Timber Creek

Dan came to stand beside her again, whispering in her ear, “He doesn’t like me much.”



She flinched away, wondering how much she was liking Dan at the moment. “Doesn’t appear so.”



“Our boom smashed it,” Dan said more loudly in answer. “Accident, dude.”



“Dude,” Eddie mumbled.



They watched as he deftly popped out shards of the broken pane, then used a tool to scrape out the remaining dirt, paint, and glass.



“Cool,” Dan said. “What is that you’re using?”



Eddie didn’t look up from his work. “Five-in-one tool.”



“Gotta get me one of those.”



“Seriously, Danny?” She raised a brow. “For your toolbox?”



“Hey, I’m handy.” He inched closer, studying Eddie’s work. “Not as handy as this guy. But I guess when you do it for a living…” He clapped a chummy hand on Eddie’s shoulder.



At the unexpected contact, Eddie’s arm slipped, and his hand flew through the opening, his forearm grazing along the mullion still jagged with glass.



“What the—” Eddie hopped back, shaking out his hand, looking like he’d rather be using it to punch Dan. “A little space, please.”



Laura gasped, seeing the blood gush along his skin. “Oh my God, Eddie, you’re hurt.”



“Dude, so sorry.” Dan looked panicked.



“No big thing.” Eddie scowled at the cut, fisting and unfisting his hand. “This part of the arm bleeds a lot.”



“I’ll say.” She ran to get a clean rag from behind the bar. “Here, wrap it up.”



He wound it around his arm, cinching it tight. “It’s fine. Really.”



Dan backed away. “Hey, I should be going, anyway. The guys want to check out that bar cross town.”



The look she gave him said that was probably a good idea.



The dinnertime rush was starting in earnest. The hum of diners swirled around her, and Helen and Sorrow could’ve probably used help, but she was worried about Eddie, already back at it.



She let herself take a moment to sit down. She needed to think. Her phone buzzed and buzzed again as the calls from her old boss had been replaced by a text assault, and they were all so flattering.



Come back. We need you. Stock + incentives.



I’m sorry.



Patrick’s gone. Fired his ass.



There’s nobody better than you.



You’re an ace. Come back.



She’d longed for respect. Had felt so stung when the job that should’ve been hers was taken away.



And now she wished she could’ve told someone about this new job offer, but she was too wary. Nobody would understand. She didn’t have the best track record in Sierra Falls, and in some ways it’d become more important to prove herself at home. If her family heard she’d been offered her old job back—check that, offered an even better job—even if she swore she was home to stay, they’d just be waiting for her to leave.



But she didn’t want to leave Sierra Falls. Against all odds and despite what she would’ve guessed, she was actually contented. Challenged, even. Never in her wildest dreams would she have imagined she’d want to stay, but there she was, watching Eddie Jessup patch her window, and she was happy about it.



And what an engrossing sight it was. The windows were a standard size, and he’d cut a replacement pane before coming. She tried not to stare too unabashedly as he made quick work of it, but it was hard when right in front of her was a white T-shirt tugged tight over a broad set of shoulders, muscles flexing as he chipped and sanded and pried, doing all manner of capable man things.



He was such a guy’s guy, hanging in there till he finished the job, despite the gash on his arm that must’ve been killing him. He was acting immune to the pain.



She’d known guys like this—she’d grown up around mountain men, and heck, she had an overly macho brother. But her dating life had mostly been in San Francisco, and she’d never been with a guy like this. The most dangerous thing her dates had ever faced was weaving in and out of rush-hour traffic. The most painful thing her fiancé had ever encountered was the hangover after his best friend’s bachelor party.



“All done.” He dropped his tools back in his box and recinched the rag around his arm.



She slid to her feet, feeling a little bummed the show was over. “That was fast.”



“I told you. A kid could’ve done it.”



She gestured to his arm. “May I?” She didn’t know what she was doing—she needed to get back to work—but she kept prolonging their time together. “Maybe someone should take a look at it for you.”



“Like a doctor?” he asked incredulously.



“Yes, like a doctor.”



He stuck it out for her perusal. “You’re cute.”



“Cute?” She gingerly peeled the rag away, and a fresh line of blood appeared along his cut.



“Yeah. Cute.” He stretched and tilted his arm. “It’s not that big a deal.”



“Maybe I’m just worried you’ll turn around and sue us,” she joked as she wound it back up. She’d known men like this, which meant she also knew they could be tough-guy idiots who’d rather bleed to death than actually ask for help. “Come on, let me at least clean it. I’ll fix you right up…”



And then you can get out of here, she’d meant to say, but he stepped closer, and suddenly the room felt ten degrees hotter.



“Can’t say no to that, Doctor Laura.”



“We have to go back to the lodge,” she said, her face hot. “That’s where the good first-aid kit is.”



“Even better.”



She was painfully aware—of her stride, of the patrons’ glances, of Helen’s stare—as they made what felt like an endless trek across the dining room and back to the main lodge.



She led him upstairs, but he paused by her bedroom door.



“Hey, this your room?”



“Yes,” she said warily. “How did you know?” She leaned in to peek, searching for the clue that’d given it away.



“It’s obvious.” He strolled in, and she had no choice but to follow.



“It is?”



He pointed. “Purple bedspread and lamp. I went to school with you, remember?”



“Yeah, so?”



“Everything was purple with you. Purple backpack. Purple winter coat. Purple jeans.” He grinned. “I especially liked those purple jeans.”



She’d forgotten the purple. “The color is plum.”



“Purple, plum, whatever. It’s clear it hasn’t been changed since you were a kid.” He pulled out her desk chair and plopped down, leaning on an elbow to avidly study all her memorabilia.



She felt herself blush. “My parents didn’t see the need to change it, and it didn’t seem to matter. I guess I always assumed Mom would eventually get rid of everything and turn it into a sewing room.”



“Nah, not your folks. You could be an old woman, and they’ll still have your room done up like it was yesterday.”



The comment gave her pause. Was that really true? Was she really so valued?



He peered at the photos pinned on her bulletin board. “I’d have thought you’d be the one to have redone it by now. Some modern Ikea look, or maybe Japanese antiques.”



“Are you making fun of me?”



“Sugar, I wouldn’t dream of it.”



“Mm-hm,” she mumbled doubtfully. She went to the bathroom to grab the first-aid stuff, and when she returned, Eddie was standing, eyeing every last item on that bulletin board.



It was the same junk she’d had in high school. A Hello Kitty postcard. A 13.1 sticker from when she’d run a half marathon in Sonoma. A picture of her in her cheerleading uniform. She’d been meaning to go through it with a big trash bag, but there was never any time.



“I didn’t know you climbed.”



She came up behind him to study the picture of her on an indoor rock wall. “Oh, that. That’s from a couple years ago. I sent it to Mom, and for some reason she hung it up.” She did a little self-effacing shrug—parents could be embarrassing, even if you were twenty-eight. “It was from a team-building thing at my old company.”



“Let me see.” He shocked her by taking one of her hands in his. Goose bumps shivered up her arms at the feel of those warm, large hands enveloping hers. “They don’t look like they belong to a climber.”



She tugged away. “I’m not a real climber,” she said, though it was kind of a lie. It’d been one of her favorite workouts. It was indoors and perfectly safe, but she found such joy in it nonetheless. She was always so regimented in her life, and dangling high above the ground was the one time she felt free. Felt dangerous. “I used to go to a climbing gym in the city. No big deal.”



“Seems like a big deal to me.” He turned his attention to an old shot from her high school cheerleading days. “Not as big a deal as this, though.” He leaned closer, grinning. “God, I had such fantasies about you in that little skirt.”



She plucked the picture from the wall and put it facedown.



He turned back to her and suddenly he was right there. “You always were a hottie, Laura Bailey.”



The compliment overwhelmed her. There was a depth to his gaze that suggested he spoke to so much more than her looks—that she was a hottie because of those photos and trinkets and purple bedspread.



It felt like she’d inadvertently spilled a secret she hadn’t meant to tell. She felt vulnerable, and vulnerability made her nervous.



Instead of responding, she opened the bottle of hydrogen peroxide and soaked a cotton ball with it. “Give me your arm.” She dabbed the peroxide with abandon.



“Still are,” he said in that voice…that voice he got. “Hotter than ever.”



She ignored him and dabbed harder. “This doesn’t look so bad.” Now that he’d stopped bleeding, she could tell the cut wasn’t nearly as horrific as all that blood had implied.