Page 25 of Claimed By the Lumberjack

Tracy doesn’t argue. She sits and awaits her fate. I use my walkie-talkie to tell Reid where we are and to get the sheriff here. Only then do I turn back to Tessa. She’s trembling.

I take a few steps toward her and pull her into my arms. She comes willingly. She collapses against me like her body’s been waiting for this moment to fall apart. Her fingers dig into the back of my hoodie. Her forehead presses into my chest.

“She was so close,” she whispers. “For days.”

“I know, baby. I know.”

I hold her tighter, rubbing her back in slow circles, like I can ground her with touch alone. Like if I just keep her close enough, nothing will ever hurt her again.

“Tessa, I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you. Not just in my bed, not just in my house, but in my life. You walked in like a storm and somehow made everything quieter. You seethrough me. You stay when it’s hard. You make me feel like a man again, not a shadow.”

She blinks, eyes glassy.

I take her face in my hands. “I want you in my mornings. In my silence. In my chaos. I want to build a life around the sound of your laugh and your bare feet on my porch and the way you kiss me like you’re afraid to let go.”

A tear slips down her cheek. I brush it away with my thumb.

“You make me believe in things I thought were long gone. And I’m not letting you walk out of here thinking this was anything less than everything.”

She launches into me, her arms around my neck. Lips on mine. Mouth urgent and soft and shaking with emotion.

I hold her like a lifeline. Because she is.

She pulls back, breathless. “That’s the first time you’ve given me a speech.”

“You liked it?”

She laughs, wiping her cheeks. “I loved it. I love you.”

I smile, wide and full and real. Then I kiss her again, slower this time. Deeper. The trees stand quietly around us, but I swear they know. This woman will be mine forever.

Epilogue

Tessa

Sawyer Holt is building our forever. Out past the old vegetable garden, where there’s a tangle of tomato vines and a suspiciously bold family of squirrels, he’s hammering away at a new addition to the cabin. A real-deal construction site with planks of fresh wood, a wheelbarrow full of nails, and the faint scent of sawdust trailing on the spring air.

When I first met him, he wouldn’t have let me step foot inside his cabin if the weather hadn’t intervened. Now? He’s giving me an office, a sunroom, and a bedroom big enough for the two of us and rooms for anyone else who might join us someday.

And I’m still in love with him in ways I don’t fully have the vocabulary for.

I step out onto the porch, coffee in hand, and watch him work. His T-shirt clings to his back, the sleeves hugging his biceps just right. His hair’s longer now, shaggier, and his beard’s a bit fuller. He catches me staring. He always does.

“You’re not even pretending to be subtle,” he calls out, not looking up from his work.

“I stopped pretending a long time ago.”

He pauses, leans back on his heels, and grins over his shoulder at me. “Want to come out here and ‘supervise’?”

I sip my coffee slowly. “Is that code for ‘sit on your lap while you pretend not to be distracted by my cleavage’?”

He wipes sweat from his brow and grins wider. “Maybe.”

God, I love him.

I walk down the steps and cross the yard barefoot, the grass cool and damp under my feet. Spring in Pine Hollow smells like rain and promise. Wildflowers dot the hills, the birds won’t shut up, and the trees are that impossible shade of green they only wear for a few golden weeks before summer heat kicks in.

He sets his hammer down just in time for me to settle into his lap on the wide wooden beam he’s been using as a makeshift bench.

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