Page 4 of Her Grumpy Lumberjack

“You’re on my land,” I say, my voice hoarse.

The girl blinks up at me, her lips parted in surprise. She’s so fucking pretty. My heart is pounding as I look at her, my body thrumming with energy. I’m not used to it. I want her to get the hell out of here, back to wherever she came from. Anything to stop my heart feeling like it’s about to burst out of my damn chest.

“I’m…I’m not on your land,” she says. Her voice is nervous but she lifts her chin, eyes glimmering with defiance as she gestures to the old shack behind her. “This is my cabin.”

I stare at her, waiting for the punchline.

She can’t be serious.

The shack has been abandoned ever since I moved out here seven years ago. It borders my land but doesn’t encroach on it, so I left it alone for the forest to reclaim. I sure as hell wouldn’t call it a cabin—not anymore.

“This place isn’t habitable,” I tell her gruffly. “It’s been a wreck for years.”

“Well, I’m going to make it habitable.”

I scowl down at her, trying to ignore the adorably stubborn look on her face. “Are you a qualified builder?”

She scowls right back at me. “No.”

“Well, I am. And I’m telling you there’s no way you’re going to make that place habitable by yourself. Want my advice? Get back in your car and leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” the girl retorts. “This is my cabin, and I won’t let some grumpy forest man tell me what to do with it.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Grumpy forest man?”

“Yes.” Her cheeks turn the same color as her hair. “That’s exactly what you’re being right now.”

She looks so damn cute when she blushes that it takes me a second to remember how to speak.

“I’m being realistic,” I tell her. “The roof’s caving in, the floors are rotting, and god knows what’s living in there.”

“I know exactly what’s living in there,” the girl shoots back. “Me. For the next four days at least.”

“Four days?” I shake my head incredulously. “You think you’re going to be able to fix that place up in four days?”

She frowns. “It’s…it’s not as bad as it looks. Once the roof is fixed, the job will be half done.”

“I’m telling you it’s impossible. It’s going to take more than a stubborn city girl to make that place livable.”

She narrows her eyes. “Who says I’m a city girl?”

“It’s obvious.” I glance down at her hands, baby-soft and smooth. “I don’t think you’ve ever swung a hammer in your life.”

“You’re just saying that to annoy me.”

“Where are you from then?”

She mumbles something incoherent that sounds like “derrrr”.

“What was that?” I ask.

“Denver,” she snaps. “Okay fine, I’m a city girl, but that doesn’t mean I can’t use tools. You’re just trying to scare me off because you don’t want a new neighbor.”

“You’re right, I don’t want a new neighbor, but that doesn’t mean the stuff I’m saying isn’t true. I’m trying to save you some trouble.”

The girl opens her mouth and closes it again, the anger in her expression cooling slightly. “Well…thanks. But I’ve got this. I’m more capable than you think.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

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