Chapter Six
Maura
It’s clear that honesty is important to Jax. He didn’t have to tell me everything. I’m so glad he did. I realize he’s a total stranger, but I sense I can trust him.
The little glimpses of sorrow in his eyes make me sad for him, for the boy he was. The man he is. I know how much it hurts to lose the only one who cared when his gramps died, and he couldn’t even be there. I’m glad he has this refuge. This reminder.
He pulls on a jacket, turns his back to me and squats a little. “Put your arms around my neck and wrap your legs around my hips. It’s gonna be cold.”
The first step onto the porch steals my breath and I bury my face against his neck. Damn, he smells good. That same woodsy scent that was all over the pillow warms me in all my girly places.
I’ve never had a boyfriend. The bogus dates my father set up and insisted I go on were potential contract dates that had nothing to do with what I wanted or who I liked.
Then there was the one and only disastrous pity fuck that my supposed friend in college set up. Talk about disappointment.
No one has ever made me feel seen for myself. Until now.
“This is the rope I told you about.” He lifts his hand to show me his grasp on the rope tied to the porch rail. “Right now, I can see the barn, but a flurry could hit at any moment in this kind of storm, so I’ll keep hold of this until we reach the barn door.”
Something tells me my big burly mountain man would not be holding the rope, but he wants to make damn sure I would.
Inside the barn is cool but not as cold as outside. He lowers me to my bundled feet and flips a switch. I’m stunned. “Wha—what is all this furniture?”
Stepping away I inspect the first piece, a custom coffee table, the top engraved with a deer and her fawns. A buck stands in the distance watching over them.
Turning, I see him standing to the side, palms stuffed in his front pockets. He shrugs. “This was something Gramps used to do. Most of the stuff is his. I picked it up from him. I find the work peaceful, and it reminds me of him. I’m not as good, but it keeps me busy.”
“What do you mean you aren’t as good? Did you do this deer table?”
He nods.
“It’s freaking amazing!”
I look around the barn and there are pieces everywhere. Crossing to another bench I see a dozen-child sized carved animals. Deer, rabbits, and squirrels.
“Where do you sell these?”
“There’s a guy in town that lets me put a couple pieces in his place and once in a while I get a commission piece from it.”
“You should have your own showroom. We could take some to Portland, Salem and Eugene. Or better yet online.”
“It’s not about making money. It’s about liking the work, Maura.”
I turn and put my hand on his chest. “I understand that. And it’s the connection to Gramps. But these pieces are so beautiful that the joy they would bring others is also a tribute to him.
“If you really don’t want or need the money you could donate it to a Vets home or for others who have PTSD.”
“What was your grandfather’s name?”
“Jonah. Jonah Alexander. Gram was Tilly.”
“You could name the fund after them.”
He looks around the barn and all the items. “I’ll think about it. You make some good points and I’m running out of space even in this big ol’ barn.”
He leads me farther into the depths of the building and I see a totally tricked out gym, including a two-story climbing wall. “So, this is not a barn, but a high-end man cave with woodworking tools and a full workout setup. Where’s the pool?”
He laughs. “That’s the pond off the river. It’s outside and covered with ice right now. I’ll take you there in the spring.”
I look at him. “I’m going to hold you to that.”
There’s a door to the right that leads into the chicken coup. “Are these the only animals you keep?”
“Yeah. I like eggs and we got tired of running to town for them. If I’m on a search I can load them up with water and feed and they’ll be good for a couple days. Besides, they’re not bad watch dogs in a pinch. They’ll set up a squawk if something or someone shows up.”
“I always wanted a dog. My father wouldn’t hear of it.” I study Jax. “You look like a dog kinda guy to me. Why don’t you have one?”
“Gramps had one when I was a kid. She passed just before I went into the service. After his next one died, he said he was too old for another. Maybe someday I’ll get one. Hell, I’m still getting used to being out of the service.”
“How long has it been?”
“I’ve been back eight months.”
Learning to trust himself and finding a new path I’d guess. I wander around all the beautiful furniture and carvings while he checks the feed and water for the chickens.
He joins me, placing a hand on my back. “Wind’s picking up. We should get back inside.”
I lift the wooden spaniel I’m holding. “Did you make this?”
Nodding, he says, “You can have it if you’d like.”
“I would like that very much.”
At the door he has me jump on his back and lock my feet in front of him like before. The wind has indeed picked up and going back is a much harder trudge into the force. His strength is almost inhuman.
Once inside we shed our coats. “Okay, my turn to take care of you. Get the stove going and give me a pot. I saw chicken noodle soup in your pantry. I’m sure I can heat that up.”
“Sounds good. “I’ve got some fresh baked bread we can warm to go with it.”
After dinner he surprises me with several sketch books and graphite pencils. “Where did you get these?”
“I learned from Gramps to always have them hanging around. You don’t think we do our carving and woodwork without a design do you? I imagine it’s the same for you as a clothing designer. You sketch it first.”
“True. Thank you, I appreciate these. I never go anywhere without mine.”
“Will you be able to recreate what was in your bag?” he asks.
“Mostly, I think.”
“Or it will come back to you even better.”
I smile. “Wait, you must have some of your work. I want to see. Please?”
“I do, but?—”
“No but. I want to see. Go, go get the sketch books, now.”