Page 9 of The Forbidden Mountain Man Lumberjack
The aroma of coffee drifts upstairs, along with the sizzle of something cooking. I check my phone: 5:45 AM. We're not due at the office until 7:00 today, since I'm riding with the hauling crew. Wyatt had adjusted the schedule, giving me more time to review yesterday's notes.
A small concession, but significant from a man so resistant to change.
I shower quickly and dress in clean work clothes, pulling my hair back into its usual ponytail. My reflection shows someone far removed from the polished consultant who arrived in Grizzly Ridge two days ago. There's a slight sunburn across my cheeks and nose despite the cloud cover yesterday, and my hands already show the beginning of calluses.
Downstairs, I find Wyatt at the stove, his back to me. He's wearing a black thermal henley that stretches across broad shoulders, faded jeans, and wool socks. No boots yet. The domesticity of the scene makes my heart do something complicated in my chest.
"Morning," I say, and he turns, spatula in hand.
"Sleep okay?" he asks, his voice morning-rough.
I nod, trying not to notice the way his beard is slightly disheveled from sleep. "Better than in my car."
A hint of a smile touches his lips. "Low bar."
"The highest praise." I move toward the coffee pot. "Mind if I help myself?"
"Already poured you one." He nods toward a mug on the counter, steam still rising. "Wasn't sure how you take it."
The small consideration catches me off guard. "Black is perfect. Thank you."
I take a sip, watching as he efficiently flips what appears to be French toast. Despite his size and the ruggedness of his hands, he moves with surprising grace in the kitchen.
"You didn't have to cook breakfast," I say.
"You need real food if you're going to keep up with the hauling crew." He slides two pieces of French toast onto a plate. "They don't stop for lunch breaks when they're on schedule."
"I brought protein bars."
He looks genuinely offended. "Those aren't food, Sophia."
The way he says my name, with that slight rumble in his voice, sends a warm shiver through me. I hide my reaction behind my coffee cup.
"So tell me about the hauling operation," I say, accepting the plate he offers. "How many trucks do you run? What's your process for coordination between cutting and transport?"
He sits across from me at the island, his own plate heaped with twice as much food as mine. "Eight trucks total, usually running six at any given time. Mike coordinates with the mill and the cutting crews, balances the loads so we're maximizing efficiency without overworking the equipment."
I take a bite of French toast and can't hold back a small sound of appreciation. It's perfect—crisp edges, custardy center, hint of cinnamon.
Wyatt's eyes darken slightly at my reaction, and he clears his throat. "As for process, we use radios and a schedule board at the office. Been working fine for twenty years."
And there it is—the reminder of why I'm here. I set down my fork. "But what happens when Mike isn't available? Or if you need to adjust schedules quickly for weather or equipment failures?"
"We manage."
"But you could manage better. More efficiently. With the right systems?—"
"Let me guess," he interrupts, "computers and software and a bunch of young guys staring at screens instead of learning the mountain."
I sigh. "It's not an either-or situation, Wyatt. The right technology supplements expertise, it doesn't replace it."
He takes a long drink of coffee, studying me over the rim of his mug. "You really believe that?"
"I wouldn't be here if I didn't." I meet his gaze directly. "I'm not trying to destroy what you've built. I'm trying to help you protect it."
Something shifts in his expression, a slight softening around his eyes. But all he says is, "Eat your breakfast before it gets cold."
We finish the meal in silence, though it's not uncomfortable. When we're done, I insist on washing the dishes since he cooked. He dries without argument, and we fall into the same synchronization as last night, moving around each other as if we've done this for years instead of hours.
