Page 2 of Billionaire Lumberjack's Bride

Whiskey recognizes the same thing I do—that isn’t a local.

People up here lead simpler lives. Andno onewould be driving a car likethat.

I duck my head as much as possible, hiding behind a curtain of long hair while keeping my gaze on its approach. It moves slowly, as if the driver is scanning Main Street for something. Or someone. The languid approach gives me the opportunity to round the bed of my truck to the opposite side, where I can rest my forearms on the frame and get a decent view when the vehicle travels past us.

Elegant.

Expensive.

Astatementride.

Something from another life.

One I left behind me a long time ago—for good reason.

The darkly tinted windows protect whoever is inside from identification. A deliberate choice from a person who doesn’t want to be seen. But the hair on the back of my neck rises as if someone is watching me.

You’re being paranoid.

It might just be some rich fucker from Pittsburgh or Harrisburg looking to spend a weekend antiquing and soaking in the fresh air and “eclectic” culture of our small mountain town.

No one has found me yet.

There isn’t any reason to think they have now.

The car reaches the end of Main Street and the single stop sign in all of Millsburg. Red brake lights flash. It pauses a moment, then turns right, goingupthe mountain.

Shit.

I suck in a shaky breath, and Whiskey trots across the bed of the truck and buries his face against my neck. But even his presence can’t help quell the dread settling like a massive rock in the pit of my stomach.

“Sorry about the wait…”

Jerking at the voice behind me, I whirl toward Jensen, my heart thundering rapidly against my ribcage at being caught off guard. “No problem.”

The first person I met when I arrived in Millsburg holds out an envelope. “Here you go.”

I accept it and shove it into my back jeans pocket. “Thanks.”

One of his white eyebrows rises. “You aren’t going to count it?”

The old man’s genuine shock almost makes my lips curve into a smile. I clap him on the shoulder and squeeze gently. “No. I trust you, Jensen. You’ve never done me wrong.”

And if he hadn’t helped me all those years ago, I never would have survived out here. I didn’t know the first thing about living this way, but Jensen connected me with the right people to learn—trial-by-fire style.

For that, I’ll be forever grateful to him.

A smile spreads across his weathered face, making the laugh lines deeper than usual. “Have a good day, Silas. I’ll see you again in two weeks?”

Inclining my head toward him, I shove my hand through my hair and glance toward the empty intersection where the black sedan sat only minutes ago. “Yeah…say…” I peer back at him, trying to make this sound as casual as possible. “You haven’t heard anything about someone visiting from out of town today, have you?”

Ifanyonehas heard the gossip in Millsburg, it’s Jensen. The people trickling in and out of his store tell himeverything—which is precisely why he knowsnothingabout me beyond what he needed to when I arrived here, still a child in so many ways.

I was smart enough to keep my mouth shut then and now. I’m just the guy who brings him loads of firewood to sell a couple times a month, who has a German Shepherd named Whiskey, who loves the homemade dog treats his wife makes.

If he knew anything else, it could be catastrophic.

He rubs a hand along his gray-stubbled jaw, contemplating for a moment while he scans the street, searching for what might have brought on my question. “Can’t say that I have. Why do you ask?”

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