Page 19 of The Forbidden Mountain Man Lumberjack
"We figure it out." He reaches for my hand, large fingers entwining with mine. "But first, I need to ask you something important."
My heart stutters. "What?"
"Are you hungry? Because I'm starving."
The unexpected question startles a laugh out of me, breaking the tension. "Famished, actually."
His answering smile is warm, private, just for me. "Then let me make you breakfast, and we'll figure out the rest as we go."
Over eggs and bacon, we talk about everything except what happened between us and what it means. Instead, he tells me stories about growing up in Grizzly Ridge, about learning the logging business from his father, about the changes he's seen in the industry over the decades.
I find myself sharing too—about my father's career shift from forest ranger to mill worker, about growing up hearing storiesof sustainable forestry, about my own journey through business school and into consulting.
"So that's why you seemed to know more about logging than the average consultant," he says, understanding dawning in his eyes.
"I grew up around it," I confirm. "Not the operations side, but the philosophy of it. My dad believed in responsible forestry."
"What would he think of what you're doing now?"
The question isn't accusatory, just curious.
"I think he'd approve," I say after considering it. "He always said the industry needed to evolve without losing its soul. That's what I'm trying to help you do."
Wyatt nods slowly. "I'm starting to see that."
The admission, small as it is, feels like a victory—not for me professionally, but for the understanding growing between us.
When we finally dress for work, there's a new ease between us, undercut with an electric awareness of each other that hasn't diminished in the light of day.
In his truck, heading toward town, Wyatt reaches across the console to take my hand.
"We need to keep this between us," he says, eyes on the road. "At least for now."
"I was thinking the same thing." I squeeze his hand. "It would complicate the consulting work."
"And give the town gossips enough material for a year."
I laugh, imagining Maggie's face if she knew what had happened after our innocent dinner at her diner. "Agreed. Professional in public."
"And in private?" His voice drops, sending a shiver down my spine.
"In private, we figure this out." I look over at him, taking in his strong profile against the backdrop of pine trees flashing past the window. "Whatever this is."
He brings my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to my knuckles that feels more intimate than it should. "Deal."
At the office, we maintain a careful distance. If Tim notices anything different, he doesn't comment, just hands me the files Wyatt requested yesterday—operational costs, scheduling logs, profit margins from the past five years.
I spend the morning in a small conference room, diving deep into the numbers while Wyatt attends to his regular business. The work grounds me, giving me something concrete to focus on besides the memory of his hands on my body and the confusing emotions he stirs in me.
The data confirms my initial assessment: Brennan Logging is fundamentally sound but hampered by inefficiencies that could be addressed with targeted modernization. By lunch, I've drafted a preliminary report identifying specific areas where technological integration would yield the greatest returns.
When Wyatt appears in the doorway, I'm so engrossed in my work I don't notice him at first. It's only when he clears his throat that I look up, and the sight of him—casual in his flannel and jeans, powerful and assured—makes my heart skip in a way that has nothing to do with professional respect.
"Find anything interesting?" he asks, entering the room and closing the door behind him.
"Actually, yes." I gesture to the spreadsheets and charts I've created. "Your operation is even more solid than I initially thought. The foundation is excellent. But there are clear opportunities for improvement in three key areas."
He sits across from me, giving my work his full attention. There's no defensiveness in his posture now, just genuine interest.
