Kurt hummed. “Well, the woods are good for clearing the mind. At least he’s got that right.”
“But he wasn’t clearing.” I groaned and tossed a chunk of meat into the best bucket a little harder than intended. “He was angry. Really angry. The kind of angry that doesn’t burn like a warning, but like wildfire.”
Where if no one stopped the blaze, there would be nothing left to him.
“So, I shot him.”
“Winna?” Kurt choked.
“At him. Shot at him,” I corrected quickly, annoyed I couldn’t even talk about Ryan without messing things up. “I just wanted to break his train of thought before it took him off a very cold cliff.”
“Oh, Winna.” He let out a soft, chirpy chuckle. Such a strange sound from such a big man, but to me, it was his most endearing quality. “Probably not the best way to get his attention.”
“Oh no?” I charged, dropping large pieces of shank meat into the best bucket. “What about all the times you or Dad shot, tossed, or slung something at me because I was daydreaming during archery practice or nodding off in the tree hut because we’d been camped out forever—”
“But that was us, Winna.” The older man shook his head and sighed. “I warned him this would happen. Bein’ raised by four men, learnin’ all their bad habits.”
“I know how to fend for myself, how to hunt and butcher my own meat, how to make jerky and make a living, how to—”
“Oh, Winna,” he tutted, waving for me to stop. “Yes, we did a good job there, but you can’t treat strangers the way we treated you. Especially those out-of-towners.”
“So, I’m learning,” I drawled wryly. “I just wanted to help. I know I’m clumsy with a lot of things, especially conversation with strangers, but I’m a good listener.”
“That you are.” He rose and approached me when I picked up the good pan. Grabbing another freshly sharpened knife from the rack, he picked out a piece of meat and began the trimming process. “Sometimes, Winna, handling people is more like trimming rather than deboning.”
I glanced at him, reaching for another piece of meat to help.
“For you and me and your dad—all of us—we are family. We can work in large cuts and big moves. We can rip skin off truths and pull problems straight from the bone,” he went on, positioning his knife near a layer of fat. “But some people, especially people you don’t know… people who are hurting… they need to be trimmed.” He sliced between the meat and the pad of fat. “You need to carefully pull away the parts that are no good in order to only leave the best behind.”
I swallowed over the lump in my throat, my mind working far more than my hands.
Only Kurt—only in Michigan—would butchering a deer be a lesson on how to handle people. But that was how I was raised. Lessons taught by the most basic skills of life.
“You can’t be rough or careless about it; you know this is the most important part of the whole process.”
I nodded.
Especially for deer, trimming off the bitter fat was the most critical and careful step to get meat that was sweet, tasty, and perfect for jerky.
But on the flip side—the human side—he was right. I hadn’t been careful or precise with my approach, and I’d paid the price.
“You have to take your time, Winna.”
“You’re right,” I said quietly. “But I think I’m out of time now.”
“Well, and that’s why we live and learn.” His elbow nudged my arm. “He’s just one tenant. He’ll be gone in a few weeks, and he’ll take his bad impressions with him. No need to worry about it.”
My smile was forced but present.
He was right, but he was also wrong.
Ryan was just a tenant, and he would be gone. But for some reason, the curling knot in my stomach told me it was something I needed to worry about. It was something I was worrying about.
“You can always apologize again if it bothers you,” he added, noticing my dismay.
“I think I shot right through my opportunity to salvage any chance I had to help,” I told him with a wry smile, continuing to work efficiently through the pile of meat so I could begin to divvy up what would be for jerky and what would be used for burgers. “It’s okay. I’ll be fine. I was just surprised, I guess, by how angry he got when I’ve just tried to be a good neighbor.”
“Give it a few more days. Let the dust settle. He hasn’t even been here a week. I’m sure you can find a way to smooth things over in case he does need something so the rest of the month isn’t awkward,” he said with confidence. “Men, when they’re mad, lash out. They let it all out on whatever or whoever is around. Sure, maybe you’re a bit of a force to be reckoned with, but I bet a lot of it had to do with him.”
I grumbled under my breath.
“Just bring him more jerky.” He held up a fine piece of fat-free venison. “You know there’s no better jerky in the country.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled.
I couldn’t actually know that for certain, but I did know that another attempt at offering him jerked meat was most definitely destined to end in failure.
“He’ll get over himself, don’t you worry, my kindhearted girl.”
It didn’t feel that way, but maybe I was wrong. Again. “Hopefully.”
It seemed I was wrong a lot when it came to Ryan Finan, which was strange because every time I was around him, no matter how my words or actions might be burning down any chance of his good opinion, it still felt right.
But I didn’t tell Kurt that. Mostly because those feelings weren’t something I felt comfortable admitting to myself, let alone my uncle. Hell, it had taken all four of them an hour and a half to try to explain to me what my period was.
We worked in silence for another minute or two, but before the conversation could either continue or change topics, the bell at the entrance dinged, and Kurt left me alone to attend to the customer.
Alone with too many thoughts about all the ways to accept Ryan’s single request that I leave him alone.
I could—I would, I determined.
I would because he was just my neighbor. And it didn’t matter how gorgeous he was or what he thought of me, he’d be gone at the end of February and he’d take the tingling feeling low in my stomach with him when he left.
I didn’t listen.
Of course, I didn’t.
I didn’t want to think about anything—do anything—except drink my scotch in front of the fire that had been burning since the minute I’d closed myself in the cabin.
And I definitely didn’t want to think about her.
Maybe it was because the ripped-open wound was so fresh. Maybe it was because each day I woke up remembering that Hailey was in Florida, celebrating the buyout of the company I built, with my business partner and former best friend. And each day, I tried to drink until the memory of that photo and the overwhelming pointlessness of my life was gone.
But it didn’t work. Nothing really worked except one thing.
Thinking of my damn nuisance of a neighbor.
But I wasn’t supposed to be thinking about a woman—any woman. Especially, not the white-haired snow nymph who’d shot at me to break my train of quickly derailing anger. After painful and awkward encounters had masked a feeling I couldn’t quite describe, we’d come to blows—hers from a place of restraint and mine from a place of rage. And, though I hadn’t checked recently for fear of what I might find, I wondered if there was any snow left in the vicinity of our heated battle.