Page 5 of Mountain Grump
His tan button-down short-sleeved shirt is tight across his muscular chest.
His dark trimmed beard frames his not-smiling mouth.
And his eyes…
I blink.
He’s wearing a baseball hat that puts his eyes in shadows, but they look like they’re two different colors. One green, one brown. And they’re full of suspicion.
Did he really just come from the woods?
Is he a forest man?
I lower my eyes from his intense ones, and that’s when I see it.
The gun at his hip.
I stumble back. “Don’t shoot me.”
He drops his hands to his sides. Closer to his gun.
A shriek creeps out of my throat, and I glance around, looking for a weapon.
“Shoot? Lady, I’m not?—”
I spot my box of suncatchers on the ground and run toward it.
Crouching down, I reach inside.
My knees sting with the movement, and I have one second to glance at the trickle of blood running down my right shin before I stand back up, brandishing my scissors. “B-back up.” I hold my arm out straight, trying to get the points of metal as close to him as possible. “Which one of them sent you?”
“Sent me?” The man furrows his brows. “What the fuck are you talking about? Who are you? Where’s Jack?”
That makes me pause.
That name.
My great-uncle.
I swallow.
Then I swallow again.
“Jack’s dead.” I can’t say it any louder than a whisper.
The man jerks back. He doesn’t move his feet. Doesn’t step away. But his weight shifts. Like the ground swayed beneath him.
His serious expression doesn’t change. “When?”
“Two weeks.” I wet my lips, my mouth feeling dry from the rush of adrenaline. “My cousin didn’t send you?”
He shakes his head slowly, looking at me like he can’t understand what I’m saying. “No one sent me. I’m not here to shoot you.” He lifts his hands away from his sides, like he’s reminding me he didn’t pull the gun from its holster.
Like he’s inviting me to look him over.
So I look at the forest man.
The size of him.
