The Lumberjack’s Curvy Girl (Acorns & Oakleys #2)

Chapter 1

DASH

Driving slowly on my way to work, I find that even the bounciest funk music isn't cheering me up.

Which is odd, to be honest. I'm normally an upbeat person. Almost always in a good mood. Plus, I dearly love my new job.

Maybe part of it is knowing that we'll be working in the rain for the second day in a row today.

Although my brothers and I are sensible enough not to use power tools when it's pouring, there are always trails to be marked, trees to be studied and tagged, and a multitude of tasks that just aren't that pleasant if you're walking around soaked to the bone.

Rain aside, though, I've always wanted to get back to the forest, and I'm thrilled to have left my small contracting business behind. I don't know. Maybe the dull mood is just from the huge change of moving back home and switching jobs, even though contracting never was my passion.

Ah well, the least I can do is pick up coffee and muffins for the team. Hopefully that will give us an excuse to hang out in the workshop a bit longer. Maybe do some long-term planning.

As I approach Acorns Café, I see a young lady carrying a guitar case in one hand and a battered umbrella with the other. The poor thing is getting drenched. Pulling up beside her, I roll down the passenger window. "Excuse me, do you need a ride?"

She shoots me a glance, likely checking to see if I'm someone she knows or a total stranger. Fair.

The rain lightens up enough for me to focus, and my mouth falls open as I take in the most beautiful girl…

ever. Perfect, bee-stung lips. Soft, melted chocolate eyes.

Flowing golden brown hair, even though it's soggy right now.

It's the face of an angel…if angels ever looked confused and a bit prickly.

"No thanks," she calls out, hurrying away.

"No problem," I call back, rolling up the window.

Acorns is just three doors down, and by the time I park and jump out of the truck, the girl is headed straight for the door. I hold it open for her, throwing her a smile as she gives me a sheepish glance.

Guitar Girl doesn't take a seat. She darts to the back, waving to the owner through the window of the office. She works here? Perfect.

As I choose a table in the corner, I hope that isn't a creepy thing to think. I don't want to bother her, I just feel a deep need to know more about her. Unless of course I see a wedding ring, or she lets me know immediately she's not interested.

Ten years ago, I used to date quite a bit.

I had women flinging themselves at me every time I turned around.

I'm not an idiot – I know it was only because my family is relatively wealthy and well-known around town.

The dating pool in a small town is limited.

Guys who know what they want out of life and are good prospects, that a girl's parents would approve of, are in short supply.

So I guess I was a "catch", there it is. Or, at least, was. Now that I'm twenty-nine and returning to Oakton to work on my family property, my goals in life are hazy again. Except for the immediate goal of getting the breathtaking girl with the guitar to chat with me a bit.

She comes out of the back with freshly brushed hair, tying on an apron, and chatting for a moment to one of the other girls.

Now that her coat is off, I can get a better look at her.

And by "look", I mean stare open-mouthed and wide-eyed, like a cartoon character whose jaw has just fallen to the floor with a clang.

She's luscious. Large, soft breasts that I need to lose myself in. Ample hips that my hands ache to grab. A body that triggers every lusty thought I've ever had, combined with a sweet, pretty face that makes me need to snuggle her and make her every care disappear.

As one of the older farmers in the area used to say, I'm already "ass over teakettle."

When she reaches my table with a menu, she gives me a sheepish smile. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude, but—"

I hold up my hands. "I understand. You were almost here. Plus, jumping into trucks with strange men is kinda sketchy." As she sets down the menu, I offer my hand. "Dash Oakley."

Her beautiful lips quirk up in a slight grin. "Bridget Smith." Bridget. What a perfect name for a perfect girl. Elegant, and slightly old-fashioned.

She looks me up and down. "Yeah, I figured you were one of those."

I chuckle. "One of those damn Oakley boys?"

"No! One of those darn lumberjacks who tracks mud into the café," she giggles, smacking me lightly with the menu. Then she pauses. "There's a country song in there somewhere. Dirty boys with their muddy trucks and their coffee mugs."

Laughing with her, I admire the golden highlights of her hair, and the way her eyes are a sweet honey brown in this light. "Most country songs mention whiskey, and I'm not that sort of lumberjack quite yet."

"Good. Do you need some time with our extensive menu?" she teases. The café has basic sandwiches and breakfast fare, all hearty and home-cooked.

"Coffee, cheddar and herb omelet, whole wheat toast."

"No home fries?" Her eyebrow raises. "A health nut, I see. Okay then." Her adorable sass is just making her even prettier.

"Potatoes are an evening food. They have no place at the breakfast table."

Bridget feigns shock, fanning herself with the menu. "Whoa, Buddy, you'd better lower your voice, or our chef Marco will have a few choice words for you. All of them swears."

She spins away before I can respond, leaving me to admire her figure again, drumming my fingers on the solid maple table.

I can tell with one glance that all the furniture in the café was made by Jim Clendening's boys.

He's one of the older farmers in the area, and his sons both work the land with him, and make excellent minimalist furniture out in the barn.

When Bridget returns with my coffee, I ask, "So, you play guitar?"

She shakes her head quickly, causing her breasts to sway slightly as I try like hell to maintain eye contact. "Barely. I'm terrible."

"So you just use the case to hide all of your shotguns?"

Finally, a full, satisfying laugh. "No, it's a real guitar. I have a lesson after work."

I instinctively reach for her hand, stopping myself just in time to tug instead at the edge of her apron.

"You're not terrible, you're a beginner.

Huge difference." She starts to answer, but I add, "Honestly, how weird would it be if you played like Herman Li or Steve Vai the first time you picked up a guitar? "

Bridget's smile is my new favorite thing on this planet. "Okay, you're right. I'm very new. Which is why I'm taking lessons."

She rushes off to the kitchen, so I send my brother a quick text.

Me: Running a bit late. I'll bring coffee and muffins so that you don't hate me.

Braden: No worries, His highness Ansel is running late too.

Me: You're nasty. I like that about you.

Braden: No raisins in those muffins, or you'll see what nasty really is.

Me: Check.

I slip the phone away as Bridget approaches with my breakfast, and see a question in her eyes. Is she curious whether I'm texting a girlfriend?

"My brother is concerned about the muffin situation," I say in my most businesslike tone. "Could you please bag up eight muffins, a mix of everything that doesn't contain raisins?"

"Lumberjacks don't live on raw steak and energy drinks?"

"Nah, that's just in the recruitment ads. They pull you in with all of the glamor, but it's really just coffee and muffins, cleaning machinery, sharpening saws, and fighting with Braden over who gets to control the music."

"Yet here you are, taking some time for yourself to have breakfast first." She wags a finger. "Good for you. It is the most important meal of the day."

"There are two reasons for me to have a big breakfast today." I'm delighted when she leans in closer.

Bridget is so natural and earthy, in brown pants, a plain auburn shirt, and tiny gold earrings. I love a girl who's not fussy. "Really? I'm all ears."

How I'd love to nibble on her ear right now, to see if she'd blush when I touch her. "I need the fuel because the rain has been a bit of a pain in the ass the past few days."

"And the other reason?"

"Hopefully it's giving me enough time to work up the nerve to ask you out for dinner."

Bridget blinks slowly. "Me?"

"Yes. You're gorgeous, charming, and I'd really like to get to know you. May I please take you out to dinner tonight?"

She takes a half step back as her fingers twist in her apron. "Um, I have my guitar lesson tonight."

"What time do you finish work? I can drive you to your lesson so that you don't get soaked, and we can talk about it then?"

The bell rings over the shop door as several people come in, and I can tell she has to leave. Reaching out, I gently take her hand for a few seconds. "Just tell me what time to be here."

"Five." She grins, nodding as she rushes away.

As I eat my incredible breakfast, my gaze tracks Bridget's every movement as she works.

She's sweet with every customer. Quick to laugh, and make a joke.

I love the way she puts a hand on her hip and gives her blonde coworker an earful.

Although I can't hear the conversation, they both end up in hysterics.

Bridget is also a good worker, hustling to keep everything in order.

She's obviously open to new things if she's taking guitar lessons. She's funny and so sexy that I don't want to leave the restaurant for fear that other men might have the opportunity to look at her.

I've occasionally wondered what I was looking for in a woman, and always came up empty. Now I know. Beautiful, elegant, sweet.

I've been looking for Bridget. She's mine. As sure as the rain is falling. As sure as the coffee mug in my hand.

Bridget is going to be my girl.