Her Christmas Lumberjack (Crave County: Lumberjacks Love Curves)

2. Nolan

2

NOLAN

I hack at the base of the fir, swinging my axe until the tree falls to the ground, muffled by the snow. With quick hands, I wrap it in netting and tie it with rope before handing it over to Oscar, one of our seasonal workers, who carries it back to the barn. It’s like clockwork. I’ve been busting my ass all month long, but it’s not over yet. This is the final rush before Christmas, and the farm is heaving with people looking for a last-minute bargain.

“Hey,” I call as Oscar reemerges from the barn, “is Declan in there?”

He shrugs. “I think so. Last I saw, he was in the backroom with Margot.”

Goddammit.

Declan is getting more distracted by the day. My brother is obsessed with his new girlfriend and keeps sneaking off with her instead of working. Why the hell did he have to find love just before Christmas? We run a Christmas Tree Farm, for God’s sake! Of all the seasons to get distracted…

But as much as I want to be mad at my brother, I can’t. Ever since our dad passed away in March, Declan has been even more sullen than usual. Then he met Margot a few weeks back, and it was like the clouds parted. I’ve never seen him so happy, and I’m not going to ruin this for him, no matter how much I want to kick his ass into gear.

Despite Declan and Margot’s regular disappearances into the barn’s backroom, the farm is booming, and this is shaping up to be our most profitable December yet. But hell, it’s just not the same. No amount of money can change that. Dad was the heart and soul of Mistletoe Christmas Tree Farm, and his absence is like a gaping hole, sad and empty.

It sure looks the part, though. The barn is all decked out; there’s cocoa on tap; happy families are picking out their perfect Christmas tree, the seasonal workers are dressed as elves. We even hired an old man to put on a Santa suit and welcome guests. Everybody who visits instantly falls in love with this place, but to me, it feels as hollow as a glittery bauble now that Dad’s gone.

With a sigh, I stride deeper into the trees, looking for another one to fell. My eyes land on a blue spruce, but something stops me in my tracks. There’s movement at the bottom of the tree, and a pair of chocolate-brown eyes blink at me as a dog emerges.

“Hey there. Wondered when I’d see you again,” I mutter.

The dog stares at me. He’s a border collie with a matted black-and-white coat. I’ve seen him a few times around the farm, but he always bolts if I get too close, so I stay where I am and crouch down. “Come here, boy.”

He stares at me for a few moments longer before taking a step forward. Then, a loud laugh sounds from a family nearby, and he turns on his tail, shooting back through the trees and out of sight, leaving nothing but paw prints in the snow.

“Shit.”

Making a mental note to buy some dog food, I reach the spruce and examine the base, scoring it with my blade at the perfect place to cut. With a series of rapid swipes, it tumbles to the ground.

“Excuse me, are you Nolan Thorne?”

The voice is sweet and soft, but it still surprises me. I was so engrossed in my work that I didn’t hear anybody approach.

“That’s me.”

As I turn around, my body freezes, rigid as an icicle as I stare at the young woman standing in front of me. She looks like an angel, with a pretty heart-shaped face and glossy brown hair brushing her shoulders in waves. Her winter jacket does nothing to hide her thick curves, and my cock stirs at the sexy way she fills out her jeans, desire making my blood sizzle.

Holy fuck, she’s beautiful.

Her cheeks are flushed pink from the cold, and snowflakes cling to her scarf as she looks back at me with big doe eyes, the same shade of dark green as the trees surrounding us.

“Hi,” she says, sticking her hand out. “I’m Aurora.”

I’m not the kind of guy to get tongue-tied, but as I take Aurora’s hand in mine and shake it, all I can do is stare at her like an idiot.

“I was wondering if I could ask you some questions about your farm,” she continues, dropping my hand. My skin burns where she touched me, my whole body tingling with unfamiliar sensations, and it takes me a minute to process what she just said.

“Questions?” I clear my throat. “What kind of questions?”

“I’m interested in the history behind it. Has it always been in your family?” She smiles at me, but there’s something guilty in her expression that makes me pause.

“You a journalist or something?” I ask.

Aurora blinks at me. “Uh…yeah, I’m doing, um…I’m doing a feature on Christmas in Cherry Hollow, and I’d love to include the farm in my article.”

I frown. Usually I wouldn’t agree to a journalist poking around on one of our busiest days, but dammit, I’m only flesh and blood, and Aurora is the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. Those green eyes are melting my heart, and I finally grunt my assent.

“Alright. Sounds good.”

She lets out a deep breath and grins at me. “Thank you.”

“Want me to give you a tour?”

“That would be great! If you’re not too busy.”

I’m definitely busy, but the chance to spend a little more time with this girl is impossible to pass up, so I slip my axe handle beneath my belt and show Aurora the farm.

“Do you mind if I take a few photos?” she asks.

“Go ahead.”

I lead her through the rows of trees, pointing out the various outbuildings and explaining what they’re used for. As we pass the frozen lake at the edge of the farm, my brother’s cabin appears in the distance, windows blinking in the sunlight. It used to be the family home, but since Dad died, Declan has been living there all alone. At least he has Margot now. Maybe one day, they’ll have children of their own and it will become a family home once more.

“We own more land over there,” I say, pointing westward. “A cornfield and a pumpkin patch, when the season’s right.”

She nods, scribbling down a few notes. We circle back toward the entrance, and I swear I see a flash of black-and-white fur, a pair of puppy-dog eyes watching us from behind a thick pine tree. But when I look again, there’s nothing there.

“How long has the land been in your family?” Aurora asks.

“My Grandpa started the Christmas Tree Farm back in the fifties, but the land was already in our family long before that. Honestly, I have no idea which Thorne bought it first.”

I tell her about the farm’s operation and how we rely on seasonal workers, and she obligingly jots it all down, her pink tongue sticking out slightly as she writes. It’s enough to make me lose my train of thought.

“It seems like such a magical place,” she says eventually.

“Yeah, it was magical when my dad was here. We’re still trying to figure out how to make things work without him.”

Aurora’s face crumples and she pockets her notebook. “That can’t be easy. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks.” I grit my teeth, forcing down my emotions. “We’re just getting on with things.”

Aurora nods, but there’s still something in her expression that I can’t read.

Guilt? Sadness?

But what has she got to feel guilty about? Hell, it’s not her fault my dad died. And writing an article about Christmas in Cherry Hollow isn’t exactly a crime.

I shake off my confusion and change the subject. “You probably already saw the barn.”

“Yes, but I’d love to see it again,” she says quickly. “If you don’t mind showing me.”

“Sure.”

Our boots crunch in the snow as we head toward the barn, and I sneak glances at Aurora, trying to wrap my head around why she looks so troubled. She’s biting her lip, her teeth nibbling the soft pink flesh in a way that makes me shudder from more than just the cold. This pretty little journalist is a mystery, and I’m drawn to her in a way I can’t explain. It’s not just those luscious curves driving me crazy—it’s deeper than that. I’ve always been a loner, never opening up to anybody outside my family, and even with them, I hold a lot back. My instinct is to push people away, keep my distance.

Yet somehow, with Aurora, all I want is to draw her nearer.

It doesn’t make any sense. She’s a stranger. A local journalist writing an article about Christmas—that’s it. But my body is reacting to her in ways I’ve never felt before: adrenaline pumping, blood rushing downward. I’m an old grump who’s pushing fifty, and she’s a sweet young stranger who can’t be over twenty-five. I shouldn’t be feeling this way.

But fuck, try telling that to my pounding heart.