Page 5 of Mountain Man Claimed (Hard Timber Mountain Men #4)
Her comment landed like a stone dropped in water, the ripples spreading farther than she probably intended. I stood there like an idiot with a hot cup in my hand, watching her slip through the crowd and head toward Town Hall.
“Son,” a voice said at my elbow, “you got a minute?”
Harvey had come up so quietly I hadn’t heard the tap of his cane.
“For you?” I said. “Always.”
He adjusted his grip and shifted his weight. Though he’d made progress, he still wasn’t back to one hundred percent.
“I’m meeting with the doc next week,” he said. “He’s ready to clear me for more activity if I keep up my progress. Thought maybe we could meet a few times. I want my legs steady again, not just strong.”
“We’ll make a plan,” I said. “We can work on strength, balance… whatever you need.”
He held my gaze. “I might need a little rhythm too.”
I tilted my head. “Rhythm?”
“A man’s entitled to a surprise now and then,” he said, his eyes bright. “I’ve got a notion I’d like to stand up straight at the Founders’ Festival and not make a damn fool of myself.”
“For a certain person?” I asked, careful not to smile too wide.
“For myself.” He cleared his throat like he was trying to convince me that was the full truth. “Can you help me look less like a gust of wind could blow me over?”
“Yeah,” I said. “My schedule is pretty full, but I can make time in the evening.”
He nodded. “Good. Keep it between us for now.”
“Of course.”
He gave my arm a quick squeeze and moved off, blending into the crowd with the stubborn grace of a man who had no intention of giving an inch to age or surgery.
I stood there a few minutes longer and soaked in the sounds of my hometown: the laughter, Sabrina’s joy, Holt’s steady voice, Thatcher’s skepticism, Harlan’s cheap shots. All of it was Hard Timber, and I loved it in a way that made my chest hurt.
Nellie reappeared at my side out of thin air. “I caught you, Sugar. You looked at her the way a man looks at a mountain he plans to climb.”
“Who?” I figured playing dumb was my best shot against Nellie.
She gave me the kind of look that said she knew I knew exactly who she was talking about. “Come on, Dane. I’d have to be blind not to see it. She challenges you. You’re not used to people not laughing when you make a joke.”
“Rowan.” Saying her name felt like a damn admission.
“Mm-hm.” Nellie popped the last bite of muffin into her mouth and dusted her hands together. “I like her. She doesn’t waste words. If you want that woman, you’d better bring results, not charm.”
“Whoa. You’re getting ahead of yourself there.”
Nellie laughed and squeezed my forearm. “We’ll see. Take her the packet. Post the notice right where the sun hits it. Let people see you follow rules without being asked. That’ll start the right kind of talk.”
“That’s my plan,” I said.
“Make it your habit, not your plan.” She nodded toward the shop. “Go tell Sabrina you’ll sponsor some rec-league flyers and then get back to the gym. You don’t need to be seen everywhere to be taken seriously. You just need to be where you said you’d be.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Don’t ma’am me.” She smiled, soft and fierce. “Just do it.”
She drifted away, probably off to lecture another one of “her boys” who wasn’t living his life the way she thought he should. That was Nellie though. We all tolerated her because we loved her.
I ducked back inside long enough to slip a hundred in Sabrina’s tip jar and tell her I’d cover printing for league flyers when the time came. She squealed, hugged me, and offered to add my logo to her mugs. I politely refused and escaped before she made it a committee decision.
As I walked the long way back to The Woodshed, Main Street thinned out behind me.
The town looked different with Morning Wood’s sign up, like it had finally filled a missing gap.
My gym sat a few blocks over, the paint still fresh against the older brick, the lot out back waiting for lines and nets and a whole lot of work.
It would be easy to keep moving. To ride the applause from the grand opening into a new idea and then another one. To pretend that motion counted as momentum. That was the old itch . Start fast. Burn hot. Move on. It had worked for me for a long time, but I didn’t want that anymore.
I wanted to pour concrete and watch it cure.
I wanted to submit a packet with every box checked and hear Rowan say “approved” without telling me I was missing something.
I wanted to stand in a town meeting and point to seniors and kids using something I had built and know I could leave the lights on every night without second-guessing why I started.
Honestly, what I really wanted was for Rowan to look at me and The Woodshed the way she’d looked at Sabrina today.
Back at the gym, I unlocked the door and stood for a second in the quiet.
Then I pulled up my to-do list on my phone and added a couple of items: find a time for Harvey and print the ADA path detail with the adjusted dogleg for signature.
Below that, I added, post public notice where the sun hits it.
Nellie’s voice lived in that line. So did Rowan’s.
On my way to the back lot, I stopped at the front desk and looked at the chalkboard where I’d sketched the court layout.
The stars I’d drawn around the edges were gone.
Rowan had been right. They distracted from the lines.
I picked up the eraser and cleaned the corners until the numbers stood on their own.
Then I went out back and walked the stakes again, measuring with my eyes the distance between what I wanted and what I could prove. I could do it. I would do it. If Rowan showed up with papers in her hand, she’d find a man who stayed.