The Tourist Attraction (Moose Springs, Alaska #1)(16)
Graham might be stuck in the body of a diner owner, but in his heart and soul, he was an artist, and he chose to express his artistic tendencies using high-powered chainsaws.
Several of his larger pieces wouldn’t fit in the shipping container, spilling out with deliberate disorganization in front of the workshop, including Graham’s pride and joy: an upright ten-foot-tall cedar log, complete with a five-foot-wide stump base. The piece dominated his carving area as if the tree had always grown there, just waiting for him to shape it into a masterpiece. The gnarls on the log were unique and complicated and could result in either a work of art or a chunked-off piece of junk. The log had stood in front of his workshop for the last six months, staring at him, daring him to have the guts to make something amazing from it.
The thing was—for as competent as Graham was at slinging processed meat—he kind of sucked at being a chainsaw artist.
“What do you think, Jake?” Graham called from just inside his workshop. “What are we carving this bad boy into?”
From his shaded tie-out spot on the cabin’s porch, safely out of range of flying wood chips, Graham’s furry companion wagged a silky black-and-white tail in acknowledgment.
Normally, Jake had the run of the place, but not when Graham was carving. The border collie had been blind ever since Graham found him as a puppy in a box next to the diner’s dumpster. Rage at the animal’s abandonment turned into full throttle adoration by the time he drove Jake home from the best vet in Anchorage, complete with puppy-safe chew toys and far too many outfits.
They’d come to an agreement. Jake only had to wear the outfits on special occasions, and when he did, he’d take the indignity without complaint.
Of course, the arrangement never stopped Graham from adding a hat or two to his friend upon occasion. Even now, Jake’s floppy speckled ears were topped with a knit cap matching Graham’s own. The caps were one of his mother’s better attempts at knitting, although she’d taken more care to fit Jake’s head than Graham’s. Mediocre artistry ran in the Barnett family.
“All right, buddy. I’m going to get the equipment going. Hang tight.”
Another lazy tail thump was followed by a yawn, Jake’s cloudy eyes covered by the soft wool.
When a head of short, vibrant pink hair popped around the corner of the shipping container’s open door, Graham wasn’t surprised. Even if he hadn’t heard the Jeep’s tires crunching gravel as it pulled up his drive, Jake’s single warning woof let Graham know not only was someone there to visit but the border collie recognized the vehicle.
“Hey. Is it safe to come in?”
“Safer than out there.” Graham finished changing the chain on his favorite chainsaw. “Be warned. I’m excessively rugged and masculine today.”
Rolling her eyes, Easton’s twin sister set her hip against the steel entrance of his workshop, crossing tattooed arms across her equally tattooed chest. “I’ll do my best to control myself. No promises.”
In shorts, a tank top, and flip-flops, Ashtyn Lockett looked every inch the born and bred Moose Springs resident she was. Where the tourists were still wearing sweaters and furry boots, Ashtyn looked readier for a day at the beach than a day hauling supplies across the state in her helicopter.
Besides similar eyes and the same rare smile, there was little resemblance between Ashtyn and Easton. Having been at the receiving end of more than one of the prettier Lockett twin’s grins, Graham knew how devastating they could be. Too bad the presence of a monster-sized brother always killed any romantic thoughts Graham might have entertained about her. Plus, Ash scared him twice as much as Easton ever could.
Graham hefted his chainsaw up. “I got it fixed. Pretty, huh?”
“Sure. I talked to Easton. He wants a rematch tomorrow at Rick’s after you close. Try to run them out early if you can.”
Graham started the chainsaw to check he hadn’t messed up anything, the meaty growl of the machine drowning out his words. “You could have called instead of stopped by, Ash. You’re secretly in love with me, aren’t you?”
“What?”
He revved the chainsaw a few times and then let it idle. “I said sure. I don’t mind taking East’s money.”
Ashtyn raised a sculpted eyebrow, her gaze scraping his form, briefly landing on Graham’s bare stomach. “Yeah, right. You’ve always been too pretty for your own good, and you know it. What’s the point of the hat if you’re not going to wear a shirt?”
“Jake was cold this morning.”
The eyebrow arched higher. “And?”
Tucking a welder’s mask under his arm, Graham tilted his head. “I don’t understand the question.”
Snorting, she followed him out into the yard. “Hey, if you want to get impaled by chunks of flying debris, have at it.”
Jake whined from the porch at the sound of their footsteps.
“Abs of steel, Ash. Abs of steel.”
Ignoring him, Ash walked over to his prized log—the log of which artistic careers were made—and ran her finger along it. “Are you ever going to start this? Or are you just going to stare at it again?”
“Did you hear Jax is coming back into town?” he countered, waiting for her to step out of the way before circling the stump, looking for a proper angle of attack. “He’s supposed to be here next week.”