Page 1 of Sweet Cinnamon and the Mountain Man
Reginald
Crickets and nightbirds call outside my cabin window and I sip my whiskey, stepping out onto my front porch. My lip quirks. I love this time of the day. Love my home and the peace it’s brought me.
After I got out of the military I tried to move to a city but I just couldn’t. There was nothing that made me want to stay and the awful noise and crime sent me spiraling out of control. The only thing that got me back on track was coming back here and finding my own space up here on this mountain. Alone.
Or at least for now. My lip twists and I glare out into the night beyond the trees like I can find the ones messing with my safe little life and gut them like a fish.
It’s so quiet up here. It’s perfect. But I’ve seen them out there, wandering around the property next to me in their designer suits and with phones glued to their ears.
They’re coming for this land but I’m not about to let them take my hard-won peace.
I’m not about to just give in. This is my home. My sanctuary of peace and serenity in a crazy, digital world.
I don’t do digital. Even with my work, I’m the one that insists on paper contracts and drafting my designs by hand.
I don’t use a computer unless I have to and even then it’s not on my property. Grinning, I cock my head and consider the librarian at the the Valentine Town Library.
It’s a little town. But it has some great amenities. And the huge, well-stocked library lets me do anything I need to do on the computer. The librarian is a sixty-some woman with blue hair and a grin that makes me smile right back at her.
I don’t smile at anybody else but her.
I especially don’t smile back at her granddaughter. I’ve seen her in there a time or two and just looking at her makes my heart bop around in my chest like it’s on a a trampoline.
Cinnamon Walker. Agatha Walker’s granddaughter is a beautiful woman with fiery brown hair kissed with glints of copper and red and gold. Like the trees all around my cabin when fall creeps down the mountain and whispers in the chilly air and the crisp, gleaming colors on the leaves as they drift down to the ground.
Her hazel eyes glow with life and laughter. Green and gold flecks buried in the whiskey-brown depths gleam in the bright fluorescent lights of the library.
Her pale cheeks are kissed with little cinnamon freckles and I have a hard time not reaching out to trace them with my fingers.
But that’s not very dang helpful. Especially since I’m the only person in town that she glares at. Her pretty smile disappears and her gorgeous eyes go cold and distant.
I don’t know why exactly but she seems to be annoyed with me every second of the day.
Sighing, I run my fingers through my hair and then set my coffee cup on the little wooden table that sits beside my wooden rocking chair. Both things were built by me. Some of my first attempts at woodworking. I’ve had offers to buy both of them butI can see the flaws in them and I can’t give myself permission to sell them.
Luckily in the last few years my skills have improved and my business has been steadily taking off. I’ve got almost enough in savings to buy that property next door before those suits figure out what I’m doing.
I get the feeling they haven’t approached old Silas next door to purchase the place. He’s not a fan of suits either and I think he’d tell them to pound sand.
But he’s sick and his nephew is a greedy little jerk. There’s no way he’d say no to a big old payday from guys who can afford to overpay for something if they really want it.
And they really want it. I can see the greed in their eyes as they pore over the property looking for all the information that they need to figure out the designs they want to use.
They want to build a dang bed and breakfast up here. Not a nice, quiet one. No…they want one with all the fancy little stuff that rich people pay a fortune to use.
All of which is going to make it super-popular. Thus financially it’s a win-win for these guys.
Growling under my breath, I grab up my coffee mug and stalk back into my house. There’s no way that I’m gonna be able to go back to sleep. I might as well get something done.
Dumping my coffee out, I head out the back door and into my shop. It’s actually even bigger than my little three room cabin that sits about a dozen feet in front of it.
Picking up my tools, I plane off more of the leg of the chair, studying it with a critical eye. It’s so close but it needs just a little more work.
Rubbing at the wood with a piece of fine-grained sandpaper, I work into the curves and bevels until it’s smooth as glass. Like a lover’s caress I smooth and touch until it becomes exactly what I want it to.
Perfect.
Putting the paper down, I smile and grab the next chair leg, working it carefully. It has to be perfect. The whole thing has to be perfect.
