Page 7 of Her Protective Lumberjack

As we enter the town, Chloe gasps with delight, grinning adorably as we pass the quaint storefronts and flower-lined streets. It only makes me want her more. She has the prettiest smile, and seeing those blue-gray eyes light up is enough to set my heart on fire.

“What a cute town!” she exclaims as I park outside The Craft Corner. “It looks like a movie set.”

I can’t help smiling at her excitement. She’s right, Cherry Hollow is one of the prettiest towns in Crave County, and it’s fullof good people. But right now, I’d like this place a lot better if it was nearer to Phoenix. Nearer to Chloe’s home.

Fuck, don’t think like that.

We head into the store, walking so close that our sides keep brushing, making my stomach somersault every damn time. The Craft Corner is bursting with art supplies, from paints of every kind to a million different colors of yarn. I know the chances of Will Mercer hiding behind a stack of sketchbooks are pretty slim, but I keep my eyes peeled anyway, staying close to Chloe.

“Get whatever you want,” I tell her. “Go nuts.”

She beams at me, and she looks so fucking pretty that my cock swells painfully in my boxers, forcing me to stifle a groan as Chloe starts to browse the store. Something tells me she’s too polite to really “go nuts”, so I pick up a few things myself just in case, acrylics and watercolors like she mentioned, as well as a pack of paintbrushes. I look all over the store for an easel, but they seem to be sold out.

“That’s okay,” Chloe insists when I tell her. “Any solid surface will work for painting.”

Once I pay for the art supplies, I grab another cherry pie from Buttercup Bakery and then take Chloe to the grocery store, grabbing everything she could possibly need. It feels almost intimate to be out shopping together, like a couple. I can’t stop snatching glances at her, desperate to run my hands through her caramel-colored hair. And those lips…fuck, they’re so pink and pouty, begging to be kissed. If I had it my way, I’d carry her out of here right now and floor it back to my cabin. I’d take her to bed with me and worship those gorgeous curves until she can’t remember her own damn name.

Fuck, who am I kidding?

At forty-four, I’m way too old for a pretty young thing like Chloe. Even if she wasn’t my buddy’s daughter, she’d still be miles out of my league. Hell, she’s miles out of any man’s league.Nobody could ever be good enough for this beautiful woman, but especially not a grumpy middle-aged lumberjack like me.

“I really can’t thank you enough for all this,” Chloe says once we’re back at my cabin, Rocky yelping excitedly at us. “It’s so kind of you, Trace.”

My whole life I’ve barely given women a second thought, yet simply hearing my name in Chloe’s sweet voice is enough to give me a raging hard-on. It’s like she’s shocked my body to life, making blood sizzle in my veins. Of all the women in the world, why does it have to be my buddy’s daughter who makes me fucking crazy?

“You’re welcome,” I tell her, swallowing hard. “Sorry about the easel.”

“It’s fine.” She smiles at me, showing her pearly white teeth. “What you got for me is more than enough.”

A thought strikes me as I help her get set up, layering old sheets of newspaper over the table to cover it. While Chloe sits down to paint, I head for my outbuilding. It’s where I store lumber that’s waiting to be sold, but it doubles as a workshop. I sketch out my plan and get to work, sawing and drilling with determination, keeping a keen eye on my cabin in case of intruders. It takes me a couple of hours to finish my project, and I sand it down before applying a quick coat of varnish. Once it’s dry, I carry the finished product back into the cabin, where Chloe is staring down at her painting with intense concentration. I watch her work for a moment, admiring the fluid movements of her hand and the adorable way she bites her lip in concentration. She has tied her hair back in a messy bun and rolled up the sleeves of her blouse, several streaks of paint already staining her arms. It’s a long time before I finally speak.

“I got you an easel.”

She looks up, starting slightly. “Oh! Really? But I didn’t hear you go back out?”

“Made you one instead.” I set it down in front of her. “Hope the size is okay.”

She gawks at the easel, then up at me. “You made this? For me?”

“Yes.”

“It’s so beautiful!” she says, reaching out to touch the smooth wood. “It’s even better than the one I left in Phoenix.” Her eyes sparkle as she looks up at me. “Thank you so much. I don’t even know what to say. It’s perfect.”

My heart squeezes at the happiness in her eyes. This girl is so fucking sweet, so innocent, and all at once, I’m reminded of why she’s here. It makes my blood boil to know that someone out there threatened this angel. Part of me wants to go to Phoenix myself and find Will Mercer. I’d beat the shit out of him. Hell, if it came to it, I’d fucking kill him. Anything to keep Chloe safe.

“I’m glad you like it,” I tell her, watching as she transfers her canvas to the easel. I take a step toward her and smile when I see the painting. It’s Rocky, curled up in front of the fireplace. “Looks great so far.”

“Thanks.” She beams shyly at me. “It’s still in the early stages, though.”

“Can’t wait to see it.”

I was meant to get more work done this afternoon, preparing lumber to sell to my buddy Duke for his hardware store. But there’s no way I can work knowing this curvy beauty is in my home, so instead, I sit down at the table, watching her gentle brushstrokes. I’m never usually interested in people, but it’s different with Chloe. I want to know everything about her.

“When did you learn to paint?” I ask as she layers on some rich brown color for Rocky’s coat.

“A while ago.” Her hand freezes and she looks back at me, as if she’s debating whether to tell me something. “I did a lot of art therapy as a kid. It was part of my…readjustment, I guess you’dcall it.” My heart squeezes at the pain that flickers in her eyes, and she lowers her brush, breaking eye contact as she says, “I don’t know how much my dad told you about my past.”

“I know bits and pieces,” I tell her, resisting the urge to pull her into a tight hug. “Your dad told me about it back when he first adopted you.”

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