Page 6 of The Forbidden Mountain Man Lumberjack
Not even when Barry accidentally sprayed her with chainsaw debris while cutting a particularly stubborn pine.
Now, as the sun begins its descent behind the western ridge, I watch her talking with Mike about our hauling schedule, scribbling notes in a small book she's somehow kept dry. Her dark ponytail is damp and coming loose, streaks of mud decorate her face, and her clothes are filthy. She looks nothing like the polished consultant who walked into my office yesterday.
And somehow, that makes her even more attractive.
I scowl at the thought, turning to check the chain on my saw more aggressively than necessary. This isn't part of the plan. I'msupposed to be resisting her ideas, not fighting an attraction to her.
"Your consultant's tougher than she looks," Mike comments, approaching after finishing his conversation with Sophia. "Asks good questions, too."
I grunt noncommittally.
"She wants to ride with the hauling crew tomorrow morning to see that end of the operation." He adjusts his hard hat. "You okay with that?"
"She's going to do what she wants regardless," I reply, but we both know it's not an answer.
Mike gives me a knowing look I don't appreciate. "I'll take that as a yes. We're wrapping up for today. Last load's heading down in twenty."
I nod, my eyes drifting back to Sophia. She's walking the perimeter of our cutting zone, studying something on the ground, likely trying to understand our selective harvesting patterns. The fading sunlight catches in her hair, revealing strands of deep chestnut among the black.
"You should probably take her back to the office," Mike suggests. "She's seen enough for one day, and those clouds to the north aren't looking friendly."
He's right. The weather changes fast up here, and another storm is rolling in. "Tell the boys good work today. I'll see them tomorrow."
Mike heads off to coordinate the final activities while I make my way to Sophia. She's crouched down, examining the growth rings on a recently cut stump, fingers tracing the circular patterns with surprising gentleness.
"Each ring tells a story," I say, and she looks up, startled by my approach.
"About seventy years old?" she asks.
I nod, impressed despite myself. "Good eye."
"I did my homework on logging before coming here." She stands, brushing dirt from her hands. "What's this mark mean?" She points to a blue spray paint dash on the side of the stump.
"That's our sustainable harvesting system. We mark trees for cutting based on age, health, and proximity to other growth. Ensures we're not taking too much from any one area."
Her eyes light up. "So you do have systems in place."
"Of course we do." I'm slightly offended. "Just because we don't do everything on computers doesn't mean we don't have methods."
"I never said you didn't." She tucks a stray hair behind her ear, leaving a smudge of dirt on her cheek. "But documenting those methods might help with consistency across crews and training new workers."
The urge to wipe that smudge away with my thumb is so strong I have to shove my hands in my pockets. "We're heading back. Storm's coming."
She looks toward the darkening northern sky and nods. "Your crew works hard."
"Best in the state."
"I can see why." There's genuine respect in her voice. "What you've built here is impressive, Wyatt."
Something warm unfurls in my chest at her words, at the way my name sounds in her mouth. I immediately try to tamp it down.
"Truck's this way," I say gruffly, turning before she can see whatever might be showing on my face.
The drive down the mountain is quieter than the morning's journey. Sophia seems lost in thought, occasionally making notes in her little book. The silence isn't uncomfortable, which bothers me more than if it were. We shouldn't be comfortable together.
"We'll stop at the office so you can get your car," I say as we near town. "Then you can follow me to my place."
She looks over, surprise evident. "You were serious about me staying at your cabin?"
