Taming the Mountain Man (Tamarack Ridge Romances Book 3)

by Jeanette Lewis

  Jennica. She’d been on his mind all night—equal parts hoping she was okay after fighting with her boyfriend, and amazement that they’d been living in the same town all this time and he’d hardly noticed her. She’d rung up his purchases at TR’s more times than he could count. How had they never had a real conversation before where he could see how quick her mind was, how witty she could be, or how good she smelled—like citrus, something with a hint of lemon?

  He hadn’t noticed her because he hadn’t wanted to notice her. And he didn’t want to be noticing her now. Jack huffed a sigh as he pulled off his safety glasses and held up the piece of metal he was shaping to examine it from all angles. The edge of the knife was starting to emerge, but it would need several more hours of work to finish.

  He spread his fingers, doing a quick measurement of the blade. Once he added the elk antler handle, the knife would measure eleven inches, exactly the specifications Lincoln had requested. A custom-made hunting knife for fifty bucks was a great deal and cost Jack way more in time and materials than the profit, but it was for a friend, and making knives was way better than sitting around watching TV all night.

  Jack sighed. Convincing the gift shop at the Starlane Resort to carry his knives would have been a major victory. He could have tapped a whole new level of clientele, people who wouldn’t mind paying several hundred dollars for a handcrafted blade.

  He pushed the regret away and turned his attention back to the steel in his hands. He wasn’t going to make any money standing here brooding.

  The knife was a hidden tang, the blade tapering to a thin length of metal that he would hide within the antler handle. He clamped the knife blade in the vice, then fired up the blowtorch and blasted the tang. Once it was glowing, he forced the antler onto the heated metal. The tang would burn its way into the antler, making its own hole. The smell was the price he paid for a perfect fit.

  Jack leaned forward, putting his weight into the antler, wiggling it as it slid slowly onto the tang.

  A crack echoed through the workshop, and he jumped back, yanking his hands away from the sudden heat as the antler split and fell to the workbench, still smoking. Jack used one finger to prod the antler, turning it to see the damage, and muttered a curse word when he saw the long, deep crack running down one side. It was useless now.

  He tossed the broken piece of antler onto the floor next to the wood stove and grabbed the box of spares from a shelf. He sifted through it, pulling out one piece of antler, then another, weighing them in his hand, comparing them to the blade he’d already formed. Too short, too thick, too crooked, too brittle, too weathered, too chalky, too scaly—nothing fit. Most of these would be suitable for dog chews, but not for an expensive custom knife.

  There just wasn’t enough time. Between working fifty-hour weeks at the lumberyard and making knives at night, he hadn’t had time to go into the mountains and hunt for sheds this year. He usually had his own bull elk from the hunt, but this year he’d come up empty-handed.

  Although … Jack paused. He didn’t have any spare elk antlers lying around, but he knew who would. Colton Ramsey. In addition to leading guided hunting trips every year, Colton spent plenty of time on his own hunts or looking for sheds. He’d be bound to have a good selection.

  Jack grabbed his fleece from a hook by the door, and the smell of lemons washed over him. Jennica’s perfume. He was headed to TR’s to see Colton, but Jennica would likely be there too.

  Jack paused, one arm in the jacket, as a flurry of nerves raced through him. The work clothes he wore in the shop were covered in burns, dirt, oil, and borax. His hands were filthy. He should at least wash and change his clothes. Maybe even take a quick shower, comb his hair and beard.

  With a grunt, he shoved his other arm into the jacket and zipped it defiantly, then jammed a grimy baseball cap on his head. He didn’t now, nor would he ever, care what Jennica Waverly thought of his looks.

  The morning sun was thin and bright, and it wasn’t until he pulled up to TR Outfitters that he realized he should have checked the time. Jack frowned at the empty parking lot and the darkened windows, then glanced at the clock on the dash. He’d gotten up early to work on the knife, and time lost all meaning when he was engrossed in a project. TR’s didn’t open for another half hour. He could go to the Lone Pine Café for a cup of coffee, but at this hour it would be filled with locals and he wasn’t in the mood for conversation.

  With a sigh, he pulled his baseball cap low over his face and reclined his seat as far as the truck would allow, settling in for a brief power nap.

  Just as he’d started to drift off, a tap on his window startled him awake. Jennica stood outside, wearing a blue hoodie that matched the color of her deep blue eyes. Blue like cornflowers or the sky above Pikes Meadow on a clear summer day. His throat tightened as he raised the seat and unrolled the window.

  “Hey! What are you doing here?” Jennica asked. Her smile seemed brighter than the new sunshine.

  The smell of citrus drifted through the window, and Jack’s pulse notched higher. “I got here a bit early,” he said. “I’m waiting to see Colton.”

  Jennica’s eyebrows pulled together. “He and Leigh are in Georgia this week visiting her family. But you could probably text him.”

  Jack shook his head. “I don’t text,” he said as his mind shifted through other people in town who might have a spare set of elk antlers lying around. The list was small. Aside from Colton and a few guys from work, Jack mostly kept to himself—the way he liked it.

  “You don’t text?” Jennica said in a voice of disbelief. “You’ve never heard of Uber and you don’t text. What do you use your phone for?”

  Sharp memories stirred bile in his gut. “I don’t have a phone,” Jack said shortly. “Well, I have a landline, but not a cell.”

  Her eyes went wider. “How do you even live without a cellphone?”

  “It’s not that bad,” Jack insisted.

  “Except when you get stuck waiting for your friend’s store to open and he’s halfway across the country,” Jennica teased. “Can I help you with something?”

  “I doubt it,” he said. “I need a length of elk antler about this big for a knife handle.” He spanned his hands. “Thought Colton might have one.”

  Jennica pursed her lips. “I don’t think there are any at the store. The only antlers I’ve seen are on the trophy animals.”

  Jack scrubbed his beard in frustration. Any hopes he had of finishing the knife today were fading.

  “There’s a bunch of antlers in my grandma’s storage shed,” Jennica offered. “I’m sure she won’t care if you take some.”

  Jack raised one eyebrow. “Really? Are they elk?”

  “Probably some. We used to go searching for sheds all the time, and my grandpa never threw anything away.” She paused. “Some of them are pretty old. Would they still make good handles?”

  “It depends on the antler,” he said. “The older ones can get pretty cracked and chalky, but you never know. I’d have to see them.” He looked at the store. “Could we go now? How much time do you have?”

  She pulled out her phone. “I can be a little late. I’ll text Diane.” Her fingers tapped over the keyboard, and Jack leaned his arm on the open window to wait.

  Jennica wore her hair pulled back in a ponytail, and the early-morning sunshine glinted on the streaks of copper along her head. Why hadn’t he ever noticed before the way the freckles dotted across her cheeks and her nose? They were faded now after the winter, but he’d bet after a few hours in the summer sun, they’d light up like nutmeg on cream.

  He pulled his thoughts away. She had a boyfriend. Or she had had one until very recently. The last thing he needed was a girl with a broken heart.

  Jennica’s phone dinged, and she quickly read the screen. “Diane’s on her way and can open the store. She said to take all the time I need.” Her face lit up in a grin. “See how easy that was?” she teased, waving the phone at him.

  Ja
ck rolled his eyes and then jerked his head toward the passenger seat. “Well, climb in.”

  Jennica’s ponytail bounced as she rounded the truck and slid into the passenger seat like she belonged there.

  “Back to your grandma’s house, I assume?” Jack said.

  She nodded. “Remember the way?”

  “Yup,” Jack said as he turned out of the parking lot. They reached the intersection where Fred’s stood, and he turned toward the center of town.

  “I can’t believe how much this place is growing,” he said as they passed a new house under construction in what used to be someone’s one-acre garden property. Some of the old-timers with large lots in town were starting to divide them to provide building lots for kids and grandkids. “Pretty soon it’ll be downright crowded.”

  Jennica laughed. “I was in Times Square two years ago for New Year’s Eve, if you want to see crowded.”

  He threw her a horrified glance. “Why would you ever do that?”

  “Because it’s New Year’s Eve and I was in New York City. You have to see the ball drop live at least once, right?”

  “I don’t.” Jack shuddered. “Why would you put yourself through that?”

  Her forehead wrinkled. “I wouldn’t do it again. We were packed in there so tightly we could barely move. But hey, it’s a memory.”

  “No, I meant why would you even put yourself through a trip to a big city in the first place? I stay as far away from cities as I can. Great Falls is enough for me.”

  “Great Falls is barely more than a good-sized town,” Jennica scoffed. “C’mon, you’ve had to have been somewhere bigger than that. Chicago? Los Angeles?”

  He shook his head.

  “Boise? Salt Lake City?”

  “I’ve driven through Salt Lake on my way to Lake Powell a few times,” Jack admitted. “Emphasis on the driving through part. I don’t linger.”

  “You’re a fraidy-cat,” she giggled. “What kind of a knife are you making, anyway?”

  “One with an elk antler handle.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I know that, silly. What kind of blade? Are you doing the … what kind of steel did you call it? Dalmatian?”

  He chuckled. “Damascus. No, this one is a regular blade made from AUS-8 steel.”

  “You may as well have been speaking Latin right there,” Jennica said. “That means nothing to me.”

  “It’s just a type of steel, one that’s good for knife-making.”

  “What makes it good?” she asked.

  Jack threw her a sideways look. Did she really care, or was she simply making conversation? He’d never had anyone ask why he used a particular kind of material before. “Whenever you’re working with steel, you have find the right balance between strength, resistance to corrosion,” he explained. “And with knives, you also have to factor in the ability to hold an edge. AUS-8 is a good compromise of the three.”

  Her pink lips formed a silent “oh,” and she nodded. “Makes sense. So do you sell them online or what?”

  “No, just through word of mouth,” he said as he pulled into her grandmother’s driveway. In the sunshine, he could see details he hadn’t noticed when he’d brought her home the night before. Like how the red paint on the front porch was peeling and the old-fashioned metal overhangs on the windows were rusting. Jack knew enough about the history of Tamarack Ridge to know this house was probably built in the fifties, probably by Jennica’s grandparents. It seemed weird to think that at the time, this small bungalow could have been their dream home—something they worked and saved for and been proud of at the time—and now it was slowly falling apart after seventy years.

  Two huge spruce trees flanked the sidewalk, along with a cluster of dormant, overgrown rose bushes. At one point, they’d probably framed the house from the street, but now the pines towered over everything. He frowned up at the patches of bare, brown branches nestled among the green needles.

  “Looks like you’ve got some dead spots up there,” he said.

  “Yeah.” Jennica tipped her head to follow his gaze, revealing the long, smooth column of her neck. “I told Grandma we needed to have it looked at, but she says she and Grandpa planted these trees when they built the house and she can’t bear to cut them down.” She chewed on her lower lip as a worried frown creased her forehead. “I think she’s hoping to die along with them.”

  Jack paused, his mind going over the twisted family ties that made up the population of Tamarack Ridge. Jennica was several years younger than he was, quite a few grades behind him in school, but he’d known her older siblings. “Your dad is Keith Waverly, right?”

  She nodded. “But this is my mom’s mom—Rose O’Brien.”

  The name was familiar, but then, most names in Tamarack Ridge were.

  “I think the antlers are in the garage,” Jennica said, bringing Jack out of his thoughts. She led him around the back of the house to a large detached garage, sided in the same peeling white wood. The old-fashioned wood-framed windows were covered with brown paper, letting very little light penetrate the gloom, and the temperature dropped ten degrees when they stepped inside. Jack blinked against the darkness and heard Jennica shuffle forward.

  “It’s a bulb on a pull chain. I can never find it.” Her voice came out of the dimness. “One second.” There was a thud, then an “Ouch!”

  “Are you okay?” He shifted his weight to move toward her, then stopped and coughed at the sudden influx of dust.

  “I’m fine. Sorry about the dust.” Jennica’s voice sounded farther away now. “Hold on.”

  Her footsteps shuffled a bit more, and then he heard the click of a chain and a lightbulb flared to life. Jack blinked through the dust, looking around the garage. It was packed with stuff—so much stuff that you couldn’t get a car in there. His gaze roved over cardboard boxes, a wooden workbench, some hulking shapes buried deep in the corners, a metal baby stroller, an assortment of bikes, tools, at least three broken lawn mowers, and much more, all competing for space on the chilly concrete floor.

  Jennica shivered and rubbed her arms for warmth as she scanned the room. “Over there, maybe?” She pointed to the far corner, where very little light reached.

  There was no walkway through the mess. Jack moved stuff out of the way as carefully as he could, creating a path through the decades of junk, wondering privately if this was more trouble than it was worth. He could probably call Colton, who probably had exactly the right piece in exactly the right condition, and he wouldn’t have to go on a treasure hunt to find it.

  “Your grandparents aren’t big on throwing things away, huh?” he asked as he carefully moved an old wooden highchair out of his way.

  “Not at all,” Jennica admitted. “Their parents grew up in the Depression and World War II, and I guess they always had to save everything because you never knew when it would come in handy.”

  “Use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without,” Jack said, nodding.

  Jennica laughed. “My grandma says that all the time. Is that where it comes from? The Depression?”

  “I guess.” He shrugged and turned to throw her a smile. “I wasn’t alive then either, you know.”

  Even in the dim light, he saw her cheeks flush. “No, I know. I just … I thought it was weird you know it word for word the way she does.”

  “I probably heard it from my grandparents too. Just don’t remember.”

  The conversation died as Jack continued to plow his way through the garage, through decades of stuff, until finally he found a large cardboard box bristling with antlers of various shapes and sizes. It was too dark in the corner and he’d stirred up too much dust to see any details. “Do you mind if I take this outside?” he called across the garage.

  “Sure,” Jennica replied. “Need some help?”

  “I got it.” Jack bent to wrap his arms around the box, grunting a bit at the surprising weight. He prayed the bottom didn’t give out as he worked his way back through the trail he’d cleared an
d into the sunlight.

  The box had, at one point, held one of those old-fashioned microwaves—huge and sturdy. Jack wouldn’t have been surprised to find it still in use in the house. The box was filled to the top with antlers in all shapes and sizes—moose, deer, elk, caribou, even some that looked like mountain goat. He set the box on the driveway, then squatted and began picking through the antlers, looking for elk in the correct size and condition. His mind ignited with possibilities with each antler he touched—this piece of caribou would make a beautiful bowie knife, this mule deer was perfect for a boot knife. If only he had the time.

  “Where did you say you got all these?” He squinted up at Jennica in the bright sunlight.

  “Grandpa used to take us up to look for sheds every year. We’d make a day of it, hike, go fishing, look for sheds, and then roast hot dogs over a campfire before coming home.”

  “Sounds fun. Do you still do it? Go looking for sheds, I mean?”

  “No.” Her shoulders slumped. “Grandpa died three years ago, and everyone else grew up and started their lives. I’m—” She stopped and shook her head. “We all got too old for it, you know?” Their eyes met. Hers were clear and bright, but they held a hint of sudden sadness. Was that from thinking about her grandfather, or something else?

  Jack directed his attention back to the antlers, finally deciding on two different elk pieces, one faded to gray and the other still brown. Both were strong and straight and the perfect circumference for knife handles.

  He stood up and held them out to her. “How much do you want for these?” he asked.

  “Just take them,” she said, waving away his offer. “They’re not doing any good sitting here.”

  “You sure?” Elk antlers could be expensive, but Jennica had to know that. She’d grown up in Tamarack Ridge and she worked around hunters all day.

  “Yup.” She nodded. “In fact you can take the whole box if you want.”

  “I’ll just nab these two right now,” Jack said, “but thanks for the offer. Now I know where to go next time I bust a handle.”