Page 29 of Caught in the Axe
With a wary look at Finn, I nodded and snagged them off the ground.
“When in Rome, right?” he said with a grunt.
When in Lovewell, I supposed. Letting out a heavy sigh, I sat on the porch steps and changed into my little brother’s stinky old boots.
Side by side, we made our way up the path toward the big house. As much as I didn’t want to, it was hard not to admire the view. The sun was low in the sky, and the mountains were backlit, showcasing the miles and miles ofvast forest. Over the years, I’d forgotten just how wild Maine truly was. I’d grown up here, spent my childhood running wild in these woods, and yet they never failed to amaze me.
“What exactly are we doing?” I asked, jogging to catch up with Finn’s monster strides.
“Training,” he said, shooting me a grin. “Don’t feel bad. The Gagnons are good, but Remy’s a professional, so there’s no keeping up with him. He’s traveling right now, but the rest of the guys still regularly kick my ass. Even the kid.”
Was I walking into some kind of backwoods fight club? Did I care? Maybe a good punch to the nose would knock some sense into me. And in what world could anyone kick Finn’s ass? The prospect of witnessing that alone was worth showing up for.
As we approached the house, the path veered off toward a large barn surrounded by neat raised beds where a few colorful tulips were popping up.
I followed him around the side of the barn to a large shed. Its doors were wide open, and every inch of its walls was filled with axes, mauls, and chainsaws.
On a raised platform outside the shed, several stumps were arranged in a row.
A few feet from the platform was a large gasoline canister.
And the Gagnon brothers.
“I brought Owen,” Finn said, greeting them and turning toward me. “You know, Henri, Pascal, and Tucker?”
I nodded and stepped up close to shake their hands.
“Owen’s been working his ass off, so I figured the least I could do was let him train with us so he can blow offsome steam.” He shrugged off his backpack and gave Tucker a fist bump.
The kid tipped his chin, looking cockier than a scrawny boy his size had any right to. “You gonna show us your skills, old man? My dad’s won competitions. He and my uncles are teaching me everything they know.”
Pascal ruffled his hair, his eyes lighting with pride. “This kid is pretty good.”
“My Uncle Remy set a world record this year for speed climbing.” He puffed his chest out and beamed. “But my mom says I can’t use a chainsaw until I’m sixteen.”
“Chainsaws are overrated anyway,” I said. “A real man uses an axe.”
The kid’s already bright smile turned almost blinding in response to that comment.
“My older brother makes incredible art with chainsaws, but for cutting wood, this is so much better.”
Paz gave me a head nod, like maybe I’d said the right thing.
Despite the at-ease front I was putting on, worry plagued me. I was still wrapping my mind around the Gagnons. They had every reason to despise us. Hell, it wouldn’t be all that surprising if they each grabbed an axe and attacked. Our families had hated each other for generations. What was worse—so, so much worse—was that my dad, a criminal asshole extraordinaire, was responsible for the death of their dad, a beloved community member and loving father.
Rather than taking a swing with a fist or an axe, Henri waved a hand, motioning for me to follow him to the shed. The structure was impeccably organized, and each tool was clean and in good condition.
He pulled a maul from its pegs and handed it to me. “I assume you know what to do with this?” His tone was gruff, but the corner of his mouth quirked up almost imperceptibly behind his bushy beard.
Pascal elbowed him. “Maybe city boy here should start with the kid-size axe Goldie uses.”
“You should talk,” Finn said. “Tell us more about your Italian loafers, Paz.” He slung an arm around my neck. “My brother was born and raised in these woods just like you dumbasses. He’ll do the Hebert name proud.”
I took the maul, thankful I’d put on Jude’s boots after all.
“Okay. Losers buy the drinks and burgers at the Moose on Friday,” Henri said. “Tucker keeps time. Get ready to work, gentlemen.”
I wouldn’t be able to walk tomorrow. That was a certainty. I was no slouch. Enzo and I boxed almost every morning, and I’d been running for decades. But there was no workout like chopping wood. I’d forgotten just how strenuous it was on the entire body. Holy shit. I felt three hundred years old as we trudged back to my cabin.
