by Tess Oliver
I reached into my backpack and pulled out a blank postcard. I’d had a stack of them printed with Aunt Carly’s address, and she’d pasted a stamp on every one so I wouldn’t have any excuse not to send one each day. The fronts of the cards were vintage pictures of Victorian women in big, frilly hats. My aunt was a hat collector, so I’d decided they were the perfect choice.
I pulled out my pen. “Aunt Carly, I’m in Blackthorn Ridge, and I’ve already met a fantastic person. Her name is Everly and she’s a lot of fun. A good aura, as you would say. I’ll be staying with her. I’ll send you an address when I have it. Carly, I can feel it. This was the right place to start. Kiss Buckley for me and give him an extra rawhide treat from me. I’ll write again. Love, Tash.”
The store owner’s scowl followed the two men out the door. His kind smile returned the second the door shut behind them.
Everly was removing her apron as she walked out from the backroom. “Was it good?”
“Magical, if that’s a possible adjective for a chicken salad sandwich.”
“It’s all about the pickles. This lady, Bernie”—she nodded—“yes, it’s a funny name for a woman. Anyhow, she makes the best dill pickles. Homemade. They are the secret ingredient.” She hung her apron over a hook on the wall. “Are you ready to go? I’ll bet you’re tired.”
“I am.” I held up the postcard. “Mailbox?”
“There’s one on the way home.” She picked up my duffle. “Let’s go, roomy.”
Her uncle waved good-bye, and we walked out. “He’s wonderful, Everly.”
“Yeah, I’m lucky I have him. Especially with my mom always on the mend and all. Sure wish the doctors could figure out why he’s shaking all the time. One actually had the nerve to tell him it was all in his head.”
“That’s too bad. I noticed it right away.” We hopped down the steps. Nightfall had lowered the temperature a good twenty degrees. Late summer was peeling away, and the crackling colors and temperatures of autumn could be seen around the edges. We passed several small shops, including a fabric store and one that looked to be bursting with old books. Alice in Bookland was painted in green and white letters across the window. I stopped to gaze through the dusty pane.
Everly walked up next to me. “This is a cool store if you like to browse old books and newspapers. Alice is this unique old lady who has lived here her whole life. Her husband died in a logging accident about thirty years ago, but she stuck it out. She’s kind of a hoarder.” Everly lowered her voice as if the woman, Alice, was listening. “There is definitely an order to her madness though. She has everything organized by date, even all the books. If you ever want to read about an old news event in this area, Alice is your go to source.”
My heart gave a little skip. “Yes, I would. Can you introduce me?” I tried to push the enthusiasm from my tone not wanting to bring on too many questions. Everly knew I wasn’t just here to file folders at a sawmill, but there were so many things I wasn’t ready to tell her.
“Absolutely.” We walked along a sidewalk that was mostly just patches of cement placed haphazardly in gravel and dirt. Yellow lights flickered over ramshackle porches casting an uneven glow out over the tiny yards. Most of the houses were plain stucco squares with only wood shingle roofs and shutters to give them any character. But the towering lilac colored mountains, dotted with tall evergreens, provided the perfect backdrop to make the shabby little houses look as if they belonged in a painting. Even though it was still late summer and the true cool temperatures of fall hadn’t circled through the town yet, there were thin, white fingers of smoke curling out of some of the brick chimneys, adding to the town’s almost storybook ambience. In this setting, on a quiet night under a cheery blanket of stars, it was hard to understand how someone had come to name it Blackthorn Ridge. It seemed such a grim sounding name for the charming little town.
Everly pointed ahead. “If you keep walking down this street, you’ll come to the end of the town. My mom used to say if you blinked on your way through town, you’d miss the whole darn thing. Milly’s Diner is at the end. She’s the last stop on the way out, and the first stop on the way in—depending which way you’re traveling. Sometimes the southern freeway is blocked with traffic or an accident, and the truck drivers come this way. They always know all the secret shortcuts. The diner is a big favorite of the truck drivers. And for good reason—Milly’s chicken fried steak is the best in the world, at least in my opinion and according to the truck drivers passing through. And those guys would know.”
We stopped before turning the corner. Milly’s had a big neon arrow, the brightest light on the entire street, pointing down at the red roof of the diner. Two eighteen wheelers sat in the parking lot. I briefly wondered if my dad had ever stopped in at Milly’s. He loved chicken fried steak and any other kind of food you could drown in gravy or ketchup.
Everly motioned that we were turning the corner. “Those brothers, the Wolfe brothers that I told you about, they live right next to the diner. According to my uncle, they never bought the house. No one wanted it after the original owner died years ago. It is so close to the diner, the trucks rattle the house when they fire up their engines. And I guess you can smell all the food coming from the restaurant. Which is fine when you’re in there to eat breakfast or lunch, but all day might get kind of nauseating.”
We walked on. “I met them,” I said hesitantly. “I met the Wolfe brothers.”
She stopped. “You did? Where?”
I decided not to go into detail. “They rode by while I was out at Phantom Curve. Jem seemed all right. He asked if I needed a ride.”
A curt laugh shot from her mouth. “I’ll bet he did. That boy is slick when it comes to women. Just don’t get taken in by those good looks. He’s not just trouble with a capital T. The whole damn word needs be capitalized when it comes to Jem Wolfe.”
“How do you know for sure? I thought your uncle didn’t let you associate with them.” I had no idea why I was defending him.
Everly looked slightly taken aback. “He doesn’t, and that’s because he knows Jem and Dane and their awful dad, Alcott. And I know my uncle. If he doesn’t trust them, then that’s good enough for me.”
“Yes, of course. Sorry I questioned you. I didn’t mean it. I’m sure there’s plenty of evidence to support his bad reputation.” A topic change was needed. “So, you said there’s a guy you like. Finn, was it?”
“Yes. In fact, he works on the water with Jem. They sort the logs out on the river.” She grew quiet for a second. “To be honest, Finn says that Jem isn’t as bad as everyone thinks. And I do trust Finn’s opinion too. It’s getting chilly.” She swung my duffle bag back and forth as we picked up our pace. “If only I could sway Finn’s opinion about me. He considers me a friend, but I want more. But it’s hard for him, and I can’t blame him. The scars are hard to look at.”
I’d changed the topic, but this one was far more difficult. “Everly, I can’t imagine what it’s like for you, but I can tell you, just a few minutes after we met, I forgot about the scars. You are so much fun to be around, and you’re kind and generous and smart and extremely pretty. I just know if you give him the chance, he’ll be able to look past the scars.”
“You’re sweet, Tash.” She sighed wistfully. “What about you? You must have left behind at least one grieving heart back home.”
I thought about Cormac back home in The Grog. I doubted his heart was grieving any more than mine. “There was someone, but our hearts weren’t really connected. It started as a crush. I was nineteen and he was a grad student at a nearby college, an older man of twenty-four. He had long hair and he was an amazing painter and he’d philosophize about all kinds of stuff. I’d listen to him raptly as he talked about all his theories on life. Later, I realized the attraction was purely physical. He was handsome with a nice set of shoulders and the tightest, most perf
ect ass in a pair of jeans.”
Everly laughed so hard she tripped on a crack in the uneven sidewalk. I grabbed hold of her arm to keep her from falling face first. “I knew we’d get along perfectly,” she said as she caught her breath.
“God, that sounded so shallow. My aunt probably felt a twinge of disappointment when I said it. I don’t think I’ve ever been in love. I’ve never had someone who I think about even when they’re not around. That connection through air waves or brain waves or heart waves, I’ve never felt it with anyone.”
“Me either. But I think Finn would change that.” Everly turned up a brick path that led to a boxy yellow house that needed paint and a roof but looked pleasantly lived in. “Now ignore the mess. I haven’t picked up or vacuumed or whatever you need to do to make a place look spiffy.” She opened the door, and we walked inside. It reminded me of Aunt Carly’s house, comfortable, semi-shabby furniture and that extremely lived in look. There was a half-finished jigsaw puzzle spread out over a large coffee table, a faded but cozy looking sofa and a big chair took up most of the room.
“Let me show you to my mom’s room. You can bunk in there.”
I followed her down the hall and she pushed open a bedroom door. Wallpaper with tiny pink roses that looked as if it had gone up when the house was first built covered three walls. A floral bedspread sat on the mattress, and there was a green velvet bench at the end of the bed. The side window had striped pink curtains.
I put down my bags and guitar. “It’s perfect, Everly. I can’t thank you enough. Just come up with a rent amount. I can pay you after I get my first paycheck from the mill.” I shook my head. “Listen to me with the uber-confidence. That is, if the new job works out for me. I must confess, after your reaction, I’m feeling a little less secure about my new position.”
“No don’t. You’ll be fine. It’s the bunch of thick-headed jerks who work at the mill who’ll have a problem. But Hal will set them straight. He always does. I know he used to have his wife helping in the office, but she started having problems with her arthritis. He’ll be glad to have you, I’m sure.”
I looked around the room. It was decidedly feminine, as if no man had ever lived in the house. “What about your dad, Everly? Is he around still?”
She shrugged and motioned for me to follow her out to the kitchen. “Don’t know much about him. Years back, before I was born, the mill would be shorthanded and Hal would hire on workers who were just traveling from lumber town to lumber town, picking up jobs when they could.” She reached into her refrigerator and pulled out some string cheese. We sat at the table. “He was some drifter who’d only stayed long enough to woo my mom and get her pregnant. He was gone before she even realized it. There was a man named Aaron who lived with us when I was little, but he took off eventually too. My mom’s never had great luck in the romance department. I just hope I don’t follow in her unhappily ever after footsteps.” She handed me a piece of cheese.
“I never knew my mom either.” I sat back. It had always been hard to talk about my mom. I had no memories at all of her except the few blurry pictures on my dad’s desk. I could sometimes see glimpses of her reflected in his eyes when he was talking about her. She had loved birds, and Dad would laugh about all the bird feeders around the yard. “I would have given anything to know her. She died giving birth to me, a massive heart attack that no one saw coming. Of course, I was only a tiny baby, but it’s hard not to feel responsible.”
“Whoa, that’s rough.” She leaned her forearms on the table. Under the fluorescent kitchen light, the scarred arm looked like it belonged on a mannequin, a mannequin that had melted in a terrible fire. “See, Tash. That’s why we bonded instantly. We’ve both been through some really ugly crap. Do you think our happy ending is waiting or are we going to be like those books that you read and you invest all this emotion and time into the characters and then bang you’re hit with a depressing ending?”
“No, Ever, I think the good stuff is just waiting around the corner. Or at least I hope it is.”
Chapter 6
Jem
The air over the river was always a good ten degrees colder than the rest of yard. But it was a clear blue day with no threat of a sudden thunderstorm, so the sun would eventually melt away the morning’s chill. Even in late fall and early winter, when the river bank was glazed with ice, I preferred to be out sorting logs in the water than standing in the sawmill listening to all the bullshit being passed as conversation. Finn, my usual partner on the water, was a guy who mostly kept to himself, and that was fine with me.
After the scene in his office the day before, Hal, the owner, was definitely giving me the cold shoulder, which was no big deal except that he normally came out to the water with the day’s orders. I had no choice except to trudge back to the office and pick them up. Nathan Franks shot me an ice cold scowl as I crossed the main yard. We’d never been friends, and for good reason. The guy was an asshole. I was sure he had the same opinion of me. And he was right.
Rockfield headed toward me, with bad leg in tow. “Saw you and Dane heading out last night.” Puffs of white cold air punctuated his words. “Poker or pussy?”
“What’s with this or shit? It was Thursday night or as Dane likes to call it, Friday eve. It’s not a good Friday eve unless I’ve had both.” While I generally hated everything and everyone associated with my dad, Rocky was the one friend I tolerated, more because I felt sorry for the fool than anything else. There were times when he was sitting in Dad’s house watching T.V. or drinking a beer, and he would wince as if he was reliving the pain of the gnarly chainsaw accident. Rumor was that the doctors were ready to just finish what the chainsaw had started, but Rocky had begged them to try and save the leg. He’d nearly died from the infection, and he was completely addicted to painkillers, a habit I was sure he’d never kicked. But he was walking on both legs . . . almost.
“Hey, did you hear about the new office girl?” Rockfield asked. “Some of the guys were crowing like horny roosters this morning. Poor thing doesn’t know what she’s walking into. I give her a week.”
“Yeah, especially with that chaotic shithole Stevens calls an office. Got to head over there now for the orders. Later.” I headed to the small building that housed the office, the locker room and the lunchroom. There were boxes of files sitting outside under the overhang in front of the office. Apparently, Hal had decided not to scare the girl off before she’d even had her first coffee break.
I stepped inside. Hal wasn’t at his desk. Dozens of paper piles sat in a checked pattern on the cement floor. The file cabinets had been moved out of the corner and were sitting in the center of the room for easy access.
A soft voice drifted out from behind the file cabinet. “W, W is next.” She stepped out into the checkerboard of files and looked up. They were the bluest damn eyes I’d ever seen and her perfect cherry lips parted in surprise when she saw me. She was wearing a bulky sweater that was so big, she had to roll up the sleeves.
“Tashlyn, right?”
“Uh, yes, hello. Jem?”
“Yeah.” I glanced around at the papers on the floor. “You’re the new office helper?”
She held back a smile as she surveyed the wall to wall file folders. “Yes. I guess I have my work cut out for me.”
“Looks that way.”
She blinked her incredibly long lashes at me reminding me of a nervous fawn standing in the center of a forest of office clutter. “Oh, you’re here for the orders.” The clunky sleeve of the sweater rolled over her hand, and she blew an irritated puff of breath up from a perfectly plump bottom lip as she stopped to roll up it again. “Mr. Stevens said someone would be coming in to pick them up.” Keeping up with the fawn image, she hopped gracefully, on long legs, over the mosaic of folders and slipped behind the desk. She pushed the papers around.
“It’s the pink one
,” I said.
The sweater sleeve rolled down again, and she quickly pushed it back, exposing the smooth white wrist and forearm beneath. She tucked a long strand of hair behind her ear as she flipped through the stack of papers. Every move had my undivided attention.
“Ah ha.” She pulled out the orders. “Pink.”
“Guess it’s good they’re a different color.”
She held up the paper and stared at me over the desk.
I looked pointedly at my shoes. “If I walk across your handiwork here on the floor, I’m going to be turning all these files into Swiss cheese.”
She hopped up on tiptoes and looked down at my feet. “Oh, right. Those do look sort of menacing. Definitely don’t want to wear sandals around you,” she said with a smile.
Now it was my turn to stare back at her over the desk. It was the first time I’d seen her smile, and it went right along with the rest of her.
“Holy shit,” I said on the breath I finally released.
“Excuse me?”
I shook my head. “Nothing, just still trying to figure out why the heck a girl like you is standing here in this mill.”
“A girl like me? Are you some kind of a psychic that you can actually tell what kind of girl I am?”
I squinted at her. “Let’s see. You like to play guitar.”
“My, that’s amazing.”
“You lost someone important out on that curve.”
She rolled her eyes. “Honestly, I’ve got work to do.” As she swept her hands around the room, the sweater sleeve swallowed her hand again.