Take Me Home

by Inez Kelley

  “Shaw!”

  Matt jerked around, his fingers digging into her elbow. A robust man with a bulbous nose and squared German jaw barreled toward them. Matt blinked. “Mr. Granger?”

  The stocky man jacked Matt’s hand like a water pump. “I told Harriet it was you.” He squeezed Matt’s muscled arm. “Look at that. You always was a strong one. Lost track of you after the army. Where you been, boy?”

  “Here and there.” Matt’s eyes flicked from side to side. “What are you doing here?”

  Granger motioned behind him with a careless hand. “Oh, Harriet got a bee in her bonnet over her chili recipe. She’s been dragging me to cook-offs all over the state. How’s your mother? Fine lady, she was. Shame what heartache—”

  “Kayla, this is Luther Granger. I worked for him when I was in high school.” Matt wrapped his arm around Kayla’s shoulder, pulling her closer. He was shaking and she sent him a questioning look before the older man grasped her fingers.

  A huge baseball mitt of a hand engulfed hers, and a wide smile showed too-perfect yellowing teeth. “Your missus?”

  “His girlfriend.” Kayla smiled.

  Granger nodded. “Well, you got you a good man, here. Never seen a better worker. Sixteen years old and almost single-handedly feeding his f—”

  “How’s business going? Retire yet?”

  Kayla frowned at Matt’s rudeness but Granger was easy to lead. He laughed. “Retiring is for other people. I’m going die in that store.”

  “Been great to see you.” Matt clapped him in the back, a bit hard, Kayla thought. “But I have to get over to the games.”

  The older man wished him luck and told him to drop by the feed store sometime. Matt practically dragged her away. His hand clutched hers in a punishing grip as he pulled her through the crowd.

  “Matt, slow down!” He stopped abruptly and she crashed into his back.

  His exhale was loud, his smile shaky. “Sorry. Forgot your legs are shorter than mine.”

  “Right.” She flexed her fingers. “What was that all about?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You couldn’t wait to get away from him.”

  Guilt haunted his eyes as he turned away. “I wanted you to meet some people. Come on.”

  The proverbial door slammed in her face. Uneasy, she followed as Matt led her toward one of the festival sponsors’ booths. Several lumber companies had plywood stands, trailers and even computer graphics displayed on huge flat screens. Matt aimed toward the stand bearing the Hawkins Hardwood name.

  The couple manning the booth were two of the most gorgeous creatures Kayla had ever encountered. Both wore white shirts with the blue HH logo emblazoned across the front and both had nearly blue-black hair but that was the end of the similarity.

  Tall and lean, the man oozed sex appeal. Kayla could easily see him gracing a magazine cover or gazing down from a billboard. Thick hair brushed his collar in a way that would make any woman’s fingers itch to run through it. High cheekbones and full brows drew attention to his pale blue eyes. His spine was straight but something about the way he carried himself suggested a bad boy lurked under that debonair polish just waiting to corrupt some innocent little virgin.

  The woman was the kind Kayla loved to hate. Her black hair was pulled severely back into a thick braid that hung down her spine, and dark sunglasses hid her eyes. Wet ruby lips matched her long nails. The skintight jeans should have looked trampy but instead highlighted her tiny waist and generous bust. Like a 1940s pinup model, she managed to have the elusive hourglass figure along with an incredibly flat stomach. A slight uptilt to her nose gave the impression she was looking down on everyone beneath her but her smile was welcoming.

  “How come Shaw gets to strut around like a tom cat and I’m stuck in this cramped little box all day?” the dark-haired man joked.

  The woman pushed her sunglasses up with a sly grin. “Because you do enough tom-catting every other day.”

  “Meow.” He chuckled then waved to Matt. “You ready to saw some logs?”

  “Always ready. Kayla, Jonah Alcott, head of PR and all-around jackass.” Jonah blew him a kiss. Kayla laughed as Matt lurched backward. “Dude, friendship only goes so far. Keep your lips to yourself.”

  “Ignore them,” the woman said, offering her hand. “They’re like this all the time. Bob Garrison.”

  “Oh, hi.” Taking her hand, Kayla’s eyes skated down Bob’s frame once more. “You don’t look like a Bob.”

  “It’s short for Babette,” Jonah said, then sucked in air as Bob smacked him in the belly.

  “Please excuse him. His parents were brother and sister. Are you enjoying the festival?”

  Kayla nodded. “Matt’s determined to make me a true Mountaineer by food alone. I’ve eaten pepperoni rolls, slaw dogs, Golden Delicious apple-caramel dumplings, fried bread, venison on a stick and something called a ramp.”

  “It’s the wrong season for ramps.” Jonah shook his head. “In the spring, try the fresh ones.”

  Bob’s nose wrinkled. “Ramps reek. Take my advice and stay downwind of anyone who eats them. You’ll smell them coming a mile away.”

  “Wimp,” Jonah teased.

  Bob didn’t even turn her head. “If you want to smell like a roadkill, more power to you.”

  The wild onion had had a pungent odor but the taste had been mild, more like a shallot than anything. Still Kayla made a mental note for spring. The camaraderie between Jonah and Bob piqued her interest. She leaned in to whisper in Matt’s ear. “Are they married?”

  “Hell no,” Jonah laughed. “She’s my work wife, that’s as much as I can handle.”

  Bob rolled her tongue around her cheek. “Jonah wouldn’t know what to do with a real woman.”

  “You’re not a woman, Bob. You’re a barracuda with boobs.” Jonah sent her a billion-dollar smile. “But they’re incredible boobs.”

  “I’d love to see you cuffed to a wall in my dungeon.”

  Jonah’s grin widened. “Can I bring my own cuffs?”

  Their banter silenced as several children approached. Jonah and Bob transformed into PG-rated teachers, answering questions without condescension.

  “Listen,” Matt whispered, pulling her closer to the group.

  Jonah and Bob used a graphic display on a wide screen to illustrate their lecture on the renewable aspects of the lumber industry. Matt had one arm wrapped around her waist and his chin resting on her crown. Kayla tuned out the words and simply soaked in the warmth of his hold, letting her mind wander.

  What was it about that old man that had spooked Matt? For a second, she thought maybe he’d been uncomfortable with the assumption they were married but his unease had started the minute he’d recognized Granger. Matt was a private man. He rarely spoke about his past, rarely brought attention to himself in any way. Tension gathered at the base of her neck. So what was that all about?

  “It’s not like coal at all.”

  Kayla opened her eyes. “Excuse me?”

  Matt tipped his head toward the graphic display. “It’s not like the coal mines. With the change in ecologic attitudes and practices, forestry’s got a future. The need for wood products is never going to go away. Job security for me.”

  His spine was a little straighter, his shoulders a little more drawn back, his jaw a little more firmly fixed. It was like he was ready for a fight and stood poised for the first punch to fly.

  Kayla softened her voice. “That’s a good thing, right?”

  “Yeah.” An intensity burned in his eyes. “I won’t ever have to worry about where my next paycheck is coming from.”

  The mood shattered as the lecture ended. Bob handed out educational coloring books about current forestry methods, pencils fashioned like twigs, and tree bark candy with the HH logo. Ma
tt swiped a piece of the candy.

  An announcement broke into the live music piping over the crowd, calling all contestants to the Lumberjack Arena.

  “I better get moving.” Matt eyed Kayla with a sly smile. “Want to Jack and Jill with me?”

  “That sounds dirty.” She winked.

  “Sweaty maybe. It’s a two-person sawing competition. Jack and Jill means mixed couples. Winners get a hundred bucks each. It’s just a local thing, not a pro competition.”

  “Pro? You mean professional like a sport? There are professional lumberjack competitions?”

  His exaggerated sigh was indulgent. “Yes, professional. They air it on ESPN.”

  “The current champion has arms of steel,” Bob purred.

  Jonah gave her a tolerant grin. “Now if I said something like that, you’d call me a chauvinist pig.”

  “You are a pig.” Bob never cracked a smile but her upper lip twitched.

  “Said the witch.”

  Bob’s fingers hooked into claws and she hissed.

  Matt ran his hand up Kayla’s arm. “Anyway, want to try it?”

  “Sure, sounds like fun.”

  “Hey, Bob.” Jonah wrapped his arm around her shoulders and sent her a devil-may-care grin. “Want to Jack and Jill with me?”

  Kayla pressed her hand to her mouth to hide her laugh as Bob’s lip curled. “I don’t Jill without batteries.”

  They headed toward the games field, the scent of fresh-cut wood growing with each step. The noise level increased and Kayla’s pulse kept time with the distant thud of metal into timber. Matt signed them in and attached a numbered banner to her back. She stuck his between his shoulders then took her place to cheer him in the Underhand Block Chop.

  “It’s poplar, twelve inches in diameter and twenty-eight inches long. Hard as hell,” Matt explained. “Hawkins and a couple other lumber companies donate the wood. Each company logo is on the butt of the block, see?” Kayla nodded as he pulled on worn leather gloves. The material was soft and supple as it cupped her neck. “Kiss me for luck?”

  Pressing her lips hard against his, she laughed. “Go for it, lumberjack.”

  Testosterone wafted thick in the air as two dozen men stepped up to as many blocks of wood suspended several inches above the ground. She hadn’t expected them to actually stand on the logs they were chopping. Some men wore tennis shoes, others, like Matt, wore steel-toe work boots. Sunlight glinted off the sharpened edges of the single-head axes. One wrong swing and those heavy five-inch blades could sever a foot or a leg. Apprehension prickled along Kayla’s neck. Her fingers crossed almost unconsciously.

  A whistle blew and, before it died away, the thunder of axe blades hitting poplar rang loud. Matt never took his eyes from the wood between his feet. Chips and shards flew like shrapnel as he swung over and over. The rock-hard muscles in his arms bunched and stretched, sweat beading on his lip and darkening his shirt under his arms.

  At one point, the men pivoted, keeping one foot on the block. Now facing the other direction, they started on the unblemished side. Cheers and names echoed over the thunder but Kayla couldn’t take her eyes off Matt.

  He was almost completely through the wood when the whistle sounded. His squared-off log split with the next swing. The crowd cheered. His lips moved in a silent curse as the winner was named, the man two blocks down from him. Matt took second place with a time of just one-tenth of a second more. The winner jabbed his fist then accepted several congratulations, including Matt’s. He claimed a ticket for his consolation prize and handed over the axe before joining her.

  “Can’t win them all.” He shrugged.

  Not only were there axe competitions, but the buzz of chainsaws also ripped through the air from the next arena. Sawdust soon blew like pollen. But Matt had only entered the more old-fashioned categories, claiming he used a chainsaw every day so it gave him an unfair advantage.

  The Women’s Underhand Block Chop was next and Kayla was surprised the blocked wood wasn’t that much smaller, only about an inch less in diameter. The women who climbed up to swing weren’t huge, hulking tanks but regular women with incredibly toned arms.

  The gray-haired men who competed in the Masters might have been past their prime, age-wise, but they still boasted arms thick and hard as tree trunks. A slew of other events Kayla could barely comprehend kept the crowd enthralled, people cheering as men and women turned mountains of wood into chips and chunks.

  “Okay, that’s just crazy,” Kayla breathed, watching the Springboard Chop.

  Suspended nine feet in the air, standing on nothing more than a board wedged into the vertical poplar pole, men stood with axes poised, waiting for the whistle.

  “It’s real, or as close to it as you can get in a competition.” Matt pressed against her back and rested his chin on her head. “In the woods, the climbers sometimes have to cut above the branches and knots. It prevents a saw from kicking back.”

  She didn’t want to think about the dangers of sharp blades and hazards around him so she focused on the games. She marveled at the Speed Climbers who wore spikes on their shoes and scaled the sixty-foot poles in seconds using nothing more than a single climbing rope.

  Matt shook his head. “This is just for show. They’re not carrying hand axes and chainsaws strapped to their belts, which adds about forty pounds.”

  The Standing Chop drew the biggest contestant pool. Matt rolled his neck then hefted his axe, his focus locked on the twelve-inch-thick block of wood standing vertical and even with his chest. Kayla pressed her clasped hands to her lips and mentally sent him every good vibe she could muster. The whistle chirped a sharp note and the steel sailed. Matt’s jaw clenched with determination as his axe hit the center time and time again. A rising chant of ‘Go! Go! Go!’ filled the crowd and the blades’ impact was like a drum line to that chorus.

  A mere 25.6 seconds later, Matt whooped a victory cry when his log split in two. The onlookers roared. His opponents congratulated him and the timekeeper handed him a claim marker for his prize. Kayla leaped into his arms. His shirt clung to his back and sweat slicked his face as he twirled her around.

  They just had time for Matt to chug a bottle of water before the announcer called for the Jack and Jill competitors to line up. Matt smiled down at Kayla. “Ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be, I guess. Let’s do this, lumberjack.”

  Matt guided her to the arena with a hand at the small of her back. “I’m not a lumberjack.”

  “Yeah, but it sounds sexy.”

  The double-handled saw was longer than she was tall and the teeth viciously long and sharp. A twenty-inch-thick log rested on two sawhorses. About two inches from the edge, a small notch, less than a half-inch deep, gave the saw enough grip to start cutting. Kayla flexed her fingers on the handle and looked over the metal, catching Matt’s eyes.

  “Just let me lead,” he said. “Catch my rhythm and join in, pushing down with every back and forth, okay?”

  She nodded and steadied her stance, one foot forward to keep herself in balance. When the whistle blew, her arms were nearly jerked from their sockets. In less than two passes, she latched on to Matt’s flow and helped. Her shoulders, back and arms screamed but she gritted her teeth and threw every ounce of strength into the saw. Vibrations skated up her arms, settled in her bones and shimmied down her legs. A cheer went up and she faltered.

  “Don’t stop!” Matt yelled, and she gave it everything she had. Their saw sang. The circle crashed to the ground with a dull thump. Her body quivered with exertion and the palms of her hands stung but they’d come in third. A husband/wife team took first place by two full seconds. Kayla stared at the tiny slip of paper with Third Place J/J on it as if it were a winning Powerball ticket.

  “We got third!” She jumped up and down.

  “You’re first
with me.”

  He gazed down into her eyes and electricity fizzled. It wasn’t sexual. It was softer, sweeter, tinged with a delicate promise. Her voice dropped to a breathless whisper. “Really?”

  He caressed her cheek with the back of his hand, his gloves seeming more like velvet than leather. Slow and deliberate, he nodded. “First...and only.”

  Part of her wanted to fly at his words. But another part kept her grounded. Why wouldn’t he talk about his past? What was Matt hiding?

  Chapter Six

  It takes thirty to fifty gallons of sap to make

  one gallon of maple syrup, which weighs eleven pounds. It takes one gallon of maple syrup to produce eight pounds of maple candy or sugar.

  Matt studied the bottles and jars Kayla had spread out on the shelf. Why women needed a half million scents was beyond him. He uncapped a blue bottle and added the oil to the running water. Steam wafted up, filling the room with a crisp mint aroma. He’d already showered but took time to shave while the water ran. Candles were scattered around the room and he spent a minute searching the medicine cabinet for the matches before lighting them. Grabbing two ibuprofen, he filled a glass with tap water, then went searching for Kayla.

  Flat on her stomach, wearing nothing but her panties, Kayla moaned into her mattress. “I can’t move. Everything hurts.”

  God, she was adorable. Matt chuckled.

  “I hear you, you rat,” she called. “It’s not funny.”

  “Come on, sit up.”

  “Go away and let me die.”

  “Kayla, sit up. If you don’t work those knots out, you’ll pay for it in the morning. Here, take these.” He nudged her shoulder until she cracked her eyes. “Ibuprofen.”

  Wincing, she rolled to a sit and took the tablets, swallowing them with a sip of water. “No free third-place dinners at the Cottage are worth this. My hands throb, my shoulders ache, my arms are Jell-O. How do you do this every day? My back feels like a marching band traipsed over me.”

  “I’m used to it.” He scooped her up and carried her into the bathroom. “Trust me, a hot bath and you’ll feel a hundred times better.”