Total pages in book: 21
Estimated words: 20660 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 103(@200wpm)___ 83(@250wpm)___ 69(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 20660 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 103(@200wpm)___ 83(@250wpm)___ 69(@300wpm)
I grab a peeler and take my place at the counter beside him.
We work in silence for a while, tension pulsing under every breath.
Then he says, “You got a husband?”
“No.”
He grunts. “Boyfriend?”
“Nope.”
Another beat. “Kid’s father around?”
I grip the peeler tighter. “He doesn’t know.”
That makes him pause. Just briefly. “You plan to tell him?”
I keep my gaze on the potato in my hand. “Someday.”
He doesn’t push. Just reaches for the knife and starts chopping onions with methodical precision. My eyes burn from the scent—or maybe from everything else rising in my chest—but I don’t blink.
Because the truth is a ticking bomb, and Jack Rivers is sitting on it.
“Why me?” he asks finally.
“What do you mean?”
“Why apply to my ad? You could’ve taken a job anywhere.”
I risk a glance up. His eyes are dark, sharp, curious.
“I like the quiet,” I say. “And I wanted something different. For her.”
That part’s true, at least.
He stares at me a second longer. Then nods, like he’s accepting my half-truths for now. “What’s her name?”
“Josie,” I reply.
He grunts, then refocuses on the potatoes in front of him.
Dinner’s simple—steak, potatoes, and sautéed greens—but it tastes like heaven after the hellish drive from Boulder. Jack barely talks. Just eats like a man used to silence. I let him have it.
After Josie falls asleep, I sit on the porch swing, sipping tea and watching the stars blink to life over Devil’s Peak.
Jack joins me without a word, settling into the chair beside me, a beer in one hand.
We sit in a silence that isn’t uncomfortable. Just thick.
Heavy with everything unspoken.
“You’re not what I expected,” he says eventually.
“Likewise.”
He sips his beer, then glances over at me. “You don’t scare easy.”
“I can handle grumpy men with tragic backstories.”
His mouth twitches. “Who says it’s tragic?”
I raise an eyebrow. “You mean to tell me the bearded recluse in the woods doesn’t have a tortured past?”
He gives a low chuckle that feels like thunder rolling through my bones.
“Maybe I’m just a man who got tired of noise.”
I meet his gaze, heat flaring between us like dry kindling.
“Well,” I murmur, “buckle up. I brought noise.”
His eyes drop to my mouth. Then my neck. Then lower.
“You brought more than that,” he says, voice rough.
My breath stutters.
Because even if he doesn’t remember me…
His body might.
Chapter Two
Jack
The sun’s high and relentless, pouring down on our backs like punishment as we wrestle joists into place on Slate’s new deck.
“Bet you regret volunteering now,” Finn mutters, wiping sweat off his brow.
“Didn’t realize ‘helping with the deck’ meant full-scale construction,” I grunt, sliding the beam into place and bracing it while Slate drills.
“Welcome to Devil’s Peak labor, city boy,” Grady chimes in from the edge, holding a tray of screws like it’s a cocktail platter. Lazy bastard. They know it gets under my skin when they call me city boy–sure, I was raised in Boulder, but I’ve been on Devil’s Peak for all my adult life–since I left the military on leave the first time and needed peace and quiet to recover from the hell I saw in the desert. I think of the one that got away–Kat–the woman who wrote me letters that helped get me through the hard times when I was deployed. We’d been childhood pen pals off and on for years, and when she found out I’d enlisted in the military, she started writing me weekly–she doesn't know it–but waiting on those letters, the love and kindness written in those sentences, gave me something to live for.
The summer I came to Devil’s Peak on leave, she came out here for Spring Break. We met at The Devil’s Brew, we kissed, we made love, and then she vanished from my life as quickly as she’d come. I went back to the desert for another deployment and we lost touch. Her letters just stopped arriving one day. No explanation, no goodbye, just gone. My heart still hurts at the thought. She doesn’t know it, but she was my first broken heart. She’ll also be my last because I’ve refused to let anyone in since.
“I’m not the one who suggested cedar planks.” I finally grunt, pulling myself back into the present with the guys. “You want clean lines and weather-resistance, you build it your damn self,” I shoot back.
Slate just laughs, eyes crinkling behind his sunglasses. “You act like you don’t love every second of it.”
I don’t answer. He’s not wrong.
The sound of drills, the weight of real work in your hands, the mountain air burning in your lungs—it’s the kind of therapy I crave. It grounds you. Helps you forget what’s behind you, even if just for a minute.
“You gettin’ nervous yet?” Finn asks Slate, leaning back on the cooler.
“About what?”
“The wedding. Emma. Tying the knot with the best thing to ever happen to you.”
Slate doesn’t hesitate. “Nope.”
Grady whistles low. “Damn. Confident. Didn’t even flinch.”