Chapter 2 #2
A knock on the passenger-side window saved me from picking up my phone to search for a new meme to make them laugh.
Silas climbed into the truck and fastened his seat belt. “This is really nice of you. I want to say it’s unnecessary, but that’s probably not true. And also add that I hope you’re not a homicidal maniac.”
I huffed. “You’re safe.”
“Good. I don’t want to die on a mountain.” He smiled wanly. “Hey…thanks. I appreciate this.”
“You’re welcome.” I arched a brow, pointing at his sneakers. “You changed.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know they’re gonna get wet. Is there a mall around here?”
I barked a laugh. “In Wood Hollow? No. No mall.”
Silas twisted in his seat. “Where do you buy shoes and shit?”
“We have a couple of boutiques, but if you want high-end ‘shit,’ you’ll have to travel to Pinecrest. The shoe store in town will have some basic wellies at a fair price.
They’re three doors south of Rise and Grind.
The market is on the corner. It’s small, but you’ll find all the usual necessities there. ”
“Cool. Thanks.”
I turned onto Belvedere, gripping the wheel tightly as a rogue gust of wind dusted the two lanes with snow from the high drifts lining the road.
“Not a problem. I’m on my way to the mill, anyway.
And…truth be told, I’m being a nosy neighbor.
I’ve lived next door to that house for three years and haven’t seen a car parked in the driveway that didn’t belong to a maintenance worker or cleaning service.
According to Bryson—he’s a realtor in these parts—the owner is a football player. Is that right?”
Silas hummed in acknowledgment. “Yeah. We both play for the Devils.”
I took my eye off the road for a hot second. “LA Devils. No shit?”
“No shit.”
“Silas…”
“Anderson,” he finished.
“Sounds familiar.” I rounded a hairpin curve and slowed behind a white Suburban.
“Sorry. I haven’t been following football much this season.
That’s considered criminal negligence in Wood Hollow ’cause our high school program is one of the best in the state.
In my defense, my boss’s husband is Denny Mellon and hockey is kind of a big deal here too.
That realtor I mentioned? His son is Jake Milligan. ”
“Oh, wow. I know who they are. Great players.” He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “I forgot Denny was married to a guy.”
“Mmhmm. You play running back?” I guessed, racking my brain for Silas Anderson. I’d probably watched him play a few times.
“Tight end,” Silas replied, leaning forward to squint through the windshield. “Geez, it’s snowing like crazy now.”
It actually wasn’t that bad yet, but I took the hint and shut up.
I might not have watched much football this season, but I knew LA hadn’t made the playoffs—which might have been a sore subject and a reason for a Californian to hibernate in the forest on the other end of the country. I’d do my own research later.
“Yup. Your timing is decent. You and your family will want to hunker down this afternoon when it really starts to dump.”
“Family?” he repeated. “Oh. No, I’m…I’m here alone.”
Alone? In that huge freaking house? Yeah, there had to be a story.
Traffic stalled as we neared Main Street. It might have been anything from deer crossing to Mr. Pennyworth driving twenty miles per hour in his ancient Ford with the rusted fender. I had a feeling everyone was going to be running late today.
“We’re close now,” I commented, pumping the brakes. “The market is at the corner. I’ll drop you there.”
“Thanks again. I hope I didn’t make you late this morning.”
“Nah, it’s fine.”
“So you work in town?” Silas tore his gaze from the snow-laden firs to me.
“Yeah, I manage the mill.”
“Huh. Are you a lumberjack?”
My first impulse was to explain the difference between a lumberjack and a logger, but it didn’t seem worth the effort. “I am. The kind who sits behind a desk most days, though.”
“So you’re the lead lumberjack.”
“The quarterback of lumberjacks,” I quipped with a chuckle.
Silas snorted. “Now I’m going to picture you calling plays in a huddle with a bunch of bearded giants in plaid shirts.”
“We don’t do much huddling, but that’s the gist.”
We were quiet for a minute or two. I toyed with turning on some music to break the silence, but I didn’t want to be rude. Problem was, I’d officially reached my socializing capacity for the day—and it was just eight a.m.
“Do you—”
“What do people—”
We shared a smile and each insisted the other go first.
Silas eventually complied. “I was just going to ask what you do for fun in Wood Hollow.”
“Me, personally…nothing. My kids keep me running like a madman to dance lessons, flag football practices, and playdates. I usually need time to rest and recoup in between visits. But there’s plenty to do here.
Ice fishing, cross-country skiing, hiking, sledding.
Lake Norman is mostly frozen now. There are areas that are safe to skate on.
We have some great terrain on the hill into Elmwood for snowmobiling too. ”
He nodded. “Sounds fun. How many kids do you have?”
“Two. Ivy’s eleven, and Chase is nine.”
“Who plays flag football?”
“They both do. Chase is more serious about it, but he’s busy with hockey too, and Ivy is doing some kind of hip-hop jazz combo class in Fallbrook that’s supposedly super neat.
” I could have kept going. Those two knuckleheads were my favorite people in the universe.
If Silas was a parent, he probably felt the same about his children.
If he had any. He said he didn’t have a family, but…
“Do you have kids?”
“No. Hey, it looks like the Suburban is holding things up now. Can you get around it?”
Another diversion, another hint taken.
I edged into the center lane just as a logging truck crested the hill and slipped into safety behind the Suburban. “This is our version of morning traffic.”
Silas snorted. “It beats sitting bumper-to-bumper on the 405.”
“I bet. I think I have an opening in three, two—” I punched the gas and sped past the Suburban. The double yellow lines on the road were pure ice as I hung a sharp left onto Main Street, and my wheels weren’t immune. We skidded slightly…nothing I hadn’t done a thousand times.
“Whoa!”
“And now you know why the Lexus needs chains.”
“Yes, sir,” he deadpanned.
I snickered and hooked my thumb meaningfully. “There’s the market, and on the next block…coffee shop, bank, diner, bakery, and lots more. I’d take you straight to Rise and Grind, but it’s a little congested up ahead and—”
“No, no. This is perfect. Thanks again.” Silas unfastened his seat belt and inclined his head. “It was nice to meet you.”
“You too. Hey, let me give you my number…in case you need anything.”
He looked as if he might argue for a moment. “It probably would be a good idea to have a human connection if I lose power or something later.”
“I’m sure you have a generator. Power shouldn’t be a problem, but LA folks don’t always know how to put chains on their wheels,” I said as we exchanged contact info. “Don’t hesitate to call if you need a lesson.”
A smile lit his eyes, crinkling them at the corners. “LA guys can do anything Wood Swallow guys can do better.”
“Smartass.” I waited till he’d climbed out and added, “Good to meet you, Silas.”
“You too.”
And that was that. Good deed done for the day.
Time to get to work.
Wood Hollow Mill was located in a massive warehouse at the end of Main Street tucked into the fringe of the forest. A local family had run a small-time lumber operation for decades before the Cunninghams had purchased the property five years ago.
No one liked change in this town, and the transition between owners hadn’t been smooth.
We’d weathered our share of petty protests and general malaise, and had slowly begun to accept that change was good for the community.
The mill had been an integral force in the transformation of Wood Hollow from a tiny podunk town to an up-and-coming desirable area attracting young families to settle and tourists to visit.
Once upon a time, we’d been plagued with crappy cell service, cracked sidewalks, vacant storefronts with broken windows on Main Street, and sketchy playground equipment at the park that had been installed somewhere in the middle of the previous century.
New infrastructure updates included a cell tower, repaved sidewalks, widened roads, incentives for business owners to lease in the revitalized town square, and yes…
state-of-the-art equipment in our schools and at the park.
We might not have been as cool as Elmwood, as fancy as Pinecrest, or quaint as Fallbrook, but Wood Hollow was slowly coming into its own. And at the mill, we were busier than ever, so no complaints here.
The state had commissioned us to handle a midsized eco-friendly deforestation project in Rutland County, which required a ton of paper work—not to mention lining up a reliable team of experts, a.k.a.
, loggers. The mill had a large full-time staff, but we couldn’t send everyone out on one job, no matter how lucrative it might be.
We needed trained professionals to treat and process the lumber at the plant and deal with transportation and delivery to our wholesalers.
Someone had to organize the entire operation while Hank secured new contracts and ironed out details for financing the Mill Depot project. That someone was me. It was a shit-ton of work, but I loved my job.
I greeted my secretary, stomping snow off my boots as I unzipped my jacket. “Mornin’, Layla.”
“Mornin’. Storm’s coming. It’s gonna be quiet here today.” She spared a quick glance out the window. “Schools are out, and Jimmy heard they were closing the Elmwood pass.”
I headed for the coffee bar to the left of Layla’s desk, frowning as I chose the World’s Best Dad mug the kids had given me last Father’s Day. “That can’t be right. It’s not that bad out there.”