Chapter 1
Jenna
I’m shopping for my place and can pick out anything I want.
No one can tell me no if I want to decorate it l.
No one is going to tell me what to do, what to buy, what to wear. Not anymore.
These are such freeing thoughts that I keep saying them to myself over and over.
I have a huge file on my computer with possible home decor ideas and so much freedom to choose that I can't narrow it down.
I couldn't have picked a better place to be on my own. Whiskey River, Montana, is a small town with majestic mountain views. Walking down Main Street as I look to furnish my cabin, I’m surrounded by the breathtaking Montana mountains.
This is the most beautiful small town that no one has ever heard of. It's the type of town people move to and never leave. And it will be the perfect place to put down roots for the family I want to build.
Most of the shops and restaurants are mom-and-pop owned. Up and down Main Street and downtown are benches so people can sit and take in the mountain views. It's easy to get lost in them and ignore everything else.
When I finally tear my eyes from the mountain, Whiskey River Local Retail is the shop before me. In the window is a sign that says they have hand-crafted items. I want this type of furniture and décor for my home—local items, one-of-a-kind, handmade things you won't see everywhere.
Walking into the store, I find it's larger than I realized. There’s a whole outdoor and camping section to my left, the handmade items to my right, and an entire furniture section toward the back of the store.
I mentally tick off the items I want. I’ll need a dining room table, a living room and bedroom set. For a two-bedroom cabin, the dining room is pretty big. I want a large table to fill it because I have dreams of friends gathering around that table someday soon.
But first, I have to make friends, which means opening up about my past, and I'm not quite ready for that.
Taking a deep breath, I remind myself to start with the table and slowly find the friends to fill it.
My life here is still new, and I'm not done looking over my shoulder. But I’ll get there. I know I will. Since I plan to make Whiskey River my home, I need to relax and take my time making friends.
As I get to the back of the store, I stop dead in my tracks. Four men are talking to another man behind the counter.
Four very large, rugged men. As if they sense me staring, they all turn to look at me, and that's when I see the blonde girl with them. Compared to them, she’s small. When she peeks her head around one of the men, she offers me a smile. The man standing beside her pulls her closer to his side, and they resume their conversation, so I return my attention to the furniture.
A wooden slab coffee table catches my eye. It’s as if someone sliced a large tree from top to bottom like a slice of bread and polished it to make this table. You can see all the different patterns of the wood. It would be perfect for my place if it were a dining room table.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" The man behind the counter appears beside me.
"Yeah. I wish you had one like it as a dining room table."
"Phoenix over there made it. He makes all the wood furniture for the store. Let me ask him." The man walks over to the group of men.
I check out the rest of the wood furniture in the shop. There are rocking chairs and small tables, and every piece looks unique.
One of the men from the group slowly walks up to me. His eyes are on me the whole time, but not in a creepy way that makes me uncomfortable like—
No. I'm not going there. This man's whiskey-colored eyes are warm, almost comforting. He's large and slightly awkward, as if he's afraid to make the wrong move and knock something over.
"Jack said you were looking for a table?" His deep rumbly voice washes over me, giving me goosebumps. His voice is scratchy, his words unsure, as if he doesn't enjoy talking to strangers. Who can blame him?
I clear my throat, hoping he hasn't caught me staring. "I love this coffee table and wondered if you could make anything like this in a dining room table size."
He stares at me like he’s trying to learn everything about me with one look, but his gaze doesn’t make me uncomfortable. It has the opposite effect, putting me at ease. When he doesn't answer me right away, I begin to wonder if he heard my question.
Of course, this is the moment my phone rings. I tense because there are only three people who would call me. It’s too late now, but I make a mental note to head into the city to get my phone changed.
Glancing at the screen, I see the call is from my mom. I send it to voicemail and look up at the man in front of me.
He runs his hand through his deep brown hair with its enticing curl. "I’m working on one for a customer now." He pauses, and I think he's done when he speaks again. "You’re welcome to come to my workshop to check it out and see if it’s what you’re looking for."
Why does the thought of spending time with him excite me? It shouldn't because I don't know him. Shouldn't I be experiencing “stranger danger” rather than excitement?
"I'd like that," I hear myself saying.
My phone rings again. This time it’s my dad. I send him to voicemail, too, something I’ve never done in my life. I'm surprised they gave me two weeks before trying to find me.
"Sorry about that," I say, hoping he doesn't think I'm rude.
His eyes bore into mine. "No worries. I'm Phoenix."
"I'm Jenna. You may already know this, but I'm new to town." I feel the need to add the last part.
He nods and turns to go to the counter.
"Okay, then," I mutter under my breath.
I browse the wall of home décor items, and a moment later, Phoenix is back at my side, thrusting a piece of paper at me.
"That's my shop and how to get there," he says.
I take the piece of paper, which contains an address and directions. "When?"
"Tomorrow?"
"That works. Lunchtime?"
He nods, and his eyes lock with mine again, keeping me frozen in place. I can’t move or speak. All I can do is stare into those whiskey-colored eyes, knowing I’ll see them in my dreams tonight.
Hell, this man will fill my dreams for weeks to come. They don't make them this big, muscular, or sexy where I come from. If this is what men in Montana look like, I have no reason to leave.
When he finally turns and walks back to his friends, I instantly miss his eyes on me. It’s an unfamiliar feeling.
After picking up decorations for the house, I go to pay for them. The blonde woman smiles at me again while the four guys watch my every move. She seems friendly, even if the guy she’s attached to looks like he could snap a car in half without breaking a sweat.
"Did you find everything you needed?" the man behind the counter asks.
"Mostly. I'm looking to furnish my new place."
"Well, whatever you can't find here, you can find in Helena, about an hour from here. It makes a good day trip into the city. Of course, I’m always happy to place an order for you," he tells me, ringing up my items.
“I'm sure I’ll be taking you up on that," I reply as I pay him.
"What do you do for work?"
"I'm a photographer."
"What brings to our small town? I can't imagine there will be much work for you here."
"My most popular photos are from this area. When I was ready to start over, this is where I wanted to be."
"Well, let me know if you need any help." He hands me my bag and gives me a friendly smile.
I turn to the men, who are still staring at me. Offering them a shy smile, I head for the door.
Back on Main Street, I take a deep breath. My nerves are on edge, and not because I'm scared like I should be. I'm excited for tomorrow.
Maybe I should spend the afternoon taking photos with my camera and try to relax. I’m supposed to be starting over and focusing on myself, not getting excited over some guy.
No, I remind myself. I'm excited to see the table and start decorating my home. That has to be it.
