Chapter 4
WILLOW
“Willow,” he repeats.
And holy shit—I might actually be having a heart attack.
Hearing my name in his voice does something strange to my insides, like it rearranges them without permission.
Low. Rough.
Like gravel warmed by the sun. I swallow hard and force myself not to stare.
Which is difficult.
Because this man is huge.
Not fat—there’s not an ounce of softness where there shouldn’t be—but big in a way that feels elemental.
Like he was carved out of the mountains surrounding us.
He’s easily six-foot-five, maybe taller, with shoulders so broad they look like they were designed to carry weight.
Real weight.
Logs.
People.
Me—no, stop that.
He’s wearing flannel. Buffalo plaid, I think it’s called. You know, the red and black one.
The fabric looks thick, durable, stretched tight across his chest when he moves like it’s daring the seams to try their luck.
Jeans cling to powerful legs—long, muscular thighs that make my brain supply completely inappropriate comparisons.
Rugby player thighs.
Why do I know that?
Because I’ve been following the Carolina Rovers on social media ever since they had that charity gala where they auctioned off dates with players and went viral.
Anyway, why am I thinking about his legs?
Does he work here?
Will I be working with him?
He’s just standing there, staring, and I think I might explode from all the tension.
“Oh my God,” Kelly says cheerfully, completely ruining my internal spiral. “This Neanderthal with no manners is my baby brother, Thatcher McCrae.”
Baby brother?
I blink.
Picturing this man as anything other than the tall, glorious, mountain demi-god he is, is profoundly difficult.
“Did you eat lunch?” she adds, using a tone that suggests she’s asked this question for the last thirty-five years.
“Not yet,” he says, narrowing his eyes at her. “Did you?”
Their eyes lock in a way that feels practiced.
Familiar. Comfortable.
His eyes are dark.
Darker than mine.
Deep brown, almost black, framed by thick lashes that don’t seem fair on a man who looks like he could bench-press a small car.
His hair is the same dark shade, tousled like he ran his hands through it one too many times.
There’s scruff along his jaw, shadowing his face, and somehow that only makes him more—him.
Despite everything about him screaming rough and intimidating, I think he might be the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.
Is that dumb? Calling this man beautiful?
That thought sneaks up on me, unwelcome and undeniable.
And really, it is dumb because I’m pretty sure Kelly just told me he’s the boss. As in my boss.
I can see the resemblance between him and Kelly now—the strong features, the same stubborn chin.
She’s blonde, softer somehow, with laugh lines around her eyes that tell you she’s kind even when she’s bossy.
“I was going to have lunch at home today,” Kelly says. “Remember? I’m leaving early to go over procedures and aftercare with the surgeon’s assistant.”
He nods immediately, all seriousness now.
“Right. Go.”
Then he looks at me.
“I can get Willow settled in.”
Yes, please.
My stomach flips so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t knock me over.
Kelly hesitates, then adds casually, “Okay, sure. Oh, I told her she could stay in the old security guard cabin on the property since she doesn’t have a permanent place in town yet. That okay with you?”
My chest tightens.
This is it.
This is where he says no.
I picture my car.
The back seat.
Frost creeping in overnight.
The cold biting deeper here than it did in town.
I tell myself I could make it work if I had to.
But I really, really don’t want to.
He studies me for a second, expression unreadable.
“Yeah,” he says slowly. “But she might change her mind once she sees the place.”
“I won’t,” I blurt out.
Too fast. Too desperate.
Both of them look at me.
Kelly’s gaze softens, concern flickering across her face.
Thatcher’s eyes sharpen—not unkind, but searching.
Like he’s trying to see past what I’m showing him.
Like he knows there’s more underneath.
I force myself to breathe.
“I mean,” I say more carefully, “I don’t need fancy. I just need it to be available. And maybe warm.”
I try to smile. To act like I’m joking.
His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.
“Then you’ll be fine,” he says.
And the way he says it—steady, certain—makes something inside me loosen for the first time in a long while.
I don’t know what I’ve walked into.
But standing here, under his steady gaze, with the mill humming around us and winter still clinging to the mountains, I have the strangest feeling my life just changed.