Mountain Man Lumberjack Read Online Natasha L. Black

Categories Genre: Alpha Male Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 68074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
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“Right,” I said, all business.

“Can you come by my office tomorrow morning?” he asked, as if these were all just formalities he had mentioned.

“Sure,” I agreed, knowing that I was sunk. They were going to run a background check. They would pick up my conviction and the six months I had spent in jail and go running to this other applicant, whoever that was. I hung up the phone, feeling distinctly less excited than I had moments before.

“What was that?” Mom asked, stirring her batter.

“That was the cabin,” I said. “They decided to go with me, but they’re going to run a background check.”

Dad came into the kitchen, carrying his newspaper. “Morning, son. Are you working today?”

“I’m eleven to seven today,” I said.

“What’s this about a cabin?” Dad settled into a seat at the table.

“I finally saved up enough money to get a place of my own. I’m just worried because they’re running a background check.”

“It was a nonviolent offense,” Dad said.

“Don’t encourage him,” Mom snapped.

“Why not?” Dad smiled at me. “He’s been doing real good. He’s never tested positive for any drugs. He’s a reliable worker, and he’s saving his money. We should cut him some slack for once.”

“Thank you,” I said, surprised by the sudden support.

“Did you tell that girl about your past?” Mom changed the subject, unwilling to be persuaded.

“No.” I picked at the edge of the table with my thumbnail.

“It’s not fair to her if you don’t tell her. She should know what she’s getting into.” Mom poured the batter onto a hot pan.

I wasn’t sure I wanted to stick around for pancakes anymore. “I’ll tell her. I’m just not ready yet.”

“Tell him that he needs to bring the girl up to speed.” Mom pointed her spatula at Dad.

“Who’s this girl?” Dad asked.

“She’s new in town,” I answered dreamily. “She’s from Austin.”

“And what’s her name?”

“Tammy.”

“Tammy from Austin,” Dad repeated, as if committing the combination to memory.

Mom turned the stove off and stalked out of the kitchen. I looked over at Dad for clarity.

“She feels like she failed you,” Dad said.

“She didn’t fail me, and I didn’t fail her,” I grumbled. “I wish she would just get over it or try to be more understanding of how I feel.”

“Give her time,” Dad reasoned.

“Do you think these pancakes are any good?” I hopped up and went over to the stove. What was in the pan looked mostly cooked. I scooped up one with careful fingers, putting it into my mouth. “They’re good.”

Dad frowned. “Don’t let your mom catch you doing that.”

I laughed. “Thanks for coming around to my side.”

“I’m not taking sides,” Dad said gently. “There is only one side, and that’s family. We need to all get along with each other.”

“Sorry.” It seemed like every time I made up my mind to extend a peace offering to Mom, I messed it up. “Tell her the pancakes were great.”

Dad smiled but remained noncommittal. I kissed him on top of the head and went back to my own apartment to take a shower before work. Every day was different at the lumberyard, and today, for some reason, there were a lot of customer service issues. One man thought he needed two-by-fours, but when he got home, he realized he had made a mistake. One woman wanted to buy a cut of wood for an end table, but she didn’t want to pay to have us cut it. Another customer gave me grief over the quality of the material in the bargain bin. I had to explain that the reason a piece ended up in the bargain bin was that there was something wrong with it.

“But they’re all warped,” the customer complained.

I sighed, summoning my best smile. “I could show you some better-quality lumber.”

“No, thank you.” The man turned on his heels and stalked back to the parking lot. I barely had any downtime from eleven until two, when things finally relaxed. As soon as the multiple crises passed, I found my thoughts drifting back to Tammy. We had texted each other emojis in the morning, just a gentle way of staying in touch, but I wanted more. I wanted to hear her voice.

I found a hidden spot between two displays and gave her a call. The phone rang once, twice, three times, and then the voicemail picked up. I hung up without leaving a message; she would see my number on the caller ID. I went back to work before the manager could discover my hiding place.

An hour later, my phone buzzed. I raced to shelter behind the bargain bin and answered.

“Hi, Mike?” she said. My heart sang; she had put me in her contacts.

“Hey.” I tried to sound casual.

“I was working when you called,” she explained.

“Duty calls. Thanks for calling me back. I just wanted to hear your voice.”


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