Page 8 of Finding Home

The gun fires, signaling the start of the event, and it’s a frenzy. The thwack of metal meeting wood reverberates through the clearing. Within seconds, the thwacks are joined with the cracking and popping of wood splitting apart. Wood chips fly through the air, raining down like confetti. People are screaming and cheering, calling out the names of friends or loved ones competing.

Trying and failing to scan the crowd, I give in and watch the newcomer. He swings his axe with smooth assured motions, the blade hitting its mark each time. His shirt pulls tight against his back with each swing, and with the power behind every hit, I can only imagine the muscles beneath that shirt. The pile of split logs grows all around the chopping block, but he doesn’t slow. Distantly, I register the jarring twang of a missed chop, or the loud curse of a participant when their log goes flying off the block instead of splitting.

A foghorn sounds through the den of axes chopping. “That’s it, folks, axes down! Judges, let's start tallying!” Paul announces. Members of the local high school football team fan out. Mr. Paul donates one thousand dollars to the team each year for their help in the event to assist with costs for the upcoming season. They each take a section to count the chopped wood and record totals. Dust hovers in the air, and contestants are bent over as their ragged breathing fills the space, while the crowd speculates who the winner will be based on the piles surrounding the blocks.

“Well, that was an incredible display of masculine strength.” Wren laughs, and I can’t help but agree. Yet again, my eyes stray over to the guy covered in tattoos. Based on the large piles of chopped logs littering the space around him, I’d wager he has a good chance of winning. The idea sends heat straight to my core, because if he does, no way in hell is Wren doing the honors.

The tallying only takes a few minutes, and Mr. Paul steps on stage again. “Well, folks, not only do we have a winner for today, but this contestant has broken our previous record by five!” The crowd erupts into cheers. “And the winner is Jace McConnell.”

Sexy tattoo man throws his hands up in victory. The men around him clap him on the back as he makes his way to the stage. I follow, ready to present the gift card, and congratulate him. Taking the stage, I have to steady my nerves. I place my palm against my stomach to try and calm the roiling feeling building inside. I hate being in front of crowds, but remind myself this is for the spa, and therefore for Lizzie, which gives me the boost I need to take the microphone.

“Congratulations, Mr. McConnell, and on behalf of the town of Juniper Falls, I present you with your medal, and from The Driftwood Spa, here is your gift card for a free massage.” I pause, letting the cheers die down while I place the medal around his neck. He has to bend down quite a bit for me to reach over his head. Damn, he’s much bigger up close, well over six foot, broad shouldered, and bless me, those corded forearms are still on display and look even sexier than I imagined. My mind spins with images of those arms pinning me to a wall while this dark-haired god of a man takes me.

Blinking, I work to clear my mind, only to find the most gorgeous sky-blue eyes trained on mine, with a grin pulling at his lips. Taking a small step back, I peel my gaze from him and look at the crowd. “And, Mr. McConnell, as an extra bonus for all that work, you can head over to The Driftwood Spa booth for a ten-minute rubdown to loosen those muscles.”

“Yo, Harper, you or Wren sharing that love with anyone else tonight?” someone calls from the crowd, laughter fills the air, and I can feel my cheeks warming. Fuck, I have to get off this stage.

“Not unless you’re paying, bro!” Wren yells, saving my ass. This makes everyone laugh and allows me to escape from the spotlight before I do something stupid.

Chapter 8

Jace

Winning the log splitting contest had been more about bragging rights against Blake than anything else. My folks own a cabin in Washington, and I spent more days than I could count splitting wood for fires. Eventually, Caleb, my younger brother, and I started making it a competition. I am still the undisputed champ of the McConnell clan, and now, Juniper Falls. Caleb is gonna be so pissy when I tell him, ever the sore spot for my little bro.

The fact that I spotted a gorgeous woman watching me right before the event had only fueled my fire to win. Winning had taken on a whole new level when, to my surprise, she came on stage to present me with the medal and massage card. She’s several inches shorter than me but commands every ounce of my attention. Her chestnut hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail with a few soft wisps that have come loose, framing her face that is effortlessly beautiful. Her fitted jeans have rips through them, giving me little peeks of tan skin beneath, making my mind run wild as I imagine my hands on that skin, and she’s in a fitted black tee that says Driftwood Spa across the chest. Her whole casual vibe is topped with classical black high-top Converse. Every aspect of her look is casual, but it winds me up.

Someone in the crowd shouts, asking for her to rub them, and I have to grit my teeth to keep from telling them to fuck off. Her friend deflects the attention, which clearly made her uncomfortable, making me like her friend already.

Following her down from the platform, I watch the way those fitted jeans hug her curves, molding to her ass as she moves. What I wouldn’t give to sink to my knees and bite that ass. Once off the stage, she turns to me, the breeze sending a few flyaway strands of hair into her face. My fingers itch to touch it, but she smiles at me, tucking the wayward hair behind her ear. Our eyes meet, and I notice little flecks of gold mixed in with her brown eyes. She’s stunning. Something jolts through me, and I dart a look at her left hand. Thank fuck, there’s no ring there. I would have felt a little bad ogling some man's wife, but I’m pretty sure I couldn’t stop if I wanted to.

She keeps calling me Mr. McConnell, and that is not working for me. “Please, call me Jace.” I reach for her hand in greeting, proud of my smooth segway into touching her.

“Harper.” She grasps my hand, and honest to God, I feel a little pulse of energy course through me. I can’t seem to let go. She drops my hand as her friend approaches, and I notice she’s also wearing a Driftwood Spa shirt. Shit, is she the one doing the massage? Disappointment floods my veins.

“Jace, you want to follow me to our booth? Let me work on those muscles you just abused?”

Relief hits me like a tidal wave. Hoping to mask my eagerness, I just smile and gesture for her to go ahead. “Lead the way.”

She calls to the other girl, who is grinning wickedly, letting her know she’s taking me for the chair massage. I’m about to look away when I spot her friend mouthing, “Get it girl,” and shooting two thumbs up to Harper, who instantly turns beet red as she fixes her friend with a deadly stare. Unable to stop it, I smile, biting my lip to keep the laugh in. When she shoots her head toward me, I attempt to cover my grin with my fist, but she looks like she hopes the earth will open up and swallow her whole.

She recovers quickly, clearing her throat before casually saying, “This way.” She fidgets with the hem of her shirt as we walk through the crowd. “That was pretty impressive back there, you obviously know your way around some wood.”

I nearly blackout at the comment, every impure thought I’ve had of her flooding my system, and there have been a lot for only having just met her. Our eyes meet, mine likely heated with lust, hers filled with pure horror.

She’s so damn cute. Her reaction is adorably embarrassed and flustered. “I guess you could say that,” I drawl, stepping a little closer, unable to resist the pull to be near her. Her eyes flare wide and she stammers.

“That’s the booth there, and uh...you can take the seat under the tree.”

We stand frozen, staring at each other. It’s on the tip of my tongue to make a wood joke, but as cute as her being all flustered is, I take pity on her and settle into the chair without any further comment. Sainthood, I deserve sainthood for this. Then her hands are on me, massaging and kneading into my stiff muscles, and her touch sends images spiraling through me that are anything but saintly. She leans in, really working on my shoulder, and her breasts skims over my back. My cock thickens in my pants, making me shift a little, and I mentally shout at him to stand down.

Yeah...sainthood has definitely been revoked.

“Are you just here for the festival?” Harper’s voice pulls me from my internal dick scolding.

“Kind of. My company is doing the reconstruction of the shopping strip in town that was damaged during a fire. I’m here to get things moving and hand them off to my foreman.”

“Oh, yeah, the ones off Elm. I heard the rumor that someone had bought the property. It’ll be great to have something there again. There is something so sad about a burnt-out, empty shell of a building. Don’t you think?”