Page 16

Stone

Stone couldn’t have been more mesmerized than he was in that moment. Maybe it was the fact that Royal no longer seemed intimidated by him or the town. And that damn text conversation last night, Stone didn’t know what the hell had gotten into his shy city boy. But the boldness growing in him made Stone want to rise to the challenge.

He stared at Royal as he made his way back down Main street with easy, confident strides. He could stand there and watch Royal from that angle all day.

But the quicker he finished his work, the sooner he could have Royal in his arms, and his bed.

Stone didn’t let his eyes linger too long. He went back to the steady rhythm of axes chopping into trees, and the crack and splintering of wood, until his thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of laughter.

“I’ll be damned.” Oliver’s deep voice was heavy with amusement. “I been living here five years and I’ve never once seen you flirt with anyone. Just couldn’t resist that big city energy, huh, Stone?”

Stone didn’t bother to turn around. He didn’t need to because he knew where this was going. Instead he hefted another couple of pieces of lumber onto his shoulder and walked them across the short clearing.

The whole damn crew was watching him, half of them trying not to laugh too loud, the other half grinning as if they’d just seen a wolf mark its mate.

“Shut up, Oliver,” Stone growled. “Get back to work.”

“Ah, come on, big man,” Oliver pressed, sounding as if he were enjoying himself. “You and the city slicker looked real cozy over there. Didn’t know you were into the young ones.”

Stone’s jaw tightened.

“Uh oh, looks like my scarf is a bit out of place…can you fix it for me, Stone?”

Stone swiveled to face the crew, giving them a look so sharp he knew it could cut concrete. “You’re not even wearing a damn scarf, dumbass.”

His guys roared with laughter but Stone had little to no humor and was running out of patience. It was as if the more he spoke, the less seriously they took him.

“I hate to cut you guys an hour’s pay since you wanna take time off to bullshit around.”

“Hey, hey, no need for all that,” Arthur, his foreman joined in. “We’re just surprised is all. That was…charming, fixing his scarf. Bet you’d be a real Cassanova if he gave you a little—”

“Art!” Stone barked, a flash of anger rising in his throat. He shot his hand out and pointed at the next truck backing in a new haul of Balsam Firs. “Make yourself useful. Or if any of you are in the new occupation of gossiping, I can see if Aimee and Edna have any open positions at their salon.”

After several long moments of snickering, the rest of his guys fell silent, not daring to press any further.

Stone buried himself back in his work, forcing himself to focus on the many tasks at hand. He had to do something—cutting wood, stacking, then splitting it for the bonfire—anything to ground him, to stop him from giving a damn about what his crew or anyone else in the town were thinking.

He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, his body overheating in low-twenties weather. Stone stared down at the stump in front of him. The swing of his axe was automatic, but even as the blade bit into the wood with a satisfying thunk , his thoughts wouldn’t settle.

Authur cleared his throat behind him, breaking his concentration, and Stone resented the flush he felt creeping up his throat.

“You’ve always been a hard man, Stone, and an even harder one to read,” Arthur’s voice was barely loud enough for him to hear. “You know we were just fuckin with ya, right. It’s what we do. But it’s clear you like this guy. And there’s nothing wrong with having something for yourself for a change.”

Stone tightened his grip on his favorite axe as he muttered. “I said get back to work, Arthur. Daylight’s dying while you’re over here giving me a therapy session that I don’t need.”

“Fine,” Arthur snorted. “But remember, I’ve known you since you were a snot-nosed brat who didn’t fit in his overalls, chasing your dad around on your Fisher Price tractor.”

“And…” Stone gritted.

“And I think it’s time, that’s all.” Arthur clapped him on his shoulder, “Its time buddy. Don’t let this one get by ya.”

Arthur walked off, and Stone swung his axe with a little more force. He and Arthur had been best friends all through school, and up until Ben died. Then Stone had begun to distance himself from everyone who cared about him and loved him.

Arthur had always made it clear he’d be there any time Stone was ready to come out of hiding. The whole town had allowed him to wallow in his misery. But Royal had come inside, barreled through Stone’s walls, and made himself comfortable within his silence. As if he was more than content to be there with him…as long as it was the two of them.

Stone pushed open the door to his cabin and stepped inside to the familiar scent of cedar and wood smoke. He glanced around his simply furnished living room, betting it was the opposite of wherever Royal had lived before he came to Windeville.

Damnit .

Stone wasn’t going to worry about that or their pasts tonight.

The evening would be about them feeling more than just the dull ache of life.

Stone kicked off his boots and peeled out of his thick layers. He hurried into the bathroom and started the hot water. He took a long shower, making sure to get all the sticky sap and dirt from off his skin and under his nails.

After he towel-dried off, he caught sight of himself in the mirror.

Shit .

His hair was too long, his beard scruffy and his eyes looked haunted and tired.

“Get your shit together, Stone,” he muttered as he reached under the sink and blew the dust off his shaving kit.

He loved his beard, every man in his family had it , but a bit of conditioning and a trim of the unruly hairs that refused to stay in place wouldn’t hurt.

By the time he was dressed in one of his neater sweaters, and jeans that didn’t have patches over the knees, the evening light was slipping fast, leaving deep purple and orange streaks across the sky.

He did a quick tour of his house, though nothing was out of place as usual. He didn’t use his living room, den or kitchen, but he did change the sheets and pillow cases—a bit presumptuous, sure—but better to be prepared than not.

A small knot of excitement twisted his stomach. He hadn’t allowed himself to feel pleasure in so long, he’d be damned if he let this sexy man slip through his fingers.

Stone grabbed his better jacket out of the closet and left through the garage

Instead of his rusty work truck that was full of dirt and tools, he backed his 1500 Laramie RAM out of the garage. He hadn’t cranked it up in over a month so he was glad it started.

Tonight, he thought again, he wasn’t some grump who he thought was past being able to feel anything.

Tonight…he was just Bo.

And for the first time in his life, that was exactly who he wanted to be.