When We Were Us (A Timber Forge Series Book 1), page 5
I finally got the mountain bike fixed. I rode the three miles into downtown Timber Forge and back twice this week, balancing grocery bags on each handlebar. Luckily, the humidity was low and it wasn’t too hot for late June, so I didn’t have to add looking like a drowned rat to a sore ass.
Every time the tires hit the dirt of Chicory Lane, I pictured the Wicked Witch of the West, cackling about getting Dorothy and her little dog too. Anyone who might have seen me laughing probably thought I was nuts.
Yesterday, I finally managed to secure a rental vehicle. Fortunately, the drive back to the house was short because I had to deal with the bike hanging out of the back of the Jeep, hoping the whole way that it wouldn’t fall out and damage someone else’s car.
Three days ago, I finally sat down and went through the paperwork Harold gave me. As much as I wanted to continue putting it off, I knew it had to be done. I was surprised to discover that, in addition to the house and all my grandparents’ possessions, there is also quite a sum of money in savings.
I called Harold’s office in a bit of a fog to confirm what I was reading. Our conversation was short, in which he assured me it was real. Needing a minute to process it, I told him I had to go but promised to follow-up with him in a few weeks after speaking to the realtor. Thinking about it now takes my breath away. It’s not millionaire status or anything, and I don't need the money, but I am immediately reminded of my run-in with Hank and his accusation.
As hurt as I had been, I couldn’t stop thinking about the gut reaction I had to being near him again. Even the little bit of dirt under his fingernails had added to his rugged bullshit attractiveness. I’d been offended and turned the hell on all in one fell swoop. It wasn’t lost on me that I had fallen asleep thinking about him every night since.
My stomach growls and a quick glance at the clock on the wall tells me why. It’s just after two p.m. and I haven't eaten since breakfast. I could really go for a latte and a sandwich or something, and I need to make a proper trip to the grocery store.
Grabbing my bag and heading to the Jeep, I make the short drive downtown. The pine, fir, and spruce trees that cover the entire surrounding mountain range are replaced with maples, oaks, and chokecherry here downtown, and stand sentinel over most of the city.
Downtown Timber Forge used to be a one-brand-of-coffee kind of town, but just judging from the small stretch of Main Street, it’s undergone some upgrades. It’s still small and quaint, and the two-lane road is peppered with buildings, mostly old and a few new. Some businesses I recognize, but there’s now a medical clinic where the old hardware store used to be, and the Main Street Diner is now a place called Timber’s Treats and Café. I haven't been there yet, but if anywhere will have a latte, it's that place.
I park in a space across the street and walk over. The bell above the door jingles merrily as I pull it open and step inside. The smells that hit me are enough to make my eyes roll back. I need coffee and carbs, STAT.
There are a few people in line and a woman behind the counter. The couple in front of me places their order and pays, and I step up to the counter, with my gaze locked on the menu on the wall above my head. I almost cry when I see a full coffee menu.
“Wrennie Jo Hardcastle, it is you!”
I blink across the counter at the woman wiping her hands on a tea towel. A genuine grin breaks out across her pretty face.
“Finn?” Seeing her after all these years is like being wrapped up in a warm blanket on a cold day and my face lights up.
Finnley Jameson is petite and five-foot-five, with dark hair and eyes. While she is definitely older, I’d have been able to pick her out of a lineup even after all these years. I honestly hadn’t even expected her to be around anymore. She wears a white T-shirt tucked into light wash denim boyfriend jeans and her signature thick braid lays over her shoulder, nearly reaching her waist.
“I wondered if you were coming back to town!” She is beaming, but then her face falls. “I’m so sorry to hear about your granddad.”
“Thank you.” I have to force myself to focus on not tearing up, because it feels like that’s all I’ve been doing lately. Before I can say anything else, she speaks again.
“God, it's been forever! How have you been? We have to catch up!” She’s talking a mile a minute.
I smile. I guess some things never change.
“Oh!” With a shake of her head, she winces. “You came in here for food, and I just verbal-vomited all over you! It's just so good to see you! What can I get for you?” She flings her tea towel over her shoulder and laces her fingers together, waiting eagerly for my order.
Glancing at the menu, I say, “I’ll take a large caramel latte and a BLT.”
She nods and punches in my order on the screen in front of her.
“Extra may—”
“Extra mayo, right?” she says at exactly the same time.
We glance up at each other and laugh.
“I can’t believe you remember that,” I say, putting my debit card back into my wallet.
“You used to put mayo on literally everything!” Turning and starting my latte, she shoots me a wink. “Have a seat, Wren, and I’ll bring this out as soon as it’s ready.”
I thank her and find a two-seater table in the far corner, taking the chair facing the window. It’s quiet here—that in-between time after lunch and before dinner. The couple that came in before me takes their drinks and leaves, leaving me and three other patrons in the café. There’s a couple who look to be in deep discussion sitting two tables over and a very pregnant woman blowing on a steaming cup of soup at the table closest to the door.
My phone dings and I pull it from my bag. Derek. I swipe away from the message and stuff the phone back into my bag as Finn approaches with my order. She sets it on the table in front of me and then motions to the seat across from me.
“I have a break now if you have a bit to chat?”
“Of course.” I point to the sandwich. “This looks amazing, but it's huge. Do you want half?”
She eyes the sandwich and tugs her lip into her mouth. “You don’t mind?”
“Not at all.” I pull over another napkin and hand it to her. She spreads it out on the table as I hand her one half of the gigantic sandwich.
“Thank you, Wren. We’ve been so busy all day and this is the first time I’ve had a chance to sit.” She takes a large bite, rolls her eyes, and moans, flopping back against the chair. “That is so good.”
I take a large bite and a sip of my latte. Before I have a chance to speak, she’s launching into conversation. Just like old times. Like my absence the last seventeen years isn’t an issue.
“So? Tell me what you’ve been up to. I want to hear all about your glamorous life out in California. You are still in California, aren’t you?” She wipes a glob of mayo off her chin and shrugs, like she’s saying, oops.
She’s adorable and hasn’t changed much since we graduated. She is still bubbly, sweet, outgoing, and friendly.
“Just outside of Napa Valley.” I nod and swipe my own napkin over my mouth.
For the next thirty minutes, we eat our sandwiches and fill each other in on the last seventeen years of our lives. I tell her about college, the practice, my condo, and Ginger. When she asks if I’m married, I tell her that I’ve never been, but decide to keep the fiasco with Derek to myself for the time being.
Finn briefly mentions that she’s separated. I get the impression she doesn’t want to elaborate, so I don’t press. She’s only been back in Timber Forge for seven months, after having lived in Texas for six years, and loves working part-time at Timber’s Treats—which is actually owned and operated by one of Hank’s sisters, Natalie, who has a cute little apartment above the café.
“I am just so glad you’re back!” She gives me that genuine smile again and reaches across the table to give my hand a squeeze. “We have got to plan a girl’s night or something.” She breaks off like she’s thinking, and then says, “You, Nat, Norah, and I should go to Roxy’s! Oh, and Hayley. I know she was younger than us, but she’s the sweetest and so much fun.”
I grimace. Seeing the girls would be nice, because even though I hadn’t been as close to Hank’s three sisters, we definitely had our share of memories. Especially bonfire nights and riding dirt bikes at the ranch that last summer with Hank, Finn, and Hudson. It all just seems like too much too fast. I haven’t seen or spoken to any of them in years, and after the way Hank and I left things, they might not want to see me.
“Oh, I don’t know. I’m kind of trying to keep a low profile. I’ve got so much to get done at the house, and I don’t know how long I’ll actually be in town—”
“I’ll help you at the house. I have plenty of free time. Besides, one night away from that big, empty house isn’t going to make that much of a difference.” She clasps her hands under chin. “Please? Hudson’s in town from New York for the summer, and I know everyone else would love to see you too!”
“Not everyone.” I notice the look on her face and realize, without meaning to, I’ve actually said that out loud.
She leans forward, her brows dipping low. “What do you mean?”
“It's nothing.” I shake my head once, but the words I speak must not match the look on my face because she lowers her voice and pins me with a look.
“Wrenley Hardcastle, what are you talking about?” If she wasn’t already sitting down, I imagine she’d plant her hands on her hips.
I let out a long sigh, but she just watches me. I don’t know how much to say. She’s clearly close with Hank’s siblings, and I don't want to make things worse.
“I ran into Hank.” My eyes drop to my coffee cup, spinning it slowly with my fingers.
She winces and then hikes her eyebrows up to her hairline in silent affirmation to elaborate. It makes me wonder if she’s already heard about our argument.
“He was less than thrilled to see me.” I glance nervously up at her.
She nods, sits back abruptly, and huffs out her own sigh through her nose. “What did that grumpy jackass say to you?”
My glance flicks up to hers, and I almost choke on the coffee I just took a sip of.
Wait… Grumpy jackass?
Until last week, I never would have thought anyone in this town would use either of those words to describe Hank Hayes. I thought that was just reserved for me.
When we were kids, everyone loved Hank. He’d been the golden boy—a perfect enigma. Everywhere he’d gone back then, people just flocked to him. Even little kids. Me. Especially me. He was like Santa Claus. Or…or Jesus. Nothing could touch him.
Still, I can’t help but wonder what happened to make Hank change so drastically. Before I lose my nerve, I ask, “What happened to him?”
She looks to the side, opens her mouth to say something, and then thinks better of it. She purses her lips, and I can tell she is trying to decide how much to say. Then, she raises one shoulder in a shrug as if to say, who knows? I get the feeling there is more to it than that, but she doesn’t offer up any more information.
“Listen, Finn, I’d love to see some of the old crew, but I can’t see Hank again. I don’t know what happened to change him, but he said some pretty awful things about me being back for my granddad’s money, and I—”
“He what?” she hisses, leaning far across the table, and then, glancing around, she lowers her voice. “Please tell me he did not actually say that to you.” She is fuming and it feels good to have her upset for me. To have at least one ally in this small town, where I feel more like an outsider than ever. Especially since I hadn't seen her in years.
“Not in so many words, but it was implied.” I pick at a hangnail on my thumb and look back at her across the table.
She rolls her eyes and takes my hand again. The sincerity in her eyes is palpable. “Ok, I get it. No going anywhere that we will run into Hank. I promise. But please think about it. Everyone really would love to see you, despite what Hank said. I know it.”
She’s so damn persuasive, and I find myself nodding in reluctant agreement.
“Ok.” She digs her phone out of her back pocket and taps a few times on the screen. “What’s your number?”
I give her the digits and she taps them in with a happy hum.
“There. I texted you.” She grins as my phone dings in my bag at my feet.
CHAPTER SEVEN
hank
It’s been a week since my run-in with Wren. I’d been caught off guard and seeing her had done something to my gut that I didn't like. It brought up feelings I thought I had dealt with long ago. I’ve done everything I can think of to keep her out of my mind, but it’s no use.
I’d been a massive dick to her. She’d stood there, looking fucking gorgeous, with an expectant but cautious smile on her lips, friendly and hopeful. Instead of acting like a human being, I stood there, judging her, with a permanent scowl on my face.
Dick.
I immediately felt like shit about how I’d spoken to her. Especially since she went from looking at me like she was happy to see me to looking like she could rip my head off. Then, she was almost in tears. But it was like I wasn't in control of my mouth, let alone my face.
I thought about this moment a dozen or so times over the course of the last seventeen years, thought about what it would be like to see her again and what I would say to her if I had the chance.
In the beginning, I wanted to hate her. I wanted to stay pissed at her forever and tried to for years. But eventually, I’d been able to think about her without anger. Time heals all wounds and all that shit. It didn’t hurt every time I thought about her, about the time we spent together, or the little things she’d said to make me laugh. I still missed her like crazy, but thinking about those things didn’t make me want to put my fist through a wall anymore.
That was, until I saw her again.
So, yeah, I guess I was still pissed at her. Maybe hurt a little too. But more than anything, I was pissed at myself because I was still drawn to her after all these years. Pissed that after seventeen years, one interaction with her had taken me from a grown man standing in her granddad’s garage to a devastated twenty-year-old, standing at the end of Chicory Lane, as she obliterated my heart with three simple words: It's over, Hank.
Common sense told me I should apologize because I will see her again in this small-ass town. But as far as I’m concerned, common sense can fuck all the way off. Because if past behavior indicates future behavior, then Wrenley Hardcastle isn’t going to be around long anyway. So, what is the point?
Besides, I couldn’t blame her if she never spoke to me again after the things I said to her. When I basically accused her of just being back here for her granddad’s money. She’d been on the verge of tears.
I shake my head at my stupidity and roll down my truck window to get some fresh air, then crank up the radio to Travis Tritt’s “It’s a Great Day to Be Alive."
I’m on my way to meet Hudson at our brother Hutch’s place. I've been moving cattle all day and I’m ready to relax with a medium rare steak and whatever shitty beer Hudson brings.
Time with my brothers always clears my head, and since I haven’t exactly been sleeping decently the last week, I need this. Bonus points because there isn’t much chance of running into my past out here.
Hudson, the second oldest, and my five-year-old niece, Paige, flew in from New York last night for their annual summer vacation in Timber Forge. They’ll be here for six weeks, and we’ll also be celebrating Pop's seventieth birthday while they're here. Mom’s been planning a big dinner at the ranch, and she’s already got Paige helping make colorful signs to hang around town for the Huckleberry Festival at the end of August.
With mountains and a small lake to the east, and the other three sides surrounded by towering pines, Hutch’s place is secluded and feels otherworldly. Truthfully, this whole valley does. Though Mom and Pop had tried to get Hutch to build closer to the main ranch house, the secluded lake-front piece of land on this slice of the roughly forty-thousand acres our family owns makes him more than content.
Hutch has always been pretty private, and the seclusion suits him. In the mornings, he has an incredible view of the sunrise, and at night, can see the stars for miles. All six of us siblings—minus one or two from time to time—sometimes come out here on the weekend nights to make some noise and relax.
Family is important to all of us, and while I enjoy spending time with my sisters, the three of us boys have always been super tight. With Hudson living in New York, and our younger sisters all living in town, Hutch and I probably see one another the most.
As I roll up, Oakley, Hutch’s four-year-old golden retriever, comes loping up to my door with a bark. He jumps up, plants both his paws on my open window, and licks my forearm.
“Hey, Oaks.” I throw the truck into park and climb out, crouching to scratch the dog behind his ears and pat his side.
He rolls over onto his back, his tongue lolling crazily out the side of his mouth. I give him a couple of scratches on the stomach. Tucker whines from the backseat and I stand to open the door. My six-year-old Australian shepherd jumps down with a bark, and he and Oakley tear off in the direction he’d come from.
Hudson stands in the door to the wood shop and sends a wave over his shoulder. I can hear the scream of a bandsaw, and a few seconds later, both my brothers emerge from the workshop Hutch and I built two years ago. Hutch carries a chunk of raw wood in his gloved hands.
All three of us Hayes brothers are dark-haired, with angular features, mom’s straight nose, and dad’s thick eyebrows. But that’s pretty much where the similarities stop.
As I approach them, Hudson looks like he just left the gym in a gray T-shirt and black workout pants. His short-cropped hair is pushed back off his forehead.
I smirk. Even in casual clothes, he looks like a GQ model. His aviator sunglasses hang tucked into the neck of his shirt and a stainless steel Bulova circles his left wrist. At six-foot-two, Hudson is the shortest of us brothers. I love him, but he’s the current title holder for the world’s most annoying brother and a giant pain in my ass.
