Page 4 of Sunshine and the Grumpy Groundskeeper (The Callahans of Elk Ridge #1)

Chapter Four

Rowan

T he early morning quiet of the maintenance shed is usually my sanctuary. Today, it's failing miserably at its one job. I'm trying to focus on repairing trail markers, but my mind keeps wandering to ridiculous sketches of bears in flannel and the way certain hazel eyes light up at the sight of every single woodland creature.

"There you are."

I look up to find Mom in the doorway, holding two steaming mugs. The scent of her signature hot chocolate—the real kind, with melted dark chocolate and a hint of cinnamon—fills the small space.

"I'm working," I say, but I'm already clearing space on my workbench.

"I can see that." She sets down the mugs and picks up one of my finished trail markers, running her fingers over the freshly painted blaze. "Though I notice these are for the east trail. Near Daisy's cabin."

"Those trails needed maintenance."

"Mhmm." She perches on my work stool, wrapping her hands around her mug. "Like the steps to her cabin needed reinforcing yesterday? And the path to her favorite sketching spot needed clearing this morning?"

I focus very intently on my work. "It's my job."

"Of course it is, sweetheart." Her tone is gentle in a way that makes me want to escape into the woods. "Just like it was your job to leave those hiking guidelines on her porch? With the wilderness safety manual?"

"She's going to get herself killed," I mutter, but it sounds weak even to my ears.

"She reminds me of someone, you know." Mom takes a sip of her chocolate. "Another dreamer who saw magic in these mountains. Who used to name all the animals and make up stories about them."

"I was eight."

"You were beautiful." She touches my arm, and I finally meet her eyes. "You still are, when you let yourself be."

I set down my tools with a sigh. "Mom..."

"I know, I know. You're all grown up and serious now. The practical son. The reliable one." She gestures at the perfectly organized shed. "But honey, not everyone needs to be practical all the time. Some people see the world differently. And that's not a bad thing."

"It is when they're wandering off trails and trying to interview groundhogs."

"Ah yes, Gordon the Mayor." Her eyes twinkle. "Liam told me about that. Said it was the first time he's heard you laugh in months."

"I didn't—" I stop at her knowing look. "It wasn't a laugh. It was a sound of exasperation."

"Right." She picks up one of my trail markers again. "You know, these are different from your usual ones. More detailed. Almost artistic."

I don't tell her I spent extra time on them after Daisy mentioned having trouble following the standard blazes. That I added more distinctive shapes and brighter colors, thinking about how her face lights up at anything vibrant or whimsical.

"They're just markers."

"And that collection of wildflower guidebooks you borrowed from the library? Light reading?"

Heat creeps up my neck. "She needs to know which plants are safe."

"And the fact that you spent an hour with Rascal this morning, working on basic trail commands?"

"That dog is a menace to himself and others."

"That dog adores you." She sets down her mug. "And his owner seems pretty fond of you too."

"Mom." Warning creeps into my tone.

"I know, I know. You're not interested. You've got your walls up nice and high after what happened with?—"

"Don't."

She sighs. "Rowan, sweetheart. Not everyone leaves."

"Heather did." The words come out before I can stop them.

"Heather," Mom says carefully, "was never meant for mountain life. She made that very clear when she took that job in the city."

"After promising she loved it here. After saying she understood what the lodge meant to us." I grab my tools again, needing something to do with my hands. "After making me think..."

"Not everyone sees magic the way Daisy does," Mom says softly. "Some people just see trees and dirt and a life that's too quiet for them. But some people..." She gestures out the door, where Daisy's bright laugh carries from somewhere near the garden. "Some people see exactly what you used to see. Before you decided it was safer not to look."

"I have work to do."

"Yes, you do." She stands, pressing a kiss to my temple like she did when I was small. "But maybe it's not the kind you think."

She's almost to the door when I blurt out, "I made him a sweater."

She turns back. "What?"

"Rascal. He was shivering this morning when Daisy brought him out for his walk. I found an old baby sweater in the lost and found. Modified it a bit." I duck my head, fighting a smile at the memory of the tiny dog's excited wiggling as I fitted it on him. "It's practical. For safety. Can't have him getting sick and making Daisy worry..."

When I look up, Mom's giving me that soft look that makes me feel about five years old again.

"Don't," I warn.

"I didn't say anything." But her smile says plenty. "Though I did notice you used the purple yarn. The color Daisy said was her favorite when she was admiring my knitting yesterday."

"Pure coincidence."

"Of course." She pauses at the door. "You know, some people are worth lowering those walls for. Even if it's scary. Even if you're not sure they'll stay."

Late afternoon finds me hauling lumber to a small clearing off the east trail, definitely not thinking about how Daisy's face lights up every time she spots wildlife. The fact that this happens to be where deer often graze in the early morning is purely coincidental.

"That's an interesting project."

I nearly drop the boards at Connor's voice. My brother leans against a tree, looking far too amused for my comfort.

"It's maintenance," I mutter, resuming my work on what will eventually be a small viewing blind, carefully positioned to be unobtrusive while offering clear sightlines to the meadow.

"Maintenance, huh?" Connor pushes off the tree to help me position a beam. "You know, if Daisy needs help with wildlife observation, that's kind of my department. I could take her out on one of my guided tours."

The board I'm holding creaks under my suddenly tight grip. "She's fine."

"She tried to follow a deer yesterday, Row."

"Which is why I'm restoring the old blind." I focus on securing a joint, refusing to acknowledge the heat creeping up my neck. "Safe distance. Clear sight lines. Proper precautions."

"Right." Connor hands me another board. "And the new butterfly garden outside her cabin? That's for safety too?"

"The lodge needs more pollinator-friendly areas."

"And the detailed trail markers you spent hours on?"

"Regular maintenance."

A delighted laugh carries through the trees, followed by excited barking. We both turn to see Daisy in the distance, crouched down with her notebook as she watches a family of rabbits. She's wearing that ridiculous sweater covered in tiny foxes, and Rascal's sporting his new purple outfit, and I'm definitely not noticing how the late afternoon light catches the gold in her hair.

"You know," Connor says carefully, "I really could take over showing her around. It's literally my job, little brother. Let you get back to your actual maintenance work."

"No." The word comes out sharper than I intend.

"No?"

"She's..." I search for a reasonable explanation that isn't 'I don't want her looking at the woods with anyone else.' "She's already built a rapport with me. Plus, I have a good feel for what she’s looking for. Changing guides now would be inefficient."

"Inefficient," Connor repeats, and I can hear the smile in his voice. "That's what we're calling it?"

I shoot him a glare that would send most people running. Connor just grins.

"You know what I think?" He picks up another board, helping me angle it into place. "I think you like that she sees these trails differently. That she makes up stories about every animal she spots. That she's got our practical groundskeeper building wildlife blinds and planting butterfly gardens..."

"If you have time to stand here theorizing, you have time to help me finish this properly."

"Sure." Connor's voice softens. "But Row? She's good for you. I haven't seen you this invested in anything since..."

"She's only here for two weeks," I cut in, driving a nail with perhaps more force than necessary.

"Maybe." Connor steps back to survey our work. "Or maybe some people are worth building wildlife blinds for. Even if you're not sure they'll stay."

"You've been talking to Mom."

"I've been watching my brother come alive again."

I'm saved from responding by more excited barking. Through the trees, I can see Daisy spinning in a patch of sunlight, arms spread wide as butterflies dance around her new garden. She looks like something from a fairy tale, all joy and light and impossible dreams.

"Shut up," I tell Connor, who hasn't said anything but is radiating smugness.

"Didn't say a word." He starts gathering his tools, then pauses. "But if you change your mind about the guided tours..."

"I won't."

"Yeah," he says with a knowing smile. "That's what I figured."