Caught in the Axe (Maine Lumberjacks, #1)

by Daphne Elliot

To all the recovering people pleasers. Do whatever the fuck you want. Boundaries are sexy. You are enough.

Gus grunted. “The chief has it out for us now. After decades of friendship, he didn’t take too kindly to the international drug trafficking operation Dad ran right under his nose. Plus all the assault, kidnapping, and murder that went on in the quiet little town of Lovewell made Chief Souza look bad.”

But Gus was the lumberjack. He was emotionally connected to the trees and the land and my great-grandfather’s legacy. A legacy my own father shat all over when he used it as a front to traffic drugs, and even more so when he started murdering people to protect his opioid shipments.

I took a deep breath. Two weeks. That’s all I was giving this shit show. Two weeks in hell. Two weeks to close things out. Two weeks until I could make a clean break from my father and all the shit he’d put us through over the years.

Lovewell, Maine, was just as I remembered. It had been frozen in time. Same thick forest, same neighborhoods of modest homes, same streets riddled with potholes big enough to sink the Titanic.

A looming shape appeared suddenly in the middle of the road, and I all but jumped out of my skin. “What the fuck?” I slammed on the brakes so violently I was thrown forward, and my chest hit the steering wheel as my car skidded to a halt. “Owen?” Gus yelled through my car’s Bluetooth as I fought to take in air. “Are you okay?”

When I finally forced my head up, I startled again. Because standing at the bumper of my Audi, practically staring into my soul, was a moose. A massive moose, literally longer than my damn car.

“How do you move a moose?” “You don’t, you moron. It’s a fucking moose.” Gus was so absurd. It was just an animal. “Yeah, but I need it to move. So what do I do?”

“Fuck if I know. It’s giant. Think it’ll take off if I yell at it?” Gus barked out a deep, full laugh. Damn. If I’d gotten this much of a rise out of him, then he really thought I was an idiot. Gus was usually pretty deadpan.

For eleven solid minutes, the shithead moose did nothing but stand in the middle of the road and stare at me.

I heaved open the car door, hauled myself out, stretched, and steeled myself for what I was about to walk into. And then my phone rang again. “You’re back already?” my mother said without bothering with a polite greeting. “I just got here. How could you possibly know that?”

“At least you bought Maine beer. If you’d walked out of there with Sam Adams, I’d never be able to show my face again.” “I love you, Mom.” “And I’ve missed you, smart-ass.” “Mom.” I snapped my head up, taken aback. My mother rarely swore.

“It’s fine. I’m living my truth now. Have you read anything by Brene Brown? I can lend you a few titles while you’re here. She’ll change your life, Owen.”

I wasn’t a real person here. I was an archetype. The smart Hebert brother. I wasn’t the tallest, or the most athletic, or the one who wanted to take over the business. Each of us boys had been assigned a limited identity at birth.

“The famous Owen Hebert,” Souza said, a toothpick wedged firmly in his teeth. “Came all the way from Boston, did you? Though I was under the impression that you’d be here thirty minutes ago.”

“I would have been here sooner, but I was stuck behind a moose.” He laughed. “Bastard probably knew you were an out-of-towner. Musta been trying to fuck with you, ayuh?”

“This is a big job.” One I wished like hell I could get out of. He stopped and clapped me on the shoulder. “I know. That’s why Finn and I found an assistant for you.” I frowned. “Sorry, what?” “She’s great.” He smiled for what might have been the first time since I’d arrived. “You’re gonna love her. She’s great at all the nerdy accounting shit just like you.”

“She’ll be here in twenty minutes. Meet her down there, would ya? I’ll be back in an hour or so to help you get going.” And then he was gone, jogging down the stairs, leaving me staring, open-mouthed. What the hell had I got myself into?

As I flipped through a stack of papers, they slipped from my hand and scattered to the floor. Cursing my clumsiness, I stood and started gathering them, only then realizing that my new assistant would be here at any minute, so I left the mess and headed downstairs.

Once I hit the main floor, I found a woman waiting at the front door. She was tall and willowy, with shoulder-length brown hair. She had on a black puffy coat and jeans—hardly job interview attire—and wore a bright, unassuming smile. I opened the door, trying to ignore how pretty she was up close.

“I came right from the diner. Finn and Gus cornered me this morning and said you could use my help.” She walked through the lobby, totally at ease, like she’d been there before.

With one last smile, she strolled through the lobby, draping her winter coat over one of the remaining chairs as she went. “So talk to me. What’s the project?” She spun, producing a small notebook and a pen from her purse, and looked at me expectantly. “Your brothers weren’t exactly forthcoming with details.”

Most of all, I was intrigued by her strange overfamiliarity. I didn’t know her. Trust me, if I did, I’d remember this bubbly brunette. And yet she was acting like we were old friends.

With her bottom lip caught between her teeth, she twisted the silver ring on the fourth finger of her right hand. She was nervous. Was I making her nervous?

And after a twenty-minute conversation with her, I felt better than I had in weeks. So it was worth a try. She was determined and cheerful, and let’s face it, I needed the help. “Okay,” acquiesced, “but I can only pay thirty dollars an hour.” “Are you shitting me?” She slapped a hand over her mouth, and her cheeks went pink. I laughed. “I wish I could offer more, but that’s all the budget will allow.”

“No,” she said, grasping my forearm. “You misunderstood. That’s so much more than I anticipated.”

Once this was done, I would go back to Boston, but not before I asked her out. She was too beautiful and intriguing to pass up. And damn if she wasn’t a bright spot in this shitty town.

She was gorgeous and kind and intelligent, which meant there was no way I’d escape the next couple of weeks without developing a full-blown crush.

“Lila?” “Yes. Lila Webster.” Gus put his hands on his hips and cocked a brow. “You know Lila.”

“Cole’s Lila?” I asked. Her eyes flashed with anger. “Just Lila. I don’t belong to Cole, or any man, for that matter.” Her defiant tone was adorable. Despite all the smiles and the lattes, she had a backbone. I liked it.

She ran a hand down a lock of her dark hair. “I look different. I should have realized you didn’t recognize me.” The way her voice faltered was like a punch to the gut. Fuck, I was an asshole.

Why hadn’t I realized how young she was? She was definitely too young for me, but she had a kind of steely confidence that I respected. And while I had no idea what had happened with Cole, I could guarantee he was to blame.

“I, um. Sorry,” I mumbled, unable to string a full sentence together. Determined to apologize correctly, I cleared my throat and opened my mouth, but before I could force another word out, a hot, wet substance hit my chest.

“Get some paper towels,” Gus barked at me, then he turned to Lila and softened his expression. “I’ve got to get Owen to a meeting. We’ll be in touch with the details. Let me walk you out.”

She stepped forward and offered her hand. I took it, savoring the feel of it in mine, her smooth skin against my calluses and the small connection between us. Lila was something, all right. Something fresh and energetic and a bit terrifying. “It was nice seeing you, Owen.”

Because there was no denying it. I was now lusting after my little brother’s ex-girlfriend.

I’d tossed and turned for hours last night, replaying our meeting in my head. The whole thing had been strange and unsettling. Granted, I hadn’t seen the guy in years, and throughout the majority of my relationship with Cole, he had alternated between ignoring Owen’s existence and talking about what a selfish asshole he was.

In my mind, he was a cruel, money-grubbing city guy. Like Patrick Bateman without the murder, or a younger, hotter Ebenezer Scrooge.

His thick, medium-brown hair only made his dark blue eyes more prominent, and the light peppering of gray at his temples made him look distinguished.

Owen was the kind of guy who maxed out his annual 401(k) contributions, flossed daily, and took vitamins. He was the type of person I would have run screaming from ten years ago. Now? I found myself drawn to him and his steady, self-assured energy.

She could fuck right off with her patriarchal beauty standards. Secretly, I’d love to go off on her and the other small-minded jerks who gave small towns a bad name. But I wasn’t that kind of woman. The instinct to please ran wide and deep.

I was resolved to push all thoughts of the man aside, and I was doing a fine job of it until four giants walked through the door and various heads turned. Excellent, the Heberts were here.

None of this was new to me. My family had always been a favorite subject of the town gossips. My mother, the teen mom turned three-time divorcée, and I, her ex–beauty queen daughter, were often whispered about in not so subtle ways.

Years ago, I’d learned to laugh it off and even enjoy the twists and turns the rumors took. These days, the rumors had been refreshed. Now I was known as the evil vixen who dumped poor Cole, the town hockey star, destroying him and his career in one fell swoop.

I’d learned at a young age that the world always blamed the woman.

As I was busing the table, loading the plates into a plastic bin, a thick business card, embossed and heavy, caught my eye. I picked it up and studied it. Owen Hebert, CFO, DiLuca Construction. On the back, he’d scribbled Call me so we can get to work. -O

accept your generous offer. Are you sure? I’ve been staring at a box of files for over an hour, and I’m pretty sure I’d like a hellmouth to open up under this cabin and swallow me whole. Files don’t scare me. These might. Never fear, Owen Hebert. I’m gonna make your files my bitch.

Halfway there, I realized Owen was no longer beside me. I spun, finding him staring, slack-jawed, at my minivan. I smiled and threw one arm out, gesturing to it like I was a game show hostess and the van was a coveted prize. “This baby is a 2002 Chrysler Town & Country. Don’t be intimidated by her grandeur. Priscilla’s just a car.”

“I guess I’d forgotten this was here.” He scanned the space, running his hands through his hair. “That’s convenient,” I quipped without looking up from the delivery list. Beside me, he cleared his throat. The sound garnered my attention. Clutching the clipboard to my chest, I studied him as he took in the operation, wide-eyed and maybe a little overwhelmed. “What I meant to say is that it’s nice that you don’t have to think about this place,” I explained. “That you’ve never experienced food insecurity. That you can so easily forget that there are tens of thousands of hungry people in this state.”

“I didn’t realize I’d have company,” I snarked. “Next time I’ll pack my finest caviar.” “I’d settle for drive-through fries. Isn’t there a Wendy’s in Heartsborough now? I’ll buy. Anything you want.” “Thanks, but I have celiac,” I explained, “so I have to be careful about food.” He bit into another baby carrot with a loud snap. “I’m sorry.”