Thwack.
On the final axe swing, Poppy wandered into my line of vision, and I hit the trunk at an angle, my axe head getting lodged in the tough old oak.
“Damn it,” I muttered as I tried to pull it out again.
This woman was like a curse, making it impossible to think straight.
“Morning, Corbin. Or… afternoon, I guess. Either way, Merry Christmas. I brought you a cup of hot cocoa to help you warm up.”
“You need to wear more clothes,” I rumbled back as I yanked on the axe handle.
She looked down at herself. “Uh, I’m wearing a snowsuit. What more do you want me to put on?”
I yanked again using all my strength. The axe handle creaked in my hands, but the head didn’t budge.
“I mean tonight when we’re in that bed again.”
Poppy grinned, the smile lighting up her face, making her look like my very own snow angel. “So there’s going to be a repeat?”
“Afraid so. I won’t get this tree cut in time. It’s going to take another day,” I grunted as I used every last drop of my strength to get the damn axe out of the oak.
The handle creaked again.
“Don’t hurt yourself, Corbin,” Poppy said breathlessly as she watched. “Maybe we should just wait until the cell reception comes back and call someone to come save us.”
“I don’tneedanyone to save me.I’mthe one who does the saving!” I growled out as I put my back into it. I stepped onto the oak for leverage and pulled with everything in me.
“Yaearrrgh!” I yelled out as I forced the axe out of the oak.
But the damn thing just laughed at me. The handle cracked and splintered, and I found myself falling back into the snow with a broken axe handle in my hands.
Poppy ran over and dropped to her knees, eyes wild as she clutched the edges of my coat. “Are you okay? Corbin, are you hurt?”
I lay there… defeated, staring up into the eyes of an angel. A Christmas angel.
And that’s when I gave up.
Poppy had worked her magic on me.
“I’m not okay. I’m not okay at all. I’m all fucked up, Poppy.”
She frantically unzipped my coat, looking for damage.
Her hands felt good on me, and I reveled in her touch.
“No, it’s not that. I’m not hurt. Well, my pride might be hurt. I can’t even cut through an oak tree.”
Poppy stopped searching for wounds and met my eyes, relief flooding her face. “You’re not hurt? Oh, thank God. I thought I was going to have to hike five miles to try to get help.”
I tugged her down into my arms and just held her there, breathing in the subtle rose scent of whatever perfume she was wearing.
She didn’t protest, or ask any questions. She settled into my arms like she belonged there.
Then we held each other in silence for at least five minutes. Only breaking apart when Hopkins came over and started sniffing, trying to find out what was wrong with the humans.
Poppy sat up, then stroked my beard, eyes locked steadily on mine. She said, “Why don’t you come inside and warm up for a few minutes? I made lunch. Then we can take a tour of the farmhouse. I can show you that fabric. How does that sound, Corbin?”
I wanted to growl out at her, chase her away.
