Page 7 of Teased By the Lumberjack

His fingers still on the flask. “Granddad logged woods just like these. Pa too. When I came from back East to my cousin Mitch’s wedding, this place called to me.”

The raw ache in his voice catches me off guard. “You miss it? The logging, I mean.”

He stares into the storm. “Miss the rhythm of it. The way the woods talk if you listen.” His thumb traces the flask’s rim. “Camp’s my way of… I dunno. Keeping that alive.”

I bite my lip, unexpected sympathy pricking me. “Your dad approve?”

“Died before he saw me retire.” His jaw tightens. “Would’ve hated the camp. Called reenactors ‘fools tryin’ to pretend they’re real men.’”

“Then why do it?”

Blue eyes lock onto mine, intensity burning through the gloom. “Because I’mnothim.”

The confession hangs between us, vulnerable and sharp. My pulse thrums as rain pelts the nylon.

“What about you?” He leans in, close enough that I can see how thick his eyelashes are. “What’re youreallychasing?”

I’m about to say I’ve already told him. But the way he’s looking at me, I can tell he’s after something deeper. I sigh. “A thesis that matters. Something that… changes how people seethese forests. Not just data charts, but—but astory.” I swallow hard. “I’ve written six proposals. My advisor keeps saying they’re ‘lackluster.’”

Connor’s brow furrows. “What does that mean?”

“It means I’m failing,” I whisper.

His hand brushes mine—a fleeting touch that shocks me more than the lightning outside. “No way. You’re out here fighting harder than anyone I’ve met.”

My laugh trembles. “Fighting losing battles, apparently.”

“Losing?” He gestures at the storm-ravaged woods. “This place is still standing, isn’t it?”

Our eyes meet. There’s something happening in this tiny space, a tentative bridge forming between our worlds.

Connor shifts closer. "Your camp is impressive for a city girl."

And just like that, the bridge collapses.

"City girl?" I bristle. "I've done three field seasons in the Cascades and one in the Amazon. I think I know how to set up a damn tent."

He holds up his hands. "Whoa, didn't mean anything by it. Just making conversation."

"By assuming I'm some clueless urbanite who wandered into the woods with an REI catalogue and a prayer?"

"That's not?—"

"You know what your problem is?" I cut him off, frustration boiling over. "You think anyone with an education must be out of touch with reality. That textbooks somehow make us less capable of understanding the real world."

His jaw tightens. "And you think anyone who works with their hands is a mindless destroyer who doesn't give a shit about the environment."

"I never said that!"

"You didn't have to." His voice is dangerously quiet. "It was all over your face the moment you saw me in that stream. 'Oh look, a brainless lumberjack about to chainsaw Bambi's home.'"

The accusation stings because there's truth in it. I had judged him before he spoke a single word.

"Fine," I snap. "Maybe I did make assumptions. But you're doing the exact same thing. 'City girl.' Like I'm playing dress-up out here."

"At least I'm willing to listen to your side," he growls. "You've been fighting me at every turn."

"Because this isn't just about opinions! It's about science, facts?—"

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