Saved By the Lumberjack (Sexy Lumbersnacks #12)

Chapter 1 Off-Season

OFF-SEASON

ELAINE

The cabins looked better empty.

I didn't mean that in a misanthropic way, I liked people, most of the time, but there was something about off-season that turned the resort into exactly what it was supposed to be: quiet wood and clean lines and the kind of silence that made you remember why anyone came up here in the first place.

No kids shrieking off the dock. No complaints about the Wi-Fi. No one asking if the hiking trails were hard.

Just me, a clipboard that was somehow still a thing in 2026, and a list of pre-season checks that would bore anyone who didn't get a little thrill from well-maintained infrastructure.

I locked the door to Cabin Seven and made a note: Replace threshold trim, splintering. The wood was swollen from weeks of rain and snowmelt, which meant every door on the property was sticking, every step was slick, and the trails were less "rustic charm" and more "lawsuit waiting to happen."

Spring mud season. My favorite.

The air smelled like wet pine and thawing earth, sharp and clean in a way that made my nose sting if I inhaled too fast. I pulled my jacket tighter and started down the path toward the dock, boots squelching in the soft ground.

The river was louder than usual.

I'd worked here long enough to know the difference between "keep an eye on it" and "call someone," and this was solidly in the first category.

Still. I'd check the dock while I was down here. Make sure nothing had shifted or come loose. It wasn't on today's list, but I had time, and I was already muddy.

The trail curved down through a stand of aspen, their trunks still bare and ghostly pale against the darker pines. My boots slipped twice on the exposed roots, and I grabbed a low branch to steady myself, bark rough and damp under my palm.

The dock came into view as I rounded the last bend, a simple wooden platform extending maybe fifteen feet into the lake, which was really more of a wide spot in the river this time of year.

The water was high, lapping at the top of the support posts, and I could see a section of the railing had come loose on the far end.

Of course it did.

I stopped at the edge of the trail and eyed the approach.

The ground sloped down toward the water, soft and uneven where the bank had eroded over the winter.

There was a line of rocks someone had placed as makeshift steps, but they were slick with mud and moss, and I was wearing boots meant for walking, not rock climbing.

I should probably just add it to the list and let maintenance handle it next week.

Except loose now meant worse later, and I wasn’t opening the season with a liability I could’ve fixed.

Stop borrowing trouble, Elaine.

I stepped carefully onto the first rock, testing my weight. It held. The second one shifted slightly under my boot, but I adjusted and kept moving, using my arms for balance like I was walking a tightrope.

The river noise filled my ears, louder now that I was closer, a constant rush that drowned out everything else. I didn't mind. There was something almost meditative about it, the way it forced you to focus on the immediate: foot placement, balance, the next solid thing to grab.

I made it to the fourth rock and paused, eyeing the gap between me and the dock. Maybe three feet. Easy step if the ground wasn't actively trying to betray me.

The mud squelched under my boot as I shifted forward.

And then it wasn't mud anymore.

It was air.

My stomach dropped, arms flailing as my weight pitched sideways, and I had just enough time to think this is going to hurt before I hit the water.

Cold.

God, it was cold.

The river swallowed me whole, a shock of icy pressure that drove the air out of my lungs and turned my brain into static. I kicked hard, clawing toward the surface, and broke through gasping, the current already pulling me sideways.

The dock.

I twisted, reaching, and my fingers caught the edge of the floating platform, rough wood biting into my palms as I dragged myself halfway out of the water. My boots were filling, dragging me down, and my arms were already shaking from the cold.

I tried to pull myself up. Couldn't.

I shouted anyway.

"Help!"

My voice cracked, raw and desperate, and I hated the sound of it, but I shouted again, louder, because no one was scheduled to be anywhere near this part of the property, and I was not letting go of this dock.

"HELP!"

The current tugged at my legs.

I held on.

And then, faint, barely audible over the water, I heard it.

An engine.