Jacked - The Complete Series Box Set (A Lumberjack Neighbor Romance) Read online

  JACKED

  By Claire Adams

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 Claire Adams

  Get Each of My Newly Released Books for 99 Cents By Clicking Here

  Like me on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Claire-Adams/547513332025338

  Newsletter: – Click here to get an email as soon as the next book in the series is available.

  Click here to get my book Swipe for free

  Chapter 1

  Luke

  Shrill laughter echoing from inside my place meant Ryan was trying to get laid... again. He had a habit of doing that at my house recently even though he only lived three feet from me in the other half of the house—a half with its own living room that was perfect for such activity.

  “Dude, seriously?” I mumbled as I walked up the steps and pushed open the front door to my place. I shook my head when I found him on my couch covered with two girls—one brunette and one redhead. Ryan always did have a thing for redheads.

  He grinned mischievously back at me. “What? Can you not see all this beauty?” he stroked the girls’ heads as they kissed on his face and neck.

  “Yeah,” I shook my head again and headed for the stairs. “I can see it alright.”

  “You not gonna join us?” the brunette asked. I knew I should know her name, but for the life of me, I couldn’t remember it.

  “No, but thanks for the offer. I have an early morning,” I responded before turning my attention to the man in the middle of the bimbo sandwich. “Ryan, try to keep it down, would ya?” I joked as I made my way to my room upstairs.

  ***

  The next morning, I sat on the back porch drinking my coffee and mentally planning my day as I did most mornings. Today, my mind was racing more than usual, due mostly to the nine a.m. meeting I had with one of the region's most affluent high-end furniture stores. I loved my work, and I was damned good at it, or so my customers told me. Clearly, they weren’t the only ones who thought so since this meeting was happening. However, signing a deal to sell my custom furniture would put a measure of pressure on me that I wasn’t sure I wanted. If I signed a contract to sell the furniture I made in a high-end furniture store, would it then become work? Would it take away the passion I had for what I did? It weighed on me to the point that part of me considered canceling the meeting and continuing selling it the way I always had—by word of mouth—but I needed the guaranteed income it would bring to do what I wanted to do.

  I was lost in thought when Ryan meandered out onto the porch and mumbled something about the workout and practice session we scheduled the afternoon after my meeting. Competition season was almost on us, and we had a Lumberjack Championship title to win back. Ryan and I had been competing since we were seventeen years old.

  I acknowledged him and stood, watching the deer move over the hill, then he disappeared back into the house just as lazily as he’d come out.

  I finished my coffee then walked inside, dropping my mug into the sink as I made my way to the bathroom to get ready. I turned the shower on to let the water warm up, then placed my hands on the sink counter and stared into the mirror, studying my reflection. My beard was getting a little long, but I didn’t have the time, nor did I want to shape it up. Besides, I didn’t see how the state of my grooming had anything to do with the quality of my furniture. They shouldn’t either.

  I hopped in the shower and let the hot water stream over my shoulders and back, still thinking about what it would mean to get a contract to sell some of my furniture. If this worked out, it would give me the income to buy out Ryan’s half of the house. When we decided to buy the old farmhouse and turn it into a duplex, there was an understanding that the other person could buy out the loan and turn it into a single home. Unfortunately, I didn’t have the money to do it at the moment, so I had agreed when Ryan wanted to lease out his half for a year so he could move closer to the city and his job.

  It didn’t take Ryan long to find someone to rent him out. The new tenant, Emerson, was expected to be arriving in a few days. It struck me to ask Ryan if he’d warned the poor guy about the noise I sometimes make when I’m working in my shop. Of course, any noise I might make would be nothing compared to the parties Ryan often held. And even though he was moving closer to the city, I knew he’d still be back here more weekends than not.

  I finished my shower and got ready in record time after I realized I’d enjoyed the hot water a little longer than I had intended. Fifteen minutes later, I was headed to the small town down the road to meet with Mr. Sharp for coffee, stoked that I wouldn't be helping Ryan move the last of his stuff this morning.

  The meeting went well, and he asked to see more of my work, so I took him to the shop and showed him the pieces I had already completed, plus the plans for several projects that I wanted to finish before competition season began.

  Mr. Sharp moved around the shop, but kept coming back to the piece situated in the middle of the room. “This table is amazing,” he said as he ran his hand over the glass top. The legs were made from small tree trunks that had been sanded down and then polished.

  “Thanks. It took me a couple of weeks to complete that table. You have to find just the right combination for the base. It’s my favorite, and it’s very similar to the one I made for myself.” I walked around to the coffee table and a chair that matched it. I smiled and followed his eyes as he looked over each piece.

  “Well, you do outstanding work. I will certainly take all of this information back to the partners and see what kind of deal we can work out for you. If we can provide the wood, then maybe that would decrease the cost?”

  “Actually, I only use reclaimed wood. Please keep that in mind.”

  “Very well.” He reached his hand out, and I took it. We shook before I showed him back to his car, passing Ryan in the field behind the house as he worked to put a piece of wood in its cradle, preparing for our practice session.

  After I said goodbye to Mr. Sharp, I walked back around the house to where Ryan was setting up and helped him put another log in place.

  “We have to shave just over a second from our time to be in the same ballpark as Smith and Brown.”

  “I know,” I said watching him as he moved over and picked up the saw. We practiced for an hour before switching to our individual disciplines. Springboard was my best event, but I was only ranked third in the nation, and I wanted that world record. My best time was a half a second from the record; I just had to get over the hump.

  Ryan got everything ready for my practice run, and I went to work.

  “GO!” Ryan shouted, and I started to swing the ax. I chopped the hole and placed the springboard working my way up to the next level. The ax sliced through the air, and I moved quickly, trying to beat my best time. I finished just under my best and dropped the ax to the ground.

  “Dude, I know you can do better than that.” Ryan shook his head as he looked down at the timer on his phone.

  “I know. Maybe if people hadn’t kept me up all night, I would be better rested,” I smirked back at him.

  “Totally worth it.” He laughed then moved over and picked up the ax handing it back to me after I jumped down from the top board.

  I stood by the log we placed in one of the cradles and started swinging downward, practicing my technique. The sme
ll of freshly chopped timber reminded me of all the training I had done with my father. After a set of driving chops, I began my chips and smiled when the piece fell away. I started again and did this until I was almost to midpoint of the log. My drives penetrated to the center, and I turned and started the process over. If I didn’t drive right, my log wouldn’t separate, and that’s when I get frustrated. It happened twice. Ryan noticed my irritation.

  “Take a break, and we’ll set it up again later,” Ryan said as he moved around me kicking at the pieces of wood that lay around.

  “I don’t understand why this shit keeps happening,” I complained as I looked at my driving blows. They weren’t where they were supposed to be, and I didn’t know why.

  After a fifteen-minute break, we worked for another couple of hours until my shoulders were screaming at me.

  “Let’s just get this run over with and then grab some food,” Ryan said as he walked toward the house. He was practically living with me Thursday through Monday at this point since most of his stuff had been moved already. We had a couple of months until the next competition, and he wasn’t nearly as stressed as I was. We competed together in the one team event, but he didn’t compete individually. After almost taking off half his foot a couple years ago in the underhand chop, he decided that he would just stick to the team events.

  “When is Emerson moving in?” I asked as we started down the driveway for our six-mile run.

  “Should be any day now,” he replied. “I got the check for the first month and the security deposit almost a month ago. So, who knows. I started moving my stuff because I thought it was supposed to be earlier in the month. But hey, the whole is paid for so... whatever.”

  He asked about my meeting and we talked about that and the competition a little during the remainder of the run. A little less than an hour later, we were walking back up the driveway, cooling down. Ryan reached the porch first and pulled the screen door open but let go and let it slam into me when he released it.

  “Asshat,” I said as I pushed it back and moved into the kitchen for a bottle of water.

  “That was payback for locking me out last week.” He yelled from the stairs as he ran to grab a shower.

  As I sat at the table and looked over the competition series dates, I tried to figure out how many days per week I would actually have to build furniture once the season was in full swing. I guess I should have made it clear to Mr. Sharp that things would be a little slower once that started. Of course, they had to decide to pick up my products first.

  Chapter 2

  Emerson

  I hated packing more than anything. I especially hated that I had to pack. Stupid political red tape was ruining my life. The grant I had busted my ass to get a few years before had been pulled, and that meant I had to move back toward home. It wasn’t a total tank, though. I was looking forward to being near my family in Portland again, and I was actually able to get on board with a research program only an hour away from the city. My grandfather had offered me a job at his environmental awareness company, but that meant more desk time than I wanted. I liked being in the woods and watching how trees and plants worked. I’ve always kind of been a nerd like that—an outdoorsy nerd.

  The worst part about leaving the East Coast for the West was that I really hated leaving my best friend, Rachel. We’d been as close as sisters since we were thrown together as roommates our freshman year of college. After graduating, we leased a place together and have been inseparable. Well, aside from the time she was with her boyfriend.

  I grabbed my backpack, swiveled around to take one more look at the apartment I’d called home for the last few years, took a deep breath, and turned to head out to where Rachel was waiting for me.

  “I still can't believe you’re moving across the country,” Rachel signed as I placed my bag in the trunk of her car.

  I looked over at her and smiled. “Just gives you a reason to come out and visit.”

  “Damn straight it does,” she replied and opened her door to climb in. I shut the trunk and looked up at our condo as tears stung the back of my throat. I was going to miss this place.

  The drive to the airport was filled with talk of how we were going to take turns visiting each other and how she fully expected me not to shirk my Maid of Honor duties just because I was over a thousand miles away. She was lecturing me on that when she pulled up to the curb at the drop-off area for my airline.

  We hopped out and got my luggage from the trunk of her car.

  “Okay, chica. I love you to pieces. Call me when you land.” She pulled me into a hug and then stepped away, tears building in her eyes.

  “Don't cry! No crying! You’re gonna make me cry, dammit.” I reached for her again.

  “I can't help it. You are moving and getting on with your life, and I'm just here waiting on Charlie to ask me to marry him.”

  “Please! You know he’s going to. He’d be an idiot not to!” I assured her. Little did she know, he already had the ring. I helped him pick it out over a week ago. He had it all planned out, and I was excited for her. She and Charlie were great together.

  I heaved my bag over my shoulder and kissed her on the cheek. “I'll see you soon.” I winked at her and watched as a tear fell down her cheek. I had to turn away so I wasn't a blubbering mess on the plane. As much as I hated it, the timing was kind of perfect. I knew she was going to be getting married, so I didn't feel as bad about leaving her as I would have otherwise.

  Working with the evergreens in Maine and the diseases that were killing hundred-year-old trees had been a blessing and godsend, but the powers that be apparently didn’t think what I was doing was worth the money they were shelling out; thus, my grant was pulled after three years. My original plan was to be an arborist, but during college, I realized I was more interested in the research. I wanted to know why trees grew where they did and how they got there. I also wanted to figure out how to stop deforestation by seeking alternative resources. When I was little, my grandfather used to take me out into the woods and teach me all about the forest, and I grew to love it. I owe so much to him. He’s the reason I am who I am, in many ways, not just my career choice.

  I placed my bag in the overhead compartment and settled into my window seat, wondering if my things would be there on schedule. Moving in early spring meant the chances of snow may slow down the moving truck's progress, but Ryan, the guy I was renting from, assured me that he would leave some basic necessities there for me until mine arrived—meaning he was leaving a bed in the extra bedroom that he wasn’t going to need at his new place.

  Ryan and I had talked a good bit over the past month. He had been super helpful and willing to rent his duplex on a month by month basis. He did tell me that his friend owned the other half and that he would probably buy him out within the year, making sure I was aware that this wasn’t long-term. I had agreed because long-term wasn’t my plan. I grew up a West Coast girl, but I loved Maine and all it had to offer. I intended to move back there some day. Plus, I was leaving my best friend, and it sucked. My eyes were still a bit puffy from crying over our last bottle of wine the night before and staying up way too late, but it was worth it.

  I settled in as the plane taxied toward the runway, thankful I’d been able to get a non-stop flight out of Boston. What I needed was a nap. So, I took one.

  ***

  Once I was able to disembark from the plane, I found the truck my grandfather made arrangements for me to have since I sold mine knowing I needed something better for the area I’d be in. I hadn’t expected a brand-new truck waiting for me, but Granddad said he wanted to make sure I had something reliable. He was always looking out for me. He apologized profusely for not being able to meet me, but there were only a few times a year that he and my grandmother went on vacation, and this had been one of them. They’d had it planned for months. He had mailed me a set of keys and driven the truck to the airport when they took their flight out to the Caribbean.

  When I
located the truck, shoved my bags in the back seat of the extended cab, and set on my way, I considered stopping in to see my mother before heading out of the city, but the truth was, I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to visit with her. I just wanted to get out to my new place and settle in.

  I smiled the majority of the hour drive as I took in the landscape. The miles of green trees in every direction made my heart happy and reminded me why I did what I did.

  When I chose to go to college on the East Coast, Granddad insisted we take a month-long road trip across the country to get there. He wanted me to see the diverse areas of the country and how different the landscapes were from one region to the next. He said it would make me better at my career. What it did was make me appreciate the woods even more. The first time I saw Los Angeles, my heart hurt. I didn’t understand how anyone would want to live somewhere with so few trees. But I also got to see some of the most beautiful sites in the country—the Redwood Forest, the Grand Canyon, moss laden trees in Savannah, and Niagara Falls to name a few. It was a fantastic adventure.

  When I hit the town, Ryan had told me was the last stop before I made it to the farmhouse, I decided to stop into the small grocery store and pick up a few things. Thirty minutes later, I was turning onto a dirt path covered by a tunnel of trees. It was gorgeous. The truck bucked and jumped as the tires dipped into the ruts and holes along the path.

  The large farmhouse finally came into view, and I noticed two trucks parked in the driveway. One was a sleek black Chevy that had been polished to a shine; the other was a white truck lifted up on slightly bigger tires—the kind needed to get back into fields and forests without getting stuck. It was probably used for work. A few dents and dings told the story.

  I chuckled to myself at the joke that my grandmother had made in Texas about big trucks: something must be small, her voice floated through my head. My smile widened as I put the truck in park and opened the door. I recognized Ryan as he walked out onto the porch. He was a little taller than I had envisioned and a bit more on the built side than I had expected after seeing his Facebook photos, but he was just as attractive as he had been when we’d Skyped to discuss the house. My eyes, however, were glued to the man walking behind him.