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

by Claire Adams

  I took a deep breath. “It was me,” I said. “I was the girl you saved that night.”

  PART THREE

  Chapter Sixteen

  Ollie

  What had she just said?

  I blinked, certain I’d heard her wrong.

  I was the girl you saved that night.

  I cracked a smile, even though I wasn’t amused. “Ha ha,” I said. “You’re funny.”

  But Wren wasn’t smiling back; she had a somber, almost sad expression on her face. “It’s not a joke,” she said. “I wouldn’t joke around about something like that. It really was me.”

  I had thought about her before, the faceless girl who I had seen but hadn’t, whose face I couldn’t recall if my life depended on it. I never imagined that I’d see her again, though I had wondered if she found out what had happened that night, after she managed to get away. What she thought. If she had felt any guilt, which I hoped she did not because my actions were not her fault.

  And now here was Wren, telling me she was that girl. Was that even possible? Maybe she had read about it in the newspaper or heard it on the news. People did that sort of thing sometimes. Well, a certain type of person. A crazy person seeking fame. Not that she would get much fame from this.

  “I’m really sorry to be telling you this now,” she said. “I know how odd it must seem.”

  “It does,” I managed to say. “It does seem strange that you’re telling me now, instead of, say, when we first met. I mean, that seems like it’d be kind of important.”

  “I felt like that at first, too. I actually didn’t realize who you were at first, when you came into the restaurant. We’d been talking, and then it dawned on me, and it freaked me out, so I went into the kitchen, but when I came back out you had left.”

  I thought back, vague recollections of the day surfacing in my mind. She had disappeared abruptly. And then I’d left.

  “I probably would have told you then, if you were still there. But then again, maybe not because it’s not really something I’d announce to the whole restaurant, you know?”

  I nodded, still not believing her. “Why are you doing this?”

  “I’m telling you now because I want you to know that you’re not this shitty person that you seem to think you are. That you shouldn’t go anywhere else, unless you want to, not because you think other people don’t want you around. Because that’s not true. I want you around. And if you hadn’t been around that night, who knows what would have happened.”

  We were both quiet for a minute. I was waiting for her to say that she was joking, even though it sure as hell wasn’t that funny. And maybe she was waiting for me to say that I believed her.

  Except I didn’t.

  “I can tell you still don’t believe me,” she said. “Which I guess is understandable. But I wouldn’t make this up just to mess with you. I wouldn’t. What can I say to make you believe that it was me? It was at the Watering Hole, in the parking lot. He had me up against a car. I actually don’t remember a whole lot from the night. A lot of it is a blur. And, to be honest, I try not to think about it too often.” She paused and looked at me. “You were wearing a pink shirt. I remember that.”

  That pink shirt, the one my mother had gotten me for my birthday, that she’d given me before I’d gone out that night. What the hell had happened to that shirt? Not that I’d want it back even if I knew where it was.

  “You’re right,” I said. “I was wearing that shirt. My mother had given it to me as a birthday present. My eighteenth birthday.” It sounded like a lifetime ago, and in a way, it was, because I was a different person now than that kid who sat with his cancer-stricken mother and blew out candles on a cake she’d labored all day to make.

  “We were both in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Wren said sadly. “I always wanted to tell you how sorry I was.”

  “You don’t have to be sorry. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

  She laughed, a bitter sound. “But of course I do! I ruined your life. You spent seven years in prison because of me.”

  “It wasn’t because of you. Please don’t think that. It really depends on how you look at it. We were both in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or maybe not, because if it hadn’t happened, would we have even met each other?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I don’t, either. And the thing is, the past is in the past; there’s nothing we can do to change it.”

  She reached over and took my hand. “It means a lot to hear you say that. I don’t know if I’d be able to be as gracious if it were me in your position. I’d probably be pissed. I mean, I am pissed—at myself, mostly, for getting into that situation to begin with.”

  “It’s not like you wanted to. And I was able to help. I do wish that he hadn’t died. I was never planning on that.”

  “I know you weren’t. Which is partly why I’ve always felt so guilty about it. You just went out that night, minding your own business, not planning on any of that shit happening.”

  I squeezed her hand. “Listen,” I said. “I want you to stop thinking like that. I did what I did, and honestly, I’d pretty much do the same thing all over again. I wouldn’t hit him so many times, and he wouldn’t have died, but that’s about the only thing I’d change. He was trying to do something to you that he shouldn’t have.”

  “Well, I do appreciate you saying that.”

  “It’s ‘cause I mean it. And you know what?” I asked. “You did make me feel better. Thank you.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Wren

  A food critic coming into the restaurant wasn’t what it once used to be. Sites like Yelp let everyone be a critic, qualified or not. And besides, we always strived to provide the best food and service, regardless of who it was sitting at the tables.

  But there was a rumor floating around that one of the writers from the Food Network Magazine was doing an article on diners, specifically small-town diners and how we were a dying breed. Word on the street was he was in our state, stationed in Boulder but venturing out on day trips to visit these small-towns and their diners.

  “I think we have just as good a shot as any at being included,” Lena said. She fluffed her hair. “Do you think they’ll take pictures?”

  “Maybe,” I said, though I couldn’t be quite as optimistic as she was. We had a website, which I’d kind of let go to the leeway; in fact, if you were to go on our site, it would be difficult to ascertain whether or not the restaurant was still open.

  But maybe the writer had other ways he or she would decide on what places to visit. If it was through word-of-mouth, then we stood a pretty good chance. We also had a decent number of five-star reviews on Yelp, so maybe the writer would check that site out, too. If it didn’t happen at all, though, I wouldn’t be too upset; I didn’t particularly like the idea of someone coming in and judging us solely for the basis of an article.

  I shouldn’t have worried though, because he came right up to me and introduced himself. He had curly, sandy-colored hair, a goatee, and black-rimmed glasses. “My name’s Hunter,” he said, “and I’m doing a story about diners across America. I’ve heard good things about this place. I was told you’re the owner?”

  “That’s me.” I held out my hand and we shook. “Wren Davis.”

  “Great to meet you Wren. So—I’m famished. What do you recommend?”

  We sat at one of the empty booths, and he looked over the menu, while I extolled the excellence of the blueberry buttermilk pancakes, the chef salad, and the bacon cheeseburger on the honey-wheat bun.

  When he finally made his decision, Lena took his order, and then he pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Mind if I record our conversation?” he asked.

  “Go right ahead.”

  “Okay. Great.” He tapped at the screen and set the phone down, then started asking me general questions about the place: How long we’d been here, what the customers were like, what I envisioned for the restaurant’s future.

&
nbsp; I was just about to say that I hoped the restaurant would be around for a long time, and that I’d be working here with my future grandchildren, when the door opened and Ollie walked in. I waved from across the room, and he ambled over and sat down next to me.

  “Hey,” he said, as I leaned over to give him a peck on the cheek. Hunter smiled; I could tell he was pleased that a real authentic cowboy had just strolled in out of nowhere and sat himself down with us.

  “Hey,” I said. “Ollie, this is Hunter, from Food Network Magazine. And Hunter, this is Ollie. My boyfriend.”

  I glanced over at Ollie’s face to see what his reaction would be; we hadn’t had the discussion yet as to what our official status would be, but if he wanted, I’d be more than happy to be his girlfriend.

  “Hey, nice to meet you,” Hunter said. “Glad you could join us—Wren was just filling me in about this place. Now, Ollie—” He glanced down at one of the menus, and then looked up at me. “So, is this name a coincidence, or did you name your restaurant after your boyfriend?”

  Ollie and I exchanged looks. Hunter raised his eyebrows. “I sense an interesting story,” he said.

  “Can I tell him?” I asked.

  Ollie nodded. “Go ahead.”

  “Now I’m really curious.” Hunter leaned forward onto his forearms.

  “Well, I did name the place after Ollie. Except… we didn’t really know each other back then, when we first opened,” I started. “And I should mention, that some of what I’m about to tell you isn’t common knowledge.”

  “I’m all ears,” Hunter said. He really did look as though he couldn’t wait to hear what it was I had to say next.

  “I named this place after Ollie because he basically saved my life one night. Well, maybe not saved my life, exactly, but definitely saved me from having to go through what probably would have turned out to be a pretty shitty situation.”

  Hunter nodded. “Okay…”

  “I had just moved up here and had gone out to this bar one night, met a couple guys, went out with one of them into the parking lot. He tried to take advantage of me, but then Ollie was leaving, and he ended up intervening. I ran off. The guy was not so lucky.”

  “What happened?”

  There was a pause, because I didn’t know whether or not I should answer.

  “I killed him,” Ollie said. Other than a slight jump of his eyebrows, Hunter did not react. “I didn’t mean to. I should have stopped hitting him before I did, though. I ended up serving seven years in prison for it.”

  “Basically, I named the place after him even though he had no idea who I was. Most people still don’t know that it was me that night.”

  “And now you two are together,” Hunter said slowly. “Wow. That is quite a story. Tell me more.”

  We spent the next two hours talking, both of us filling in Hunter with details about what our lives had been like over the years and what they were like now. It felt good to talk about it, to get it all out of there.

  Hunter stayed for about an hour and a half, and then he had to go because there were other diners to visit.

  “I’ve got your contact info, so I will most definitely be in touch,” he said. “Thanks so much for everything.”

  After he left, Ollie and I stayed in the booth, and he ate a turkey club. Lena sat down across from us.

  “So, how’d it go?” she asked. “I think he seemed impressed with the place! He looked like he was enjoying himself.”

  “I think it went pretty well,” I said.

  Ollie nodded. “Yeah. He obviously liked the food—he ate everything on the plate.”

  “Well that’s good.” Lena nodded. “I was surprised he was here for so long! I figured it would be a quick sort of thing.”

  “We ended up talking for a little while,” I said.

  “That’s good too. You’re establishing rapport. So, how’d you leave it?”

  “He said he’d be in touch.”

  “That sounds promising.” Lena got up from the booth. “I’m sure he’s going around to tons of different places, but I think it would just be the neatest thing if we were in a magazine!”

  And I had to agree, especially a big magazine like that.

  “Did we just tell that guy everything about ourselves?” Ollie asked after Lena had got up from the booth.

  “I think we did. That wasn’t my plan—it just sort of happened.”

  “And did you refer to me as your boyfriend?”

  “Errrr, yeah. That just sort of happened, too.”

  “I’ll say.” He nodded slowly, but he had a smile on his face. “Can’t say I mind that too much at all.”

  After the breakfast rush was over the next day, I made myself an iced coffee and was eyeing the last blueberry muffin left in the case when I heard my phone ringing and vibrating from inside my purse. I took a big swig of coffee and retrieved it, just missing the call. There were several missed calls from that same number, one which I didn’t recognize. I called the number back, and a familiar-sounding voice answered.

  “Hi Wren!”

  “Hi! Um, who is this?”

  “It’s Hunter.”

  “Oh!” I said. “Hi! How’s it going?”

  “Good. So, there’s something I wanted to run by you. My ex-girlfriend, Sarah, is an editor at Woman’s Day and the feature article she was planning to run next issue fell through. The writer had a family emergency and isn’t going to be able to turn the article in on time. So…I went ahead and pitched Sarah this idea I had, and she loved it.”

  “That’s great,” I said, even though I wasn’t quite sure why he had called me up to tell me this.

  “The idea I pitched was about you. Well—a feature article about you and Ollie. Not just about your restaurant, but about the two of you, and how this all came to be. Because I’ve been thinking about all the stuff you guys told me, and it’s got a lot of appeal, and when I told Sarah, she thinks it’d be the perfect human interest story for the magazine. People want to read something like that, something where someone made a mistake but was able to find redemption. What do you think of that?”

  “Wow,” I said. “Really? I think that sounds pretty cool, actually! Totally not what I was expecting to hear you say. I’ll have to ask Ollie, though.”

  “Of course. Why don’t you do that and get back to me as soon as you can—if he’s cool with it, I’d like to get started writing this up.”

  “Will you need to interview us anymore?”

  “You know, I recorded everything that we talked about yesterday, so I think that’s probably more than enough material to go off of. I would like to come back out there with Jill, my photographer, and have her take some pictures of the two of you at the restaurant, maybe at the ranch where Ollie works. That’s not too far, is it?”

  “No, it’s not far at all.”

  “Great. Run it by him, and then get back to me, okay?”

  “Sure! I’ll call you back as soon as I can.”

  I knew Ollie would be working, so instead of calling, I hopped into the Jeep and drove over to the ranch. I had an appointment with Dr. Mike in a little while, but I figured I could swing by here first and run the idea by Ollie. I didn’t want to keep Hunter waiting.

  I found Ollie in the corral with Ditto, and while the horse wasn’t within arm’s reach, he was closer than I’d ever seen.

  Ollie turned slowly away and came over to the fence. “Hey,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.” He smiled and leaned over the top of the fence and gave me a kiss.

  “I won’t stay long,” I said, “I know you’re busy. But there’s something exciting that I wanted to run by you. So, Hunter called me and said that he’d like to write a feature article about us.”

  “Oh, yeah? What about the other diners he’s gone to? Or was he that impressed with your place that he thinks it’s just going to eclipse anywhere else? True statement, by the way.”

  “I think he’s still going to do that article. No, this is fo
r a different magazine, Woman’s Day.”

  “Never heard of it.”

  “I’ve seen it in line at the supermarket checkout. I’ve never actually read it, but it’s pretty popular. It’s a national magazine.”

  He cracked a dry smile. “So, we’d be famous?”

  “No. Well, maybe a little. I don’t know. But he said our story has real appeal. How did he put it? That it was a real human interest story.”

  “I think I know what you’d like to do.”

  “I told him I wouldn’t say yes or no until I talked to you first. How do you feel about it?”

  He turned and leaned his back against the fence. I slipped my arm under the railing and slid it around his waist.

  “I guess I feel a couple ways about it,” he said finally, his eyes on Ditto, who had gone back to eating his hay. “I don’t want it to turn into some big thing. I also don’t know if I feel like dredging up the past again.” He turned his head toward me, so I could see his profile. “And what about you? You want it to be known that you were the girl that night? You don’t care if that comes out and is public knowledge?”

  I considered this. “Part of me wouldn’t mind just never bringing it up again,” I said. “It’s something that happened, and we’ve both moved on. But I guess I realized yesterday, after talking to Hunter, that it is a pretty amazing story. I’d never thought about it that way before, but it really is. And I do like the idea of someone from, say, I don’t know, Maine or Georgia or somewhere, getting to read about it and maybe finding it inspiring.”

  “So, you want to do it for other people?”

  “Not just for other people. But this is the first time that someone’s wanted to write an article about me.”

  He folded his arms across his chest and turned his head so he was looking back out to the middle of the corral. “Unfortunately, I can’t say the same about myself.”

  I knew he was talking about the articles that came out after the incident with Isaac. There had been a number of articles—though all mostly confined to the regional newspapers—that talked about Ollie, though none were that in-depth, and certainly not interested in portraying him in a flattering light.