Page 4 of Her Rugged Lumberjack

3

MARGOT

He holdsout his enormous hand, waiting for me to shake it. The words “you’re hired” are still ringing in my ears, but the giant man standing in front of me drowns everything else out. At barely five feet tall, I’m used to feeling short, but this guy is well over six feet and I have to tip my head back to look at him.

He’s also…gorgeous.

I’m reluctant to admit it, but it’s hard to ignore. His intense brown eyes shine like molten chocolate as he looks at me, and there’s the tiniest hint of a smile beneath his bushy beard. Tattoos peek out under the sleeve of his flannel shirt, and I stare at the swirling ink as I finally lift my hand to shake his.

“Thank you,” I tell him, my stomach jolting as our palms meet, skin on skin. The air around us seems to crackle, and the old barn we’re standing in melts away until there’s nothing but his eyes…consuming me…

What the heck am I thinking?

I blink hard, forcing myself to draw my hand back. Something is fluttering in my stomach, an unfamiliar sensation that I’ve heard about but never felt before.

Crap, do I seriously have butterflies?

I should turn around right now and forget this job. There is bound to be other seasonal work I can do over the holidays. Maybe I can dress up as an elf and help a Mall Santa or something: a jolly old man with red cheeks who won’t make me feel like my skin is on fire. Anybody but this gorgeous giant in his plaid shirt and jeans.

The man rolls off the basic details of the job, including how much I’ll get paid—more than I thought—and what I’ll be expected to do.

“Mostly, we need you to handle customers when we open up to the public,” he says, his deep voice sending a shiver through me. “But right now, we could use some help to make this place look a little more festive.” He gestures to the mostly empty barn. “There are some decorations in the back.”

I’m going to get paid for decorating a barn? Sounds pretty good to me.

“When can I start?”

The man’s gaze lingers on me for a second too long. “As soon as you want. Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow works for me.” I swallow hard and add, “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Declan.”

Strong and rugged. It suits him. He takes a step toward me and I can smell his masculine scent, like pine trees and warm cinnamon. It’s overwhelming—his delicious smell, his giant body hulking over me, his fierce gaze rooting me to the spot.

“Well…it was nice to meet you, Declan,” I say, desperate to get out of this barn and back outside, where I can finally clear my head of these crazy thoughts.

“How about a quick tour of the farm?”

I should say no. Give some excuse about how I’ll figure it out for myself tomorrow. But Declan is already beckoning me to follow him, and my wobbly legs force me forward. He showsme an office in the back of the barn, which includes a shiny hot chocolate maker that makes me smile to myself.

So that’s what the flier meant by ‘cocoa on tap’.

Once Declan has shown me around the office and the barn’s cash registers, we head outside. Mistletoe Christmas Tree Farm stretches for miles, with rows and rows of dark green trees dusted with last night’s snow. Declan strides around with so much confidence, like he could navigate these endless rows of trees blindfolded.

“Over there is the toolshed,” he says, pointing to a squat wooden building nearby. “It doubles as a workshop—you can use the tree scraps to make wreaths in there.”

I hang onto every word, letting his growly voice wash over me. Heck, he could read a takeout menu and I’d be hooked. He explains the layout of every plot, pointing to where each type of tree is located—pines, firs, spruces—until eventually we reach the edge of the trees. The land opens up into a wintry vista. Dark forests and looming mountains rise up around us, and a frozen lake glints in the sunlight just a few yards away. On the other side of the lake is a huge log cabin, its slanted roof topped with a layer of snow.

“What’s that building over there?” I ask, pointing.

Declan’s gaze follows my finger. “That’s where I live.”

I eye the cabin with renewed interest. It’s even bigger than the barn, and made of logs the color of dark honey. A stone chimney rises from the roof, and a big black pickup truck is parked outside. It looks exactly like the kind of place this rugged giant would live, and part of me wishes I could get a closer look. Compared to my tiny apartment, Declan’s cabin is like a castle.

“It’s beautiful,” I tell him. “It must be cool to live right on the lake.”

“Sure is, especially when it’s frozen.” Declan turns around and I follow him back through the trees. “Great for skating.”

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