Page 19 of Close to My Heart

“My feet hurt,” Ashton hissed at me.

I gave him a disgusted look. “Why aren’t you wearing boots? I told you we’d be doing some hiking.”

“I didn’t think you meant this. My shoes are going to be ruined.”

That made my stomach lurch for a different reason. A Calloway wouldn’t complain about the state of his shoes. They were men’s men, as everyone loved to say, prepared for anything.

Ashton Crawford was as far from a mountain man as you could get. He felt plastic and manufactured. His clothes were dry cleaned and neatly pressed. His shoes polished and shiny. Why did I think a tree-farm date would be a good idea? It was only going to point out the obvious problems with the men my mom wanted me to date. They weren’t men I was attracted to.

I preferred Wes’s overprotectiveness, the way he’d tenderly taken care of me that night after my accident. I wanted a man to be so muscular, picking me up was a breeze. It made me wonder if Wes could lift and press me against the wall. I’d heard you had to be athletic to make wall sex happen. My cheeks flushed. Why was I thinking about my best friend fucking me against a wall?

I was clearly losing it. The air might be thinner up on this hill, but I didn’t think so. This was all Wes’s fault. He was confusing me. I was supposed to be vetting fake husbands, not highlighting all the reasons I was attracted to Wes.

I glared at Wes’s back as he continued to set a steady pace through the rows of trees. I stopped abruptly. “What about this one?”

I gestured at the tree next to Ashton, even though I had no idea what it looked like. I was just tired of speed walking.

Wes scowled. “That one is too thin. The branches are so sparse you can see through it.”

I pointed at the one behind Wes. “How about this one?”

I dropped Ashton’s sweaty hand and walked around it. It was full and thick with a blue tinge to its needles. I loved it. “I think this is the one.”

“Whatever you want,” Ashton said, and even though it was a nice thing to say, it set me on edge.

Is that how he’d be in a marriage? Whatever you want, dear. Was he a pushover, or did he just not care.

Why did I want someone to challenge me? To tell me all the ways I should be more careful. Why did it feel like Wes cared about me in a way Ashton never could? Ashton was more concerned about the gel in his hair and the shine on his shoes than my safety or needs.

Wes held the saw out to him.

Ashton looked at it like it was a snake coiled to bite him. “What do you want me to do with that?”

Wes raised a brow. “Didn’t you want to do the honors? It’s your tree.”

“Isn’t that why you’re here? That’s your job, isn’t it?” Ashton asked, his voice slightly panicked.

“You’re going to let me show you up when you’re on a date with a beautiful woman?” Wes asked, and I nearly groaned at his obvious taunt.

Ashton reached out and grabbed the handle. “Fine.” Then he studied the tree as if he was trying to figure out his best angle.

“You’re going to have to lie on the ground to cut the tree,” Wes pointed out helpfully.

Ashton grimaced as he gingerly lowered himself to his knees, probably ruining his pants. I couldn’t believe he was going through with it.

“You’re going to want to get under the lowest branches and really get close to the trunk.

When Ashton was done, his wool coat was going to be full of pine needles, and no dry cleaner would be able to get out the sap.

Ashton looked supremely uncomfortable under the tree as he attempted to follow Wes’s instructions. When he began to saw the trunk, he didn’t make any headway.

Wes seemed almost gleeful when he said, “You’re going to have to use more pressure. Use those muscles.”

I wasn’t sure Ashton had muscles. He wasn’t an outdoorsman or a gym rat. He liked golf and going out for drinks. Why did I think I could marry someone my mom saw me with?

It was painful watching Ashton try to press the blade into the trunk. His pristine clothes were lined with dirt and sweat beaded on his forehead.

How did Wes make it look so effortlessly easy? I remembered the way he’d sawed right through his tree, dragged it through the woods, and tossed it into the back of his pickup. That was the kind of man that got my blood pumping.

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