The Forbidden Mountain Man Lumberjack (Forbidden In Fall Mountain Man #4)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

WYATT

The chainsaw roars to life between my hands, vibrating with enough power to bring down the massive pine I've marked for cutting. The crisp October air carries the scent of decaying leaves and approaching winter, my breath fogging slightly with each exhale.

Around me, my crew works with practiced precision against the backdrop of mountains ablaze with autumn colors, every man knowing his role as we race against the shortening days.

As owner of Brennan Logging, I've built this operation on discipline, expertise, and an unwavering commitment to doing things the way they've always been done.

The right way.

The chain bites into bark, sending wood chips flying.

I breathe in the familiar scent of fresh-cut pine and sweat, letting the physical labor clear my mind the way it always does.

Up here on this mountain, everything makes sense.

Nature doesn't change its rules. Trees don't need new systems. The forest speaks a language that's stayed the same since long before anyone tried to tame it.

My radio crackles. "Wyatt, you copy?" It's Mike, my foreman.

I release the chainsaw trigger, the sudden silence almost as deafening as the noise. "Go ahead."

"Just got a call from Tim. Says there's someone waiting at the office. Some consultant the investors sent."

I growl, wiping sweat from my forehead with my forearm. The "investors" are what I call the silent partners who provided capital when I expanded five years ago. They stay out of my way, I send them profits. At least that was the arrangement.

"Tell Tim I'll be there when I'm done."

"She says she's been waiting since nine this morning."

She. Of course they'd send a woman to try to tell me how to run my business.

"Fine. I'm coming down." I power down the saw completely, secure it, and call out to my second-in-command. "Barry, take over. I've got to deal with some bullshit at the office."

The forty-minute drive down the mountain gives me plenty of time to stew.

Some corporate consultant with a laptop and a business degree thinks she can walk into my world and tell me how to run the company I've built with my own hands?

Every calloused finger on those hands has earned its hardness through years of knowing exactly what this business needs.

The office is a simple cabin-style building at the edge of town, nothing fancy but functional.

My truck kicks up dust as I pull into the lot.

I catch my reflection in the rearview—dark beard flecked with sawdust, lines around my eyes deepened by years in the sun, the scar above my right eyebrow from a logging accident when I was twenty.

I look exactly like what I am: a forty-five-year-old man who belongs on a mountain, not in a boardroom.

With a deep breath, I step out of the truck, not bothering to clean up. Let her see what real work looks like.

Tim, my office manager, gives me a sympathetic look when I walk in. "She's in your office," he says. "Been waiting almost three hours."

Good. Maybe she'll realize her time isn't any more valuable than mine.

I push open my office door without knocking. After all, it's my damn office.

And then I see her.

Fuck.

She's young—impossibly young—with dark hair pulled back in some kind of twist that still looks professional despite the hours of waiting.

Her skin is olive-toned and flawless, and when she turns to look at me, her dark eyes widen slightly before she schools her features.

She's wearing a blue button-up shirt tucked into fitted black pants, both of which hug curves that have no business being in my office.

She stands and extends her hand. "Mr. Brennan? I'm Sophia Coleman from Aspen Business Solutions. The investment group hired me to help modernize your operation."

I don't take her hand. Instead, I walk around to my chair, putting the desk between us. "Modernize."

The word tastes wrong in my mouth.

She doesn't seem bothered by my rejection of her handshake. Instead, she sits back down, opening a sleek laptop.

"Yes. Your investors feel that with some updated systems and practices, Brennan Logging could significantly increase its efficiency and profitability. I've been hired to implement those changes."

The calm, matter-of-fact way she says this—like she's already been given permission to turn my life upside down—makes my jaw clench.

"You look like you just graduated college."

A flash of something—annoyance, maybe—crosses her face before she smiles tightly. "I'm twenty-four, Mr. Brennan. I graduated with my MBA last year and have been with Aspen since then, specializing in traditional industries transitioning to modern business models."

"Traditional industries." I lean back in my chair. "You mean businesses that know what the hell they're doing because they've been doing it successfully for years."

She doesn't take the bait. "I mean industries that could benefit from technological integration and updated management systems. Your investors have concerns about—"

"My investors get their checks on time, every quarter."

"Yes, but they believe returns could be significantly higher with proper modernization. That's why I'm here."

I study her for a long moment. She doesn't fidget under my gaze, which is surprising. Most people do. There's something steady about her, despite her youth and the delicate curves of her face.

"And how long do you think you'll be here, Ms. Coleman?"

"Sophia, please." She tucks a strand of dark hair behind her ear. "The initial assessment will take about two weeks. Implementation, if you choose to move forward with my recommendations, would be another month or two, depending on the scope."

I almost laugh. "If I choose to move forward?"

"Of course. While the investors have commissioned this consultation, you're still the majority owner and CEO. I can't force changes you don't approve."

Now I do laugh, a short, harsh sound. "Let me guess. If I don't 'approve' your changes, the investors have options? Like pulling their money?"

Her eyes—deep brown with flecks of amber—meet mine directly. "I wouldn't know about that, Mr. Brennan. My job is to identify inefficiencies and suggest solutions. The financial arrangements between you and your investors aren't my concern."

But we both know that's exactly the leverage they're using. I've had enough meetings with suits to recognize when I'm being cornered.

"Two weeks for assessment," I say finally. "Then we'll talk."

Relief flickers across her face before she nods professionally. "Great. I'll need access to your systems, records from the past five years, and to observe operations both in the field and in your administrative offices."

"Tim can get you whatever paperwork you need. As for observing in the field..." I look her up and down deliberately, taking in the pressed clothes and delicate leather shoes. "Those won't work on the mountain."

She glances down at herself, then back at me, chin lifting slightly. "I've brought appropriate attire for fieldwork, Mr. Brennan. This isn't my first consultation with a logging company."

Something about that bothers me—the thought of her in other forests, with other logging crews. Which is ridiculous. I don't know this woman. Don't want to know her.

"Fine. We head up at six tomorrow morning. Don't be late."

"I'll be here at five-thirty," she counters, and there's a hint of challenge in her voice that stirs something in me. Something I haven't felt in a long time.

She starts gathering her things, sliding the laptop into a leather bag. "One more thing. The hotel in town is being renovated, and there aren't any rooms available. The investors suggested I stay at your cabin, since you have the extra space."

For a moment, I think I've misheard her. "Excuse me?"

"Your cabin. I understand you have a guest room that you've offered to consultants in the past."

Years ago, I did let the occasional business associate stay at my place. Before I realized I hated having people in my space.

"That's not happening," I say flatly.

She holds my gaze. "The next nearest accommodation is over an hour away. Given the early start times and late evenings reviewing data, it would be much more efficient if I stayed closer. The investors specifically mentioned—"

"I don't give a damn what they mentioned. My cabin is off-limits."

A flash of frustration crosses her face—the first real emotion she's shown. "Mr. Brennan, I'm simply trying to do the job I was hired for as efficiently as possible."

"And I'm simply telling you that you're not staying at my cabin."

We stare at each other for a long moment, neither willing to back down. Up close, I notice a spray of light freckles across her nose, barely visible against her olive skin. Her lips are full, currently pressed into a line of annoyance.

And she smells like something floral and subtle that has no place in a logging office.

"Fine," she says finally. "I'll figure something out." She stands, slinging her bag over her shoulder. Even annoyed, there's a grace to her movements. "I'll see you tomorrow morning at five-thirty, Mr. Brennan."

She walks past me toward the door, and I catch another hint of that scent. For a split second, I wonder what it would be like to bury my face in the curve of her neck and breathe her in properly.

The thought comes out of nowhere and hits me like a physical blow. What the hell is wrong with me?

"Five-thirty," I confirm, my voice rougher than I intended. "Don't wear anything you care about ruining."

She pauses at the door, looking back at me with those intelligent brown eyes. "I never do when I'm in the field, Mr. Brennan."

Then she's gone, leaving nothing but the ghost of her scent and the unwelcome realization that Sophia Coleman is going to be a much bigger problem than I thought.

And not just for my business.