Lonely Lumberjack (Sexy Lumbersnacks #17)
Chapter 1
PORTER
I'm dirty, sweaty and there's an ache in my back that reminds me I haven't taken a day off in a very long time. But it doesn't really matter. I've got a job to do.
"You look tired," says Dr. Nance, giving me a quick wave as she walks down the front path of the Sparks County Assisted Living Center.
She's been managing the facility for two years now and always makes it a point to say something whenever I'm making a delivery.
Usually about how I look like I'm working too hard.
The thing is, I like working hard. It means that by the time I get back to my cabin every night, I'm too tired to notice anything else. It's just me and the mountain. Exactly what I wanted when I was looking for a place to be. Not somewhere to call home, exactly. But just be.
"The Ridge Resort has a section of trees that needs cleared for fire prevention. Old brush, nothing fresh. But with wildfire season around the corner, they need it done as soon as possible. So, I'm working with their resident lumberjack to get it done."
She looks at the stacked logs in the bed of my truck. "Is this your first haul from that clearing?"
"It is." I drop the tailgate and pull a bundle out, followed by a few more. I heft two in each hand, shaking my head when Dr. Nance offers to take one from me. "I've got this, ma'am. Just lead the way."
"You military men. Always so polite." She tucks a strand of silver white hair behind her ear and holds the front door open for me as we reach the entrance. "It's appreciated more than you know."
I don't say anything, just give her a nod as I bring the first load over to the fireplace in the great room of the main building.
Residents sit in small groups, talking amongst themselves in low voices, but they all smile or wave as I walk by.
Some even call out a greeting, and I try to mumble something in return.
This place is full of friendlies, as my old CO would say, and it never hurts to play nice.
Even if that's sometimes more exhausting than chopping down a stand of trees or hiking back home with a load on your back.
"Thank you for dropping this off. Our guests all love having a real fire going in the fireplace, especially since it's stayed so cold for so long. Summer feels a long way away."
I grunt as I set the bundles down carefully, then stack the logs precisely in the boxes arranged on each side of the hearth. "You're a paying customer, Dr. Nance. I'm going to make sure you get what you pay for. Every time."
As I stand, I catch sight of her raking my form with an assessing gaze. It's odd, unlike her. "Something wrong, Doc?"
She shakes her head, then sighs. "Actually, I'm wondering if we can have a chat. In my office. Privately."
My skin prickles with worry. I'm not one to give in to superstition, but I've also learned to recognize it when my instincts tell me something is off. And right now, something is off.
"Yeah. I've got a little time before I have to make my next delivery."
She smiles and I can see the tension slip away from her. "Great. Thank you so much, Porter."
I follow as she makes the walk down the hall, noticing the raised eyebrows of the staff members we pass. Clearly, they're wondering what's going on as much as I am. Which only adds to the nervy feeling churning in my gut.
Dr. Nance waves me inside her office and when I sit down in the chair in front of her desk, I hear the door latch shut behind us.
The small space is confining, and a bead of sweat rolls down my back, between my shoulder blades.
Everything about this feels wrong, and the urge to find a defensible position is strong.
The PTSD that drove me here is ratcheting up and I squeeze my hands into fists to keep them from shaking.
"I know this is unusual, but I have a favor to ask of you.
" Dr. Nance's voice is quiet, but her statement is so unexpected that I almost ask her to repeat it before the meaning penetrates.
When I don't say anything, she rushes on, "It's not something I'd normally do, of course.
But we've had an issue come up and I think, honestly, you're the only person who might be able to help us find a solution. "
The churning in my gut eases a fraction, and I manage to take a full breath.
The chair I'm sitting in is still too small, too cramped, and the office feels overheated, but the claustrophobia is receding little by little.
The threat of attack that was hanging over me isn't imminent anymore, but there's still the question of what exactly is going on.
"I'm always willing to help when I can, ma'am." My voice is gruff, but I'm glad it's steady. "But I'm not sure what I can really do. Unless you need some extra firewood delivered or something like that."
She shakes her head. "No. It's nothing like that. Nothing at all. Like I mentioned, it's unusual, but we have someone who is struggling right now. As a care team, we came up with an unusual approach to help them adjust to the transition here, but we'll need your help to make it happen."
I rest my hands on the arms of the chair, all too aware that I'm too big for it. That my grip on the thin wood frames could make it crack if I don't take care, but I need to hold onto something. Ground myself for whatever Dr. Nance plans to ask of me.
A soft knock at the door makes me twist, looking over my shoulder as Dr. Nance calls out, "Come in."
The door opens and I force myself to my feet on instinct. Standing at attention is an automatic response even though I've left that world behind. It's familiar.
What's not familiar is the feeling that washes over me when she walks through the door.
Waves of chestnut hair falling over her shoulders, wide whiskey brown eyes framed with dark lashes and a lush mouth tilted up in a small smile.
She's gorgeous. Beautiful. A rush of heat burns in my blood, and I rock back on my heels as her gaze meets mine, staring there like we're both trapped for an instant.
"Reena," says Dr. Nance, breaking the tension with her cheerful voice. "Thank you for coming in. I think we've got the solution to your problem."
I dart a questioning glance to the older woman, who smiles at me. "This is Porter. Your boyfriend."