Page 97 of Impossible Love

I slam the door in his face. Lock it. And eat my damn salad, though a few tears plop on my cherry tomatoes. Unfortunately, my nap doesn’t happen. The echoing racket outside keeps me from getting any rest. What the hell is he doing out there?

I pull the blinds back and peer out toward the side of the house. Oh no. I shouldn’t have done that. As I take inventory of what I’m seeing, my mouth goes dry and my panties dampen.

Cal’s shirtless. His chest bulges. His worn jeans hang low, hugging his narrow hips. I see his flat belly and six-pack, with that coal-black strip of hair disappearing down into the delicious swell of his package. He’s wielding that axe like he harbors a deep and longstanding hatred of trees.

His skin glistens with sweat. I watch, fascinated, as the muscles in his shoulders, upper arms, and back ripple and twitch with each swing. I hear him grunt every time iron meets hardwood.

For the first time in my life, I understand the sex appeal of lumberjacks.

This latest log cracks, splits, and the pieces fly off to the haphazard heap that looks as if it’s about to topple down the slope. He stops, impales the chopping block with the axe, and uses his discarded shirt to wipe sweat from his face.

That’s when he raises those deep violet eyes to the house and sees me spying on him from the window. His eyes crinkle and his mouth curls in a self-satisfied smile. He waves his fingers at me.

Well, shit.

Once more, I try to sleep. But now he’s got the radio blaring directly below the bedroom window. I look out again to see him cleaning his guns. Shirtless. He’s doing this on purpose. I give up on getting any rest and begin to draft my report.

I need to get my mind off Cal’s muscles. Focusing on taxes and utilization spreadsheets will certainly do the trick.

About three hours later I hit save and close my laptop. It’s already after noon, and I’m so tired I can’t think straight. There are so many unpleasant details I need to share with Jamie, and many of them will be difficult for him to hear. My head needs to be clear and calm for this discussion, despite the rage I feel over what my father has done. I decide to cut my losses and call it a day.

I immediately regret my short-sighted escape plan of the day before. I need my toiletries and something to sleep in, but I’ve already dragged my suitcases out to the front porch. And I’d really prefer not to run into Cal.

He’s an ass. He’s an entitled, self-important ass and I never want to speak to him again. Despite how hot he is without his shirt.

Snap out of it, Victoria.

I need my stuff, so I crack the door. I listen for any noise coming from the kitchen or great room, but it’s quiet. I decide to make a break for it and tiptoe down the hall. As I’m halfway across the great room, I notice that my suitcases have been brought back inside. I’m not sure if that’s supposed to be some sort of message or just a courtesy in case it rains, but regardless, I make a dash for them. I’ll just grab what I need and—

“Need a hand?”

I spin around, looking for where the voice came from. His dark head pops up from the leather sectional and he peers over the edge

“No.”

“I don’t mind helping you.”

“I mind. I don’t want your help.” I decide to hell with rooting around inside my bags for what I need. I’ve had enough of his clever banter. I grab the handles and try to roll the suitcases back down the hall, but they crash together and make a racket.

“I don’t want you to leave. Not like this.”

I stop in my tracks. I hear him get up from the sofa and walk toward me, but I don’t turn to face him.

“Once I’ve spoken to Jamie about the Sulfur Springs deal, I’m gone.”

“You really are a piece of work, Victoria.”

And just like that, any hope that the goodness I saw in Cal was real, that he really is a decent man, it all shatters like glass at my feet.

“You’re still gunning for our land, aren’t you? You’re still doing daddy’s dirty work. There is no Sulfur Springs deal. Give it a rest.”

I drop my head, the weight of all the waste overwhelming. I’ve worked so hard for my father, fighting for his approval, putting my heart and soul into something I now know is rotten to its core. And it hurts so fucking much.

But it’s nothing compared to the blow Cal MacLaine just delivered to my heart.

Chapter 51

Cal

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