Mountain Man Taken

Mountain Man Taken by Eve London
Chapter One
Trace

I should have been taking advantage of the last few weeks of decent fall weather and spending my days camping and trekking through the woods. Instead, every morning, before the sun cleared the ridge, I parked behind the Hard Timber Inn, hauled out my tools, and pretended I didn’t care that half the town was losing its mind over a wedding that no one knew anything about.
“Celebrity nuptials,” Aunt Marla kept calling it, her voice full of excitement. “National coverage, Trace. Reporters, influencers… maybe even that podcaster fellow will start saying something nice about Hard Timber for a change. Imagine the publicity for the Inn.”
Yeah. I could imagine it just fine. More traffic, more gossip, more people poking at old wounds that were better left alone.
By the time I lugged my circular saw onto the back porch, sweat was already running down my back. Fall in Montana wasn’t supposed to feel like this. Or maybe it was just me. Ever since the damn Ex-List was published, I’d been irritated, restless, and way too aware that every nail I hit felt like penance for something I hadn’t done wrong.
Aunt Marla leaned through the kitchen doorway of the inn my family had owned and operated for over a hundred years. Her hair was pinned up, a pencil sticking out behind her ear like always. “Hey, Trace. They called and moved the site walk-through up to Thursday.”
I frowned. “Who’s they?”
“The fancy wedding planner from California. And Sabrina.”
The saw jerked in my hand. I set it down slow, every single one of my muscles tightening with tension. “Sabrina Meyer?”
“Who else?” She waved the towel she’d been using to wipe flour from her hands. “She knows this place better than anyone. I asked her to help coordinate with that big-shot wedding planner. Be nice, will you?”
I grunted something that could have passed for agreement. But when the door swung shut behind her, a heavy silence settled around me… thick enough to choke me and full of ghosts.
Sabrina. Back here.
I hadn’t seen much of her since she quit working at the inn and opened Morning Wood Coffee, unless I counted the accidental glances across Main Street when I was heading into The Hard & Handy every morning. We used to trade favors. She’d make me muffins when I fixed a leaky pipe or I’d build her a set of shelves in exchange for a homemade dinner. Now we pretty much avoided each other and tried to pretend like we didn’t exist in the same small town.
Up until a couple of years ago, she’d been my best friend. One night after an almost-kiss, something shifted. Things got awkward as fuck. Then the Ex-List went live and turned me into one of Hard Timber’s cautionary tales. The list called me The Heartbreaker. Hell of a title for a guy who’d never let anyone close enough to break a heart.
By noon, my small crew had gone to lunch, leaving me with the sound of the wind rustling through the dry leaves that hadn’t fallen yet and the rhythmic buzz of my drill. I ran my palm over the new deck. It was smooth and clean and free of splinters. If only hearts were that easy to sand down.
A truck door slammed out front. I heard a few voices. Then Sabrina’s. There was no mistaking the low, calm, confident tone. She was the one who used to talk me down after long days. Now her voice just haunted my memories.
She rounded the corner of the inn, clipboard in hand, her long, dark hair twisted up on top of her head. Cheeks flushed and hazel eyes more green than brown, she somehow looked exactly the same and nothing like the girl I used to know.
“Marla said you’d be out here,” she said, her eyes cool but not cold. “She wanted me to check the layout before the planner arrives.”
I got up from where I’d been kneeling down to screw in the last few boards. “You’re coordinating?”
“For now.” She adjusted the strap of her messenger bag. “The official planner is coming in for a site visit this afternoon, so she’ll take over most of the work. Marla asked me to be the point of contact for the Inn.”
My heart tripped around in my chest at the thought of having her in my life again, even if it would only be for a limited amount of time. “I guess that makes us co-workers again.”
“Guess so.”
Silence stretched. The breeze rustled through the trees again. I tried to think of something to say to fill the quiet. Like “I’ve missed you,” or “Where did things go so wrong between us.” Instead, I shifted my gaze to the deck and waited.
She stepped closer, scanning the arbor I’d rebuilt at one end. “You reinforced the base?”
“We couldn’t have a celebrity bride face-planting on a livestream.” The joke slipped out before I could stop it.
She didn’t laugh, but a quick glance up caught her mouth twitching. “I see you’re still as charming as ever.”
“And you’re still bossy as hell,” I said.
Her gaze snapped to mine, and for half a second it was like nothing had changed. Every argument we ever had hummed just beneath the surface.
She looked away first. “The planner sent over some additional requests. Apparently having a rustic wedding means crystal chandeliers now.”
“Great. I’ll hang a few from the elk horns inside.”
“You’d better behave, Quade.”
My name on her lips pounded into my chest like taking a nail straight to the heart. Her voice held the same teasing tone she’d used when we were younger, when she’d catch me snagging muffins from the Inn’s kitchen during one of their huge Sunday breakfasts.
“I’m not sure behaving fits into my skill set,” I teased, my voice softer than I intended.
She ignored my comment while her pen moved across her notepad. “We’ll need extra bracing under the deck if they decide to add that champagne bar they’re talking about. I’ll email you specs.”
The way her mouth tipped down at the edges made me think she’d rather swallow battery acid than communicate with me directly. “You can leave it with Marla if you’d rather.”
“I tried. She said she’d rather have us ‘work together like adults.’”
Of course she did. My Aunt Marla could give Nellie a run for her money when it came to playing matchmaker. She’d always thought Sabrina and I would end up together. Personally, I didn’t see it. Sabrina was too damn good for a man like me. She deserved the whole world and all I ever would have been able to give her was a tiny corner of it. She must have figured the same because somewhere around the time the damn Ex-List came out, we grew so far apart that I was sure we’d never find our way back to the easy friendship we’d had before.
The next hour was pure torture. I watched her walk around, take measurements while bending over in jeans that clung to her curves in a way that should have been illegal, and make notes on that damn notepad. I worked at the pace of a snail, trying to pretend I wasn’t watching the way sunlight slipped over her shoulders. When she crouched to check the joists, the faint scent of coffee and vanilla hit me, and every memory I’d buried came clawing back.
She stood, brushing sawdust off her knees, and I couldn’t take the silence a second longer.
“I never thought you’d come back to the Inn.”
“Marla needed help.”
“Was it really that simple?”
Her shoulder lifted just a bit. “Some things still are.”
I wanted to ask if we could be one of those things, but the words stuck in my throat.
The crunch of tires on gravel saved me. A black SUV rolled to a stop in the long drive. Dust clung to the shiny paint. A woman climbed out wearing heels that didn’t belong on Hard Timber’s gravel roads. She had on oversized sunglasses, glossy platinum hair, and clutched a tablet to her chest like a shield.
“That’s the wedding planner,” Sabrina muttered. “Are you ready for this circus?”
“I was born ready.”
The woman tottered toward us, her hand outstretched. “Are you Trace Quade? The craftsman Marla’s been buzzing about?”
I blinked. “Craftsman?”
“Yes. I’m Mimi LaClaire with Exquisite Events.” She lowered her sunglasses and glanced down at my hammer. “Your aunt told me you could do anything with those hands.”
I caught a quick roll of Sabrina’s eyes before I looked back at the wedding planner. Heat crept up my chest. I’d never been exceptionally gifted when it came to reading women, but she didn’t even try to hide behind innuendos.
“This town is perfect for my client’s wedding. I can see why she wants to hold the whole event here. It’s like stepping into a small-town movie set.”
“We’re excited to host her event,” Sabrina said.
“And you must be Sabrina. It’s so nice to meet you.” Mimi dropped her voice and leaned closer. “You know the bride never would have known about Hard Timber if it hadn’t been for that podcast. What’s the title? Something about Hard Timber’s Ex-List? Uncut?”
My stomach tightened. “Is that right?”
“Yes. My client had me invite him to do a show during her rehearsal dinner. He’s flying in to get interviews from locals. The ones who made the list. The ones who didn’t. The ones who, uh,”—her gaze flicked between me and Sabrina—“might have something to say about it.”
Sabrina’s knuckles whitened around her clipboard. “Is that confirmed?”
“Not yet, but his producer already called Marla.” The planner smiled, oblivious. “It’ll be great exposure for everyone!”
Great. More exposure. Just what I needed. The interest around the podcast had died down a little after Ridge and Gillian got together. The podcaster had stuck around for a couple of weeks trying to get me to talk since I was the last name on The Ex-List, but he finally gave up. Now, with this fucking wedding, it sounded like Hard Timber would be thrust into the spotlight again.
“If that guy sticks a mic in my face, I’ll shove it somewhere the sun doesn’t shine,” I mumbled.
Sabrina’s lips curved. “Careful, Trace. You might make his Uncut episode.”
Mimi, apparently oblivious to the tension between Sabrina and me started listing “must-haves”: reclaimed-wood arches, imported linens, and a signature espresso martini bar.
Every item she opened her mouth, a knot tightened along my shoulders.
Sabrina translated as fast as she talked. “She means rustic beams, string lights, and maybe a local coffee cocktail. We can handle that.”
When Mimi finally headed to the lobby to check into her room, my grip on my drill loosened.
Sabrina let out a breath and leaned against a post. “Do you think she’ll survive here?”
“The bigger question is, will we survive having her here?” I joked.
Sabrina’s laugh was soft and real. Then she looked at me, her eyes serious. “Sounds like the podcaster is coming back. Are you ready to deal with that again?”
“No.” My answer was simple, short, and true.
“Maybe you’ll finally get to tell your side of the story,” she said. “Set the record straight and all.”
I glanced at her. “You think anyone cares about my side?”
She didn’t say anything, just pushed off the post and gathered her things. “I’ll email those specs tonight. Thanks for not biting her head off.”
“Yet.”
Her smile widened just enough to make me feel like there was a chance for us to get back to normal. “Don’t jinx it.”
I watched her walk toward her truck wishing I could think of something to say that would make her stay. She pulled away and the sound of her engine faded, leaving me alone with the drill in my hand and a heart that hadn’t gotten the memo about moving on.
I turned my attention back to the deck I was working on. It was half started, half finished, but beautiful anyway. Kind of like us.
The only difference was I knew how to build the damn deck. I didn’t have a clue how to build a bridge to reach Sabrina.