Page 77 of Billionaire Lumberjack's Bride

Apparently my sanity.

Because as soon as I started up that mountain with her, I completely lost my ability to resist the pull that woman has.

“Yeah. A jar of pasta sauce got broken on the way up. Just coming down to grab another one.”

His already wrinkled brow furrows. “You drove all the way down here for a single jar of pasta sauce?”

It does sound pretty fucking ridiculous when he says it like that—a two-hour round trip for one item isn’t something I would normally do. But by now, no doubt everyone in town knows about the wedding.

I offer Brent a shrug. “I have a new wife to keep happy.”

He barks out a laugh and nods, tipping the brim of his old baseball cap at me. “Happy wife, happy life. Congratulations, by the way.”

“Thanks.”

Brent gives me a wave and rolls up his window before continuing in the opposite direction, and I throw the truck into drive and proceed down Main Street toward Jensen’s general store.

I hadn’t actually planned to get her another jar of sauce, but now that I am here, it wouldn’t hurt to bring her a peace offering of sorts before I drop the bomb that is sure to set her off.

* * *

LYLA

I stare at the note resting on the pillow beside me.

I had to run back into town for something.

Releasing a frustrated groan, I reach out and grab it, crumpling it up in my hand and tossing it toward the already dying fire.

Running back to town, my ass.

He justran.

The same way he has any time I get remotely close to breaking through the walls he tries to keep up in order to continue to deceive himself into believing this is all fake.

And yesterday was the ultimate slap in the face.

I can’t say a man has everliterallyrun away after having sex with me before, but that’s precisely what Silas did. He stared at me as I climbed off him, then redid his pants and slid out of the truck without another word, walking out into the field after Whiskey like nothing happened.

Like we hadn’t just done theonething that should change everything between us.

How the hell can he do that?

He shuts down and leaves me to try to decipher his cryptic actions like I’m a goddamn treasure hunter with a map but missing the fucking key.

My frustration prevents me from lying in his bed any longer, surrounded by the scent of the man who is as volatile as he is tender, as petulant as he is generous, as loving as he is closed off…

I throw back the covers, climb from the mattress, and stomp into the kitchen, despite no one being here to see my temper tantrum. At least I’ll have good coffee this morning, thanks to my stop at the bakery yesterday.

Carrie Ann did me a tremendous solid. Shitty coffee today would only sour my mood more. I tear open the package and throw a few spoonfuls into the French press, then start water boiling on the stove.

Leaning against the edge of the counter, my foot bounces rapidly. I cross my arms over my chest and glare at the door I walked through less than two weeks ago and got myself into this mess.

That man is so emotionally shut down that there may never be any truly getting through to him. I might be wasting my time and effort. But if it’s going to be likethis, we can’t go on potentiallyforever.

If he doesn’t want any sort of relationship with me besides roommates, then we’re going to have to figure out a different living situation—at least until I can get him to agree to end the marriage.

I got the fifty grand I needed out of it.

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