Page 3 of Teased By the Lumberjack

Fuck, she caught me.

I’ve been trying to wear her down, make her give up and run back to her campsite. But the woman is stubborn. Relentless. Two hours into this hike, and she’s still snapping photos of every goddamn mushroom like it’s holding state secrets.

I have to pick up my pace to keep up with her, those slender legs navigating fallen logs and gnarled roots with surprising agility. I marvel at how her determination transforms her toned body into something wholly alluring.

Her pack sags sideways on her back, straps digging into her narrow shoulders. I don’t like knowing it’s making angry red marks on the soft skin beneath her T-shirt.

“How about a break, Smokey? Or you planning to collapse dramatically over the endangered pebbles?”

She glares back at me, sweat dampening the hair at her temples.

I reach out a hand. “Let me carry your pack.”

“Not necessary,” she says, squatting down to look at something on the forest floor.

“Please,” I say, tugging on one of the straps.

She seems confused, but still shrugs out of it and hands it to me.

“Thanks,” she mumbles, as she snaps more photos.

I throw the pack over my shoulder. “What are you doing now?”

“I’mdocumentingtheRussula brevipesyou’d mow down for your axe-throwing carnival.”

I snort, kicking aside a rotted branch blocking the trail. “You like animals, right? You’ll love the chainsaw-carved bears.”

“How quaint,” she says through her teeth, storming ahead again.

Jesus, even her rage is pretty—lips pink as bitterroot flowers, freckles standing out like cinnamon sprinkled on cream. It’s been years since a woman got under my skin like this. Decades since one made me want tobitethat bare spot at her collar.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. Rourke’s latest text lights up the screen:

Booked my flight for two weeks from now. See ya then. Can’t wait to meet this forest ecologist that has you huffing and puffing as you follow her around like a puppy dog

I squash a laugh.

“Friend of yours?” Teagan asks, peering at a lichen-crusted boulder like it’s the Rosetta Stone.

“Don’t be jealous. It’s just one of the buddies I’ve convinced to come work at my camp.”

She stiffens. “I don’t fraternize with extinction enthusiasts.”

“Good thing I’m retired.” I duck under a low-hanging cedar limb, holding it back so she doesn’t clothesline herself. She hesitates—too proud to accept the help, too smart to faceplant.

There’s a standoff.

Her nostrils flare and my arm starts to burn.

Finally, she ducks under, lavender shampoo punching me in the face as she brushes past. “Your permits must’ve cost a fortune,” she mutters.

“Not as much as you might think.” There are lots of incentives for new businesses in these stagnant areas of the county.

She shakes her head and hangs back for a moment.

At the peak of the ridge, I shrug off my flannel. The sun’s a bastard today, cooking the sweat on my back. Her sharp inhale cracks through the forest noise like a snapped branch. I turn, catching her stare raking over my chest.

I grin. “Like what you see?”

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