Page 54 of Mountain Man

CHAPTER 19

REG

Monday evening at six forty-five, I strode through the door of Log Cabin diner with Rhys and Gretchen. They were supposed to be with Jess, but she had an important closing tonight, and would I mind having the kids? Not a problem.

I’d rearranged my afternoon to pick up Gretchen from math club and Rhys from football practice and gone along with their great idea to go to out for dinner. Of course, Rhys hadn’t looked up from his phone and Gretchen had been grousing about the group she’d been assigned to for an upcoming science project. That was very normal. Yet I struggled to be an attentive dad and not let the worries of the day consume me.

Pinecrest’s mayor had gotten complaints about a tourist’s disrespectful behavior in a public bathroom and decided it was a police issue. Maybe it was, but it also felt like passing the buck. Either way, he wanted to have a meeting. Another one. Great. My mom’s cryptic voice mail about the sign on Atwater Street meant Dad had been wandering. That was bothersome. So was the message from Layla chastising me for not telling her about the birdhouse project, and why was Waylon involved? Call her, stat.

Yeah…no.

I hadn’t seen Waylon since Friday, and⁠—

There he was, hair disheveled as if he’d just raked his fingers through it, legs spread, an arm casually draped on the counter.

He carried himself with quiet confidence, seemingly unbothered by curious diners and the small-town cop staring at him.

Then he grinned and holy shit, my heart stutter-stopped in my chest.

“Hey, that’s Waylon,” Gretchen exclaimed.

“Who?” Rhys asked.

“The birdhouse guy.”

Gretch hiked her backpack on her narrow shoulders and marched toward him. “Hi, remember me?”

Waylon greeted my daughter with a warm smile. “Of course, I remember. You left your lighthouse in my garage.”

“Sorry about that,” I said, finally finding my voice. “I meant to pick those up. It must have slipped my mind.”

He smirked, silently communicating a sarcastic, I was there every time it slipped your mind.

“I reminded my dad,” Gretchen tattled. “He was busy, or it was too late to bug you. But we can pick them up tonight. Right, Dad?”

“Let the guy enjoy his dinner, Gretch.”

“That’s okay. I⁠—”

“Meatloaf special with a mile-high stack of fries!” Nicole sidled around another waiter, her tray held above her shoulder, grazing her spiky short dark hair. She set a plate in front of Waylon and flashed a radiant grin. “Hey, Chief. Hey, progeny. What’s shakin’?”

Nicole was a twentysomething cool chick who’d played drums for a lesbian punk band in Burlington before coming home to help with the family business. The Edgars had owned and operated Log Cabin Diner for over eighty years. Longer, if you believed Clancy. I’d grown up with Nicole’s mom and uncle, her grandfather was an old fishing buddy of my grandpa’s, and I’d had a wicked crush on her dad in high school.

Long story short, I’d known Nicole her whole life.

“We’re just…here for—we’re gonna…food,” I stumbled, reaching for the rover I left in the cruiser at the station.

I was flustered, and this wasn’t like me. At all. I had ice in my veins, I was cool under pressure, nothing fazed me. Except the bad boy with the glint of mischief in his eyes.

Everything about Waylon cranked my motor—from the way he sat with his muscular legs parted, the sexy hint of ink on his forearms under his rolled-up sleeves, and his longish hair brushing the collar of his plaid shirt. Damn it, he was hot.

And lately, he’d been mine…any way I wanted him.

The odd thing was that I’d always gravitated toward clean-cut types—doctors, lawyers, men who wore jeans with sport coats, and smart women with sharp minds who smelled like flowers and citrus. In other words, people who were nothing like me. Or Waylon.

He was masculine to the nth degree. He oozed confidence and looked more like a badass biker than a logger. Honestly, I didn’t think the good folks of Wood Hollow knew what to think of him.

Yeah, well…me either. I didn’t know how to do this. If I’d liked him less, it might have been easier to act nonchalant in public. Instead, I stood frozen like a deer in headlights.