Jacked - The Complete Series Box Set (A Lumberjack Neighbor Romance)

by Claire Adams

  But it was hard to sleep. It was too quiet, everything too still. I was alone in this little cabin, when I’d become accustomed to sleeping in the presence of hundreds of guys. In prison, you never allow yourself the deep sort of slumber you did before you went in; now that I was out though, it didn’t seem like that was going to happen either.

  When I finally did manage to fall asleep, I dreamed I was back there at Reynolds, except the cell was open on all sides, there were no walls, just bars keeping me in. Everyone that I’d ever known was there, outside of the cell though, looking in at me. I had done something awful, I knew it, but I couldn’t recall just what it was. No one would speak to me, not my mother, not Garrett, not Jackson, who was also there, in civilian clothes, looking just as pissed off at me as everyone else was.

  Finally, someone broke the silence. My mother.

  “You’re an awful person,” she said, her face contorted in anger. There were murmurs from those around her, everyone nodding their heads in agreement.

  “Awful!” someone shouted.

  “You should be ashamed of yourself!”

  “You don’t deserve to be out, walking amongst us!”

  Everyone started screaming then, and I couldn’t make out any one specific thing; it was just this horrible onslaught of noise that there was no escape from. There was nothing else in the cell with me, nothing to hide under or to shield myself with, so all I could do was stand there. I couldn’t turn to face the wall because there were no walls; I was surrounded by angry, seething faces, all people that I knew, that I loved, or at least liked.

  I woke up, but was unable to shake the feeling. I got dressed and went outside, where it was still dark, the sky to the east just beginning to lighten. The boots were rubbing my heel in a way that was going to leave a spectacular blister, I could tell right away, but I ignored it. They’d take some time to break in, and the pain would be good reminder that I was outside, working, not shut up in a prison. Garrett had told me to take a few days, but I needed to work. I needed to do something, and sleeping sure as hell wasn’t one of those things.

  I walked down to the barn, the familiarity of the routine immediately coming back to me. It was like muscle memory, really, something that I’d always remember no matter how much time passed. I went past the barn to the first corral, and I whistled, one short high note followed by one low longer one. I didn’t know if it would still work, if he’d hear it, and if he did hear it, if he’d remember, but sure enough, a few seconds after that whistle, I first felt the hoofbeats through the ground, then heard the muted thumps as he approached.

  “Hey, boy,” I said. Bebop came right over to me and pushed his head hard against me. He nickered, but didn’t push his nose into my hands looking for treats; he knew better than that. He raised his head and looked at me, and I swear, it was like he was glad to see me. It felt good. In fact, it was the best I’d felt since I got out.

  I patted his neck and then clucked to him to follow me as I opened the gate and went back to the barn. I didn’t have to bother with the crossties; he stood while I went over his coat with the curry comb, followed by the stiff-bristled dandy brush, then the softer body brush. I brushed out his tail and then used the metal comb on his mane and forelock. I had just grabbed the hoofpick when I heard a voice behind me.

  “Whoa, what’s going on?”

  It was a male voice, not hostile, exactly, but it startled me, and I dropped the pick and jumped up. Bebop swished his tail and pinned his ears back, but he didn’t move.

  Prison imbues you with the fight or flight response, and I felt both urges rise in me simultaneously. I didn’t recognize the guy standing there in the weak morning light. He was probably around my age and dressed similarly to how I was: jeans, boots, work shirt. No doubt he was one of the wranglers that Garrett had hired, but I still couldn’t help but feel threatened.

  “Getting my horse ready,” I said. “That’s all.”

  The guy stepped forward. “Oh,” he said. “You must be Oliver. I’m Ryan.” He held out his hand, though the look on his face still remained suspicious. “Garrett said you wouldn’t be starting for a couple days. Wasn’t expecting to find anyone else in the barn at this hour; I’m usually the first one.” He looked at Bebop. “You’re riding that one?”

  “Yeah. He’s the one I rode before . . .” I stopped and looked down at my boots. I wasn’t sure how much Garrett had told him about me. “He’s the one I used to ride.”

  “Right. Well, I’ll leave you to it, then.”

  He turned and walked back out of the barn to the corral to get his own horse. I cleaned Bebop’s hooves, tacked him up real fast, led him out of the barn, and swung myself up into the saddle. The sun had just cleared the eastern horizon. The air was brisk, and the sky was just starting to deepen in color from washed-out blue. The smell of horse, of well-worn leather, filled my nose. Bebop moved agilely underneath me, and a smile broke out on my face now that I was back in the saddle. I’d dreamed about this moment for a long time. Sometimes it’d felt like it was never going to happen again, but I’d held onto the hope that eventually the day would come and I’d be back outside, on a horse, free to go in whatever direction I chose.

  It might’ve been a while since I’d last worked the ranch, but I fell back into the routine of it like I never left. I rode Bebop out to the main pasture and wrangled the horses that guests would be using if they were going to ride that day. Ryan joined me as I was driving the horses back to the corral closest to the barn, and we worked together in silence. We groomed and grained the horses, and I set about refilling water troughs.

  After the rest of the chores were done, Ryan headed up to the main lodge for breakfast. “You coming along?” he asked.

  I wasn’t sure exactly how many guests were staying at the ranch right now, but all meals were served family style, and even though employees weren’t expected to eat with the guests, just the thought of having to face them right now seemed like more than I was ready to handle.

  “No,” I said. “Not that hungry at the moment.”

  He was already walking off before I finished my sentence. I could see the lodge from where I was standing in front of the barn; I could make out Garrett talking with two people I didn’t recognize. Guests, from the look of it. They turned as Ryan approached, and all four of them stood there chatting. I turned and walked toward my cabin. Inside, I got the keys to the Ford and then got in and drove off.

  As I drove, I thought about my brother, Darren, who, as far as I knew, was still living in San Francisco. Or maybe not—he might’ve moved and I’d have no way of knowing. Had he gone to our mother’s funeral? Did he ever come out this way? We weren’t particularly close growing up, but he was the only family I had left.

  I drove into town and went to the drug store to get Band-Aids for my blisters, as well as some soap and shampoo, too. I was going to just drive back to the ranch, but I ended up going past that restaurant, Ollie’s, and decided I’d stop in. I’d been jumpy when I was there with Paula, but not so much that I couldn’t recognize a good cup of coffee when I tasted one.

  I stepped inside, the little bell on the door jingling as I did so. The place was more crowded than it had been when Paula and I were there; families were seated in the booths, kids with plates in front of them, piled high with pancakes and tired but content looking parents with their own big mugs of coffee. That must’ve been quite the life, I thought, taking a seat by myself at the bar. Being part of a big family like that.

  A woman came over right away with a pot of coffee and a smile on her face. “Hi there,” she said. “Coffee?”

  “Please.” She slid a white mug in front of me and poured the hot coffee.

  “You want to look at a menu?” She was quite attractive, with blue-green eyes framed by thick, dark lashes. I looked away. It had been a long time since I’d made eye contact with a woman like this. Paula didn’t count.

  “Just the coffee for now.”

  “Let me know
if you change your mind.”

  “I will.” She turned to put the coffee back, her thick brown ponytail swaying as she moved.

  I didn’t recognize her, or any of the other people in the restaurant. I sipped my coffee and tried to relax.

  A lot of the people, I noticed, had those same phones that Garrett had. I’d seen some people using them in the drug store, too. Periodically, they’d take them out and look at them, moving their finger across the screen. At one point, even the girl who’d poured my coffee took her phone out and looked at it, before slipping it into the back pocket of her jeans.

  She saw me looking and smiled, came back over with the pot of coffee.

  “Let me top you off,” she said.

  I watched as she poured, trying to think of something to say. It seemed like she was waiting for me to say something, and nothing was coming to mind.

  “Everybody have those smart phone things?” I asked finally, realizing too late how stupid a question like that made me sound.

  But if she thought it was odd, she didn’t let it show; instead, she nodded emphatically. “It’s kind of crazy, isn’t it? The way everyone’s glued to their phones these days.” She set the coffee pot back on the burner and then turned back to face me, leaning her forearms on the counter. “I’m guilty of it, too,” she said sheepishly. “Though I try not to do it at work. You’re probably one of the few people who comes in here and sits by themselves at the bar and isn’t staring at their screen the whole time.”

  It was my turn to look sheepish. “I don’t have one.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “That’s kind of awesome, actually. I fantasize about getting rid of the thing, sometimes, but I know I’ll never do it. It’s awful, isn’t it? Knowing that you’re pretty much dependent on this thing that half the time you don’t even like, but not being able to get rid of it. I can’t even imagine my life without it, though I do realize how ridiculous that makes me sound.” She shrugged. “Most people feel that way, though—they just won’t admit it.” She winked, giving me a little smile with just one side of her mouth. It really did feel like she was flirting.

  “That’s good you can admit it,” I said lamely.

  “So, do you just have one of those flip phones? The old school ones? Those are so much more durable. I used to have one; you could drop that thing off the roof, and it wouldn’t break.”

  I almost said, “Yeah, that’s the kind of phone I have.” It was, actually, the kind of phone I used to have, but I didn’t know what happened to that, either. It probably got turned off because the bill wasn’t getting paid after my mother died.

  “I don’t have a phone,” I said. I didn’t want to lie. Even if it was to try to impress her, there was no point in lying, just as there was no point in trying to impress her, because it wasn’t going to go anywhere.

  She smiled with her whole mouth this time, and I noticed she had a tiny mole on the side of her face, near the corner of her mouth. “I almost don’t believe you, but that’s really refreshing to hear,” she said. “You’re about the only person in here who could make a claim like that.” She looked at me more closely, and I thought for sure she was going to ask why I didn’t have a phone, and if I was going to stick with my no lying policy, I’d have to tell her truth of it. “So, are you staying at Wilson Ranch?”

  I shook my head. “No, ma’am.”

  She burst out laughing. “No need for the ‘ma’ams’! Shit, that makes me feel old. I just assumed since I didn’t recognize you. I’m Wren.” She wiped her hands off on her apron and then held one out for me to shake, which I did, hoping my own palm didn’t feel too sweaty.

  “Well, I’m not a guest there or anything,” I said. “But I guess I am staying there. I work there,” I said. “At the ranch.”

  “You do? I thought I knew everyone who worked for Garrett. What’s your name?”

  Her gaze was both tantalizing and unbearable. It had just been so long since I’d been around a woman, and I felt like I just didn’t know how to do it. Not that I was supposed to be doing anything right now anyway, other than answering her question.

  I forced a smile and hoped it didn’t look as unnatural as it felt. “Funny you should ask,” I said.

  She pursed her lips together in a little smile. “Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”

  Her tone almost sounded flirtatious. Though maybe I was just imagining that.

  There was a menu at the spot next to me, so I slid it over and pointed to the front, where Ollie’s was written in black script.

  “That’s it right there,” I said. “Well, Oliver, but growing up around here, everyone called me Ollie.”

  “Isn’t that something,” she said. “Quite the coincidence—” Her smile froze suddenly, though, and she gave me the oddest look. Had that been a completely messed up way for me to introduce myself? Should I have just told her my name was Oliver, instead of trying to make it sound like this restaurant and I had some sort of connection?

  “Oliver Boardman,” I said quickly, wanting to say something to fill the silence, though those words tumbled out of my mouth before I could retract them. Why the hell did I tell her my last name? It wasn’t as though that was going to improve things.

  “Nice to meet you,” she said. Her eyes darted from my face then off to the side. She backed up a few steps. “I’ve got to go check on something in the kitchen, excuse me.”

  She disappeared before I could say anything else. I sat there and stared into my coffee cup. I should’ve known; it had been going a little too well.

  Chapter Five

  Wren

  How had I not recognized him?

  I stood there in the kitchen, taking deep breaths, trying to slow my racing heart. I hadn’t recognized him. Oliver Boardman had walked into my restaurant, my restaurant that I had named after him, for fuck’s sake, and I hadn’t recognized him. I had, in fact, stood there talking with him for a good five minutes about phones, and I didn’t have a goddamn clue.

  Shaun looked over at me from the line. Pancakes sizzled on the griddle in front of him. “You okay?”

  “Fine!” I said, a little too brightly. Obviously, I was not fine. I couldn’t just stand there like this though; I hurried through the kitchen to my little office. I shut the door and tried to take a few more deep breaths.

  I hadn’t recognized him.

  That was more startling to me than the fact that he had walked in here to begin with. But he looked so much different than the pictures I’d seen of him online, and I’d barely even gotten a glimpse of his face that night in the parking lot with Isaac. No, the man sitting at the bar out there, nursing the cup of coffee, he wasn’t the energetic, fresh-faced boy in the online pictures I’d seen. He was older now, with a few days’ worth of scruff on his face, tattoos covering his arms, and a haunted look in his eyes.

  Finally, my heartbeat slowed enough that it wasn’t pounding my ears. I counted to ten in my head and then turned and walked back through the kitchen. I shouldn’t have left so abruptly like that. I’d apologize. And then I’d thank him. I had always wanted to thank him for helping me the way he had. I at least owed him that much.

  But his seat was empty when I pushed through the swinging doors back into the dining area. There was his coffee mug, still half-full with coffee, and a rumpled five-dollar bill. A five-dollar bill for a dollar cup of coffee. I walked out from behind the bar and went over to the big plate glass window. Out in the parking lot, none of the cars or trucks were occupied; he was gone.

  I knew where he worked though. And I had a feeling that I’d see him again soon.

  It was hard to stay focused for the rest of the day. I couldn’t partake in the usual banter my customers had grown accustomed to, and more than a few of them asked me if I was doing all right.

  “I might be coming down with something,” I finally said, because I wasn’t going to tell the truth, and telling them everything was okay didn’t seem to fly.

  �
��Maybe you should go home,” Lena suggested. “It’s pretty slow this morning; we can handle it. You should get some rest.”

  She looked genuinely concerned, and I felt bad. Lena was the sort of person who made you wonder how it was possible that someone could be so nice, and I didn’t want to worry her with my fake ailment. If anyone were to understand about this whole situation, it’d be her, but I also knew she wasn’t very good at keeping secrets.

  “Maybe you’re right,” I said.

  “I’ll go get you a container of chicken noodle soup to go,” she said.

  I took the hot soup and the two sourdough rolls she’d put in a brown paper sack. I stood outside for a minute, looking down the street one way, then the other. He wouldn’t still be out here, I knew that, but I looked anyway. A quarter of a mile down the road to my left was the Watering Hole. I wondered if he thought about that night when he had to drive by.

  I went home, debating whether or not I should call Dr. Mike for an emergency appointment, even though it wasn’t an emergency, per se. I decided not to, though, because I saw that Allison’s car was in her driveway. I took my soup and went over there.

  “Knock knock,” I said as I walked through the front door. “I come bearing soup.”

  Allison was my neighbor, and because of this, had inadvertently become a close friend. We didn’t even bother to ring the doorbell or knock when we went to each other’s homes. She was a few years older than I was, and she was married and had two children. The fact of this seemed to startle her, as though some days she woke up surprised to find that she had all these responsibilities. But her husband, Nigel, was handsome and clearly loved her, and her children, though they were certainly energetic, were sweet and usually well-behaved. At least it seemed that way to me. And so, Allison and I forged a friendship based at least in part on a mutual desire for the other’s life. I’d be thirty in two years and hadn’t been on so much as a second date; Allison, at times, wished she was in her twenties again and single.