Who isthatmountain hottie?
A man stood on the edge of the trail with a chainsaw in his hands, surrounded by the fresh-cut remains of another fallen tree that must have come down in the storm.
His hair was wild from the wind, sawdust clinging to his dark blonde strands, and he looked like something epic standing there, grounded and strong, like he was rooted to the earth itself.
And for some completely unknown reason, he was shirtless.
I drank him in as a visceral jolt of heat shot through me. Was it rude to study the trail of hair that led down his belly before disappearing underneath his belt buckle?
Maybe. But I couldn’t stop staring.
Oh, holy hot damn.
They sure didn’t make men likehimin Boston.
He was picking up a chunk of the log, getting ready to throw it, when he spotted me, his eyes going wide.
We just stared at each other for a long moment, then he tossed the log off the trail and rumbled, “You need to get by?”
“Oh, uh, well.”
His eyes held mysteries in their pools of blue, and I almost felt myself getting lost in them. But that would be ridiculous.
He gave me a quick once-over, then put the chainsaw down on the ground, angling it so the blades didn’t touch the earth.
Then he stepped off the path, making room for me to pass.
His voice was rough, like he didn’t use it much. “Go on by if you want. But a word of warning, the trail gets muddier the closer you get to Spring Hollow.”
“Hi,” I said, because apparently my brain had stopped working and that was the best response I could come up with.
Surprise flickered in his expression, and the corner of his mouth twitched. “Oh. Yeah. Hello. Most people turn back before they get this far.”
“I’m not most people,” I blurted out, feeling heat creep up my cheeks.
The words came out before I could stop them, and I watched his eyebrows raise, his gaze sweeping over me.
“I reckon you’re not,” he rumbled. He looked at me like I was something unexpected that had dropped into the middle of his life.
That’s when my heart did something complicated in my chest.
But I must have been the only one feeling the zing because a second later his eyes shut down, going remote on me, and he bent down and picked up another chunk of log from the trail, chucking it to the side.
He looks like a Nordic god.
And what, I was flirting with him? My dumpy ass? Embarrassment trickled in.
“I should let you get back to work,” I managed, gesturing vaguely at the fallen tree. “I’m just… heading to the spring.”
He nodded, still watching me with those steady blue eyes. “Trail gets rocky a quarter mile down and there’s more storm damage ahead. Watch your footing.”
“I will. Thank you.”
I made myself walk past him and step over the remains of the cut tree trunk, hyper-aware of his gaze on my back.
My pulse was hammering for reasons that had nothing to do with the hike and everything to do with his moody eyes that were certainly watching me walk away right now.
Then I heard him call out, “Another storm’s rolling in tonight. Make sure you get back to the trailhead by dusk.”
