Page 1 of Denim & Diamonds

February

Ugh. My aching head.

I lifted it from the pillow and looked around the room.

Where the hell am I? This was definitely not my room at Sierra Wellness Center, and why the heck are my eyes burning so much?

I must’ve left my contacts in last night.

I blinked a few times, attempting to get rid of the dryness.

It helped, but when my vision came into focus, I found myself staring into the eyes of… a giant moose.

“Holy shit!” I jumped from the bed and landed on my ass on the hard floor.

Clunk-clunk. Click.

Clunk-clunk. Click.

My grandfather had loved old westerns, so I knew the unmistakable sound of a shotgun being pumped and cocked. I squeezed my eyes shut and raised my hands into the air. I might’ve also peed my pants a little. “Don’t shoot! Please don’t shoot!”

“What the hell, Red?” a deep, throaty voice growled. “I’m not going to fucking shoot you. ”

I peeked one eye open and found a bearded man standing on the other side of the bed wearing a pair of boxer shorts and holding a gun. He looked vaguely familiar.

“Well, then stop pointing that thing at me!”

“Sorry.” He lowered it. “What the hell did you scream like that for?”

I blinked a few times. “Who the hell are you?”

“Jesus Christ,” the guy mumbled. “You don’t remember last night?”

My eyes bulged. Last night? Oh my God. Did I sleep with this lumberjack? I looked down and was relieved to find I still had all my clothes on, boots and all.

The guy shook his head. “You’d remember it, sweetheart. Trust me.”

“ What? ”

“You just checked to see what you were wearing, so I’m guessing you were questioning whether we had sex. We didn’t. And if we had, you’d remember it.”

“Why is that?”

The corner of his lip twitched. “How’s your noggin?”

The pain I’d felt when I first opened my eyes came roaring back with a vengeance. I reached for my head. “Who are you, and what the heck did I drink last night?”

Lumberjack bent and lifted the mattress, casually tucking the rifle between it and the boxspring.

“Is that where that gets filed?” I asked.

His lip twitched again. “It is. And an extra dry martini, shaken not stirred, with a lemon twist, dash of orange bitters, and two bleu cheese olives.”

I felt my nose wrinkle. “ What ?”

“You asked what you drank last night. That’s what your prissy order was. Though that’s not actually what you drank. ”

“A dry martini is not prissy.”

“In this town it is, especially the way you order it.”

“What did I drink if my order was too prissy for you?”

“Vodka.”

“With?”

“Ice.”

“No wonder my head is killing me. Why would you give me that?”

Lumberjack’s eyebrows shot up. “Because you asked for it when I told you I didn’t have orange bitters, bleu cheese olives, or lemons, and I was all out of vermouth.”

“ You told me you didn’t have it? So you’re who…the bartender?”

He frowned. “Yeah. I’m the bartender. Is that below your standards or something? I also own the place.”

“I didn’t mean it like that… I just…” I shook my head and looked around the room. For the first time, I realized the moose wasn’t alone. He had friends—a deer with big antlers, a bear, and some other thing I thought might be an elk. “Did you kill all these animals?”

Lumberjack folded his arms across his broad chest. “Is that a problem?”

“I’m guessing for them it was.”

He walked around the bed and held a hand out to me—I was still sitting on the floor. I hesitated, and he shook his head. “It’s my hand, sweetheart. Not my dick.”

My nose scrunched up. “Crass much?”

“Rather be crass than condescending.”

I put my hand in his. “I am not condescending.”

“No?”

“No. ”

He helped me to my feet. “If you say so.”

I brushed my clothes off. “Do you have a bathroom I can use?”

Lumberjack pointed. “Maybe while you’re in there, you can pry the stick out of your ass.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You’re rude.”

He sighed. “Just go do what you gotta do, Red.”

“ Red. That’s original.” I attempted to lift my chin into the air and keep a bit of my dignity as I walked to the bathroom. But the screech I let out when I shut the door was anything but dignified. “Umm…Lumberjack?” I was afraid to move.

Footsteps came closer on the other side of the door. “Is that supposed to be me?”

“Did you know there’s a giant dog in your bathtub?”

“I did indeed.”

The Saint Bernard tilted his head at me, curiously. “You could’ve warned me.”

There was silence for a few seconds, then, “Hey, Red?”

“Yeah?”

“Oak sleeps in the bathtub.”

“Is Oak the dog?”

“Yep.”

“Does he bite?”

“He sleeps in the bathtub because he’s afraid of his own shadow. I think you’re safe.”

“Great,” I mumbled.

I had one of those bladders that got overly excited once it saw a toilet, so I didn’t have time for any more small talk. I walked to the porcelain throne and peed while the giant dog stared. Fitting. I had a moose and deer watch me sleep .

Oh, and it turned out I actually had peed my pants a little.

This morning just kept getting better and better.

I slipped my thong off, flushed, and went to the sink to wash my hands.

Looking up, I caught my reflection in the mirror.

Oh God. I didn’t look much better than the poor mounted heads.

My auburn hair was plastered to one side of my face with what might be drool, puffy green eyes were streaked with red lines from not taking out my daily wears, and dark raccoon circles rimmed underneath.

I washed up and did my best to fix my hair and face, but there wasn’t much that could make this hangover look any better than it felt.

At least when I opened the bathroom door, the smell of fresh coffee wafted through the air.

I found Lumberjack in the kitchen—which technically was also the bedroom and living room in his studio apartment.

His back was to me, so I took a moment to appreciate the view.

Broad shoulders, narrow waist, and what looked like a pretty muscular ass under those boxer briefs.

He was tall—super tall, actually, maybe a foot bigger than my five foot four.

Definitely not my normal type. I tended to go for a runner’s body—lean and trim, whereas this guy could best be described as burly.

Without turning around, he pointed to the counter next to him. “Coffee’s there. And I figured you could use some Motrin.”

“God, yes. Thank you.” I walked over and lifted the steaming mug. “You wouldn’t happen to have any creamer, would you?”

“Definitely not.”

“Milk?”

“Nope.”

“So I guess dairy-free cashew creamer blended with oat milk is out of the question? ”

He looked over at me, frowned, and went back to what he was doing without saying a word.

I brought the mug to my lips. “Okay then…”

Lumberjack poured a second coffee in silence while I swallowed two Motrin with scalding black coffee. When he was done, he leaned a hip against the counter and looked at me.

“How many vodkas did I drink last night?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Three maybe?”

“The bar had dark paneling, right?”

“Yep.”

I attempted to fit together the bits and pieces of things I could remember. “And a jukebox? I remember putting on Taylor Swift. But then it broke, I think?”

Lumberjack smirked. “I have a secret kill switch behind the bar that cuts the power. Usually have to use it at two AM when drunk fifty-year-olds put on Billy Joel and sing along. I cut you off the third time you played ‘Shake It Off’.”

“Not a Swiftie?”

“Don’t mind her. But I didn’t like the way some of my patrons were looking at you while you were dancing.”

“How exactly were they looking at me?”

He tipped back his mug and drank. “You probably shouldn’t go out by yourself and get hammered.”

“Why? Because I’m a woman?”

“Because you’re a fucking lightweight. And the wrong person could’ve taken you home.”

I sighed. He had a point. I didn’t know this guy from Adam, but I didn’t feel unsafe here with him. “You’re right. Thank you for taking care of me.”

He nodded once.

“It’s just been a really bad week.” I shook my head. “A really bad few months, actually.”

“Is that why you’re at that bougie mental hospital?”

I frowned. “Sierra Wellness Center is not a mental hospital. It’s a voluntary wellness facility.”

“Whatever.” He shrugged. “Are you famous or something?”

“Why would you ask me that?”

“Because a lot of celebrities have come through town to spend time there since it was built three years ago.”

“Oh.” I shook my head. “I’m not famous. My handbags are maybe, but not me.”

“Handbags?”

“I own Amourette, the purse company.”

“Never heard of it.”

“I don’t think they would style well with your moose head and shotgun.”

“Guess that stick was too far up there to pry it out in the bathroom, huh?”

“I was trying to be funny.”

“You’re about as good at that as you are drinking.”

I smiled. “What’s your name? Or should I just continue to call you Lumberjack, like I have been in my head since I woke up at gunpoint?”

“Name’s Brock.”

“Huh…”

“Huh what?”

I shrugged. “It fits you.”

“And what’s yours?”

“February.”

His brows jumped. “Like the month?”

“Exactly like the month.”

“Who names their kid February?”

I sighed. “We don’t have time for the story of my mother.” But speaking of time … I looked around for a clock. “What time is it anyway? ”

“Eleven.”

My eyes widened. “In the morning?”

“Well, you didn’t knock out until four, so it’s not like you slept that long.”

“God, I’m screwed . My ladder is definitely going to be gone by now.”

“Your ladder?”

“That’s how I snuck out. My room is on the second floor. I paid one of the maintenance guys to leave a ladder at my window, but he said he’d have to get rid of it before the sun came up.”

“Why do you have to sneak out? I thought you said the place was voluntary?”

“It is. But if you leave, they discharge you from the program. And if I get kicked out, I’m screwed.”

“How are you screwed?”