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BILLIONAIRE LUMBERJACK’S BRAWN
BY GWYN MCNAMEE
A Lumberjacks in Love Story
CHAPTER ONE
RAELYNN
If there’s anything sexier than a bunch of burly, tattooed, muscled, bearded lumberjacks swinging an axe, I haven’t seen it in this lifetime.
Thank you, Mom…
If she hadn’t suggested I take a break from helping pack up the house to come check out the International Lumberjack Festival, I’d still be cooped up in there with her and Dad and a lifetime of memories going into boxes.
It’s not like there is much else I could be doing in Hayes Creek to break up the monotony of wrapping knickknacks in old newspaper. In the decade I’ve been gone, very little has changed—except this, apparently.
The festival has ballooned since it began five years ago, and even I can admit how impressive it is. Hundreds of cars and trucks parked on the dirt lot, massive tents and food stands, and more spectators than I ever thought possible. The entire population of Hayes Creek must quadruple during these few days in July.
And I’m finally getting to see it all for the first time.
The hot summer sun beats down on the contestants in the chopping tournament, each of them swinging their axes meticulously, driving them hard into the large stumps, trying to make it deepest in the time allotted.
Sweat gleams on chiseled backs and sculpted arms.
I haven’t seen this many Adonis-like men and this much plaid in my entire life.
It is fun to watch—I’ll give them that.
Especially the guy on the far left, who appears to be blowing away the rest of the competition. Wood splinters fly around him, and each time his axe connects, the sheer force reverberates in my chest.
His thick, dark hair flops partially over his face as he takes another swing, but it doesn’t seem to slow him down or impact his ability to see exactly what he’s doing. Every muscle flexes and moves easily, accentuating his broad shoulders, bulging biceps, and tight ass in the jeans that fit him perfectly.
He slams his tool into the wood with the kind of power that sends a shiver through me despite the heat and humidity, and I fan my face to try to get myself to cool down a little bit before I pass out or jump the poor man.
“It’s warm out here, huh?”
“What?” I turn toward the voice and find another woman standing next to me with a grin.
She lowers her head to peer at me over her sunglasses, then leans in with a conspiratorial smirk. The blonde inclines her head toward the competitors. “I said, ‘It’s hot out here, huh?’”
I chuckle at being caught. “It is definitely hot out here.”
She grins and points to a guy on the far right. “That one’s my husband.”
“Oh!” I turn to watch him as he plows through his log, carving out massive chunks of wood, splinters filling the air all around him. “He’s good.”
A little sigh falls from her lips. “You have no idea. That man can split me any day.”
Laughing, I return my attention to the dark-haired lumberjack on the left, imagining him using all that power in the bedroom instead of on the unsuspecting stump. “Lucky woman.”
“Thank you.” She continues to watch the rugged mountain men as the count clocks down. “What about you?”
I lean against the wooden fence surrounding the competition area and shake my head. “Not married. Not even remotely close to it.”
“Are you from Hayes Creek?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I mean, I was, but I don’t live here anymore. I grew up here, but I moved to Milwaukee for college and stayed. I’m only in town to help my parents pack up their house. They just sold it.”
