Page 9 of Her Protective Lumberjack

“Fuck, you’re talented,” I mutter, taking in the painting. It’s a perfect likeness of Rocky. “I love it. Can I keep it?”

Chloe smiles. “Of course. It’s for you—to say thanks for letting me stay.”

This girl has no idea what she’s doing to me. Not only is she beautiful, but she’s sweet as hell and insanely talented.

She hands me the canvas and I immediately hang it above the mantel, giving it pride of place just above where the real Rocky is currently curled up in exactly the same position as in the painting. But as I look at the pretty colors and delicatebrushstrokes, I can’t help thinking that soon, when Chloe goes back to Phoenix, this might be all I have left of her.

It’s a thought that feels impossible to accept.

5

CHLOE

I don’t knowwhy I opened up to Trace about my past. Usually, I keep it to myself. It’s not a comfortable thing to talk about, and I’m always conscious of how it could change people’s perceptions of me. But something about Trace feels so trustworthy. He said all the right things and seemed genuinely upset by what I told him. The way he reached out and held my hand sent butterflies fluttering through me, despite the tears, and my hand is still burning from his touch hours later.

The day is creeping onward, and Trace suggests we eat dinner outside by the fire pit.

“It’s one of the last warm days of the year,” he says, stoking the flames. “Fall starts early when you live this high up in the mountains.”

“I’d love to see what fall is like out here. We don’t get much of a fall in the desert.”

Trace nods, catching my eye over the fire. “I think you’d like it. Lots of colors—the aspens turn gold, and the air gets crisp and fresh. You see a lot of elk roaming the forests, too.” He considers me with a smile. “It would make a great painting.”

I grin at him. “Sounds beautiful.”

The sun is starting to set, streaking the sky pink and purple overhead. Embers from the fire spark like fireflies, and everything is quiet except for the crackling of the flames and the leaves swaying in the breeze. It feels like I’m a million miles away from the city. When I first found out I was going to be staying in the middle of a forest in Colorado, I was expecting to hate it. But it’s incredible. Being out here in the wilderness is like a balm for my soul, and I lie back in the grass, breathing in the scent of pine and woodsmoke. Rocky is racing around somewhere behind my head, chasing a butterfly with so much enthusiasm that it makes me giggle.

“Ready for some hot dogs?” Trace asks, handing me a skewer.

“You bet.”

I sit up, scooching closer to the fire pit, and Trace circles it to join me. He hands me a skewered hot dog and I roast it over the flames until it starts to brown, then slide it into a bun and slather it with mustard. Trace bought us plenty of food from the grocery store: hot dogs, beef and pepper skewers, corn on the cob, potato salad, and more delicious cherry pie for dessert. It’s easy to forget that I’m here to escape a death threat when I’m sitting outside in the breezy evening air, roasting hot dogs beside a gorgeous lumberjack as we laugh together at Rocky’s antics. I want to freeze this moment and live in it for as long as possible.

“It’s so peaceful out here,” I say, taking a bite of smoky meat.

“That’s the way I like it.”

Trace is sitting so close that our thighs are almost touching, and I’m hyper-aware of the inch of space between our legs as I ask, “Does it ever get lonely?”

Trace is quiet for a moment. “I’m used to it,” he says evasively. “It’s the life I chose—the life of a lumberjack.”

“What made you become a lumberjack?” I ask, trying to hide my insatiable curiosity. There’s so much I don’t know aboutTrace, and as I look into his rugged, weather-beaten face, I’m full of so many questions that it feels like I might burst.

“I wasn’t always a lumberjack,” Trace says. “For a long time, I was in the Army. Served alongside your dad before he left to join the police force. That’s how we met—same squad. We became best friends, the two of us, and another guy…Nolan.” A shadow passes over Trace’s face, but before I can question it, he continues. “I served for twenty years. By then, I was ready for a quieter life. Something simple.”

“So you became a lumberjack instead?” I ask. “Just like that?”

Trace nods. “Six years ago, when I left the military, I bought a rundown old cabin in the woods and fixed it up. Got a dog.” He smiles at Rocky. “Luckily, lumber’s a big industry in Crave County. There’s plenty of demand. So I got all my permits, and I’ve been chopping wood and selling lumber ever since.”

“Do you like it?” I ask. “Being a lumberjack?”

“Sure. It’s a great distraction—” He cuts off with a frown, like he’s said too much, and busies himself with skewering another hotdog.

I shouldn’t push the subject, but I can’t help myself. “A distraction from what?”

He sighs, and the orange glow of the fire illuminates the furrow in his brow. There’s a haunted look in his eyes, and it makes my heart sink. It’s the look of a man carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“Something happened,” he breathes, his voice barely a murmur above the sizzling fire. “Something I try not to think about?”

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