawyer.” She breathes.

  “Come on, let’s get out of here,” I pull on her hand. She looks up at me knowingly and follows my lead. She knows that I’ll take care of her. That I’ll keep her safe. That as long as we’re together the rest of the world can slide away behind the setting sun.

  A world of two is all we need.

  34

  Ashley

  “Are you ready yet?” Sawyer scolds me with a smirk on his face.

  “Oh give me a break, I’m almost done,” I pull my backpack in tight against my shoulders and snap it up over my lightweight ski jacket.

  Of course, I would’ve loved it if we had run off into the woods together after the conference. It would’ve been romantic to leave in a whirlwind of optimism, letting our pasts blur behind us as we forged a new future together.

  Stupid. Reckless. Potentially deadly. But romantic.

  Instead, we’ve spent the last week getting ready to do this right. Gathering practical clothes to wear, finding my identification among my personal items that were at the resort, and getting rid of my downtown loft apartment. Most importantly, I shut down my Instagram account and abandoned my cell phone, leaving that part of my life behind forever.

  None of those things were romantic, but they were necessary to tie up all the loose ends. This decision is final, I’m not giving it a trial run, and it’s my new life. My new life with my man, off the grid. Together.

  Of course, the packing and planning might not have been very romantic, but we still had plenty of time for turning up the heat.

  I feel like it was a huge accomplishment to get Sawyer to stay with me in the city while I got all of this sorted out. Every day I made sure I showed him just how grateful I was with his patience.

  I showed him in my old bed. On the floor. In the shower. On the kitchen counter.

  I think he got the idea.

  I smile as heat spreads throughout my body at the memories we’ve made. I can’t wait to get to his log home and begin making a lot more.

  “Ok, I’m good to go,” I smile at Sawyer and his face lights up as he grins back at me.

  “It’s about time,” he teases me. Sawyer steps toward me and wraps his huge hand around the back of my head, pulling me in for an unhurried, sensual kiss. I can feel all the tension of the week drift from my limbs as the birds chirp in the trees around us. We’re beginning our journey back through the same forest that brought us together. Sawyer said it takes three days of hiking, but I’m up for the challenge.

  “Let’s get started,” Sawyer murmurs and tilts his forehead against mine, looking at my lips with his intense brown eyes.

  He steps back and lifts the rope for his toboggan, yanking it into action and I follow behind him. No wonder his body is like forged steel. He effortlessly guides the supplies over the snow while carrying even more on his broad, strong back.

  I smile up at the bright blue sky and follow in his huge footprints. I’m ready for this.

  I’m ready to start my life with him. To take each day as an adventure. To live my life in moments instead of hashtags. I’m ready to love and be loved like I’ve only ever watched in movies. I’m ready to let the years slip by into oblivion as we grow old in each other’s arms.

  My heart is open.

  I’m ready.

  Epilogue

  Ashley

  I brush my hand over the freshly pulled carrots and small clumps of dirt fall back to the garden. Wiping my brow with the back of my free flowing, linen shirt, I look up at the enormous swatch of bright blue sky above.

  Summer is beautiful everywhere, but here, at the cottage, every moment is a lesson in the marvels of the season. I close my eyes and lean back on my hand, letting the warm breeze tickle my skin. In the distance, I can hear the water of the lake lapping at the shoreline.

  Peaceful doesn’t begin to explain this feeling. Perfection is a little closer. A shadow casts over me and I flutter my eyelids open to see Sawyer smiling down at me. On his line, he has two speckled trout hanging, ready to be turned into the freshest fillets anyone has ever tasted.

  “Those will go perfect with the salad,” I tilt my head and hold out my hand to him. Sawyer easily lifts me to my feet and wraps his rough hand around my waist.

  “How are you feeling today? You’re not pushing yourself too hard, are you?”

  “I was literally just sitting in the dirt, picking vegetables. I’m not made of glass you know,” I scold him gently. The truth is, I love his concern.

  Sawyer’s soft lips kiss a trail down the side of my sensitive neck and I don’t remember what I was saying. I moan and lean back into him, enjoying the pulses of bliss spreading through my skin.

  “No, you’re much too sweet to be made of glass. Maybe sugar,” his breath billows over my collarbone as he murmurs to me. His hand protectively rests against my belly and I lean back into his hard body, feeling like there is nothing in this world he couldn’t protect me from.

  Protect us from, I remind myself.

  “I just don’t want you pushing yourself too hard when you’ve got our little bean sprouting up inside you.” He nips my earlobe and a jolt shoots through me.

  “I’m not, don’t worry. I promise I’m taking it easy,” I reassure him for the hundredth time this week.

  It was amazing how quickly the change came. One day, Sawyer was teasing me for how little firewood I could chop, or giving me a hard time for how little water I could haul. The day we found out I was pregnant all of that changed. Out with the good-natured ribbing about my not being able to keep up, and in with the pampering. At this rate, I’ll be delivering while he fans me with fern fronds and feeds me wild blueberries one by one.

  Not that I mind. There’s something sexy about a man who takes care of his woman. Takes care of his family.

  “Let’s get you out of this heat,” Sawyer jerks his head toward the cottage and lifts the basket of food I’ve been gathering, with his free hand.

  Cottage doesn’t do our house justice. More like a log chalet perched on a mountainside with the sparkling lake a mere hundred feet away from the front door. I love sitting out on the ba
lcony at night, listening to the crickets and watching the brightest stars I’ve ever seen light up the sky.

  When I look out over our property and see the fireflies dancing over the lawn, it’s impossible not to feel the magic of childhood course through your veins. Like dreams can still come true.

  Mine did.

  Even the childhood dream I once had of having Belle’s library is now a reality I enjoy. Catcher in the Rye might be our favorite book, but it’s far from the only one in our house. Sawyer has a two-story loft wall filled from the floor to the rafters, with books. I asked him why he built it and he said winters are long. Every time he cracked the cover of a book, it was like an instant escape from the desolation and loneliness the icy landscape brought. Some people take trips to Florida to escape the winter blues. We read.

  I follow Sawyer into the house and smile, knowing this hot, lazy day turns to a tranquil night and that will blur into another long, summer day, until it’s a new season. Then the weather will be different, but our lives will be the same. Even when our baby decides to enter the world, we’ll still live a simple life where happiness and togetherness mean more than anything else.

  “I love you,” I whisper and lean into Sawyer as we walk up the front stairs of the cottage together.

  “I love you just a tiny bit more,” he smiles and kisses my hand gently. He loves to say that, no matter how much I protest or pout, he won’t relent that his love is just an iota stronger, just runs centimeters deeper, is just a bit wider than mine.

  Today I don’t argue. Instead, I smile. Let him think he loves me more. Let me think I love him more. If that’s our biggest disagreement, then I think we’ve got it pretty good.

  Pretty perfect, really. I throw my arm around his waist and snuggle in against his hard shoulder letting the moment marinate in my soul. Enjoying every second, of every day that I have with him on this earth.

  And living it to the fullest.

  THE END

  Virgin for the Woodsman

  Copyright © 2017 by Eddie Cleveland

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  1

  Cole

  Sitting in my darkened car, between lamp posts, I watch him slip out his front door from half a block away. He pulls one knee up to his chest, then the other. He shrugs his shoulders toward his tousled hair a couple of times and then puts his earbuds in before running out of sight.

  He does this every night. I’ve been watching.

  Waiting.

  The handle of my Glock 26 is warm. It’s been in my hand for almost an hour now, my body heat has transferred to the cool steel. I get out of my car and tuck it into my waistband. A quick look in each direction shows me that this sleepy little subdivision is clear.

  I refuse to run. Each step that I take toward his house is measured. Like a man out for an evening stroll. Nothing to see here, folks. Nobody important to remember.

  Walking up the driveway, I reach his front door and turn the handle, walking inside without hesitation. He always keeps it unlocked on these nightly jogs. I’ve kept tabs.

  My footsteps sound like thunder, echoing off the sparsely decorated walls. Not that the art hanging from them is cheap. Nope, Mommy and Daddy have provided only the best for their baby boy. I guess when you’re a Senator’s son, that is one of the perks.

  Only the best. Until the best bores you.

  My mouth tugs downward as a vivid memory of her face washes over me. Now isn’t the time for sentimentality, I remind myself, pushing the emotions down into a lead ball buried in my gut. There is only one thing I have time for right now: revenge.

  I cut my tour short and make my way upstairs two at a time. Squinting, I let my eyes adjust to the darkness. I can’t go turning on lights, warning him or his neighbors that I’m here. Nothing is going to screw this up. I’m taking care of this tonight.

  The details of his bedroom are easy to make out, even in the dark. Stepping inside makes a flurry of images from the video shuffle through my mind. The same nightstand with the same lamp perched upon it sits beside his bed. Even the comforter on the bed is the same.

  Rage boils the blood in my veins and I grit my teeth together.

  I hear the front door open. He’s home. He’s panting. The noise makes another flash of the video pop up in my mind. I push it down with the others. I force it all from my mind.

  Tilting my head, I listen to him fill a glass with water downstairs. It clinks as he sets it down on the counter. His feet stomp heavily on the stairs as he races up here. I pull out my gun and aim the lengthened barrel due to the octane K45 silencer I’ve attached to it, to keep nosy neighbors at bay.

  I’m ready.

  I take shallow, steady breaths and hold the Glock up at the ready, but he goes into the bathroom instead. Water sprays into the tub and the distinctive squeal of the shower curtain fasteners scraping across the metal bar lets me know he’s stepped inside to rinse off.

  Lowering my gun, I let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding and wait.

  Her blue eyes watch me in my memory. Her slightly crooked smile squeezes my heart.

  When I got back from my military deployment overseas, that smile and those eyes had already been taken from me. Used up and thrown away by him. Now, I’ll never get her back.

  My mind snaps back into the present as I hear the shower turn off. Again, I lift my gun with a steady, experienced hand and wait.

  The switch on the wall snaps as the light overhead floods my vision, but I quickly blink away the spots blurring my vision and he comes into focus.

  My target.

  “Fuck! Jesus, who are you? Oh, my God, don’t shoot,” he holds up his hands and drops his towel. I’m tempted to shoot his wilted pecker clean off. Instead, I rush him. The fucking coward doesn’t even try to move. They say when you’re facing danger there are two responses, fight or flight. They forget about the most common one: freeze.

  “Get down on your fucking knees,” I bark out the order but he stands like a deer in the headlights. A swift crack of my gun across his cheek seems to do wonders for his listening ability. He sinks down and starts to cry.

  Poor baby.

  “Why? Why is this happening? Who are you?” He sobs, his hands are trembling by the sides of his head.

  “Don’t worry about who I am,” I snarl, pulling my phone free from my pocket as I keep my gun level to his head.

  I open the phone and press play. I can’t look at the screen. I’ve already seen it. My stomach twists into a knot as I hear his moans over the cell’s speaker, “Remember her?” I jam the phone against his nose and his eyes go wide.

  “Man, it’s not what you think. She didn’t even mean anything to me, it was just one night. We were both drunk! It was just a mistake,” he blurts out his words as tears flow over his cheeks.

  “Well she meant the world to me, you fucking prick! I’m going to make sure it’s a mistake you never make again.”

  I push the muzzle into his temple and he twists away, wincing. Trying to escape the fate I’ve decided for him. Cramming the phone back into my jeans, I grab his hair and dig the tip of the gun into his flesh.

  “I’m so sorry, okay? I’m sorry,” he blubbers.

  “You can stick your sorry in a sack, bud. Sorry don’t change a fucking thing.”

  BANG!

  Fragments of shattered bone, brains and a streak of blood hit the wall as his naked body slumps over on the floor. I quickly step over him, carefully avoiding the pool of blood pouring from the gushing hole in his skull, and race down the stairs.

  Even with a silencer, the distinctive sound of a gun being fired is easy to identify. It’s not like a movie where it practically whispers a tiny ‘pew-pew’ like a schoolgirl pointing her finger and thumb during r
ecess. I don’t know if his neighbors heard the noise over their television shows, and I’m not about to stand around and find out.

  I hurry out the front door and try not to run as I retreat to my car. I’m all ready to go. I’ll need to toss the gun, of course, and stop to change my clothes somewhere. I’ll need to make sure none of that fucker’s blood splattered on my skin.

  I turn the keys in the ignition and drive away. I’ve already got the car packed and my passport in the glovebox. Stay calm. Stay cool. You still need to get past border patrol, I remind myself. Taking a deep breath, relief washes over me as I realize that piece of shit is dead.

  Now I just need to get to Canada and I’ll be free.

  2

  Abbie

  “Just look at all those woods down there! All those mountains! That bastard is hiding out there somewhere. And we’re gonna find him,” Mr. White yells over the tiny plane’s engine.

  For something so small, it sure makes a lot of noise. I nervously cling to the armrests of my uncomfortable seat, it’s only one of eight in the entire cabin. I’ve never seen a plane where you could lean over and have a conversation with the pilot if you felt like it. But then again, until today, I’d only ever seen airplanes on television. The commercials of smiling, gorgeous flight attendants serving people in luxury lounge chairs is very similar to the two jumbo jets we took to connect here, but a far cry from the reality of this flight.

  The turbulence of flying over the mountain range has been terrifying. It’s not hard to imagine your fiery death when the plane rattles so hard you’re left wondering if the wings are going to stay attached. However, apparently, I’m the only one worried. From the placid look on the bored attendant’s face, I can see this is all normal.