“Relax your grip,” he said.
“I am relaxed,” I snapped. “I just don’t want to turn the axe into a projectile.”
“You’ll tire yourself out, you’re strangling it.”
“I’ll strangle you,” I muttered.
Rather than retort, he stepped closer.
Much closer.
His boots scuffed the dirt behind mine, and then his hands were there, adjusting my grip on the handle. His fingers brushed mine, and my brain went completely offline.
“Like this,” he murmured, his chest solid against my back. “Let gravity provide the force.”
I struggled to comprehend the instructions with his body pressed against me.
How did he still smell good after dealing with wood stain and gutter filth?
I managed to refocus long enough to let him guide my arms up over my head and then let the weight of the axe fall, splitting the log cleanly in half.
A strange sense of achievement flooded my veins, and I looked over my shoulder at Grant, grinning wide. Life wasn’t alwayseasy but dammit I could do hard things.
His face was closer to mine than I’d expected. I could’ve leaned forward just an inch and my lips would have brushed his.
I swallowed, wanting to do just that but knowing I shouldn’t. This situation was already enough of a mess. Acting on this urge would make it worse. Even if his lips looked really soft beneath all that stubble. Even if I desperately wanted to know what that stubble would feel like against my skin.
He cleared his throat and took a decisive step back and to the side. “One down. A hundred to go. Keep chopping.”
I did, throwing myself into the work with more force than necessary, partly to burn off nervous energy and partly to avoid looking at him. Each swing landed harder than the last, the crack of splitting wood echoing through the trees. Grant watched silently, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. I could feel his gaze on me like a physical thing, even as I avoided looking in his direction.
My arms started to ache, a dull burn settling into my shoulders, but I refused to complain. I refused to give him the satisfaction. If this was a test, I was passing it on sheer stubbornness alone. When I finally paused to catch my breath, I realized Grant had moved closer again. Not crowding me this time, just close enough that I could sense his presence.
“You’re doing good,” he said.
The praise hit harder than it should have. I nodded once, afraid that if I spoke, something honest might slip out. That I might admit how good it felt to be seen as capable. How good it felt to be here, doing something real, instead of untangling the wreckage of my old life.
“Let me take a turn,” he said, taking the axe from my hands. Istepped back to watch and catch my breath. Whatever this was—competition, cooperation, attraction—it wasn’t going away. And as the pile of chopped wood grew bigger, I was finding it harder to pretend I didn’t feel something for Grant.
Chapter Ten
Grant
It had been quite a day. I was supposed to be pushing Kara away from this life. Instead, I was drawing myself closer to her. She was a hard worker, determined—unless there was a dead bird involved. She worked as hard as I did, but looked a hundred times better doing it.
We were finally done with the wood. Technically, we could have been finished earlier. I was already a season ahead on stocking wood for the winter, but it was better to get ahead and stay there. Besides, if this place ended up being hers, I wanted to make sure she was well supplied. A sentiment that made me want to kick my own ass.
“One last chore,” she said, looking pointedly toward Tuck, who was basking in his stinky glory under a tree. He had long, thick fur and a stubborn streak that had me dreading this particular task.
I grabbed the dog shampoo from the porch step. “The bucketI use is in the shed.”
Kara furrowed her brow. “Why not bathe him in the river?” She gestured to where the river flowed slowly, fifty or so yards away. “It’s warm enough out, isn’t it?”
I opened my mouth to reply, but she was already walking in that direction, calling Tuck along with her. “Kara, wait.”
She didn’t even slow down.
Stubborn woman.
