Page 40 of Billionaire Lumberjack's Bride

He chuckles lightly, the sound foreign from a man who seems to spend his days fighting anything that might make him more human. “Living like this requires you to be a morning person.”

“I’ve always been more of a night owl.”

By necessity.

But things change, and I have to adapt.

Silas motions to the trees. “We have those here, too. You’ll hear them come winter mating season.”

Mating season…

The mere mention of it is enough to bring heat to my cheeks that has nothing to do with the warm spring sun beating down on us. Silas seems to sense the shift in the mood and averts his gaze to the two small goats approaching us.

I take a step back, allowing them to run around him excitedly while I try not to get nipped. “It might take me some time to figure everything out.”

Without looking at me, Silas waves out a hand absently. “All we have is time.”

* * *

SILAS

Lyla’s gaze heats my skin all afternoon, far more than the high sun does, even at this elevation. It rakes over me any chance she gets, searing through me like an out-of-control forest fire. A conflagration of judgment and pity threatening to consume me and leave me a pile of ashes.

Each assessment brings the original pain again.

Reliving each strike that left me this hollow shell.

She can’t look away.

Lyla sees them, despite all the efforts I went through to hide the scars. That woman seestoo much. From the first moment I laid eyes on her, it was like she stripped me bare, and the more time I spend around her, the more convinced I become that she can see right through everything I’ve done to bury my past.

She’s close enough today that she can memorize every single reminder on my skin and is no doubt running through scenarios in her head, trying to figure out how I got them. But I have no intention of reliving that trauma to satisfy her curiosity.

It’s bad enough I’m going to have to do it in front of the board.

I won’t with that woman there. If it means forcing her out of the room before I reveal Uncle Marty’s sinister deeds to the people who hold the fate of Bolton Steel in their hands, so be it.

We may have to figure out a way to live together, but it doesn’t mean Lyla has to become my confidante. There won’t be any pillow talk, opening up old wounds. Because she isn’treallymy wife. Not in any way that matters.

But sheisa hard worker.

She may not be used to living like this, yet she hasn’t complained about cleaning out the stalls or loading the wood I’ve been splitting to the shed for storage or to my truck for my next delivery.

Lyla will need that drive to survive up here.

She’ll need that to survive me.

I raise the axe over my head and take another swing. The log splits perfectly, and I toss both chunks onto the pile for her. She returns from the shed, rubbing a hand across her brow, wiping away the sweat, and I pause my work to watch her for a moment.

She raises a brow, her already pink cheeks darkening slightly under my assessment. “What? Why are you staring at me like that?”

Because it’s been a long fucking time since I’ve seen such a beautiful woman.

Even sweaty, with her dark hair trying to break free from the cute ponytail she has it in, Lyla still shines in a way that would make any man lose his control.

Any man but me.

I don’t have the ability to explore what it might be like to have a woman here for any other reason than the current one—to secure the trust and put myself in a position to control Bolton Steel. And even if I could, the last thing she needs is to battle the demons that will always chase me.

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