Page 3 of Her Christmas Lumberjack

The voice is sweet and soft, but it still surprises me. I was so engrossed in my work that I didn’t hear anybody approach.

“That’s me.”

As I turn around, my body freezes, rigid as an icicle as I stare at the young woman standing in front of me. She looks like an angel, with a pretty heart-shaped face and glossy brown hair brushing her shoulders in waves. Her winter jacket does nothing to hide her thick curves, and my cock stirs at the sexy way she fills out her jeans, desire making my blood sizzle.

Holy fuck, she’s beautiful.

Her cheeks are flushed pink from the cold, and snowflakes cling to her scarf as she looks back at me with big doe eyes, the same shade of dark green as the trees surrounding us.

“Hi,” she says, sticking her hand out. “I’m Aurora.”

I’m not the kind of guy to get tongue-tied, but as I take Aurora’s hand in mine and shake it, all I can do is stare at her like an idiot.

“I was wondering if I could ask you some questions about your farm,” she continues, dropping my hand. My skin burns where she touched me, my whole body tingling with unfamiliar sensations, and it takes me a minute to process what she just said.

“Questions?” I clear my throat. “What kind of questions?”

“I’m interested in the history behind it. Has it always been in your family?” She smiles at me, but there’s something guilty in her expression that makes me pause.

“You a journalist or something?” I ask.

Aurora blinks at me. “Uh…yeah, I’m doing, um…I’m doing a feature on Christmas in Cherry Hollow, and I’d love to include the farm in my article.”

I frown. Usually I wouldn’t agree to a journalist poking around on one of our busiest days, but dammit, I’m only fleshand blood, and Aurora is the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. Those green eyes are melting my heart, and I finally grunt my assent.

“Alright. Sounds good.”

She lets out a deep breath and grins at me. “Thank you.”

“Want me to give you a tour?”

“That would be great! If you’re not too busy.”

I’m definitely busy, but the chance to spend a little more time with this girl is impossible to pass up, so I slip my axe handle beneath my belt and show Aurora the farm.

“Do you mind if I take a few photos?” she asks.

“Go ahead.”

I lead her through the rows of trees, pointing out the various outbuildings and explaining what they’re used for. As we pass the frozen lake at the edge of the farm, my brother’s cabin appears in the distance, windows blinking in the sunlight. It used to be the family home, but since Dad died, Declan has been living there all alone. At least he has Margot now. Maybe one day, they’ll have children of their own and it will become a family home once more.

“We own more land over there,” I say, pointing westward. “A cornfield and a pumpkin patch, when the season’s right.”

She nods, scribbling down a few notes. We circle back toward the entrance, and I swear I see a flash of black-and-white fur, a pair of puppy-dog eyes watching us from behind a thick pine tree. But when I look again, there’s nothing there.

“How long has the land been in your family?” Aurora asks.

“My Grandpa started the Christmas Tree Farm back in the fifties, but the land was already in our family long before that. Honestly, I have no idea which Thorne bought it first.”

I tell her about the farm’s operation and how we rely on seasonal workers, and she obligingly jots it all down, her pink tongue sticking out slightly as she writes. It’s enough to make me lose my train of thought.

“It seems like such a magical place,” she says eventually.

“Yeah, it was magical when my dad was here. We’re still trying to figure out how to make things work without him.”

Aurora’s face crumples and she pockets her notebook. “That can’t be easy. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks.” I grit my teeth, forcing down my emotions. “We’re just getting on with things.”

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