Chapter 2
J.T
My pulse is racing like a damn teenager’s, and for one reckless second I want nothing more than to grab her by the back of her neck and fuse her lips to mine.
Claim her.
I want to silence every doubt in her head with a kiss she can’t forget.
But I won’t.
Not yet.
Not until she agrees.
Kelly lifts her wineglass, fingers steady even if I can see the tension in her shoulders.
She takes a slow sip, buying herself time. Then she turns those crystalline cobalt eyes on me.
“I—I need to think about it, J.T.”
The words don’t surprise me.
They steady me.
I dip my chin once. This is good. It makes sense. And it is just so Kelly.
And I agree because I want her to think about this. About me. My offer.
I need her to think about this very seriously because this isn’t some casual arrangement she can back out of when it gets inconvenient.
Once she says yes to being mine—and she will say yes—there’s no turning back.
Not for me. And not for my little Sawmill Jill.
I’ve already crossed that line in my head a hundred times over. Once I set my sights on something, that’s it. Done. Finished.
The world can argue all it wants, but it doesn’t change the outcome.
Kelly McCrae is mine.
Jesus Christ, the first time I really noticed her flashes through my mind clear as a bell.
She came striding into the mill office like a little bolt of sunlight—tight jeans, worn boots, some faded T-shirt with sawdust on the hem, her blonde hair yanked back in a ponytail that swung when she walked.
Bright as a new damn penny.
And if that wasn’t enough to get my attention, she walked right into the middle of a heated argument between me and her old man like she owned the place.
Which, to be fair, she kinda did.
I remember standing there with my fists braced on the desk while her father and I went at it about a timber contract. Voices raised. Tempers flaring.
The whole damn sawmill probably heard us.
Then she just appeared.
Didn’t storm in.
Didn’t yell.
She walked in carrying two coffees and a paper bag like she was strolling through a Sunday market.
Those hips of hers swaying just enough to make a grown man forget what he was mad about.
“I believe you gentlemen might be able to take it down a decibel or two if you caffeinate,” she said, setting the cups down between us like she was settling a bar fight.
Then she pulled a couple of fresh rolls out of the bag and slid them across the desk.
“Here’s some breakfast,” she added sweetly. “Now eat something and talk like civilized people.”
I remember staring at her like someone had knocked the wind out of me.
Because in that moment something in my chest just shifted.
She didn’t flinch. Didn’t look intimidated. Didn’t care that two full-grown men were practically snarling at each other.
She just handled it.
Handled me.
And when she turned to leave, that ponytail swinging and those jeans hugging her just right—well. That was the moment.
The exact damn moment I knew that this woman was going to ruin me someday.
I just didn’t know how long it would take.
“I’ve been waiting a long time, Kelly McCrae,” I mutter under my breath now, the memory burning warm in my chest.
My jaw tightens as I look across the yard at her.
“I can wait a little longer.”
And that’s the truth.
Because some things in life are worth waiting for.
And Kelly?
She’s been worth every goddamn minute.
I’ve already waited decades.
Another few days won’t kill me.
What might kill me is sitting here any longer and letting myself soften.
So I stand.
And I leave before I do something stupid.
Like beg.
A few minutes later, I’m down by the gravel drive, waiting for the valet to bring my truck around.
Yeah, they hired one.
I’m not only surprised—I’m downright entertained.
The mountain wasn’t built for this many guests.
However small the party is, it’s still more than the original layout ever expected.
So there are a couple of local kids running a makeshift operation with suped up golf carts, ferrying vehicles back and forth like it’s a five-star resort instead of a fucking log cabin in Woodhaven.
Two kids jog off toward a cart to go get my truck while I stand there with my hands in my pockets, replaying the last twenty minutes in my head.
Fuck.
She looked good tonight.
Not flashy. Not trying too hard.
Some soft bridesmaid confection in a dozen shades of yellow, the fabric floating around her like she didn’t even realize how stunning she was.
Sweet.
Simple.
Deadly.
But if I’m honest?
I like her best in jeans and a flannel, hair pulled back, boots on, telling a supplier exactly where to shove their revised invoice.
Doesn’t really matter what she wears. The thing about Kelly that hooks me isn’t the dress or the jeans.
It’s her spirit.
She’s got fire. Always has.
It’s not loud. It’s not reckless.
It’s controlled heat.
And I am so close to touching it—finally—that it feels like my lungs are filling for the first time in years.
Like my soul can finally breathe.
And of course it’s right then that I hear boots on gravel behind me.
“I suppose a man your age needs to get home to rest.”
I don’t turn around.
I don’t need to.
“Fuck off, Thatch.”
He steps up beside me anyway, hands on his hips like he owns the mountain.
“What were you talking to my sister about?”
I glance at him now.
“What business of it is yours?”
“It’s my sister,” he says like that’s explanation enough.
I exhale slowly.
McCrae blood runs hot.
I respect that.
But I won’t be handled.
“McCrae,” I say evenly, “I don’t mind when your deliveries are late because you happen to bring some pretty damn good lumber, and I like doing business with you. But don’t think our business relationship entitles you to knowing anything about my personal life.”
“Fuck you, man,” he snaps. “She’s my sister. She’s been through enough. She doesn’t need some old fox coming after her.”
There’s heat in his voice.
Protective.
I get it.
I’d probably say worse if someone was circling someone I loved.
“Thatcher,” I say quietly, “go back to Willow before you and I say some shit we’re both going to regret.”
He squares up a little.
I don’t move.
“I’m not looking to hurt Kelly,” I continue. “You have my word.”
He studies me, jaw tight.
He wants to punch something.
Maybe me.
Maybe the man who wrecked her life.
Finally, he grunts.
“You better not.”
I nod once, sharp, and final. Because on that point, at least, we’re in agreement.
He turns back toward the tent, shoulders stiff like he’s still chewing on whatever the hell just happened here.
Fine.
Let him chew.
I stay where I am.
The mountain air is cool now that the sun’s dropping behind the ridge, and it cuts through the heat still humming under my skin. Pine and damp earth and new grass drift on the breeze, the sounds of the wedding carrying faintly through the trees—laughter, music, glasses clinking.
But out here, it’s quiet.
Just me.
And the steady thud of my own heartbeat.
I shove my hands into my pockets and stare out across the darkening tree line while I wait for my truck to get brought around.
Do I feel bad about what I just did?
About laying it out like that?
About telling Kelly McCrae I want her?
No.
Not even a little.
Maybe I should.
Maybe a better man would’ve danced around it, softened the edges, pretended this is something it ain’t.
But I’ve never been that kind of man.
Kelly’s not some na?ve little girl who needs to be handled with silk gloves.
She’s not fragile.
She’s not some prize buck I’m trying to bag and drag home.
She’s a grown woman who’s taken more hits than most people could stand and somehow kept her damn feet under her.
I’ve watched her.
Watched her walk into that mill every day with her chin up even when people were whispering behind her back.
Watched her hold it together for that boy of hers while the ground under her life cracked open.
Strong as hell.
Too strong sometimes.
Trying to carry everything alone.
That’s the part that gets under my skin.
Because she shouldn’t have to.
I rub a hand over my jaw and let out a slow breath.
She’ll make up her own mind. I know that much about her.
Kelly McCrae doesn’t get pushed into anything she doesn’t want.
Not by me.
Not by anyone.
But the day will come—I just know it will—when she finally gets tired of doing it by herself. When she looks up and realizes she doesn’t have to.
Not anymore.
And when she walks toward me? When she decides she’s done drowning alone?
I’ll be right here.
Right where I’ve been all along.
Ready.
Willing.
Able.