Chapter Six
Forrest
We finish a very late breakfast at the kitchen table, the kind that stretches lazy and golden into mid-morning.
Sloane is still wearing my flannel shirt, sleeves rolled up past her elbows, and every time she reaches for the syrup or another piece of toast, I catch another glimpse of smooth thigh and bare shoulder. I can’t stop looking.
She catches me staring again and points her fork at me with a playful smirk. “You keep looking at me like that, and we’re never leaving this cabin today, big guy.”
I grunt, but I’m smiling. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”
She laughs, that bright, sparkling sound that’s already becoming my favorite. “As tempting as that is, I want to see more of your world. You promised to show me your land and the lumber mill. I’m holding you to it.”
I rub the back of my neck, feeling that familiar mix of pride and nerves. Nobody outside the family has ever really cared about the mill, but Sloane really wants to know what I do. She looks at me like everything I show her matters.
“Alright,” I say, standing and offering her my hand. “Let’s go.”
She takes my hand and lets me pull her up, rising onto her toes to steal a quick kiss. “Yes, sir.”
We gear up quickly. I find her a pair of smaller work boots from the mudroom and one of my lighter jackets. She looks ridiculous and perfect all at once, the jacket swallowing her petite frame. I help her zip it up, my hands lingering at her waist longer than necessary.
We head out on the ATV. Sloane climbs on behind me without hesitation, her arms wrapping snug around my waist and her cheek resting against my back. The feel of her pressed against me sends heat rushing through my body, but I keep the speed steady. I want her to see everything properly.
I take her on the trails that wind through the property my family has owned for three generations.
The air grows sweeter and sharper the higher we climb, filled with the scent of evergreen and warm earth.
I point out different landmarks as we ride, the old logging road my grandfather cut by hand when he was barely twenty, the hidden meadow full of wildflowers where my dad used to take me fishing every summer, and the ridge where my grandmother planted the first pine saplings that are now towering trees shading the trail.
At the top of the ridge, I kill the engine and help her off.
We stand side by side at the edge, the wind tugging gently at her hair.
The whole valley spreads out below us, endless green pines, the river sparkling in the distance, and the family lumber mill nestled in the clearing where thin smoke rises from the drying kilns.
“This is all Kane land,” I tell her, my voice quieter than usual.
“My granddad started the mill with nothing but an old saw and a dream. Worked sunrise to sunset six days a week. Grandma was the heart of it. She kept the books and made sure nobody went home hungry. She used to say the trees gave us everything, so we had to give them respect in return.”
Sloane listens with genuine interest, her hand slipping into mine. “Tell me more about them.”
I feel that familiar ache when I talk about my family.
“Granddad was a stubborn old bastard. Worked until the day he died at eighty-seven. Grandma outlived him by twelve years and still baked pies for the crew every Friday. Dad was quiet like me, but he had this way of making you feel like you could do anything if you just worked hard enough. He passed when I was twenty-two. Heart attack. Mom is still here. Strongest woman I know. Runs the office, keeps me in line, and pretends she doesn’t worry about me living out here alone. ”
Sloane squeezes my hand. “She sounds amazing. I’d love to meet her properly.”
“You will,” I promise, pulling her closer. “She already likes you. Called this morning to invite us for dinner tomorrow night when you were in the bathroom. Said she’s making pot roast.”
We stand there for a long time, just looking out over the land. I feel her leaning into me, her warmth seeping through my jacket, and something deep inside me settles even further.
“What about your family?” I ask, voice low. “You haven’t said much about them.”
She sighs softly. “Not much to tell. My parents divorced when I was twelve. Dad moved to California for work, and we barely talk. Mom remarried and now lives in Florida. We call on holidays, but it’s just polite. Surface level. I’ve been on my own for a long time.”
I turn her to face me, cupping her cheek with my big hand. “You’re not on your own anymore. You’ve got my mom and me. She’s already planning to adopt you.”
Sloane’s eyes shimmer with emotion. She rises onto her toes and kisses me, slow and sweet at first, then deeper. I kiss her back, pouring everything I feel into it, the joy, the protectiveness, the growing need to keep her safe and happy.
When we break apart, I rest my forehead against hers. “Come on. Let me show you the mill.”
We ride down to the lumber mill. I park the ATV and take her hand as we walk through the yard.
The whine of saws fills the air, but I keep her close, explaining how the logs move through the process — debarking, milling, drying, grading.
She asks smart questions, her marketing brain already turning, and I find myself smiling at how naturally she fits here.
By the time we head back to the cabin, the sun is high and warm. We’re both dusty and wind-blown, but the easy rhythm between us feels even stronger.
Back at the cabin, we shower together. The water is hot, the steam thick. I wash her hair with slow, careful strokes, then run soapy hands over every curve, memorizing her body. She does the same to me, her small hands exploring my chest, my arms, my cock until I’m hard and aching again.
We don’t make it out of the shower. I lift her against the tiled wall, her legs wrapping around my waist, and slide into her in one deep thrust. She moans my name, nails digging into my shoulders as I fuck her slow and deep, water cascading over us.
“That’s it,” I growl against her ear. “Take your husband’s cock. Feel how deep I am inside you, wife.”
She whimpers, hips rocking to meet every thrust. “Feels so good.”
I don’t. I fuck her against the wall until she comes hard around me, crying out my name. I follow right after, burying myself deep and filling her with a low groan.
We dry each other off lazily, stealing kisses, then collapse onto the couch in front of the fireplace. Sloane curls against my side, her head on my chest, one leg draped over mine.
“Tell me more about your family,” she says softly. “I want to know everything.”
I stroke her hair and talk about the time my dad taught me to drive the logging truck when I was fourteen, about how my mom still bakes my dad’s favorite pie every year on his birthday, even though he’s gone.
Sloane listens intently, asking gentle questions, sharing little pieces of her own life in return.
The more we talk, the more I realize how much I want quiet mornings, shared showers, afternoons on the land, nights where I fall asleep with my wife in my arms.
As I hold Sloane close, listening to her soft laughter, I know I will do whatever it takes to keep her here.