Hard Wood (Hard n' Dirty Book 3)

by Tara Crescent

  I settle on a version of the truth. “Luke and Ruby are having marriage trouble. It’s enough to make you disbelieve in love.”

  “Did you ever believe?” Manuel’s expression is perceptive. “Both you and Dakota have been single all your lives. Never been in a relationship that lasted longer than a month. You ever wonder why?”

  I grimace. “You’re analyzing me, Manuel?”

  “Indulge an old man.”

  I snort. Old man, my ass. Manuel works on his feet all day, lifting lumber and sawing wood. He’ll outlive us all. “Fine. Give me your diagnosis.”

  “Your dad left when you were old enough to understand what a betrayal that was. You avoid commitment because you don’t want to repeat the past.” He pats me on the back, and because it’s Manual, I don’t snarl at him and tell him he’s wrong. “I’ve watched both Dakota and you grow up into fine, upstanding human beings. You’re not your father, Dom. Don’t let his mistakes hold you back. Somewhere out there, there’s a woman that you’re meant to be with. A woman who will sneak into your thoughts when you least expect it. Someone you’ll enjoy spending time with, even if you’re doing the most mundane of things, because you’re with her.”

  Manuel’s a smart guy, but he’s wrong. “Sounds like work,” I say lightly. “That’s not for me, Manuel. I like my relationships short, simple, and uncomplicated.”

  He chuckles wryly. “If you say so, Dom. If you say so.”

  14

  Cat

  I spend all night seesawing between two emotions. Pissy and horny.

  I’m pissed at Vicki. At her blithe assurance that everything will be okay. At her certainty that despite repeatedly falling behind schedule, our brewpub will open on time. At her selfishness, at the way she’s prioritizing a guy she’s only just met over the brewpub that we’ve been working so hard to establish, that we’ve invested all our savings into.

  When I wasn’t mad at Vicki, my thoughts return to Dom. I fall asleep with his voice ringing in my ear, ordering me to spread my legs. I toss and turn, dreaming about the mind-blowing, toe-curling orgasm he gave me. I wake up, aching for more. For the truly great sex he promised me.

  Did I make a mistake? Should I have gone home with Dominic, instead of retreating to my shack, afraid? All night, I’ve been second guessing my decision. All night, I’ve wondered what would happen if I go back to Dom’s workshop. Would he be angry? Would he send me away?

  Or would he invite me in?

  You’re too invested, Cat. Even in the best-case scenario, all Dom is prepared to offer you is casual sex.

  I get dressed quickly, shivering as I pull on my jeans. It’s a cold morning, colder than it’s been since I’ve arrived. The shack isn’t really designed for winter weather, something that Sandra warned me about when I showed up at her door, begging to rent it from her.

  Though I should be paying attention to the weather, my thoughts stay stuck on Dom. I know that inner voice of caution is right, but I can’t bring myself to care. I liked Dom. Really liked him. And it sucks that I have to be the adult in this situation. It absolutely blows that while Vicki is snuggling up with her new guy Liam in his cottage, that I have to push away the hottest guy I’ve ever met.

  She’s so fucking self-centered. Did Vicki even stop to wonder what’s going on in my life? No, of course not. She just assumes that I have nothing going on. She just assumes that I’m so dedicated to the brewpub that I’ll do more than my fair share of the work without complaint.

  She’s taking me for granted, the same way they took me for granted at the Red Herring. At my old brewery, I did all the work. I came up with the flagship IPA recipe. Every year, I was responsible for at least two of the seasonals. But I never got credit for any of it. Not even once.

  I don’t want to admit it, but this situation is shaping up much the same way. Out of the frying pan, into the fire. Yay me.

  Come on, Cat, I tell myself bracingly as I zip up my jacket. The weather better not worsen, because I’m all kinds of screwed if it storms. Stupidly, I’d left behind my thick down coat in storage in Toronto. If winter decides to make a reappearance, I will freeze my ass off. You’re not being fair to Vicki. She asked you if you minded if she showed up a week later. You had every opportunity to say no, but you didn’t. If Vicki’s behavior is bothering you, it’s on you to tell her. She has no idea you’re pissed off with her. She’s not a mind reader.

  Sadly, that’s my pattern. I bottle stuff up on the inside, biting my tongue and avoiding confrontation, until the pressure builds up and I explode. It’s always been that way. Recognizing my flaws doesn’t seem to stop me from making the same mistake over and over again.

  You weren’t like that with Dom.

  No, I wasn’t. I don’t know what it was about Dom, but from the first moment I marched into his store, I was able to be open with him. That’s putting it mildly. I screamed at him at the top of my lungs.

  It’s not just that first time though. Every time I was with Dom, I was able to be open with him. I didn’t have to keep anything bottled up. I was myself in a way that I’ve never been with anyone else. Not even Will, who I dated for two and a half years.

  Stop thinking about Dom. You’ve made your choice.

  I’m walking to my car when Sandra limps out to the porch. “Cat, do you have a moment?”

  “Of course.” I change direction and climb up the deck. We head inside, and Sandra waves me to a comfortable overstuffed armchair. “You’re limping. Did you hurt yourself?”

  She shakes her head. “My arthritis is acting up. Every time the weather worsens, my feet start to hurt. I’m more reliable than the meteorologist. Thankfully, it’s just my ankles that are affected, not my fingers.”

  “That’s good.” She’d told me she was a painter the first time we met. I know her studio is in the back of her house, but I’ve never seen any of her work.

  She nods and takes a deep breath. “Like I said, a storm is coming. They’re predicting winter weather in Madison for the next week. Snow, wind, sleet, icy rain. You name it, we’re about to be hit with it.”

  I have a very bad feeling about this conversation. Sandra hadn’t wanted to rent me the shack I’m in. “They’re not habitable in winter,” she’d said when I’d asked about the five cabins on her property.

  I’d had to beg for a chance to live in one of them. I’d pointed out that it was April. That winter was almost over, and spring was just around the corner. She’d been reluctant, but I think she’d sensed that I was desperate, and Sandra is, above all, a kind person.

  But now, there’s a look in her eyes. One that tells me that my landlady is worried about my ability to last out this storm in her cabin.

  Sure enough, that’s exactly what she says. “I didn’t mean to rent this place to you.” She chews on her lower lip. “But we’d had such an unusually warm winter that I thought it’d be okay. Now though, with the storm…” Her voice trails off, and she looks worried. “Cat, the walls have no insulation. The wood slats have cracks in them. The wind will cut through like a knife. I really don’t think you should be staying here.”

  A stab of fear cuts through me. I don’t have any money. If she throws me out, I won’t be able to afford another place. Vicki would loan me money in a heartbeat if she finds out what’s going on—my best friend has many faults, but she’s the most generous person I know—but I don’t want to lay that on her. Besides, I don’t have time to look for anything else. Every minute I’m searching for a place to stay, I’m not in the brewpub, getting things ready for our launch.

  “Sandra, I’ll be fine,” I force out through clenched lips. “The stove is warm. Once I get a fire going there, it’s unbelievably toasty.”

  I can’t get the stove working nine times out of ten, but there’s no need to tell Sandra that.

  She doesn’t look reassured. “Normally, I’d just have you sleep in the house,” she continues. “But this is my art retreat weekend. A dozen of my friends are coming into town to
morrow, storm or no storm, and they’re staying here. Every bedroom has at least two people in it.”

  “Sandra, I promise you, I’ll be okay. Worst case, I’ll sleep in the brewpub for a couple of days. Besides, half the time, the weather people get it wrong. Chances are, there won’t be a storm at all.”

  “I hope so,” she says gloomily. “But my arthritis has never been wrong.”

  Two days later, on Friday evening, the storm shows up with a bang. I get back early from the brewpub. The snow’s already starting to fall as I turn into Sandra’s steeply inclined driveway.

  I remembered to stop at the grocery store this afternoon. I carry my bags inside—seems the right weather for a nice cup of hot chocolate—but the moment I enter my shack, the cold takes my breath away.

  Sandra wasn’t joking. It’s colder inside than it is outside.

  I rummage around my suitcase and find my winter gear, the stuff I remembered to pack. My toque, and a pair of woolen gloves. I put them on, along with another sweater, and wrap a scarf around my neck.

  The wind has picked up. I hear it whistle through the trees. It sneaks through each and every crack in the wooden walls and wraps around me. My teeth start to chatter, and my hands shake as I pour milk into a mug and place it into the microwave.

  All evening long, the storm rages outside. Wind and snow batter the cabin. Predictably, the wood stove doesn’t light. I plug in the space heater that Sandra insisted I take, but it’s no match for the power of nature. My sleeping bag is supposed to be rated for three seasons, but when I snuggle into it, I still keep shivering. The ground is cold, and its icy touch seeps through.

  I fall asleep for a bit, but I wake up, freezing my ass off. My fingers and toes feel numb. I should get out of bed, put my shoes on, and drive to the brewpub.

  Except I’m not sure my car will make it up the driveway.

  Fuck. Should I walk? In good weather, it’ll take me twenty minutes. In this storm, it’ll take me twice as long.

  I’m still trying to decide what to do when the power goes out. My cabin is plunged into darkness, and worse, the space heater stops working.

  Fuck. This is not good.

  15

  Dom

  My phone rings early Friday evening. It’s Zach. “Hey, buddy. Sorry to call you so late. I thought I’d get your voicemail.”

  “Zach.” My mind immediately flashes to Cat standing on tiptoe in his playroom, nervous yet unafraid.

  Fuck. It’s been three days, and I still haven’t been able to get her out of my mind.

  I shake my head as if that’ll dislodge her and return my attention to the phone. “How’s that chair working out?”

  He laughs. “Penny loves it. She can’t get enough of it. It’s all we’ve used since you dropped it off.”

  I grin. “Always good to hear from a happy customer.”

  “Oh, we’re very happy. How’s the bed coming?”

  Typically, I work hard, but I also play hard. But the last three days… I’ve thought about dating someone else—Leena Thompson has been sending me signals for months—but it just feels wrong. It’s been more than a month since I broke things off with Joanna. For someone like me, someone who enjoys women, this kind of dry spell is unprecedented. This obsession with Cat Milnick is like the flu, I’ve tried telling myself, but I’m not sure I believe it. One week, two at best. It’ll run its course, and you’ll be back to normal.

  Zach and my other clients are the beneficiaries of my lack of social life. I’ve been working long hours in the studio, trying to bury these strange feelings with work. “I’m just sending you a preliminary design,” I tell him, clicking ‘send’ on the email I’d been drafting when he’d called. “Tell me what you think.”

  “Hang on.” There’s a moment of silence as he opens my message. “Oh, nice.”

  I’m quite proud of the design. The bed itself is simple. The four posts at the ends are where all the action takes place. “Right now, I’ve planned for stocks, a St. Andrew’s Cross, a caged area underneath, and a storage bin for your toys,” I tell him. “If you want anything else, let me know.”

  “Let me run the cage by Penny,” he says. “It’s on her soft limits list. She might be intrigued enough, or she might want no part of it.”

  People that judge BDSM too quickly always confuse submissiveness for subservience. I’m not saying that there aren’t dominants out there who are really assholes with a power fixation. Of course there are. But the vast majority of the people I’ve met are extremely careful about consent. Zach and Penny have been partners for a long time, but Zach’s still checking in with her about the cage.

  “Sounds good.”

  “The rest of it looks pretty damn good. Is this inlay work I see on the frame? I thought it was too fiddly for you.”

  “For me, yes. But my new employee, Gino is a natural. I thought I’d give him a real project to test his skills.”

  “Teresa’s kid? The guy who mixed up my delivery?” He sounds amused. “I’m surprised he’s still working for you.”

  “I’m coming around,” I tell Zach, startled to find out it’s true. Gino came in yesterday afternoon, even though he wasn’t supposed to be working, and had asked me if I minded if he worked on his coffee table. He was at work again at eight this morning, and he spent the entire day working on the next project I set up for him, another coffee table, this time with a more complicated three-color inlay pattern. “He’s careful and patient, and he’s eager to learn. I just have to keep him away from the deliveries and from cleaning my space.”

  “Dom Wilde with an apprentice,” he says, sounding amused. “Every day, I get surprised in new ways. I didn’t call you about the bed, by the way. Just called to tell you the party’s off tomorrow. We’re going to get pummeled with a winter storm, and you know how well they plow the roads in April.”

  “There’s a storm coming?”

  “A massive bitch of one,” he confirms. “Winter’s last fuck-you. The snow’s coming down pretty heavily here.”

  I’ve been in my workshop all day, and when it was time to shut things down for the day, I closed up and came straight upstairs. I haven’t looked out of the window all day. I look out now and see what Zach’s talking about. Flurries are falling pretty steadily, and the streets are already covered with snow. In a few hours, if the weather remains unchanged, cars are going to be sliding all over the place.

  “I have a meeting in San Francisco on Monday,” Zach continues. “I’m afraid that if I linger, I’ll get stuck here. Sorry about the party. I’ll reschedule sometime in early May.”

  “No worries.” I wasn’t planning on going anyway. I’d have spent all evening thinking about Cat.

  Speaking of Cat… “How’s that brewer doing?” Zach asks. “You seeing much of her?”

  “No,” I reply shortly, not wanting to get into it. “She wanted to focus on the brewpub.”

  He hears the edge in my voice. “I’m sorry, buddy. Okay, I have a flight to catch out of Toronto in a few hours, so I better go help Penny pack. Catch up next week?”

  “Sure.”

  I hang up and stare blankly at the snow. If a storm’s coming, then the shelves in the local grocery store will be empty as people stock up. Ah well. I can eat beans and rice. Worst case, I’ll trek to my mother’s. Even at best of times, she’s got enough food stockpiled to survive the apocalypse. This weekend, when her artist friends descend on Madison for their spring retreat, she’ll be better stocked than the grocery store.

  It’s Friday night. I’m home at nine. God, I lead an exciting life.

  For a few hours, I watch a dumb cop drama show on Netflix, until the power goes out. I’m about to call it a night when my phone rings again. It’s my mother. “Dom, I’m freaking out.”

  “Are you out of fuel for the generator?” People in Madison are used to losing power in the winter. Generators are a necessity here. I myself have one for the workshop downstairs.

  “No, no. It’s the girl I’m
worried about. She’s staying in one of the cabins, and my generator doesn’t have enough juice to power them.”

  I frown in puzzlement. I’m missing something here. “What girl?”

  “Didn’t I tell you? I’m renting one of the cabins by the lake to Cat Milnick. She’s opening that brewpub downtown?”

  I sit up, suddenly alert. “The cabins that are falling to pieces?” Renovating them is on my to-do list this summer. “The ones that Dakota and I used to play hide-and-seek in as kids?” There are five cabins dotting my mother’s property. They were there when my parents bought the place thirty years ago. Maybe they were in good shape once, but they’re certainly not habitable now. The roofs leak. We’ve got tarps over them, but while that might keep the water out, they certainly don’t do a damn thing against the cold. The wooden walls are in dire shape, cracked and half-rotten. Not windproof, not insulated. “Mom, no offense, but what the hell were you thinking? They’re in no condition for tenants.”

  “None taken,” she replies tartly. “You don’t think I know that? But the poor girl was desperate. Her partner was supposed to arrange one of Jed John’s cottages for her, but evidently, it was all a muddle.”

  I’m already putting on my jacket. By the lake, with nothing sheltering Cat from the wind? No power? She’ll freeze half to death. I’m guessing my mother’s put her in the only cabin with a wood stove, but that damn thing is tricky. It’s a struggle getting it lit.

  “I’m worried, Dom,” my mother continues. “Cat told me she’d sleep in the brewery if the storm hit, but I see her car in the driveway. The power’s out. My damn ankles are acting up. I can’t go and check on her. If she’s hurt herself…”

  My body goes cold. “I’m on it.” I’m halfway out the door. “I’ll check in on her.”