Page 66 of Timber Ridge
Chapter Twenty-Nine
KANE
As soon as Timber walks away with Hailey, I set some boundaries with Amanda. Her expression is smug, and it grates on me.
“Since there’s no other place to stay, you can stay here for now, but as soon as there’s another option, you need to take it. This is not a permanent solution.”
“But I always stay here,” she counters, her voice laced with entitlement.
“That was before Timber. This isn’t your home,” I say firmly, my gaze hardening as I make it clear I won't tolerate her attempts to manipulate the situation.
I walk away, needing a moment to clear my head. I find Timber reading a book to Hailey and I tell her I’ll be in the chicken coop. I head there, a place where life’s only concerns are pecking and preening. I unlatch the door and step inside, greeted by the familiar clucking and fluttering of the chickens.
I run my hand through my hair. “How did it come to this?” Before, when Amanda showed up, it was just a thing. She was here and she was gone. It didn’t matter to me, but this time it matters because it affects Timber.
The chickens scatter as I move toward the feeder, filling it with grain. The rhythmic action brings a semblance of calm, but my mind remains restless. What if Timber decides she can’t wait any longer? The thought of losing her to the uncertainty I’ve imposed is unbearable.
“Alright, ladies,” I say, leaning against the wooden frame, watching them scurry about. “I’ve got a serious question for you.” They continue their pecking, oblivious to my human problems. “What do you do when your past decides to barge in uninvited, threatening everything you’ve started to build?” I chuckle, despite the bitterness of the situation. “Not much for advice, huh?”
I watch a hen chase a stray bug across the coop. “You've got it easy,” I tell them. “No exes, no emotional turmoil—just bugs and feed.” Their simple existence makes me envy them, if just for a moment.
Lost in my thoughts, I barely catch the soft sound of footsteps approaching until I turn to see Timber standing at the entrance.
“Hey,” she calls out, stepping closer. “Hailey is watching TV with Amanda.” She looks at the chickens. “Do they give good advice?”
“The best,” I answer. “They recommend more pecking and less thinking.”
As Timber comes closer, I break the news. “It's only for a week or so, and then she's out of here.” I paint a clear end to the upheaval. “Honestly, she probably won't last that long.” Amanda's impulsive nature and our strained history suggest she might cut her visit short once the novelty wears off and the reality of daily life sets in.
Timber looks at me with a mix of hope and skepticism. “You really think so?” she asks.
“Yeah, I do,” I affirm, squeezing her shoulders gently. “Amanda’s never been one for sticking things out, especially not when they get uncomfortable. And it’s going to get uncomfortable if she keeps trying to stir things up.”
Timber nods, her expression brightening as she considers my words. “Then we just need to hold on for a bit, weather the storm together.” Her use of our earlier metaphor makes us laugh.
“Exactly,” I say, with a renewed sense of partnership. “We’ve got this, as long as we stick together.” The resolve in my voice isn’t just for her reassurance—it strengthens my own determination to protect what we’ve built here, no matter the challenges.
“It’s none of my business, but I have to ask.” Her voice trembles, and she frowns deeply, avoiding my eyes. “Does she always sleep in your bed, with you?”
She twists her hands together, knuckles white, then lets them drop to her sides, her fingers curling and uncurling restlessly. “You don’t have to answer. It’s just ... she seems very comfortable here and I got the feeling that?—”
“Nope,” I cut in, shaking my head firmly. My chest tightens, and I force myself to keep my voice steady. “We don’t sleep together. She tries, but that ship sailed the day she did.”
I glance away, memories flashing briefly in my mind, a painful reminder. “It was never a love match,” I continue, swallowing hard. “It was an oops that I tried to make right. She’ll never be anything more to me than Hailey’s mom.”
Timber’s shoulders relax, and a small sigh escapes her lips. She takes a hesitant step forward, searching my face for any sign of doubt.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “I didn’t mean to—” She stops, her words faltering as she reaches out, her fingers brushing against my arm. “Thank you for being honest with me.”
Before I can respond, she steps closer, wrapping her arms around me in a gentle hug. The weight of our unspoken words melts away. She holds on for a moment longer, then pulls back slightly, looking up at me with a mixture of relief and something else—something hopeful.
“I just needed to know,” she murmurs, her breath warm against my neck. “Because I care about you, Kane. More than you realize.”
“You have nothing to worry about. I’m with you. I was never really with her.”
“Really?” She lifts a brow and smirks. “Then how do you explain Hailey? The stork?”
“You know what I mean.” I look at the house. “Maybe we should go back inside. Who knows what damage those two can do.”