I feel her eyes on my back as I resume my work. Swing. Split. Stack.
Only now, with each swing, I'm acutely aware of her presence. The scent of her coffee. The sound of her shifting from foot to foot to stay warm. The weight of her determination pressing against my carefully constructed solitude.
I tell myself I don't care if she freezes her stubborn ass off on my property. It's not my problem if she won't see reason and leave.
But with each log I split, I feel my resolve cracking just a little, like ice on a spring pond.
And I hate her a little for it.
CHAPTER TWO
LEAH
Imay have just met the most infuriating man on the planet.
My fingers are nearly numb despite my gloves, and my toes aren't far behind. The temperature has dropped another five degrees in the hour I've been standing here watching Aaron Wilson methodically chop wood like I don't even exist.
Which is exactly what he wants, of course. For me to not exist. At least not on his precious property.
I take another sip of coffee from my thermos, grateful for the warmth that spreads through my chest. The coffee's nearly gone, and once it is, I'll have nothing but stubbornness keeping me warm.
Well, that and the fact that the man chopping wood is giving off enough heat to power a small village. Not just from exertion.
I wasn't prepared for Aaron Wilson to look like... that. When Wren had described the reclusive mountain man who owned the property next to the meadow, I'd imagined some grizzled old hermit with a wild beard and suspicious eyes. Not this specimen of raw masculinity straight out of a romance novel.
He's at least six foot three, with broad shoulders that strain against his flannel shirt. His dark beard is neatly trimmed, framing a jaw that could cut glass. And his eyes—piercing blue like the mountain sky after a storm—hold the kind of intensity that makes it hard to look away.
Not that I'm noticing. I'm here on business. Important business that this stubborn man is jeopardizing with his ridiculous need for isolation.
I stamp my feet to keep the blood flowing and steal another glance at him. The rhythmic swing of the ax reveals powerful arms covered in intricate tattoos visible beneath his rolled-up sleeves. Military, if I had to guess. There's a controlled precision to his movements that speaks of discipline and training.
"You're still here," he says without looking at me, his deep voice startling in the quiet forest.
"I told you I would be."
He grunts, setting up another log. "Most people don't usually follow through on stupid ideas."
"Most people don't usually threaten charity events for sick children," I counter, hugging my arms around myself against the cold.
That gets me a sideways glance, his blue eyes narrowing. "I'm not threatening anything. I'm protecting my property rights."
"From what? Joy? Community spirit? The sound of children laughing?"
The ax comes down with extra force, splitting the log in one clean stroke. "From noise. Traffic. Strangers. Take your pick."
I sigh, watching my breath cloud in front of me. "It's two days, Mr. Wilson. Two days that could make a real difference to kids who need it."
He doesn't respond, just continues his methodical chopping. The pile of split wood beside him has grown impressively large.I wonder if he's showing off or if he really needs that much firewood.
I pull my phone from my pocket, checking the time. I'm supposed to meet with the vendor coordinator in town at four. That gives me another hour to try to persuade Mount Grumpy.
The cold is becoming harder to ignore, seeping through my coat and into my bones. I should have worn my thermal leggings under these jeans, but I hadn't planned on an outdoor standoff when I dressed this morning.
This morning feels like a lifetime ago. I'd woken up optimistic, ready to finalize the last details for the Winter Wonderland. I'd been organizing this event for months, coordinating with Wren and her volunteers, securing sponsors, arranging vendors, designing promotional materials.
Everything had been falling into place perfectly until Mayor Johnston called to inform me that the reclusive owner of the property adjacent to our event site was refusing access. That's when he'd asked me to try my hand at persuasion.
"You have a way with people," he'd said. "If anyone can change his mind, it's you."
