Chapter 4
ROWAN
Ididn't sleep.
Every time I closed my eyes, I felt his hand on my breast. His mouth on my throat. The hard length of him pressed against my stomach.
The front door opens. Ev stops when he sees me.
He looks like hell. Dark circles under his eyes. Jaw tight. He's wearing the same flannel from yesterday, rumpled like he slept in his truck.
"You're up," he says.
"Couldn't sleep."
Something flickers in his expression. We both know why.
"Coffee's hot," I say, because one of us has to pretend last night didn't happen.
He pours himself a mug without speaking. We stand on opposite sides of the kitchen like strangers. Like he didn't have his tongue in my mouth twelve hours ago.
"About last night," he starts.
"We don't have to talk about it."
"Rowan—"
"I'm here to do a job." I set my mug in the sink. Turn to face him. "Whatever that was, it can't happen again."
He's quiet for a long moment. Then he nods. "Agreed."
The word shouldn't sting. It's what I wanted him to say. The professional response to a professional situation. We kissed. It was a mistake. We move on.
So why do I feel like I just lost something?
"Let's go," he says, grabbing his keys. "Crew's already up there."
The timber stand is different than I expected.
I've seen logging operations before. Clear-cuts that leave mountains looking like someone took a razor to them. Erosion so bad the streams run brown for years. The destruction that happens when profit matters more than preservation.
This isn't that.
Ev walks me through the stand, pointing out the trees marked for cutting. They're spaced strategically. Older growth that's stopped producing. Damaged trunks that would fall in the next big storm anyway. Between them, younger trees reach toward the light, healthy and thriving.
"We take maybe ten percent per season," he explains. "Less if the growth rate looks slow."
"Who decides the rate?"
"I do. Based on the surveys." He gestures to a tree with orange tape around its trunk. "This one's got beetle damage. You can see the boreholes near the base. If we leave it, the infestation spreads. Take it out now, the surrounding trees have a better chance."
I crouch down, examining the holes. He's right. The telltale patterns of bark beetle. Left unchecked, they can devastate entire forests.
"Most operations would clear-cut the whole area," I say. "Claim it's the only way to control the spread."
"Most operations are wrong."
I look up at him. He's standing with his hands in his pockets, watching me with an expression I can't read. The morning light catches the stubble on his jaw. The silver at his temples.
"My grandfather believed you could take from the land and give back at the same time," he says.
"My father thought he was crazy. Old-fashioned.
But look at these trees." He gestures at the canopy above us, thick with new growth.
"Three generations of sustainable harvest, and we've got more timber now than when Grandpa started. "
I stand, brushing dirt off my knees. "The records support that. What I've seen so far."
"But?"
"No but. I'm saying you're doing it right." The words feel strange in my mouth. Admitting he's not the villain I expected. "At least based on what I've seen today."
Something in his posture relaxes. Just slightly. "Want to see the replanting area?"
We hike for another hour. He shows me the seedlings his crew planted last spring, now standing knee-high in rows that follow the natural contour of the land.
He explains the water management system they installed to prevent erosion.
The wildlife corridors they leave untouched so the deer and elk can move freely.
By the time we reach the overlook, I've filled three pages of notes. All positive. All things that support keeping this operation running exactly as it is.
"This is where I come when I need to think," he says.
The view takes my breath away. Mountains stretching to the horizon, covered in forest so thick it looks like green velvet. A valley below where a river catches the sun like liquid silver. No roads. No buildings. Nothing but wilderness as far as I can see.
"It's beautiful," I say.
"It's everything."
I turn to look at him. He's not watching the view. He's watching me.
"I grew up in a two-bedroom apartment," I say quietly. "Portland's nice, but it's cramped. Loud. I used to dream about places like this."
"Is that why you got into forestry?"
"Part of it. I wanted to understand how it all worked.
The systems. The connections." I look back at the valley.
"I spent two years studying old-growth ecosystems in the Pacific Northwest. Learning how trees communicate through their root systems. How a single forest can regulate rainfall for miles around. "
"And then the funding dried up."
"Budget cuts. Political priorities shifted." I shrug, trying to make it sound like it didn't gut me. "The county was hiring. It seemed like a way to stay connected to the work."
"But it's not the same."
"No."
He steps closer. I feel the heat of him even in the cool mountain air.
"Rowan."
I don't turn around. Can't. "We said we weren't going to—"
"I know what we said." His hand finds my hip. I close my eyes. "I'm trying really hard to mean it."
"So try harder."
"I've been trying all morning." His breath is warm against my ear. "Watching you crouch down to examine beetle holes. Listening to you talk about root systems. Seeing you look at my trees like they matter to you."
"They do matter."
"I know." He turns me to face him. His eyes are dark. Hungry. "That's the problem."
I should push him away. Walk back down the mountain. Get in my truck and drive until I find a hotel with vacancies.
I grab his face and kiss him.
He groans against my mouth, pulling me flush against him. My back hits a tree trunk, and I don't care. His hands are everywhere. My hips, my waist, sliding under my shirt to find bare skin.
"Here?" I gasp.
"Unless you want to hike back first."
I answer by unbuckling his belt.
He laughs. Low and rough. Swats my hands away. "Let me."
He drops to his knees.
My cargo pants come down in one motion, taking my underwear with them. Cool air hits my skin, and then his mouth is on me, and I stop thinking entirely.
His tongue finds my clit with devastating precision. I grip the tree trunk behind me, bark biting into my palms. He hooks one of my legs over his shoulder, opening me wider. Slides two fingers inside me while his tongue works in slow circles.
"Oh God." My head falls back. "Ev—"
He doesn't stop. Doesn't tease. Just devours me like he's been starving for it. His beard scratches against my inner thighs. His fingers curl inside me, hitting a spot that makes my vision blur.
The orgasm crashes through me without warning. I cry out, not caring that we're on a mountain in broad daylight. Not caring about anything except the waves of pleasure rolling through my body.
He stands, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "I've been wanting to do that since you stepped out of your truck."
I grab his belt, finishing what I started. His cock springs free, thick and hard. I wrap my hand around it, and he hisses through his teeth.
"Condom?" I ask.
"Wallet. Back pocket."
I retrieve it. Roll it on him. He lifts me like I weigh nothing, my back against the tree, my legs wrapped around his waist.
His eyes are locked on mine as he pushes inside.
The stretch makes me gasp. He fills me completely, giving me a moment to adjust before he starts to move. Slow at first. Deep. Each thrust pressing me harder against the bark.
"You feel incredible," he grits out. "So fucking tight."
I can't respond. Can barely breathe. He picks up the pace, his hips snapping against mine. One hand grips my ass to hold me steady. The other finds my clit, rubbing in time with his thrusts.
"Come for me again," he says. "I want to feel it."
The command sends me over the edge. I clench around him, screaming his name. He follows a moment later with a groan that echoes off the mountains.
We stay there, panting. Tangled together. His forehead pressed against mine.
"I can still feel you," I whisper.
He kisses me. Soft. Almost sweet. Then pulls back to look at me with something raw in his eyes.
He sets me down gently. Helps me dress. Pulls his own clothes back together with hands that aren't quite steady.
"Rowan," he says.
"I know." I smooth my hair back. Try to look like a woman who didn't just get fucked against a tree. "This complicates things."
"Does it have to?"
I look at him. At this man who loves his land and his family and his work. Who showed me something beautiful and then made me feel even more beautiful.
"I don't know," I admit. "But I want to find out."
He takes my hand. Laces his fingers through mine. "Then let's find out together."
We walk back down the mountain. And for the first time since I arrived in Whisper Vale, I'm not thinking about the audit at all.