by Frankie Love
“I see,” she says, a smile playing on her pink lips. “Would you like me to grab some sprinkles and some chocolate sauce before we leave the shop?”
I lift my eyebrows. “You plan on making a sundae?”
She shakes her head. “Not really.” Then she leans over and covers Jessalyn’s ears, whispering, “Mostly I plan on licking your ice cream cone.”
We both crack up, but at the same time, there is plenty of truth in my wife’s flirty words. She always delivers.
“Someone say ice cream?” Maggie asks, turning around, apparently having heard the last of Hazel’s delicious words. Thank God she didn’t hear any more.
“Mmhhhmm,” Hazel says without giving a thing away. “I wondered about expanding our business. A soda fountain maybe?”
“I love it!” Maggie’s eyes are bright with ideas already swirling round her mind as she leans forward and begins telling Greta about it.
Hazel and I share a laugh, and hell, maybe the ladies will expand. God knows there is no such thing as too many sweets.
But as we walk hand in hand toward Main Street, with the ice-capped mountains on the horizon and a blue sky overhead, I know that while the bakery has delicious desserts, the real frosting of life doesn’t come from sugar and spice and everything nice.
It comes from homespun hugs and heart-shaped kisses.
It comes from finding true love and holding on tight.
TIMBER Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
JAX
I swing down against the trunk a final time before getting out of the way. I call out to Buck, making sure he moves.
My dog, Jameson, barks wildly as he watches the swaying pine.
The tree falls with a strong, heavy rush that sends a chill over my skin.
It happens every time.
I feel most alive when I've taken something, using my own hands, and brought it to the ground.
I used to do that with women. There was nothing I liked more than fucking a woman I'd just met, giving them my solid wood, something they would remember. Then they could go home to their pansy-ass boyfriend or husband, and think of my trunk when someone else tried to get them off.
But then things changed. Fucking a woman I didn’t know got me in trouble.
With everyone.
And I had to get the fuck out of town.
I moved out of the city a few months ago, and I haven’t looked back. I came out here, to the dense forest.
The only thing I miss about life back in Coeur d'Alene is the women. While I find a lot of raccoons in these parts, good pussy isn't as common as it was back home.
Now, instead of taking a woman hard and fast, I swing my axe. Some guys might use a chainsaw, but I like the feel of the blade biting into the wood. The power in each stroke.
I take down pine trees. I call myself an old-school lumberjack, but that's mostly just a joke I tell myself. I'm not doing anything with this pile of wood besides burning some of it and putting the rest in a heap at the side of the cabin.
I watch as the tree falls; timber.
“That was a big-ass motherfucker,” Buck says, taking a swig from the beer I gave him when he showed up an hour ago.
Buck owns the gas station and post office in town and drops off any packages I receive. I avoid town as much as possible.
“Damn straight,” I agree, dropping the axe blade into the base of the chopped tree.
I pull off my leather gloves and then run my hand over my thick beard as I assess the fallen pine. It will take me most of the week to cut this tree into stackable pieces.
“You wanna come down the mountain, head to the bar?”
I don't want to laugh in Buck's face—but the last thing I wanna do is sit on some plastic stool in a podunk bar, drinking cheap beer and listening to Buck and his big game–hunting buddies talk shit.
I'd rather sit in my own goddamned chair. I'd rather drink my own goddamned beer. And I sure as hell would rather listen to silence than discuss target practice.
I may live in the sticks, but I'm no motherfucking hillbilly.
My mother calls me a modern day Thoreau. I don't really give a shit what that means—but I think it means I like to sit in the quiet and think.
I also like to swing my axe. As I've mentioned. It’s the only sane thing in the world anymore. The only thing I can, without question, hold onto. Everything else is liable to fall apart.
“I don't like that scene. You know that, Buck. Not sure why you keep asking.”
“I'm asking because you're the crazy fool living in the woods, talking to yourself. You don't even have wi-fi out here.”
“That's intentional.”
Buck doesn't understand why I don’t go into town with him. It’s mostly because I have no interest in discussing my personal shit with anyone—especially him.
“Yeah, well, it's January. This shit's gonna get cold real fast.”
“It's cold already,” I tell him as we cross back to my cabin, passing the frosted tips of the pine trees. Jameson trails us as we make our way over the icy earth, the ground crunching with each step.
“Well, you're the fool who moved out to the woods at the end of fall, not me,” Buck says. “Just wanna make sure you don't become a recluse.”
I don't tell Buck that being a recluse is exactly what I'm after.
“I'll see you around then. And stop by the store if you need anything, ya hear?” Buck heads to his big pickup truck, hollering as he swings open the door, “Oh, and thanks for the beer, Jax. Though I'm not sure what that shit was.” He gives a hearty laugh as he turns the ignition.
Fucking fool, I think, shaking my head. He doesn't know what home-brewed beer is. I may be living in the woods, but I have a kegerator all hooked up inside my cabin. I brew beer, and it's the good stuff.
I watch him backing down the drive, grateful to see him go. He's a good guy, but I prefer my own company these days.
Heading to my cabin, I let Jameson in. I notice that snowflakes have begun to fall as the night sets in. I shut my door, knowing I need to add wood to my fire if I'm gonna stay warm tonight.
There sure as hell isn't anything out in these parts to get me heated up.
HARPER
The tires on my modest hatchback come to a dead halt, in the dead of winter, in what is quickly becoming the dead of night. I'm trying not to full-on panic.
I remind myself of the quote that's my new life motto—that is to say, the quote I read while I scrolled through Pinterest this morning at a gas station on my way out of Boise. I was deleting every single wedding picture I'd pinned, and came across this classic gem:
Keep Calm and Carry On
Okay, so I know it's cheesy, but I've gotta hold onto something right now. If I don't, I'll fall apart.
And I can't fall apart until I’ve at least pulled up at my uncle's cabin.
Which should be right here. Or right … somewhere.
This would all be a lot easier if 1) it hadn't grown pitch dark in, like, four seconds, 2) Google maps would pull up on my phone, and 3) it wasn't snowing.
And these flakes are coming down fast. This hatchback isn't four-wheel anything. It doesn't even have four seats.
How did I end up here? Oh, right, my fiancé ditched me a week before our wedding.
I drop my head against the steering wheel, not wanting to lose it, pinching my eyes closed tight. A full-on sob will not get me somewhere warm and toasty and safe.
I quickly lift my head as the horn on my car begins to blast. This is about the same time I realize that, if I want to be warm and toasty tonight, I'm going to have to light the fire myself.
In the dark.
This wasn't the greatest plan.
Keep Calm and Carry On.
I blink back my tears and scan the old logging road. I doubt anyone has been out here in ages. My own uncle said it's been two summers since he came.
But I have nowhere else to go. I want to avoid the social media meltdown that will surely ensu
e once everyone gets word about Luke ditching me.
My parent didn't want me to go alone, which under normal circumstance I would understand. I still live under the covering of my parents, and believe that they know what’s best for me.
But this is different. We were all shocked by Luke's choice—after all, he and I had courted for two years. He had become family. So when I insisted that I needed some time away on my own, my family helped me find a place where I could ride out this storm. I spent twenty-one years earning their trust and they know I would never allow myself to get into a compromising position.
And my uncle offered his old cabin, which was so generous of him. I don't come from gobs of money. Or even slivers of cash. I come from humble people, I'm the daughter of a hard-working preacher.
It's not like we have lake houses and time shares—and even if we did, they wouldn't be wi-fi free.
Which was my one and only request when I told my family I needed some time away.
Granted, wi-fi would be really helpful at the moment, as I can't get my bearings and have no clue where my uncle’s cabin actually is.
Besides, my car is stuck in this snow. I'm not going anywhere.
This is the time a normal girl would cry.
But I'm not a normal girl. I was raised to keep my chin up, to be grateful in all circumstances. To believe that everything happens for a reason. Even the worst things.
Even things like having a broken heart. Because even if my heart got broken in the process of Luke leaving me, it's better that it happened now instead of a month from now.
Still … I'm going to need a lot of time to heal.
Biting my lip, I try to think through my next step. I'll freeze if I stay in this car tonight; even though it's stuffed to the gills with blankets and provisions, I know it can drop to freezing in the Idaho State Forest in January.
Heaven knows I don't want to die tonight.
I close my eyes, and ask for a sign.
When I open them, it's like a miracle. Through the windshield, in the distance, I see a tiny trail of smoke reaching the clear night sky.
Whoever lit that fire is my Savior. I need to find him.
CHAPTER 2
JAX
Sitting by the fire in a leatherback rocker, I contemplate throwing on another log. But I'm wearing jeans and a buttoned flannel, and it's pretty toasty in here already.
Instead I unbutton my shirt and then pick up the rag I've been using to polish my axe blade.
Okay, I know I love this fucking thing, but I'm not some axe murderer. I just know tomorrow's work will go a lot easier if I have a sharp tool to hack at wood with.
I call it work, but I know it’s not a job. I’m through with the bullshit of running a company in a city where assholes are in charge.
So now I polish an axe blade instead of running the trucking company I built from the ground up. Well, that I built with my best friend, Dean.
Sleeping with the Sherriff’s daughter got me into trouble–which really fucked with our business plan. Dean was pissed I slept with her because next thing we knew Sherriff Martin was doing anything in his power to screw with us ... namely me.
It wasn’t my fault, I didn’t know who the hell she was. The next thing I knew we had taxes and fees slapped on our fucking truckloads every time I went to the weigh station.
Sherriff Martin wanted me out of Coeur d'Alene. That’s bullshit. No man can tell me what I can do. I left on my own terms.
I can sleep with who I want, when I want.
And the last thing I wanted was to screw over Dean. I’m not a motherfucking asshole. I took my name of the ledgers and became a silent partner.
And got the fuck out of there.
Now, my life has become pretty damn familiar. But I knew that would happen when I decided to ship out here, set up my man-cave in the woods.
Jameson starts barking like a goddamned fool, and I shake my head. I love my Irish wolfhound, but he gets all wiry out here in the woods, in a way he never was in the city. Every noise, every rustle, every gust of wind causes his ears to stand, his back to arch.
Maybe it's just that out here he feels alive. I can relate.
Jameson is going nuts now, barking up a real shitstorm.
“Goddamn it, what's your deal?” I ask, standing. I walk to the window and pull back the shades. Maybe some big-ass black bear has wandered down the mountain.
But what I see causes me to jump back in surprise.
This is no bear. Not even a cub.
I pull open the front door—shit, the only door in this one room cabin.
“What the hell are you doing out in a snowstorm?” I yell to the woman, Jameson barking behind me.
She's terrified, eyes wide and bright blue. Her hands clench a phone, using it as a flashlight, and her neck is wrapped with a hand-knit white scarf.
“I … I … I'm lost,” she says, melting in a pool of tears out there in the snow. She's gonna freeze to death if she keeps crying. Ice crystals are gonna streak her cheeks.
“What the hell are you doing? You some crazy-ass fool?” I ask.
“No. I'm just. Really. Really. Cold.”
I run my hands through my hair, trying to assess the fucking situation.
“Come in.” I pull the door open wider, not wanting some woman's death on my back. And fuck, this woman is beautiful. Looks like a motherfucking doe in the snow-covered forest. Innocence and purity, her cheeks rosy red, her eyes a glistening blue.
“Thank you.” She steps inside, not bothering to stomp off the snow she's carrying with her. This girl has no clue where she is or what she's doing. Grabbing a heavy-duty flashlight from the shelf by the door, I scan it out over the road.
In the far distance I see the outline of a vehicle. A small one. A fucking hatchback.
“You drove through the Idaho State Forest in January in that piece of shit?” I ask, confused as to why this mild creature would be alone out there, at night.
“In that piece of what?” she asks, disoriented. She spins, taking in my cabin, and when she does I see that beneath her fitted parka is a round little ass and curvy hips. Her blonde hair spills over her shoulders, nearly hitting her narrow waist.
“You drove that tiny car in the snow. In January. Whose dumb-ass idea was that?” I ask. She may be gorgeous, but she made a few terrible decisions.
“Mine?” she asks, shoulders scrunched up. “I didn't think it was supposed to snow until after I made it here. But then I stopped at Starbucks, and had to run into Safeway for some groceries, but they didn't have the soup I like so I had to go to another store … and the next thing I knew the day had slipped away.”
“Where were you headed, exactly?” I ask, wondering who let this naive woman out of their sight. This pretty thing is gonna get herself killed in the woods, the way she’s going.
“I'm going to my uncle's cabin.” Unzipping her coat, she continues. “It's around here. I know it must be really close. I just didn't bring a paper map, and didn't exactly think through the fact that my phone service was going to cut out.”
“What did you think through?” I bolt the door shut, knowing she is staying put. Sure, I swore off the city, but I didn't swear off women.
I watch as she tugs her jacket off, revealing a perfect pair of tits. Fuck, this girl is porn star material. Perfect DDs pushed together, taunting me in that V-neck sweater.
“It's really hot in here,” she says, fanning herself, looking at the fire. “It's like a sauna.”
“It's not that hot,” I say, though I know she's fucking right. The heat level increased the moment she walked through the door.
“Anyways,” she says. “I thought through enough. I just didn't realize I'd get stuck. Can you help dig the car out so I can get to the cabin?”
“You crazy?” I scoff at this woman. I've met so many like her before, not thinking through a goddamned thing. Not realizing the implications of their requests. Who the hell did she think she was? “You aren't going a
nywhere tonight.”
She laughs. It's a soft and sweet laugh, no rough edges on her. “I need to get to the cabin. If you won't help, can I at least borrow a shovel?”
“I'm not giving you anything of the sort. Not in the pitch dark, just so you can get stuck twenty yards up the road. You're gonna need a tow to get out of that mess.”
“Well, then, what am I supposed to do?” she asks, her eyes brimming with tears. “I'm sorry for showing up here like this. I'm such an idiot.” She shakes her head, biting her lip “I can't do anything on my own. Luke was right. I'm like a little girl with no experience.”
I pull back my shoulders, trying to get a read on this woman. She may not have a lot of life experiences, but she makes up for it with charm. She fucking drips sweetness. I want to lick her like a goddamned honeypot.
“Hey, no tears,” I tell her, trying not to sound gruff. I don’t have experience with relationships—I like to fuck fast and dirty, then move on to the next conquest—but I know enough to not be a complete dick when a woman cries. “Seriously. They are a fucking waste of time.”
I watch her flinch at my words, and her tears start flowing more freely.
“I mean, it. You've gotta fucking stop with that. You aren't a little girl. You're a goddamned woman.”
“I don't know about that.”
“There are two things you need,” I tell her, my arms crossed, my mouth twitching.
She looks at me all wide-eyed and innocent. Her chest heaves as she takes a deep breath, trying to control her crying.
“First of all, you need to get comfortable with the idea of sleeping here tonight, because you are.”
I watch her look around the cabin again, her eyes landing on the two chairs next to the fire, on the table set for one. Her eyes wander to the ladder leading to the one-bed loft.
“And what else?” she asks. “What else do I need?”
“You need to calm the fuck down.”
