Chapter 1
ELLIOT
“Fuck this town.” I grunted as I slammed the axe down the center of the hardwood. “Fucking mayor.” I growled as I repositioned one of the split chunks to swing again. “Fucking Thickwood.” Another powerful swing, the muscles in my shoulders and biceps flexing with more strength than I needed to divide up this last cord of wood.
I finally lodged the axe in the chopping log, stretching and flexing my burning muscles. I’d been at that chopping block for over an hour and moved through the stack of hardwood quicker than I expected.
That’s what happened when I was well and pissed off about something, and today I was firing on all cylinders.
As the sheriff of our tiny mountain town, it was up to me to keep the safety of Thickwood’s citizens my top priority. So, when the newly elected mayor had popped into the station five minutes before the end of my day and informed me of his latest plans to bring new tourist money to the town, which included cutting the safety commission’s budget, to say I’d blown my lid was putting it lightly.
I was born and raised in this town, and my desire to protect it was fierce. I explained how, before he’d taken office, we’d always done things a certain way around Thickwood, a way that worked for the citizens. But all he saw was dollar signs, and all I saw was red.
Before I could say something I’d regret, which I had a bit of a reputation for anyway, I kicked him out and headed home, muscles twitching with the desire to pummel something.
And since destroying the mayor’s face wasn’t an option, I settled for second best: a cord of wood. Call me simple, but I liked the life I lived in my cabin at the base of the mountain. Surrounded by more trees than people, I was a happy man.
The shriek of a red hawk overhead split my eardrums, drawing my attention to the darkening sky as another storm threatened the peak. I gnashed down on my teeth, stomach growling with the need for something hot and homemade to fill it up. To be honest, I was a shit cook.
“Fuck,” I muttered, giving in to the idea that I’d have to go back into town tonight if I wanted something to eat. My fridge was empty, just like most days.
I swiped my sweaty undershirt from the wood pile and wiped the beaded moisture on my neck and face. I thought about running in to change. I was still in my uniform pants, which now smelled like fresh sawdust. I probably smelled like the devil’s ass, but the growling in my stomach won that war without much of a fight.
I worked damn hard at the sheriff’s department all day, plus all of my waking hours at home. Running a homestead off the grid wasn’t easy, but I’d rather die than have anything easy. My brain fired on all cylinders when a challenge was presented, so building my own log cabin with the hardwood harvested from my property was more fun than work.
I’d been up here for nearly a decade now, alone every step of the way. After a while, the winters grew long and the sun set early, so I got a dog. Normally, I hated things that needed me, but he was pretty independent as far as dogs went. The fucker was big and bold enough to survive out in the woods on his own if he had to, and I respected that.
I pulled on my sweaty t-shirt and hopped in my pickup, traveling the few miles to town and thinking about how I couldn’t wait to get back home already. I wasn’t really a fan of small talk. People usually gave me a wide berth and I liked it that way. All I needed in life was a cup of black coffee and the silence of nature.
I’d spent the first twenty years of my life raising myself up, no responsible mom or dad to tell me what was right or wrong. I relied on the kindness of folks around town, especially the teachers at school. And nowadays, everyone was about easy. No one actually believed in hard work and perseverance.
I decided I’d never give anyone the chance to walk away from me again.
One fat raindrop splattered on the windshield of my truck just as I hit Mainstreet and turned into McKenzie’s, the only place to get decent, hot food in Thickwood. This tiny establishment was like home to me. Hell, it’d been there before I was born.
Thickwood gave me roots, especially after my dad passed, and I was left alone. No family left for Thanksgiving dinners and Easter brunches, so I’d always come here.
“Elliot, I was wondering why you were late tonight. The special is meatloaf. You want your usual four servings?” Rita beamed as she approached from behind the counter. “Sounds perfect, Rita, thank you.” I nodded her way. “I’ll be in my booth.” I headed towards the darkest corner that had a perfect view of the peak of the mountain–my mountain.