Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
SOPHIA
Morning light filters through unfamiliar curtains, gently pulling me from sleep. For a moment, I'm disoriented, the comfortable bed and rustic wooden beams above me nothing like my apartment in Denver or the car seat I'd slept in two nights ago.
Then I remember. Wyatt's cabin. The guest room.
The way his fingers brushed against mine when we washed dishes.
I roll over, burying my face in the pillow with a groan. This is not how this job was supposed to go. I'm here to modernize Brennan Logging, to prove myself to Aspen Business Solutions, to secure my future. Not to develop inconvenient feelings for my stubborn, infuriating client.
My impossibly attractive, surprisingly thoughtful client.
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.
"I've been thinking about your selective harvesting system," I say as I hand him the last plate. "It's impressive, but have you considered mapping it digitally? You could track growth patterns over time, predict optimal cutting schedules."
"We keep records in the ledgers at the office."
"Which are useful, but limited. Digital mapping would allow you to visualize patterns, share knowledge more efficiently with new crew members."
He leans against the counter, arms crossed, considering me. "You don't give up, do you?"
"Not when I believe in something."
"And you believe in turning logging into a computer game."
I roll my eyes. "I believe in preserving the knowledge you've built while making it more accessible and efficient. There's a difference."
A ghost of a smile touches his lips. "Persistent."
"Stubborn," I counter.
"Pot, kettle."
We both laugh, and the sound of his deep chuckle does something to my insides that I refuse to examine too closely.
Outside, the morning is clear and crisp, the storm having passed overnight. As we walk to his truck, the rising sun catches the water droplets clinging to pine needles, turning the forest around the cabin into a glittering wonderland. I pause, taking in the beauty.
"It never gets old," Wyatt says softly beside me.
"I can see why you love it here." I breathe in the clean mountain air. "It feels...real."
He looks at me with an expression I can't quite read. "Most people don't get it. They see trees as obstacles or commodities. Not as living things."
"Is that why your selective harvesting is so important to you? Because you see the forest as alive?"
He nods slowly. "My grandfather taught me that we're caretakers, not just harvesters. We take what we need, but we make sure there's always more growing."
"That's exactly the kind of philosophy worth preserving in any system you implement." I turn to face him fully. "Sustainable forestry practices are the future, Wyatt. Your investors know that too. They don't want to change your core values—they want to leverage them."
He studies me for a long moment, pine-shadow eyes searching mine. We're standing close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from him, smell the coffee and something woodsy that's uniquely him.
"You really mean that, don't you?" he asks finally.
"Yes."
The word hangs between us, simple but weighted with sincerity. For a heartbeat, I think he might move closer. His gaze drops to my mouth, and my breath catches.
Then he steps back, breaking the moment. "We should get going."
The drive to the office is quiet, my mind replaying that moment outside the cabin. What would have happened if he hadn't pulled away? If I had closed the distance between us?
Nothing good, I remind myself firmly. He's my client. This job is too important for complications.
At the office, the hauling crew is already preparing for the day. Wyatt introduces me to Liam, the transportation foreman, a stocky man with an easy smile despite the early hour.
"She'll be riding with you today," Wyatt tells him. "Show her everything."
"Will do, boss." Liam nods at me. "Hope you're ready for the scenic route. First pickup is forty minutes up, then we head to the mill in Carson, about an hour east."
"I'm looking forward to it," I reply honestly. Understanding the full operation is critical to developing effective systems.
Wyatt shifts his weight, looking oddly hesitant. "I'll be with the cutting crew today. Different section than yesterday."
"Okay." I'm not sure why he's telling me this, but something about his expression makes me add, "I'll see you back at the cabin later?"
He nods, the movement sharp. "I should be back around six. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen if you get hungry."
Is he concerned about me? The thought is both amusing and oddly warming.
"I'll be fine, Wyatt. Go run your company."
A half-smile quirks his lips. "Yes, ma'am."
The words are teasing, but there's something in his tone that sends a shiver down my spine. Before I can respond, he turns and walks toward his truck, leaving me staring after him like some lovesick teenager.
"Ready to roll?" Liam asks, breaking into my thoughts.
I nod, forcing my attention back to the job. "Absolutely."
The day with the hauling crew is educational and exhausting. I take pages of notes, asking questions about everything from load balancing to communication systems. Liam is patient and thorough, clearly proud of the operation while acknowledging its limitations.
"Truth is, miss," he tells me as we head back to Grizzly Ridge after a long day, "some digital tracking would help us coordinate better with the cutting crews. Sometimes we show up and the logs aren't ready, or we bring the wrong equipment for what they've cut."
"Have you mentioned this to Wyatt?"
Liam shrugs. "Boss has his ways. He's built something good here. Nobody wants to rock the boat."
But sometimes boats need to be rocked to prevent them from capsizing entirely.
It's nearly seven when we pull into the office parking lot.
The sky is darkening, stars already visible above the mountains.
I'm exhausted, covered in sawdust, and my notebook is full of insights that confirm my initial assessment: Brennan Logging is a well-run operation that could be exceptional with the right systems in place.
Now I just need to convince its stubborn owner.
I thank Liam and head to my car, surprised to find Wyatt leaning against it, arms crossed, waiting.
"You're late," he says, but there's no accusation in his tone.
"Mill tour ran long. Liam was very thorough." I stop in front of him. "You didn't have to wait."
"Wanted to make sure you made it back okay." His eyes run over me, assessing. "And that you could find your way to the cabin."
"I have GPS, you know."
"Which doesn't work half the time up here."
He's right, of course. My phone had lost signal repeatedly throughout the day.
"Well, thank you." I'm too tired to maintain our usual sparring. "It was thoughtful."
Something softens in his expression. "Hungry?"
I realize I am, desperately. The protein bar I'd eaten around noon is a distant memory. "Starving."
"I thought we could stop at Maggie's Diner in town. Best burgers in three counties." He pushes off my car, standing to his full height. "Unless you'd rather head straight back."
Is Wyatt Brennan asking me to dinner? The thought sends a flutter through my stomach that has nothing to do with hunger.
"A burger sounds perfect," I say before I can overthink it.
His smile in response is small but genuine, lighting his eyes in a way that makes him look younger, less guarded. "Follow me, then. Try to keep up."
As I slide into my car, I tell myself this isn't a date. It's two colleagues getting dinner after work. Nothing more.
But as I follow his truck through the darkening streets of Grizzly Ridge, I know I'm lying to myself. Because whatever is happening between us feels increasingly like something more.
And that terrifies and thrills me in equal measure.