Page 6 of Mountain Man Claimed (Hard Timber Mountain Men #4)

ROWAN

The Woodshed was supposed to be quiet after hours.

That was the appeal of stopping by now. If I waited until morning, it would be busy with everyone trying to fit in a workout before their day got started.

But if I took the packet over tonight, I could cross it off my list and Dane would have a better chance of getting on next week’s agenda.

Clean paperwork meant a clean conscience, and I preferred both.

Gillian had teased me when I left about stopping by to see Dane on a Friday night, but it didn’t mean anything.

I locked my car and let myself in through the front door. The lobby lights glowed, but the main floor was empty. Free weights stacked in neat rows. Yoga mats were rolled up tight and stowed away against the wall. I set the folder on the counter and pulled out the problem page.

Liability coverage, section three. The policy listed The Woodshed as insured, but not the expansion use.

If the courts were added, the plan needed a certificate showing recreational coverage specific to them and proof of additional insured status for the town during public programs. It wouldn’t be difficult to fix, but Dane had missed it.

Before I had a chance to go looking for him, I heard music. It was low and steady, not the usual tempo for a high impact workout. The sound tugged me down the hall, past the studios, to the last door on the right that stood halfway open.

Inside, Dane held Harvey by the shoulder, guiding him through some dance steps.

The cane Harvey had leaned on since his hip surgery rested against the mirror, forgotten for the moment.

Dane counted under his breath. “One, two, three. One, two, three.” His voice was calm and sure, the kind a person trusted without thinking about it.

Harvey missed a beat and frowned. “I feel like a lumbering ox.”

“You look steady,” Dane said. “Just take smaller steps.” He shifted his hand a fraction. “Try again.”

I should have backed away. This was none my business. Still, I stayed where I was.

Harvey spotted me first. His face warmed with color that had nothing to do with exertion. “Good evening, Ms. March. I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Sorry for sneaking up on you,” I said, stepping inside only far enough to be polite. “I brought paperwork for Mr. Thorne. I can leave it at the desk.”

“You’re not interrupting,” Dane said. There was a flicker in his eyes, not embarrassment exactly, more like him trying to figure out how much I’d seen. He eased Harvey toward a chair and handed him a water bottle. “What did I miss?”

I held up the page. “Your policy needs to name the courts as an approved use and list the town as additional insured for public programs. Section three was left blank.”

“Right.” He accepted the sheet and studied it with a seriousness that always surprised me when it surfaced. “I can get that. Do you want it by email or hard copy?”

“Both,” I said , then wished I hadn’t sounded so abrupt. “Email for review. Hard copy for the packet.”

“Done.” He set the page on the sound system, his eyes still on mine. “Since you’re here, can I ask a favor?” He offered his hand, palm up. “Harvey needs a partner.”

“No.” My answer came out before I’d even fully registered the question. “I don’t think I’m the right person for that.”

Harvey chuckled. “Go on, Ms. March. A real partner would help.”

“Oh, I’m not a real partner.” An edge of panic laced through my words. “And I’m working.”

“Two minutes,” Dane said. “For the Founders’ Festival.”

The name caught me. The Founders’ Festival meant food booths on Main, kids running around with caramel apples, lumberjack games at the park, and a dance under the string lights on Saturday night . Couples would turn slow circles while the band played something nostalgic.

We were two weeks out, which meant if Harvey wanted to move comfortably under those lights, he needed to practice now, not the week of the event.

“For Nellie,” Harvey added, his eyes kind. “I want to ask her to dance, but I don’t want to step on her toes or fall over my own feet.” He tried to make it a joke, but it didn’t hide the hope that sat just under the words.

Hope was an argument I rarely ignored. Knowing deep down that I was edging over a line I’d never been tempted to cross, I placed my hand in Dane’s.

His palm was warm and calloused, steady without pressure. He moved closer and set his other hand on my back.

“Left foot forward,” he said, his voice low and steady. “Then step, together, side. Right foot back. Together, side. That’s the box.”

I could diagram the box on a permit plan. Doing it with my feet was different. I focused on the math of it. Forward one, collect two, side three. Back one, collect two, side three. The pattern anchored my breathing while his hand anchored my balance.

“You don’t have to look at your shoes,” he said.

“I’m not looking at my shoes,” I lied.

He huffed out a laugh, and my attention shifted to his mouth. That didn’t help. I focused on his eyes instead. That was even worse. Letting someone else lead went against every rule I’d written for myself since my parents split. Since the first time I learned love could walk away.

“That’s better,” he said. “Now let the steps live in your feet.”

Live in my feet? I didn’t have any idea what that meant, but I tried.

The first two attempts were beyond awkward.

On the third, my body recognized the pattern and did it automatically.

My shoulders loosened a fraction. The fabric at my waist warmed under Dane’s hand.

The room shrank to the lines we drew with each set of three.

Harvey watched us with the smug satisfaction of a man who’d arranged exactly what he wanted and wouldn’t admit it.

He tapped the beat against his knee. When I glanced over, he lifted his chin toward the door with the slightest suggestion of privacy.

Then he looked away, humming along and pretending not to listen in.

“Again,” Dane said, his tone even softer now. “Left. Together. Side.”

I moved. He led. My mind tried to find some professional reason to justify dancing with Dane Thorne and failed. My body seemed to understand before my thoughts did that it was possible to be held and still be steady.

“You’re not bad at this,” he said.

“I’m not good at it either. I don’t dance,” I said.

“You do now.” He guided me through a turn. I made it halfway and caught myself against his shoulder. I stepped back fast, heat rising in my cheeks.

“Sorry,” I said.

“For what?” His hand at my back tightened just enough to keep me from quitting. “You didn’t fall.”

The song shifted into another with the same tempo. The speaker crackled and smoothed out again. Harvey pretended to study his phone.

“What made you decide to start giving dance lessons?” I asked, keeping my voice light.

Dane shrugged. “Harvey asked. And I’m not about to shut down a guy who wants to shoot his shot at the Founders’ Festival. I can show him the steps. Making it mean something? That part’s on him.”

I tilted my head. “I didn’t peg you for a dance coach. I always figured your lessons leaned more toward how to get a woman all hot and bothered.”

His gaze dipped to my mouth before traveling back to my eyes, a deliberate drag that set my nerves buzzing. “That one usually comes with a live demo.”

My pulse shot skyward. Heat crept up the back of my neck, but I didn’t look away. “Let me guess. Starts with footwork, ends with somebody pressed up against a wall?”

“Only if she wants it that way.” His smirk was wicked and unhurried. “Are you offering to help me with the next lesson, March?”

I took a tiny step closer—just enough to shift the air between us. “Depends. You trying to pass with flying colors? Or just hoping I forget how to count?”

His voice dropped a notch. “I don’t dance for practice.”

Tension stretched tight, like a rubber band being pulled in two different directions. Part of me wanted to lean in and let it snap.

Instead, I took a breath and eased back, slipping behind the safety of the reason I’d stopped by in the first place.

“Good to know,” I said. “But unless you’ve got a facilities use form tucked in that back pocket, we’re off-topic and my dance card is full.”

“Are you sure? I’ve got pretty decent penmanship and could add a line for you.”

I arched a brow. “Great. Then you can write your own liability waiver when you pull something trying to show off for the crowd.”

He laughed, warm and low. “I’ll risk it.”

“I don’t doubt it,” I said, already turning. “Just keep the dance floor drama to a minimum. This is a family event.”

“Noted.” He tipped his head toward the folder on the stereo. “How much did I miss by leaving section three blank?”

“Enough to slow you two weeks if you leave it like that,” I said. “The council likes documenting risk nearly as much as it likes lemon bars.”

“Good to know,” he said. “I’ll trade lemon bars for signatures if I have to.”

“Even the best lemon bars won’t influence approvals,” I said.

“Correct documentation will,” he said, and I felt the smile in his words even if I refused to return it.

He slowed our pace, and we eased through the last few measures of the song. I let myself look where his hand met my cardigan. A single thread had lifted at the hem. He noticed and brushed his thumb once along the line. It should have made me jump, but it didn’t.

“Rowan,” he said. My name in his mouth sounded like a promise he was trying not to break.

I stepped back, and the spell thinned. I held on to professionalism like a safety grip. “I think that’s enough for tonight.”

He released me immediately. “Thanks for being a good sport. For Harvey.”

Harvey pushed to his feet with his cane and gave me a formal nod. “You’ve never made a man feel less foolish,” he said. “Tell me that’s not a skill.”

“It’s not a skill,” I said. “It’s a function of distraction.”

He chuckled. “Well, it worked. Will you two show me one more time so I can watch the count?”

I should have said no. Instead, I agreed. “Just once more.”

We took the frame again. Dane adjusted the distance, asked without words, and I let him close the space.

We moved cleanly through a box and a half turn.

Harvey counted aloud, pleased. On the second turn, I glanced at our reflection in the studio mirror.

The woman in the glass looked like me, but also didn’t.

She looked like a person who understood her own balance better when someone else set the rhythm.

“That should be good,” I said, but didn’t step away for another three beats.

Harvey gathered his things. “I’m going to call it a night,” he said. “Ms. March, thank you. Dane, I’ll plan on Sunday at seven if that still works for you?”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Dane said.

Harvey paused in the doorway, tipped his cane in a half salute, and left us with the music still playing low.

Dane stood an arm’s length away, not moving, not performing, just present. He was very good at being present when he wanted to be.

“You didn’t have to stay,” he said.

“I came for a signature,” I said. The form on the stereo stared at me like the safest thing in the room. “I stayed for Harvey.”

“And for yourself?” he asked.

I wasn’t willing to go there. Not yet, maybe not ever. “If I receive the certificate by Monday afternoon, I can still get your packet on Thursday’s agenda.”

“I’ll get it.” He walked over to the stereo and turned off the music. “Come on, I’ll walk you out.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“Maybe not for you, but it is for me. It’s late. Let me make sure you get to your car okay, will you?”

Sensing I’d lose that battle if I put up resistance , I nodded.

When we reached the front counter, he locked the cash drawer and flipped two switches. Light fell across the desk and the corkboard where someone had pinned the Founders’ Festival schedule. Dancing Saturday at eight. Live band. No cover. All ages welcome.

“Are you going?” he asked.

“I staff the public information table during the parade,” I said. “After that, I’m not required to stay.”

“That’s not really an answer,” he said.

I shrugged. “I’ll probably wander around for a bit. I like supporting local businesses and there will be plenty of booths to peruse.”

“Good. Then I’ll see you there.” He held the door open.

I stepped out and paused at the top of the stairs to breathe in the cooler night air.

“Rowan,” he said, and the sound made me turn.

He was close enough that I could see a smear of chalk along his forearm and a nick on his knuckle where a weight plate had probably got him earlier in the day.

A person could catalog those details and call it due diligence.

Or she could acknowledge she wanted to touch both places.

“Thank you for helping Harvey,” he said. “He won’t say it more than once, but it matters.”

“I know,” I said. My voice came out quiet. “And you’ll drop off the certificate on Monday.”

“I will.”

We looked at each other a beat too long.

The air between us shifted, like whatever had passed between us while we danced had followed us outside.

He leaned in like a man who had every intention of asking a question he hadn’t asked yet.

I felt myself moving closer in response, then remembered who I was and where we were.

“I should go,” I said.

He nodded once, acceptance without injury. “Good night, March.”

The nickname should have irritated me. At least he’d stopped calling me Sergeant. Tonight it sounded like a promise to use only the part of my name I could bear.

“Good night,” I moved down the steps without looking back.

In my car, I set the folder on the passenger seat and sat for a moment with my hands on the wheel. I had come for a missing line on a form. I was leaving with the impression of a hand steady at my back and the sure beat of one, two, three sitting under my skin like a second pulse.

Checklists hadn’t failed me yet. I wouldn’t let them start now.

I started the engine. The Founders’ Festival was coming up.

The town would hang lights and gather on Main and pretend summer could last a little longer.

A man who taught an old friend to dance would stand under those lights and prove something to himself.

A woman who didn’t dance would choose whether to step onto the floor.

I pulled out of the parking lot with the music still counting time inside my chest and a very inconvenient thought in my head. The Butterfly might know how to land. The question was whether I would let him.