Dakota Brenton liked good deeds. He did. Really. Today, however, his most recent good deed felt more like a punishment.
The sun was warm, not quite ready to let go of another amazing Vermont summer, though September had already arrived. Dakota scanned the treetops, noting the yellows, reds, and oranges just beginning to announce autumn’s intentions. He loved summertime the most, but each season that unfolded in the small town of Maplehaven had its gifts to share. His company, Birch Peak Adventures, made optimal use of those gifts as it brought interested folks closer to nature with biking, boating, ATVing, snowmobiling, hiking, snowshoeing, ziplining, and any other active outside experience a person could want. Dakota’s mission in life was to help people enjoy the outdoors.
Wish I were doing that right now.
Instead he was standing beside his father, William Brenton, on a stage with Brenton Lake as the backdrop, listening as the mayor droned on and on and on. Sure, it was awesome Dakota’s father had donated all the wood products necessary to rebuild Maplehaven Elementary School after a fire had destroyed it, but why couldn’t one of his sisters have attended this ribbon-cutting event? Why did he have to waste an outstanding day hearing how wonderful Brenton Sawmill was to do such a kind deed for the town’s youngsters? He didn’t even work at his father’s sawmill.
Not on a regular basis anyway.
Dakota had helped with the school rebuild because he had the know-how and his father had asked him to get involved. Saying no to William Brenton was never easy, though Dakota had done it on several occasions. His most monumental no had been when he’d told his father he didn’t want to oversee operations at Brenton Sawmill. William had naturally assumed the company would be passed down to his only son. The sawmill employed a good deal of Maplehaven’s current residents and had its origins back in 1798 when the town was first settled by the Brenton family.
“I love working with wood, Dad,” Dakota had told him eight years ago on his twenty-fifth birthday, “but I don’t want to make wood my life. I need to be out there.” He’d gestured out a window to the woods surrounding their family home. “I need to explore.”
His mother, Chenoa “Chennie” Brenton, had nodded as if she’d known this would be the case all along, which she probably had. Part Abenaki, Chennie had been the one to inspire a love of nature in Dakota. Most of his favorite childhood memories revolved around being outdoors with his mother.
“He’s a free spirit,” she’d told William. “He will not be happy at the sawmill. My boy has to wander.”
William had studied Dakota for a long moment, a brief sadness flitting across his face. It’d been immediately replaced, however, by his typical smile. “I understand, son. A man’s got to follow his own path.” He’d puffed out a breath. “Maybe your sisters want the sawmill.”
And they had. Both of them. Twins, Dena and Jacy Brenton had turned twenty-five six years ago. William had called them into his office at the sawmill and proposed the same deal he’d offered Dakota. The meeting had ended with the three of them doing a group hug and Dakota breathing a sigh of relief. He didn’t want to give up on his dream, but he probably would have if his younger sisters hadn’t saved him.
He wasn’t feeling particularly saved today though.
Today he couldn’t help feeling like a caged black bear who wanted to head for the woods instead of putting on a show for the well-meaning audience. When was this thing going to end?
“This is what makes Maplehaven the wonderful town that it is,” the mayor said. “A need arises and kind hearts step forward to attend to that need. Because of the generosity of William Brenton, our youngsters will enjoy a state of the art elementary school—one built at a fraction of the cost thanks to Brenton Sawmill, a company that has allowed Maplehaven to thrive in so many ways since 1798. We owe so much to the sawmill and the real-life heroes who run it.”
Real-life heroes? Dakota could just hear his father bringing that one up again and again. Nothing fueled William like a good compliment—a trait Chennie exploited on a regular basis whenever she wanted Dakota’s dad to do something. Thinking of all the times his mother had told his father he was dashing to get him to take out the trash made a smile turn up Dakota’s lips. He wondered if a woman would ever have power like that over him.
And did he want that?
Of course not. He had no desire to be manipulated or controlled. He did what he wanted when he wanted and with whomever he wanted. Stomping through the woods, rowing across lakes, zipping along trails, and soaring over mountain peaks with tour groups filled his days and sometimes his nights. He could lead a group out at any time and not have to worry about being home for dinner or that someone was waiting for him. He determined his schedule—along with his best friend and office manager, Krista Davidson—and he liked it that way. He answered to no one and was free to roam where he pleased, which involved regular trips out of Vermont to see the world.
Free spirit. Just as his mother had said. He dated, but Maplehaven was a small town, semi-secluded from neighboring ones by three giant mountains—Birch Peak, Mount Woodrich, and of course, Brenton Mountain—that surrounded Brenton Lake and kept the town in a safe embrace. He’d lived there his whole life and hadn’t met a woman who could keep him still long enough to fall in love. Even in his travels outside of Vermont, he hadn’t found anyone who caught his attention and certainly no one to make him consider calling anywhere but Maplehaven his actual home.
A sharp elbow to his side drew Dakota out of his thoughts. He gave his dad a sideways glance then tuned back in to the mayor’s never-ending speech.
Wait. Why wasn’t the mayor still speaking? And why was he looking expectantly at Dakota? Why was every eye in the crowd on him?
“What is wrong with you?” his father whispered. “Go to the podium, son.”
Shit. He’d missed his introduction. Time to pour on the old Brenton charm.
Dakota pulled down his sunglasses so they rested on the tip of his nose and pretended to survey the crowd. He spent a few moments pretending to judge the attendees then sauntered to the podium, a few chuckles emanating from the audience—an audience full of people Dakota knew by name. Every one of them had come through the doors of Birch Peak Adventures or Brenton Sawmill or the house his parents still kept on Birch Peak Road at one time or another. Folks in Maplehaven were more family than neighbors.
When he reached the microphone, he gave the crowd a Brenton smile and said, “This is a good-looking crowd.”
The audience erupted with hoots and hollers, and Dakota’s dad laughed behind him with the mayor. Good. He didn’t want to be there right now, but he didn’t want to muck up his father’s moment either. William worked hard and truly cared about Maplehaven. It showed in his every act. Every free plank of wood he’d donated to the new school, every example he set for Dakota and his sisters. Dakota may not have wanted to work at a sawmill like his father, but he wanted to be like William in every other way. A real-life hero. Hopefully, he was well on his way to achieving that goal.
“And a good-looking crowd deserves a good-looking school for its children.” Dakota gestured to the building to the left of the crowd. “Brenton Sawmill was happy to donate wood to this project because it’s an investment in the future. The learning that will take place inside the walls of the new Maplehaven Elementary School will set the next generation on the path to success. We wish Principal Myers, all the faculty and staff, and most importantly, each and every student a fun and exciting first year.”
He backed away from the podium to thunderous applause and took his spot beside his father.
“Nice job, son,” William whispered.
Dakota gave his dad a wink and went back to scanning the crowd as Principal Myers took command of the microphone and launched into her speech.
Good Lord, I’m not going to make it. The gentle lapping of Brenton Lake against the shore behind him was a siren song, tempting him to grab his canoe and get some good rowing in. Too soon the temperatures would drop and toasty sunshine would be gone for months. Maybe if he stepped off the back of the stage he could make a run for it.
“William, Dakota, will you join me in cutting the ribbon on our new school?” Principal Myers asked.
“Of course,” William said. “We’d be honored.”
No slipping away now.
Containing his sigh, Dakota followed his dad and the principal over to the front entrance of the school where two temporary poles had been set up for the sole purpose of stringing a ribbon between them. Seemed silly to Dakota, but in this small town, folks got excited about ceremonies and planned every detail. Two students, a boy and a girl, waited as Principal Myers took a ridiculously large pair of scissors from the mayor. She asked the children to hold one handle loop of the scissors with her while instructing Dakota and his dad to take the other loop.
“Okay, Molly and Jacob,” the principal said, “give us a three count.”
The children dutifully counted to three and snip. The ribbon was cut to the sound of more hooting and hollering and clapping from the audience.
“I’d like to invite everyone in,” Principal Myers said. “Take a look around. See what a good deed looks like in action.” She gave William and Dakota a huge smile, her eyes a little glossy, and Dakota thought back to the meeting where his dad had offered to donate the wood.
They’d been sitting at a monthly town council meeting, debating what to do after the first school had burned down due to a direct lightning strike. Fortunately the destruction had happened when no one was in the building, but losing the place that had educated most of them as youngsters still felt like a tragedy.
“We can use available space in some other town buildings,” Principal Myers had said, “but we’ll have to separate the students by grade level, I guess. A grade in the upstairs conference room at the bank. Another in the community space at the library. A few adjustments at the high school would free up some rooms, I suppose.” She’d rubbed her forehead, no doubt tired from trying to problem solve around this disaster.
“That’s good for now,” William had said. “But we need another school. The children must have a school.”
“Agreed,” the mayor had said, “but it’ll take some time to gather the necessary funds.”
Dakota had looked at his dad. He knew exactly what his father had been thinking before William stood and said, “Brenton Sawmill will donate all the wood to build the school. Does that help move things along?”
No one in the room had been shocked by William’s offer. The man was always doing something for someone, but Dakota had run the numbers quickly in his head. This particular offer would hurt the sawmill. Not in an apocalyptic way, but he could already hear Dena and Jacy moaning over the monetary loss.
The town council had jumped at William’s gesture, of course, and his dad had handled Dena and Jacy by calling in Dakota and a few other handy men and women in town to help with the school build… for free. Unpaid labor had shut his sisters up. Mostly.
It hadn’t been a problem for Dakota to schedule his adventure tours around working on the school because he set his own hours. Remembering the long days doing the tours and building, however, made him glad the school was finally finished. He liked building things, but he liked adventure touring better.
“You heading in?” his dad asked him now.
“Nah. I’ve seen it.” Far too nice outside to be inside anyway.
“All right. I’m just going to show my face inside and then we can take off.”
There is a God. “Take your time, real-life hero.” Dakota clapped his hand on his dad’s shoulder, laughing when William rested his fists on his hips and puffed out his chest as if he were Superman. “Don’t get your cape dirty in there.”
“Your mother will kill me if I do.”
William immediately got caught up in the next group of people entering the school and Dakota leaned against the building’s exterior. The bricks behind him were warm and he let the heat soak into his shoulder blades. While he waited for his father, Dakota’s German shepherd-collie pup, Ginger, trotted over. She pretty much ran free in Maplehaven, the entire town claiming ownership of the cinnamon-colored pooch. Dakota didn’t mind sharing her, but at the end of the day, Ginger was always waiting on his front porch, her tail wagging in greeting.
“You know who your daddy is, don’t you, girl?” He scratched between her ears, chuckling when her eyes squeezed shut and she made snuffling noises. Dakota crouched, giving her large ears a more dedicated rubbing, and Ginger rested her nose on his thigh.
“Come meet Ginger, Miss Greenstead,” a young voice said.
Miss Greenstead? Dakota knew all the teachers at the school, but that name wasn’t familiar. He did recognize his best friend’s son, Luke Davidson, walking toward him.
He did not, however, recognize the simply breathtaking woman the boy tugged along behind him. Light blonde hair fell about her shoulders in loose waves, sun glinting off strands in a way that made her look as if she were… twinkling. Sunglasses resting atop her head corralled that hair away from her face where Dakota took note of fair skin and sky blue eyes that reminded him of a perfect summer day. The rust-colored dress she wore hugged a tight physique—one that said she took good care of herself. Long, toned legs traveled down into a pair of shoes that were unlike anything he’d ever seen.
“Your shoes have leaves on them.” By far not his best opening line, but her shoes intrigued him.
As he stood, she knocked the toes of her leaf shoes together then the heels. “I know the leaves haven’t changed yet, but they arrived on my doorstep today and I couldn’t wait to wear them.”
Dakota looked at her face now where a slight blush pinked her smooth cheeks.
“Miss Greenstead has the best shoes, Dakota. She’s got ones that look like notebooks and maps and ladybugs,” Luke said, still holding the woman’s hand.
Lucky kid.
“Dakota?” She raised one blonde brow. “That name is far more interesting than my shoe collection.”
“Dakota’s got Native American blood inside him,” Luke said, releasing her hand. “On his mom’s side. Dakota means friend. Did you know that Miss Greenstead?”
“I did not, Luke.” She gave the kid a smile Dakota enjoyed more than he should have.
The boy beamed. “Hey, you taught me about fractions and I taught you about a Native American word.”
“I guess we’re even then, aren’t we?” The woman’s gaze shifted down to Ginger currently sitting on Dakota’s work boot. “And I’m assuming this is The Famous Ginger.”
Dakota reached down and covered the dog’s ears. “Don’t go filling her head with all that pomp and circumstance. There’ll be no living with her.”
“She could come live with me then.” Luke kneeled before Ginger and let her slobber all over his face. His giggles filled the space between Dakota and…
“So do you have a first name, Miss Greenstead?” he asked as he removed his sunglasses.
Again her cheeks were tinged with pink. “Leah.” She tentatively extended her hand toward him. “I’m Leah Greenstead, fourth grade teacher at Maplehaven Elementary.”
Teacher. Angel. Dakota didn’t see the difference.
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