Page 86 of Hotshot

I hated the general malaise and mistrust. I hated that the locals railed that they had no voice but did nothing to invite change. I hated that I was everything that they thought I was—a grifter, an opportunist with an agenda. A phony cowboy.

At least, that was how it had started. I wasn’t that guy anymore. I didn’t want to take without giving, I didn’t want to be a corporate figurehead, an out-of-touch cowboy. I wanted to make a difference. And somehow, I had to get my point across to my employees and the entire Four Forest area.

So I addressed a warehouse full of operators, machinists, and mechanics with Cooper’s microphone.

“I’ll keep this quick and to the point. Change is hard, and new ownership makes people nervous. I get it. Rocky Mountain is a corporation, but that’s not a bad thing. Hear me out. We have the ability to pay good wages with benefits, which immediately affects your wallet. In the long term, we can help rebuild this town and fix what’s broken. And don’t tell me nothing is broken—I’ve driven by the burned-out neon sign for Wood Hollow Elementary, the busted swing set in the park, and the rusted trash bin in front of the post office a hundred times. Those are simple fixes, but they aren’t getting done. I’m not here to ruin the town. I want to make it better. That’s going to take change and planning.”

The rumble of dissent frustrated me. Before I could tackle it, someone yelled, “What does a cowboy know about building houses anyway?”

“Nothing. I run a mill,” I shot back. “I know about forestry. I know how to drive a tractor, run the kiln, and how to load a twenty-six-thousand-pound capacity truck. You need me to prove it, I’m all in. But you need someone to run this place too. The job orders to build homes were initiated years ago. We’re here because we know how to do the job better than anyone else without ruining the forest. You don’t believe me…let me prove it. Nothing happens overnight—except maybe photocopying a hundred ancient photos of me and taping them to the warehouse door. Trust me, no one hates that picture more than me, but it doesn’t change anything. We have a business to run and important things to do for this town. I need everyone here on board. If you’re not interested, you know where the door is.”

The warehouse was quiet for a long moment. And it stayed quiet.

A few people moved to the exit, while one or two clapped. It reminded me of the time I’d signed up to play the guitar for the school talent show. I’d taken a handful of lessons and thought I was ready for prime time. My fifth grade classmates hadn’t agreed. It was cringeworthy and embarrassing. Needless to say, I never touched the guitar again.

The desire to join the few folks walking out the door was strong, but the desire to help was stronger.

However, I had a sinking feeling that no matter how much I wanted to do the right thing, I was already in over my head.

22

DENNY

News about the graffiti protest at the mill spread throughout Elmwood like wildfire. This was the final week of camp so the town was still in hockey mode, but the locals threw themselves into a hearty debate on the subject. By the time I’d wrapped up at the rink and headed to the diner with Trinsky and a few other coaches, Wood Hollow was a hot topic.

“I don’t blame them for being leery of corporate takeover,” Court said, popping a fry into his mouth.

“Yeah, but no one’s done much of anything in Wood Hollow in the past hundred years. It’s time to get with the program. I mean, look at this place.” Vinnie gestured to the diner from his perch on a stool at the counter. “Look at the happy campers chowing on burgers and fries. This diner has been here forever, but it didn’t look like this until Nolan made it happen and JC added to the menu. And JC is from fucking Quebec!”

“Trust me, I had a lot of angry customers who didn’t want broken jukeboxes removed from the tables,” Nolan added, resting his hand on his husband’s shoulder. “They didn’t care for the chandeliers I’d chosen, they wanted the ancient cigarette andcandy bar vending machines to stay, and they were very leery of JC.”

JC nodded sardonically. “Can you believe it? Me? I am a great guy. It makes no sense. But food makes sense and once they were finished hating my accent, they realized zee new menu was better than zee old. No one is complaining today. We have a full house every day, every night.”

Even now the diner was bumping. Every table was spoken for, indoors and on the outside patio too…with good reason. The food was amazing and the atmosphere was a perfect blend of sophistication and small-town charm. The diner had been written up in travel guides, along with Rise and Grind and Henderson’s Bakery.

Elmwood took pride in its revitalized identity. Wood Hollow had no identity outside of logging and no pride whatsoever. Maybe Hank’s trip to Vermont had started as a quick fix way to make a few dollars and help his dad, but I knew Hank cared…probably more than he’d wanted to.

Buzz buzz

I pulled my cell out as I strode to the exit, answering on the second ring without checking caller ID. It had to be Hank. I’d texted him a dozen times since I’d heard what went down. No reply so far.

“Hey, how are you?”

“Great! Oh, man, I’ve got sweet news for you, Hotshot,” my agent gushed. “Are you sitting?”

I combed my fingers through my hair. “No, um…can I call you back, McD?”

“This will only take a minute and you want to hear this. Are you ready? Denver upped your salary. Philly is in the race too, and their numbers are even bigger. We’re talking into the stratosphere.” McD named a number that didn’t seem real…or possible.

“That’s… Look, I can’t talk right now. I?—”

“And that’s not all. The endorsement offers are coming in faster than I can keep up. We’ve got men’s razors, workout gear, beer, soda, soap, shampoo. Those are just the ones I can remember. I know you’re new to the ad game, but you gotta do it while you can. Some of these campaigns are worth millions of dollars. Ask Vinnie and Riley if you don’t believe me. We’ll get you the best ones. My inbox is overflowing with options and?—”

“I have another one for you,” I blurted.

“Another what?”

“It’s a local thing.” I paced to the corner and gazed out at the bistro tables with umbrellas in front of Rise and Grind, an idea churning in my head. I didn’t think, I just…spoke. It probably sounded like gibberish, but I didn’t stop until I’d shared this kernel of an idea.