Chapter Two
The following morning Jackson woke up feeling more energetic than he had in years. Empty beer bottles lined the kitchen counter, and a plate covered in crumbs from the sandwiches he consumed at two in the morning reminded him that last night had been rough. Tossing the beer bottles into the recycle bin, he vowed to himself that he was through with rough nights. From now on, he was going to find the man he was before Chris, the Jackson that used to go hiking, running, and loved to fish.
His heart would be tender for months maybe years to come, but he would no longer spend every waking second of his life haunted by Chris. Not anymore. From this morning on he wanted to regain what he lost when he devoted his life to making that man happy. Being single, he mused, might even be fun, with no one to please but himself.
After a breakfast of fresh ground coffee, fried eggs, and toast, he raced upstairs to the master bedroom, finding his duffel bag in the closet. Unzipping the bag, he rummaged around until he located his old running shoes, spandex shorts and a t-shirt. He felt giddy thinking about running, a passion he had not enjoyed in years.
Stripping his comfy clothes off his body, he stood in the mirror examining his naked form, feeling self-conscious as he stood all alone staring at himself. Impulsively, his hand went to the Dave and the Matthews tattoo on his right shoulder, a memento from his college years that reminded him that he had been young once upon a time. His olive skin tanned with ease and his dark curly chest hair was a nod to his Italian heritage on his mother’s side. His athletic build and sinewy muscles was inherited from his father. Turning around, he was relieved to find only a small number of places that needed attention, the slight curve of his belly, the round shape of his ass.
The spandex shorts still hugged his body, the moisture-wicking t-shirt showing off his mostly slender build as he admired himself, now fully clothed in the mirror of the bathroom. Despite his years of inactivity, he still boasted a body that was mostly muscle. The fat he could work off, he told himself as he laced up his running shoes.
Rushing down the stairs to the first floor, he raced out the door. Standing on the front porch, he took a deep breath, the scent of pine filling his lungs as he stepped off the porch and down the stairs. It was a chilly morning, perfect for a run. He was genuinely smiling as he started a slow run down the driveway, the gravel under his feet. His heart was pumping, sweat dripping from his pores as he worked to run a slow pace. If he were not so determined to go running, he would have been disheartened by the struggle to run, but he was empowered, knowing that with time he would grow stronger.
Running back to the log house, he was out of breath, his lungs on fire, but he felt better. He sweated out years of toxins and heartbreak and he was going to survive, he decided, as he headed inside for a shower. The warm water flowing over his aching muscles was soothing, as the sound of the water trickling down the drain gave him an idea. How many years had it been since he went fishing, he wondered as he turned the shower off.
Struck with as sudden desire to sit by a river and wait for something to bite, he dressed quickly in jeans and a button-down cotton shirt, sliding on a pair of casual boots. Slipping his wallet and his keys in his pocket, he glanced at his phone on the bedside, resisting the urge to check it for messages from Chris. Brushing his hands through his hair, he decided that today, he would not care about hair products or his watch. He was on vacation with nothing important on his mind but fishing.
Closing the door of the house, he hummed as he walked to the SUV. Opening the door of the vehicle, he realized that he did not hear the reassuring buzz from the dashboard alerting him that the door was ajar. Inserting the key in the ignition, it soon became apparent that the battery was dead.
“Damn,” he said as he rolled his eyes, his attention on the overhead light, pushed to the on position. Switching it to off, he felt stupid that he had somehow left it on all night. His mind was in blur. He couldn’t remember how it ever came to be turned on in the first place.
Slamming the door, he went back inside, retrieved his phone from the bedside table, and called the auto club. If he were lucky, maybe he could get this issue resolved so that he would not waste his entire day waiting for roadside, or in this case, driveway assistance. Laying back on the king-sized bed, he groaned as he closed his eyes, wishing his battery were not dead.
Jackson was not sure how long he had been asleep. He didn’t remember drifting off, but he must have as he was still on the bed. A loud, insistent knocking followed by a ringing of the doorbell jolted him from his slumber as he bolted to the door, his legs still sore from the early morning run.
“Coming,” he called out as he reached for the door knob, opening the large oak door.
“Are you Mr. Sasser?” a man asked as he looked down at his phone and back up to Jackson’s face.
“I am Jackson Sasser,” he answered as his attention turned to the tow truck parked behind the dead SUV in the driveway. “You must be from roadside assistance.”
“I am. I’m Mike Tate, but you can call me Mike. Everyone does,” the man said as he offered his hand to Jackson.
Jackson shook his hand, firmly but not too firm, “Jackson Sasser, but you know that already. Mr. Tate, I mean, Mike. Call me Jackson, or Jack, whichever. I'm impressed, you made it here in half an hour. I thought I would be waiting around all day.”
“Half an hour, you say? That’s not bad, not bad at all,” Mike said as he looked past Jackson into the house. “I understand you have a dead battery? Let’s have a look, just in case. If I can fix it here, I will. If it’s more than a battery, I have my tow truck.”
“Sounds good,” Jackson answered as he followed the man down the steps.
In the sunlight, Jackson got his first look at Mike Tate. He was dressed in a polo shirt, khaki pants, and loafers. His curly blond hair fell to his ears, his blue eyes dazzling in the daylight. He was shorter than Jackson but his shoulders were broad, his arms rippling with muscle. He was not good looking but there was something about him that Jackson found attractive.
“Pop the hood and let me see what we’ve got here,” Mike said with a smile and a slight drawl.
“You got it,” Jackson answered as he found the hood release in a few seconds.
“This is some place you’ve got here. You got a great view. You and the missus must find it quite a sight around sunset.”
“There is no missus. It’s just me,” Jackson said with a shrug, “I wish I owned this house. It’s a great place. A buddy of mine loaned it to me for the week.”
“That must be some buddy of yours to loan it to you in the fall. October is prime time for rental property. A place like this could rent for a small fortune. Try cranking the engine, will you? I want to test something.”
Jackson felt a twinge of guilt that he was depriving Wendell of rental income but that was soon forgotten as he made small talk with Mike Tate. Turning the key in the ignition, he was not surprised that nothing happened.
Mike called out from under the hood, “Yep, it looks like your battery. That’s an easy fix. Let me hook my jumper cables up and we can get you charged and ready to go.”
Jackson leaned against the SUV, watching Mike as he walked to the tow truck. He was short but there was something about his build, a solidness of a man that worked hard for a living, that Jackson found distracting. This is ridiculous, he thought. He was leering at the tow truck guy. How pathetic was that?
Within five minutes, Mike had the tow truck parked beside the dead vehicle, the cables connected and the diesel engine purring, charging the battery. “Here you go. Give it a few minutes and you will be right as rain,” Mike announced with a warm smile.
“Mike, would you like a cup of coffee while we wait? I could use a cup myself.”
“If it wouldn’t be any trouble? I never turn down a free cup of coffee.”
Jackson invited Mike into the house and heard him make the same whistle he himself did the day before. “Wow, what a place this is! Like I said, you got some buddy. Mind if I wash up?”
“The bathroom is down the hall,” Jackson said as turned on the coffee maker.
Being outside with Mike was one thing, there was air and space between them, but being inside the house, making coffee for this man was quite another. Jackson knew he was being silly, that Mike was probably straight, married with two kids. Yet, there was something about him that made Jackson wonder: what if?
“That coffee sure does smell good. Thanks again for inviting me in. That was nice of you,” Mike said as he leaned against the center island in the kitchen.
“Can I ask you a question? I hope you don’t mind if I sound intrusive.” Jackson said as he poured the coffee into two matching mugs.
Mike answered in his slight mountain drawl, “Shoot, you can’t offend me, go ahead.”
“You're not dressed like I expected. I have never seen a mechanic wearing a polo shirt to work on a car.”
“Oh, that was your question? That’s not bad. I’m not working today. I went into the office to file a few forms for a new hire and this call came in. My guys were slammed with work, so I took the call, but you’re right. I don’t normally answer calls dressed like this.”
“You manage the shop?” Jackson asked, making safe, small talk.
“Manage? I wish that was all I did, but I own it. Let me tell you that’s a lot more headache than just running the place.”
“I bet. Thank you for taking the call. I’m glad you were working today,” Jackson said as he bit his lip. He did not mean to reveal that much to this man he just met.
“My turn. Let me ask you something,” Mike said with a twinkle in his eye.
“Go ahead,” Jackson answered, trying to forget his blunder.
“The plates on your SUV say Mecklenburg county. Let me guess, you’re from Charlotte, aren’t you?”
“You probably didn’t need the plates to tell you that, did you?”
“Not really. We get a lot of your city types up here. Your accent gives you away every time.”
“I’m sure it does. Hey, I forget to ask if you wanted cream and sugar with your coffee.”
“Black is good. I learned to drink it black in the Army.”
“You were in the army?” Jackson asked, feeling disappointed. Military service usually meant straight, no matter what policy said otherwise.
“I did four years right out of high school. I wanted to see the world and my daddy wouldn’t pay for college. Well, I can tell you I saw more than I bargained for which is why I came home.”
“Copper Falls is home to you?”
“It sure is, been home to generations of Tates as far back as anyone can remember.”
“It’s beautiful country,” Jackson said, approvingly.
“It is. I wouldn’t trade it for the world. That’s why I came home. I want my son to grow up here, just like I did,” Mike said as he finished the cup of coffee.
Jackson knew it. Mike was married with a son. “You have a son? How old is he?”
“Twelve, but he acts like he’s thirty. He’s the reason I took the day off. He has a dentist appointment in an hour.”
Jackson didn’t know what to say after that. He offered Mike another coffee that he declined, the silence between them awkward but not entirely uncomfortable.
“I better check that battery, it’s probably fully charged by now,” Mike said as he handed the cup to Jackson.
Jackson nodded his head as he took the mug, their hands brushing for a second, a look passing between them that was gone in an instant.
Jackson followed Mike back outside, the sun shining down on a perfect fall day as Mike checked the charge on the battery. “Looks good. Let me give you my card. If you have any other problems call me directly, don’t worry about going through the auto club, got it?”
“I sure will, thanks. Do I owe you anything?”
“The club’s got me covered. It was great meeting you. Have a good vacation,” Mike said as he threw his cables in a tool box in the back of the tow truck.
“Mike, thanks again, you are a real life saver,” Jackson replied, his eyes lingering on Mike’s warm smile.
“It was my pleasure. Call me if you need anything, you hear?”
Jackson nodded as Mike climbed into his truck and expertly backed down the driveway, turning the tow truck on the single-track road with ease. Glancing at the SUV, he considered slicing a hose just to have an excuse to call Mike Tate one more time but laughed at his own foolishness. Mike Tate was straight with a son and owned a repair shop. To imagine anything happening with him was ridiculous. Walking past his fixed SUV, Jackson was still tempted to call him, anyway.