Page 7 of The Forbidden Mountain Man Lumberjack
"I don't say things I don't mean."
"I appreciate it, but I can find somewhere else. Maybe there's a room for rent in town, or?—"
"There isn't." I keep my eyes on the road. "Unless you want to sleep in your car again or drive an hour each way to the motel, you're staying at my cabin."
"Why the change of heart?" she asks, studying me.
I consider lying, but for some reason, I go with honesty. At least partial truth. "You earned it today. You worked hard. Didn't complain. Asked smart questions."
She's quiet for a moment, and when I glance over, she's watching me with those intelligent brown eyes. "Thank you."
Two simple words, but there's a warmth in them that slips past my defenses.
When we reach the office, I wait while she transfers her things to her car. The first heavy raindrops begin to fall as we pull out, heading toward the outskirts of town and up the winding road that leads to my property.
My cabin sits on twenty acres of land, partially cleared around the structure but wild and forested beyond. It's bigger than most cabins—two stories of timber and stone that I designed and built myself after the divorce. A place meant just for me, where I could live exactly as I wanted without compromise.
And now I'm bringing a woman into it. A woman who represents everything I've been fighting against for years.
I pull up to the covered area beside the cabin just as the rain starts coming down in sheets. Sophia grabs her bags andfollows me to the front door, both of us hurrying to escape the downpour.
Inside, I flip on lights to reveal an open living area with vaulted ceilings, a stone fireplace dominating one wall. The furniture is solid wood, much of it built by my own hands. Large windows would normally showcase the mountain view, but now they reflect our images against the darkening storm outside.
"Wow," Sophia breathes, taking in the space. "This is beautiful."
"It's home," I reply, oddly pleased by her reaction. "Guest room's upstairs, first door on the right. Bathroom's across the hall. Make yourself comfortable while I get a fire going."
She nods and heads up the wooden staircase, her boots leaving small mud prints on the steps. I don't mind as much as I should.
By the time she returns, I've got flames crackling in the fireplace and am pulling ingredients from the refrigerator. She's changed into clean jeans and a soft-looking sweater in a deep green that brings out the amber flecks in her eyes. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, still damp but combed through, and her face is clean of mud, revealing more of those light freckles across her nose.
She looks younger without the armor of her professional clothes, more vulnerable somehow. It makes something protective stir in me, which is ridiculous. She's here to change my business, not to be protected.
"Can I help with dinner?" she asks, approaching the kitchen area.
"You cook?"
She raises an eyebrow. "I'm twenty-four, not fourteen. Yes, I can cook."
"You any good at it?"
A small smile plays at the corners of her mouth. "Are you?"
"I manage not to starve."
"High praise." Her smile widens, and something shifts in my chest. "How about I chop the vegetables while you handle the meat?"
I hand her a knife and cutting board. We work in surprisingly comfortable synchronization, preparing a simple meal of grilled venison steaks, roasted potatoes, and a salad. The storm rages outside, rain lashing against the windows, occasional thunder rumbling across the mountain.
"You hunted this?" she asks as I season the steaks.
I nod. "Last fall. Deep freezer's full."
"My dad used to hunt," she says, the information offered casually but feeling significant nonetheless. "Not that I ever went with him. Mom wouldn't allow it."
"Where are they now? Your parents?"
"Dad passed when I was sixteen. Car accident." Her knife keeps moving steadily. "Mom remarried and moved to Arizona. We talk sometimes, but we're not close."
