Chapter 29
Kelly
The sawmill is running as smoothly as it ever has.
Between the new office assistant Thatcher insisted I hire since Willow is due in a few more weeks—and the entire sawmill is bracing for the chaos that comes with a McCrae baby—and my upcoming wedding, my brother and I agreed we needed extra help around here.
That’s how Candice Meyers came into my life.
She’s a sweet woman, recently widowed and newly retired from the post office.
Apparently retirement left her with far too much time on her hands, because when I posted the job listing, she was the first to respond.
Now I don’t know how I ever ran this place without her.
Candice is magic on a computer, and she’s got a voice on the phone that could soothe a rabid raccoon. Clients love her. Deliveries are organized. The paperwork actually gets filed.
For once, things feel manageable. Which is exactly why I’m taking my second coffee break of the morning. That and I really need a little caffeine pick-me-up.
Last night J.T. was absolutely insatiable.
Not that I’m complaining.
But I swear I’m going to have to start doing Pilates or something—not yoga, because I refuse to do any exercise associated with that asshole ex of mine—but something if I’m going to keep up with that man long term.
“Hey, Kels, want a banana nut muffin? They just came out of the oven.”
Willow’s voice floats over from behind the lunchroom counter.
I perk up instantly.
“Ooh, yes!”
I mean because it’s muffins, right?
I hurry over and grab the plate she’s holding with a little laugh—then stop short.
Because Willow isn’t smiling anymore.
She’s staring over my shoulder, mouth slightly open.
My stomach drops before I even turn around.
The reason for her expression is standing in the doorway.
Five foot nine of instant regret I had sincerely hoped never to see again.
And honestly? Does he have a death wish?
A few of the mill guys inside the Lunchroom throw harsh glares in Mike’s direction, and I swear one of them has his phone out. But I can’t pay them any attention when there’s a snake in my midst.
“Mike?” I say slowly, staring at him. “What are you doing here?”
He looks terrible.
Haggard.
His hair is greasy and too long. His clothes are wrinkled like he slept in them, and there are dark circles under his eyes that weren’t there the last time I saw him.
“Hello, Kelly. I thought maybe we could talk,” he says.
His voice has that same whiny edge I used to mistake for charm.
Now it just makes my skin crawl.
I gesture toward the small table where my coffee is waiting and walk over, setting the muffin plate down.
Mike’s eyes follow the movement.
Then his gaze drags over my body.
“Are you eating muffins now?” he asks, his lip turned slightly down in disapproval.
I roll my eyes so hard I almost see my brain.
“My eating habits aren’t your concern, Mike.”
I pick up the muffin and take a deliberate bite.
“What do you want?”
He shifts awkwardly.
“Well, I just thought you should know I’m back in town.”
My stomach tightens.
Great. Just great.
“And?”
He clasps his hands together and nods his head towards me.
“And I heard some news. I guess congratulations are in order,” he adds bitterly. “Looks like that was fast.”
My mind instantly jumps to his new wife—Windee? Flimsee? Whatever ridiculous name she goes by.
Fantastic. Just what I need. Having to worry about running into those two when I’m in town is not exactly on my bucket list of things I want to do in Woodhaven.
But Mike’s next words make me blink.
“Stormee left me.”
He says it like he expects sympathy.
Like I’m supposed to gasp and rush across the room to comfort him.
Instead, I sip my coffee.
“Oh?”
He sniffles.
“Yeah. She, she took everything. Cleared out the apartment. My van. My cash. My credit cards. Hell, even my damn PlayStation.”
I stare at him.
“You mean she took my cash, my van, and the credit cards you opened in my name?” I ask flatly.
He ignores that.
“I had to beg my parents to let me move back in,” he continues miserably. “They’re furious. They keep saying we ruined everything, but it was mainly your fault.”
Of course, they do.
Mike runs a hand through his hair.
“And now I hear you’re getting married?” he says, disbelief dripping from every word. “Already?”
I fold my arms.
“I don’t believe this,” I mutter.
“I mean, Kelly, you’re really getting married to that old guy?”
“Mike, you need to leave,” I reply.
“Yeah, right,” Mike scoffs. “You want me to just leave you and Evan to some stranger?”
The way he says it makes my jaw tighten.
“Oh my God. What do you want, Mike?” I ask again, slower this time.
His expression suddenly changes.
His shoulders sag.
“I want to see Evan.”
The words hit me like a rock to the chest.
“He’s my son too, Kelly,” Mike says softly. “I miss him.”
For half a second—just half a second—I almost feel something like pity.
Then he opens his mouth again.
“But from what I hear you’ve got some big, scary guy playing house now. Real classy. I leave town for a little while, trying to make a better life for myself, and suddenly you can’t even raise our kid without running off to marry some old lumberjack—”
“This old lumberjack,” a deep voice cuts in behind him, “is about two seconds away from rearranging your face.”
My heart jumps.
I turn.
J.T. is standing in the doorway.
And he looks furious.
Not loud furious.
Not yelling furious.
The quiet kind.
The kind that makes entire rooms go still.
His broad shoulders fill the doorway, his dark eyes locked on Mike like a predator that just found something it’s been itching to crush.
Mike pales instantly.
And I realize something I should have expected all along.
Mike might have come here to start trouble.
But he picked the wrong damn place.