Page 73 of Timber Ridge
The phone rings, startling me out of my daydream. I scramble to answer it, excitement leaping within me at the possibility of hearing his voice.
“Hello?”
“Timber?” Kane’s voice soothes my aching heart.
“Kane,” I whisper, my throat tight with emotion. “I miss you so much.”
“I miss you too,” he replies. “How’s Arizona?”
“It’s about six degrees cooler than Hades,” I say, trying to keep my voice light.
“Been there, have you?”
“I’m living it daily. Every day without you is hell. My heart aches for you.”
“Only your heart?”
My face heats, and I know he’s brought a blush to my cheeks. “No. I miss every inch of you.”
“Now you’re torturing me.”
We could spend hours reminding each other about what was shared in that bed in his house, but it only makes us miss each other more. The distance between us seems sharper with every word, every memory.
“I think about you every night,” I admit, my voice filled with longing. “I imagine you are here with me, and it helps, but it’s not the same.”
“I know,” Kane says. “I do the same.”
“How’s Hailey?”
“She’s doing okay but asks when you’re coming home all the time.”
I don’t want to ask about her mother, but I do. “And Amanda?”
“She’s got the attention span of a stone and the patience of a yellow jacket. I think she’d be gone if she didn’t meet a logger at the bar. She’s living in one of Finn’s cabins and hardly visits. You should come back. We need you.”
A fresh wave of tears threatens to spill over, but I blink them back. “Let’s give it some time. We’ll know when the time is right.”
Kane lets out a growl. It’s the kind I’d expect from Old Grizzletoe. “Stop waiting for a sign and start deciding. You either want us or you don’t.”
“I want you both.”
“Then come back.” There was no small talk tonight. No sharing about our day, just a quick I love you and a hang-up.
I sit staring at the blank screen. What makes me hesitate to go back? My motivation for staying in Arizona is clear. I have a stable job and responsibilities to rebuild my mother’s house. But deeper than that is a fear—if I go back now, I won’t have a job. What would I do if I gave up everything for him and it didn’t work out?
My past haunts me, too. I’m terrified of history repeating itself. What if I uproot my life and it ends in heartbreak? What if everything falls apart, and I’ve sacrificed everything for nothing?
During times like these, I really miss my mother. Then I realize I’ve got the second-best thing ... my grandmother. I dial her number and as soon as she answers, I sob.
“Timber, what’s wrong, honey?”
“I miss them so much, May. It’s so hard being here.”
“Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry. Why are you staying there when your family is in Alaska?”
I take a deep breath, trying to gather my thoughts. “This house ... it’s all I have left of Mom. I can’t just leave it. And my job here ... I’m waiting for the right moment to come back.”
“Or are you waiting for a sign?”