Page 5 of Rugged Guardian

I sit on the porch of my grandparent’s old cabin and smile as I look around. The mountain is as beautiful as I remember. I make a note to stop by Silver Pine Ridge. My grandparents set up a long-term land lease with some men there who have been there for a long time. My brother and I haven’t been too concerned about it because everything has always run smoothly. They respect the land and the payments always come on time, so we’ve let them be.

I walk around the front of the cabin, taking a fresh look at it. The porch sags slightly, and several shingles are missing from the roof, but it’s filled with memories of happier times.

I’m so lost in thought that I startle when I hear a familiar rumble. My heart leaps into my throat as a blue truck pulls up beside my car. Waylon steps out, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe. He’s wearing faded jeans and a simple white t-shirt that does nothing to hide his muscular frame. His dark hair is slightly tousled. I want to run my fingers through it like I did when we walked up to the lookout, and he sat between my legs as we watched the sunset.

“Afternoon,” he says, his voice gruff.

I swallow hard. “Hey. Thanks for coming. I can’t believe you still have that.” I nod at the truck I remember him working on with his dad.

Waylon’s smile is a surprise. He turns to the truck and rests his hand on the bumper. “I wouldn’t give this truck up for anything.”

As quickly as his smile appears, it fades when he takes a good look at the cabin. “Place has seen better days,” he comments.

My laugh is strained. “Yeah, that’s why I called you. I’m a little out of my depth here.”

He nods abruptly. “Well, let’s take a look.”

I’m acutely aware of Waylon’s presence behind me as we climb the creaky steps to the porch. As we step inside, the familiar scent of pine and old wood envelops us. Dust motes dance in the sunlight streaming through the dirty windows.

“So,” I say, turning to face Waylon. “Where should we start?”

His eyes meet mine, and I’m transported back in time. How many summers did we spend here, sneaking kisses when our parents weren’t looking, dreaming of a future together? The intensity of the memory takes my breath away.

Waylon clears his throat, breaking the spell. “Let’s walk around the cabin and have a look.”

The initial awkwardness fades as Waylon points out areas that need attention. I find myself relaxing, even laughing at his dry observations about the state of the plumbing.

“Remember when the pipes burst that one winter?” I ask, grinning at the memory. “And we had to use snow to flush the toilet?”

Waylon chuckles, a deep, rich sound that warms me from the inside out. “How could I forget? Your dad was furious.”

The mention of my father brings a sudden heaviness to the air. We both fall silent, the weight of our families' history pressing down on us.

As we continue our inspection, I can’t help but steal glances at Waylon. The way his brow furrows in concentration as he examines a crack in the wall. The flex of his muscles as he tests a loose floorboard. The familiar profile that I once knew better than my own.

By the time we finish, the tension between us has eased somewhat. We’re laughing again, reminiscing about old times and sharing ideas for the cabin’s renovation.

“You know,” Waylon says as we step back outside onto the porch, “this place has good bones. With some work and TLC, it could be special again.”

I lean against the railing, looking out at the view of the mountains. “You think so?”

Waylon comes to stand beside me, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from his body. “Yeah,” he says softly. “I do.”

I turn to look at him, and my breath catches in my throat. The sun casts a golden glow over his features, softening the hard lines of his face. When his eyes meet mine, it feels like anything is possible. I want to touch him so much my fingertips ache.

“Waylon,” I begin, unsure what I’m going to say but knowing I need to say something.

But before I can continue, the sharp trill of a phone cuts through the air.

Waylon frowns, pulling his cell from his pocket. His expression darkens as he reads the screen. “I have to go,” he says abruptly. “Work emergency.”

I nod, trying to hide my disappointment. “Of course. I understand.”

Waylon hesitates, reaching out to touch my arm lightly. “Let’s meet in town tomorrow. We can hit up the hardware store, and I’ll help you get started. We can make plans for the repairs, and I’ll give you some numbers of guys I trust to do the things you can’t or don’t want to do.”

A spark of hope ignites in my chest. “Really? You don’t mind?”

He shakes his head, a small smile at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t mind,” he says softly.

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