10. Juniper
CHAPTER 10
JUNIPER
The road into town was quiet, the trees dripping from last night’s rain and the sky still heavy with thick gray clouds. Griff kept one hand on the wheel, the other holding mine. Tension rolled off him in steady waves.
“Do you think he’ll admit it?” I asked.
“No. But I’m not going there for a confession.”
“Then what?”
Griff’s strong jaw flexed. “To make sure he doesn’t try anything again.”
I believed him.
The closer we got to Deever’s, the more my pulse picked up. His place looked run-down—an old hunting cabin slouched between two lodgepole pines, the kind of place that looked abandoned even when someone was living in it.
Griff parked and cut the engine. “Stay behind me and let me do the talking.”
“I’m not making any promises,” I muttered, determined to figure out if this man had ties to my uncle.
He knocked hard. The kind of knock that meant business.
The door creaked open and Deever’s bloodshot eyes blinked back at us. He wore a stained thermal shirt and track pants, like he’d just rolled out of bed.
“Well, well.” His gaze flicked to me, then landed on Griff. “Didn’t expect a house call.”
“You’ve been making a lot of moves lately,” Griff said. “Figured we’d return the favor.”
Deever smirked. “If this is about that lodge?—”
“It is,” I cut in. “We found Caleb’s notes. We know you were the one pushing him to sell.”
His expression barely changed. “Man was sitting on a goldmine. He just didn’t know it.”
Griff took a step forward, and Deever’s smirk slipped a little. “He knew. He just didn’t care. And when he told you no, you didn’t back off. You pushed. Then he ended up dead, his will in probate court, and his niece got threatened. That’s a hell of a coincidence.”
“You can’t pin that on me.”
“We don’t need to,” I said, my voice steady. “We just need to make something crystal clear. The land is staying in the family. I’m not selling. I’m staying.”
Griff’s voice dropped an octave. “You so much as send another message—or let your developer buddy anywhere near her—and I’ll make sure you regret it.”
Deever’s jaw tightened. “You think you can scare me off?”
Griff didn’t flinch. “I don’t have to.”
He took a slow step forward, the kind of movement that didn’t seem like much but shifted the whole balance of power.
“We’ve got footage,” he said, his voice low and deadly calm. “Trail cam caught someone near the lodge the morning that rabbit showed up. Clear enough to see the tread on their boots.”
Deever’s mouth twitched. “You can’t prove that was me.”
Griff gave him a look so cold it could’ve frozen boiling water. “Maybe not. But if anything else happens to her, I’ll make sure that footage ends up in the sheriff’s office, the local paper, and the inbox of every townsperson who’s ever had a run-in with you. And you and I both know, that’s a damn long list.”
Deever shifted his stance, but he didn’t say a word.
“And as for your developer friend?” Griff leaned in until the tension practically hummed. “Tell him if he wants a war with this mountain, he’s welcome to try. But he won’t last a week. Not here. Not with me around.”
Deever opened his mouth again, but Griff cut him off with one last, lethal hit.
“And while you’re passing along messages, tell him to withdraw the offer on Caleb Blake’s land. That bullshit deal you’re dangling in front of the family hoping the win in probate court? You make it clear to the family, the lawyers, and whoever else is listening that you’re done. Take it back. Today. Or next time, we won’t be talking.”
We turned and walked away, not giving him the satisfaction of looking back.
Deever didn’t follow. He didn’t try to argue.
His defeated silence was the sound of a man realizing the mountain wasn’t up for grabs anymore. It belonged to us now.
I sat in the front seat of Griff’s truck, adrenaline still pumping through my veins at the way we’d put Deever and his buddies in their place. As we neared the edge of town, the sound of laughter and music drifted in through the open window. Griff slowed as we rounded the corner, and I caught sight of a banner stretching across Main Street:
Waffle Breakfast Fundraiser
“Oh no,” he muttered.
“Oh yes,” I said. “We’re going.”
He gave me a long-suffering look. “Waffles?”
“It’s community outreach, Griff. You threatened a man before noon. Now you’re going to eat carbs and pretend you don’t hate people.”
He sighed. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
“Probably,” I said sweetly, and reached over to take his hand.
The scent of maple syrup and sizzling bacon met us before we even reached the pavilion. Kids chased each other between picnic tables while volunteers flipped waffles behind folding tables draped in gingham cloths. Griff looked like he wanted to disappear into the trees behind us.
“You’re doing great,” I whispered, squeezing his hand.
“I haven’t done anything yet.”
“You showed up. That’s a start.”
A few heads turned as we walked by. Griff wasn’t exactly the kind of guy who blended in, but to my surprise, nobody gawked or stared. Clara waved us over and handed Griff a plate stacked high with waffles, strawberries, and whipped cream.
“I wasn’t sure we’d ever see you at one of these,” she said, her smile warm and welcoming. “But it’s good you’re here. And with such nice company.”
“I’m regretting this already,” he muttered under his breath, but his fingers curled around mine and he didn’t let go.
We made the rounds slowly, chatting with a few familiar faces, including Miss Lila, who grinned wide enough to make my cheeks hurt.
“Two appearances in one week,” she said, nudging Griff. “You really are turning over a new leaf.”
He didn’t answer, just shoved another bite of waffle into his mouth, but I could’ve sworn I saw the tiniest lift at the corner of his lips.
We sat down at the edge of the pavilion, far enough from the crowd that Griff could breathe but still close enough to hear the music. A local trio played folk tunes on a small stage, and for a moment, everything felt perfect.
“You’re good at this,” I said, bumping my shoulder against his.
“At what? Smiling awkwardly in public?”
“At letting people in.”
He glanced down at me. “You’re the only one I’ve let in.”
My heart fluttered at that. “I’ll take it.”
We headed back up the mountain just as the sun began to disappear. Griff was quiet most of the drive, one hand resting on my thigh, like he just needed the reassurance that I was still there. That I wasn’t leaving.
When we got back to the cabin, he unloaded a couple boxes we’d picked up at the general store from the back seat and carried them inside. While I sorted things in the kitchen, he disappeared into the workshop. A fire burned low and bright in the woodstove while Scout and Appie shared the dog bed, curled around each other like they’d become the best of friends.
Griff returned a few minutes later with a long, thin box in his hand.
“I meant to give this to you before,” he said.
“What is it?”
He didn’t answer right away. Just set it on the counter and waited while I opened it.
Inside was a knife. But not just any knife. The blade was etched with a delicate mountain ridge. The handle—smooth antler polished to a warm sheen—was carved with wildflowers and my initials.
“It’s beautiful,” I whispered, my throat tightening.
“I made it for you.” His voice was rough and raw. “The steel came from a rail spike I found on an old mining trail out where the lumber mill used to be. The antler’s from the first deer I hunted after I moved here. It’s not just a knife—it’s a piece of this place. A piece of me.”
Tears welled in my eyes. “You didn’t have to?—”
“I did.” He stepped closer. “You’re staying. This is your home now. And you should have something that connects you to it. To me.”
I ran my fingers over the carvings, then looked up at him. “I love it. I love what it means.”
He exhaled slowly. “I love you.”
The tears finally fell. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
His arms wrapped around me, steady and warm, anchoring me in a way nothing else ever had.
“I never thought I’d have someone,” he murmured. “But you… you feel like mine.”
I smiled, blinking back more tears. “That’s good. Because you’re mine too.”
Everyone told me the mountain was too wild to be tamed. But maybe it just needed someone who could see the beauty in its wildness. And someone stubborn enough to stay.