Page 2 of Teased By the Lumberjack

"Who said anything about bulldozing?" He buttons the flannel with deliberate slowness, veins snaking down forearms thick as cedar branches. "Real lumberjacks workwiththe land. My granddaddy?—"

"—Would’ve clear-cut this ridge by noon," I snap, adrenaline overriding sense. My boot crushes a fiddlehead fern in my haste to step closer. "Yourauthentic experienceneeds trails, outhouses, parking lots. Do you know what compaction does toRussula brevipescolonies? Or how noise pollution impacts barred owl fledglings?"

"Christ, who pissed in your granola?" He steps into my space, pine needles crunching under his worn leather boots. Cedar-and-sweat scent envelops me, primal and earthy. "You’re what, twenty-two? Spoutin’ textbook jargon at someone who’s been knee-deep in these kinds of woods since before you learned to hike?"

"I’m twenty-four," I hiss, tilting my chin up to meet his gaze. Bad idea. His eyes are glacier-blue, framed by those crow’s feet that deepen as he scans my face. My lungs forget how to oxygenate. "And I’ve dedicated mylifeto protecting ecosystems exactly like this. Your littlePaul Bunyan Disneylandwill destroy seven species of lichen that only grow on these hemlocks."

"Pricklyandpoetic." He leans in, sunlight catching silver strands in his beard. "Bet that brain’s not the only thing wound tight."

My lips part—in shock? Anger? A mortifying whimper? Behind us, the stream gurgles its amusement. The woodpecker hammers out a staccato laugh.

"You’re impossible," I finally manage, fists clenching at my sides. "Arrogant. Reckless. And?—"

"—Undeniably handsome? Yeah, I get that a lot." His grin widens as I choke. "Relax, Smokey. My crew’s using pre-existing clearings from the ’80s logging roads. No old-growth touched. Happy?"

Lies.Corporate greenwashing 101. I’ve seen this before—developers cherry-picking data, hiding behind phrases likelow-impactwhile mycelium networks die screaming beneath ATV tires.

"Prove it."

His beard twitches. "Pardon?"

"Take me on your damn survey. Show me thesepre-existing clearings." The challenge bursts out, sharp as a snapped twig.

He crosses tree-trunk arms, biceps straining plaid fabric. "Why should I?”

"To document the ecological impact. Or are you scared apricklygrad student’ll find your loopholes?" The words hang between us, a gauntlet thrown.

For a heartbeat, his gaze drops to my mouth. My tongue darts out to wet suddenly parched lips, and his nostrils flare. A charged silence stretches, thick as wildfire smoke.

"Careful." His voice roughens, a low timber that vibrates in my marrow. "Might start thinking you’re following me for the view."

"My name’s Teagan," I say. "And I’d sooner hug a chainsaw."

His laughter is as rich and warm as aged bourbon, my sister Opal’s favorite drink.

"Well, I’m ready whenever you are," he finally says, now dressed and holding his pack.

I blink, surprised. I honestly didn’t expect him to agree to it. “Let me get my bag from my campsite.”

I spin on my heel, nearly tripping over a moss-slick log in my haste.

I can feel his eyes on me as I stalk toward my site, blood roaring louder than Timber Run in the spring thaw.

I’ll shadow his every move.

Expose his plans.

Protectmyforest.

Even if his stupid dimples short-circuit my higher brain functions.

CHAPTER 2

CONNOR

Glancing ahead on the trail, I watch Teagan’s auburn braid snaking through the brambles of a dense fir thicket. Her hips sway in a hypnotizing dance, her tight ass flexing as she goes.

She must feel me staring for she turns, cheeks flushed and eyes blazing like emeralds in the late morning light.

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