by Inez Kelley
“I think he just gave up. He was this big, strong retired army colonel but he just...faded away eight months later.”
“I’m sorry.” His huge palm stroked her spine.
“Thanks. It took a long time to tie up all those loose ends, sell their house and stuff. It was good to have someplace new to move to, get a fresh start.” A hawk soared overhead and she shaded her eyes, watching it zoom through the air. “I love my place, but I don’t want to have to go back to computer engineering to keep it. If I do, I won’t have the time for M.S.S. I’ll lose the business then. The sugarhouse seems like an answer to a prayer. I need your help, Matt. Please. This is important to me.”
Unspoken, she admitted that sharing it with him was important to her. It was a sort of litmus test of their budding relationship. She didn’t need a man, but she wanted one, wanted a partner she could depend on to support her goals and share her triumphs. One who would listen to her complaints and commiserate with her when things looked bleak. Sex was wonderful but it wasn’t enough. She needed the whole package.
However, she’d learned the hard way that most people looked out only for themselves and weren’t above using others to get what they wanted. Not how she was asking Matt for help—that was aboveboard and in the open. It was the clandestine and sneaky shit that burned her. The popular girls who were suddenly her BFFs if she could introduce them to the cute soldiers just before the military ball, the eager young soldiers who paid her pretty compliments hoping a good word from her father could advance their careers. She’d learned suspicion long before she’d learned to drive.
That was part of Matt’s allure. He’d done the complete opposite, refusing to even contemplate a single kiss until his business was done. His moral code and work ethic was as attractive as the strength in his jaw.
She traced that jaw with two fingers. “It’d mean a lot to me.”
Sunlight pulled at the gold in his eyes as he studied her. Fascinated, she watched a myriad of emotions flit across his gaze and she mentally crossed her fingers.
With that hardened determination she found so sexy, he lifted his chin. “I won’t let you lose the land.”
* * *
Matt owned a pickup older than Moses. He used it for hauling building supplies and it had at least two hundred thousand miles on it, but its shocks were great, saving her poor butt from the ruts his logging crew had called a road. A few small dirt roads had been cut into the land and piles of tree limbs decorated many spots.
Matt explained it wasn’t waste or littering. Those cuttings became natural fertilizer, homes for smaller animals, shelter for deer. In a few years, they would hardly be noticeable against the backdrop of forest. She braced for devastation to parts of her land but other than the treetops being less dense, she really couldn’t see any. Only up close did she see the cut stumps, torn grass and tire tracks. The newly open spaces let more sunlight pour to the ground, and already new growth was blooming.
He’d hauled his personal four-wheeler to her place to help them explore her land with ease. Bouncing around holding on to him was no hardship either. The vibrations of the machine, her thighs wrapped around his, her arms circling his waist, the physical sensations battled with the gorgeous scenery around them. Matt pointed out patches where the older trees had choked the saplings. Now they could thrive and grow. She’d expected to feel as though she raped the land. Instead, pride infused her. She’d helped make it better, healthier.
Stopping at the edge of a small clearing, Matt held up a leaf and looked at her. Nibbling her lip, she ran through everything he’d taught her in the past two weeks. It was a compound leaf, each small stalk holding several rounded linear leaflets.
“Ash?”
“Good girl.” He tossed the yellow leaf aside. “Those are hell on allergies. Come on, time to learn to drive a spile.”
Matt came alive in the woods. Something about the air, the trees, the music of the mountains embraced him. Indian summer had kept the winds warm and Kayla watched the sun bathing his face, beading sweat along his brow. Something inside her surged. He made her heart pound and her mouth dry. She grabbed the small toolbox from the back of the four-wheeler and hurried after him.
“There’s a small maple grove over here but I’ll show you how to tap a pine. You don’t want to damage the tree before winter.”
He took the toolbox from her grip, replacing the handle with his hand. Birds sang and flitted from tree to tree, filling the wind with different melodies. From tiny sparrows to hawks, the sky pulsed with life. Matt jutted his chin toward a wild turkey strutting around. They’d seen deer and squirrels, foxes and a raccoon. The critters irritated her when they used her garden as a lunch buffet but, here in the woods, she simply took in their natural beauty.
Snakes also called the woodlands home and although most were harmless, copperheads and timber rattlers weren’t. She wore heavy hiking boots at his urging, as well as old jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. Several beehives droned above their heads but they avoided them and the bees ignored them. She just prayed they wouldn’t stumble across any black bears or coyote. Matt assured her that was unlikely but still, she kept a watchful eye out.
At the maple grove, he showed her how to find a clear mark on the trunk, free of knots or defects. “You want to tap the south side of the tree. It tends to thaw faster and produce sap earlier than the other sides.”
“And never more than three taps per tree, right?”
Matt nodded. “That’s right. Just remember, angle upward a bit, don’t drive straight into the tree. You’ll want to use the drill first, but only go about two to three inches deep, depending on the tree diameter. Any further and you might bypass the sapwood and get into the heartwood. Not only will the tree be exposed to disease, the wood will crack around the spout and drain all your sap down the bark and not in your bucket.”
“That would bite.”
His laugh was full and rich, like hot coffee on a cold night. “Definitely not the way to make syrup.” He demonstrated, drilling and tapping a nearby pine, then handing her drill.
She nodded and fixed her eyes on the bark, looking for the best spot. Her finger landed on a likely place. “Here?”
“I’d tap that.”
Enough tease carried in his voice that she shook her head. “Stop looking at my butt, horndawg.”
“Woof.”
She laughed then stole a fast kiss. “Behave. This is serious work.”
“Serious,” he agreed. Then he pinched her behind.
“Matt!” She shook her finger at him then stepped away and hefted the drill. Her teeth rattled as she bored into the trunk but she got it on the first try, tapping the spile in with a few firm taps. Thick goo seeped out of the metal spout.
Jabbing her fist, she crowed. “Yes!”
“Pine sap is thicker than maple. Maple sap is almost like water but you get the idea.” Matt worked the spouts until they came loose then packed the holes with the shavings they’d created to protect the tree from insects and rot.
Kayla pulled the grid-lined map of her land loose from the toolbox and unfolded it. Every maple was marked with a tiny red leaf. “Damn, this is a lot of trees.”
“I told you it took a lot of work. You’ll need help.”
She couldn’t imagine anyone else working beside her but him. The mountains surrounded them and erased the outside world. In this tree-shrouded place, she could easily envision Adam and Eve’s solitude, their paradise. She tilted her head back, let the sun dappling through the tree cover warm her cheeks. The past few weeks had been as close to perfect as she could imagine, but it was too soon to ask him for that type of commitment.
“Are you hungry yet?” She’d filled an old backpack with bottles of water and a picnic lunch.
Matt strapped the toolbox back on the four-wheeler and nodded. “Hop on. There�
��s a clearing over the next ridge with a great view. We can eat there.”
Climbing behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist, she was amazed how at home he seemed. He never got turned around, always knowing exactly where they were. The logging must have permanently imprinted the land into his mind.
In less than ten minutes, they were lounging in a small meadow, eating thick ham-and-cheese sandwiches and letting the view seep inside them. Backbone Mountain’s gently rolling tops marked a clear line in the azure sky. The fall foliage was at its peak, a patchwork of varying shades and hues from bright gold to nearly bloodred. Birds sailed overhead and the breeze made the leaves dance, filling the air with a soft lullaby. The meadow was strewn with crunchy leaves that spun like drunken fairies in the wind.
“My God, it’s beautiful here.”
“It is.” He pointed across the valley. “That patch over there? A mix of pin oak, sumac and chestnut.”
“It’s like the mountain’s on fire.” She tucked half of her sandwich back into the plastic container. “I was so wrapped up in building the greenhouses and getting the business settled, I missed a lot of this last year.”
“There’s a scenic train ride out of Cass. We could do that next weekend.”
“I’d love that.” A smile burst onto her face. Maybe it wasn’t so outlandish to think he might be tapping beside her come February. If she was able to tap at all. “I didn’t pass the Health Department inspection.”
“Why not?”
“Technically all maple syrup is organic, but to label and sell it like that, the FDA has some weird standards. All organic restrictions are tighter than normal. I had the generator installed but I need hot water, at least one-hundred-and-eighty-five consistent degrees, to sanitize the equipment. If I get a hot water tank, it’s going to pull too much power. I won’t have lights or anything else.”
He chewed, his jaw working furiously for a minute as his brows knotted. “Maybe you should let the idea go. I mean, does it really even fit in with your business idea? You’re all about healthy alternatives, and maple syrup isn’t exactly diet food.”
“You’d be surprised. Maple syrup is a healthier sweetener than honey, just more expensive. It’s higher in zinc, has a full serving of manganese in just a quarter cup and contains antioxidant compounds.”
Wild purple mountain aster and creamy Queen Anne’s Lace dotted the meadow. She plucked one stem, marveling at the tiny ivory clusters composing the flowery weed. “I can’t let this go. I need the money. Plus, this place...I can’t describe it. It’s in my blood now. This isn’t just my business, this is my home.”
She sat up, dusting her hands on her thighs. “There’re natural strawberry and blackberry patches in the east field. I spread netting over them to keep the birds out and canned quarts and quarts of jams and purées this past summer. I’ve gathered a bushel basket of black walnuts that I need to hull and dry. My pumpkins are almost ready for harvest. I can’t wait to make pumpkin butter and dry seeds and—” She turned her face to the mountains. “I can’t lose all this.”
He grew silent. For a few moments, he sat staring at his sandwich, seemingly lost in thought. A deep inhale lifted his chest before he popped the last bite in his mouth. “How tight are you, money-wise?”
A self-conscious shrug lifted her shoulders. “I’m not like starving or anything. I just put out a lot of cash in the past year and half. I need to recoup some of it as fast as I can. If the sugarhouse would fail—God, please don’t let that happen—I could probably cash out my retirement and make it, but I’d hate to do that. And what happens after that? I’ll be completely tapped.”
“You could always sell off some of the land.”
A wrinkle pulled her eyebrow low. “That’d be like chopping the arm off a statue. Do you know that one family owned this place for almost a hundred years?”
His jaw flinched but he never took his gaze from the faraway hills. “Really?”
“Yeah.” Pulling her legs up, she propped her chin on her knees and picked another flower. “I wonder what happened to them. Almost a hundred years of births and deaths, marriages and babies, hard times and sweet ones. Fathers would’ve handed down skills to sons, and mothers would’ve taught daughters to bake.”
The flower spun in her fingers but her eyes were looking backward, to a time that existed only in hints and whispers. “The old house was in bad shape, but there were grooves in the floor from a rocking chair that had been there for who knows how many generations. I can’t imagine how many babies that chair rocked to sleep, how many lullabies it heard. That’s what I want, Matt. I want a house that becomes a home. I want to sit in the same chair with my babies as I do when I’m old and gray and look out on the same view.”
“You understand what truly owning a piece land means.”
“I don’t own this. It owns me.”
“Do you know how beautiful you are?” So low, so soft, his compliment turned her head. The veneration on his face awed her. He stared as if she were something priceless, something to be treasured. Thick cords in his throat leaped with his swallow. “So what in the hell do you see in me?”
The question twisted her stomach. “If you only knew.”
He snorted and pumped his biceps. “Actually, I figured out what you liked pretty quick.”
“No. I mean, yeah, I like your muscles. But if that was all, I’d have simply fucked your brains out and moved on.”
Matt blinked his widened eyes.
“You’re smart. You’re kind. You take pride in everything you do. I laugh when I’m with you. You make me feel good, in and out of bed. I wake up and smile because I know that even if I can’t see you that day, you’ll call and I’ll hear your voice.” She twirled the flower in her fingers. “You’re a lot more than muscle, Matt. You’re a good man, all the way to your bones.”
His jaw firmed and his face lifted toward the breeze. She laid her hand on his thigh. Warm and gentle, his palm covered her hand then brought her fingers to his lips.
A squirrel darted across the meadow. They watched as it sped to and fro, stopping suddenly to sit back on its haunches and sniff the air. Matt palmed a handful of the almonds she’d packed and tossed them toward the animal. It scurried away but sat at the woods line and watched. When they didn’t move, it crept back, gathered several and shot into the trees. Kayla grinned. She never realized how cute the furry little rodents were when they weren’t stealing her vegetables.
“Use two generators.” Matt’s voice was low, commanding. “Get a generator specifically for the water tank. Keep the rest of the equipment on your primary generator. It’s more money now but it’d pay for itself in one season. And it’d take another concrete platform. You could level and pour that in an afternoon.”
Climbing to her knees, she crawled the short distance between them, wedging between his legs. Her fingers walked up his chest.
Matt studied her with twinkling eyes. “Want something?”
“Anyone ever tell you that you are pretty amazing?”
“You want an alphabetical list?”
“Showoff!” She poked him in the ribs.
Mistake. Her butt hit the ground, his fingers flying immediately to her side. The mountainside rang with her laughter. For several seconds, she squirmed, trying to avoid his tickling hands, but he was stronger. She grabbed his water bottle and shook it, dousing them both. He pulled back, droplets sliding down his cheeks.
“You’re gonna regret that.” Mischievous promise darkened his eyes.
Kayla sprang to her feet, brandishing the half-full bottle like a gun. “Stay back.”
Giving a bear-like growl, he lunged. She threw the bottle and took off with a squeal. Never using his full speed, he chased her, following her zigzag pattern. The activity sped her heart but the play gave it wings. She loved being silly, and being
silly with Matt was just more to like.
Crouched like a football player, he waited, trying to guess which way she’d run. Kayla scooped a handful of leaves and threw them at him and darted to the right. Leaves clung to her hair, to his sweatshirt, to their bootlaces. The crunchcrunchcrunch burst with the spicy scents of autumn. She zigged when she should have zagged, or maybe he got tired of chasing, but his arms came around her with a roar. Her shriek cut through the air as they tumbled to the grass and clumps of fallen leaves at the edge of the clearing.
Matt twisted, his back hitting the ground with her clamped in his arms. “Got you.”
She shook her hair out of her face and opened her mouth to speak, but she caught sight of something and her words died away. For a few seconds, every muscle in her body went still
“Kayla? You okay?”
She scooted out of his hold and pointed behind him. Two yards from his head was a grave marker. Great, they were frolicking in some forgotten cemetery. Just what she needed, to piss off someone on the other side.
“Shit.” Matt scrambled to his feet.
Curiosity overshadowed her concern. There was something strange about the marker. She inched closer and brushed her hand across the fading letters burned into the aged wood. They were worn smooth.
“Reeses, 1991. Best dog ever. Oh, Matt, this was someone’s pet.”
His gaze locked on the grave and his fists clenched. “Yeah.”
“I would’ve been eleven in 1991.” She looked across the meadow, seeing wildflowers and tall grasses, imagining a child running with a beloved hound beside them. It had to be a boy, she decided. Didn’t boys use wood-burning kits to mark everything? Pity ached in her stomach at that mythical child losing his playmate. “I never had a pet. With my dad being stationed who knew where next, I was never allowed. I bet they came here to play fetch and...and whatever else kids and dogs play.”
