Page 8 of The Grouchy Lumberjack’s Bride

“Hear me out. Running a social media account is a viable profession. I’m gaining valuable work experience.”

Jesus, this kid. This fucking kid. “Why don’t we talk about it later? In the light of day.”

I can tell from the grin on her face that she thinks she won. Maybe she has.

chapter four

Jade

I’m at this week’s book club meeting, and although I loved the book—a science fiction romance about a frozen planet with possessive aliens—my heart isn’t in it tonight. I don’t know why. I usually live for Wednesday nights. Girl time. A chance to geek out on our favorite romance novels. Wine and cookies. What’s not to love?

We used to meet at the public library, but since the bookstore re-opened, we’ve been meeting here. Sisters Esther and Astrid own the bookstore, but only Esther works here. Astrid is a rocket scientist or something. She’s arguing with Esther about the mode of transportation in the book because the technology isn’t scientifically sound.

“Y’all! Did you see the newest in the Saddle Peek?” Cleary Miller asks excitedly.

She’s one of our newer members, but since moving here to Saddle Creek—after a whirlwind marriage to tattoo hottie Ian Miller—she’s settled right into this group. It helps that she writes amazing romances under the name Anita Dix.

“The thing about Cain?” Harper Crawford asks.

Well, now, I’m paying attention. “What thing about Cain?”

“Check this out.” Cleary clears her throat dramatically and begins to read. “‘Did you know we have our very own social media sensation living right here in Saddle Creek? That’s right, are you even on the internet if you haven’t heard of the Shirtless_Lumbersnack? Well, I’m here to tell you that is none other than Cain Bishop.’”

That doesn’t make sense. The Cain I know would never put himself on social media, especially without a shirt. Still, it doesn’t stop me from going to the Saddle Peek to find the link.

“Oh, my God,” my cousin, Daphne Whitmore, says beside me.

More comments ripple through the crowd of women. I stare at my phone and can’t quite believe my eyes. I’ve seen Cain without a shirt—we used to go swimming in the pond on my family’s property. But he's mesmerizing in motion, wielding axes, chainsaws, and other tools he uses for his art. The play of muscles under his tanned skin has me riveted to my screen.

I let the reels play, one after another. He’s got more than a million followers. In the current video, he stops and takes a huge swig of water from what looks like a recycled milk gallon. Water sloshes down his bare chest, and I follow the droplets, resisting the urge to zoom in when it gets to his low-slung jeans.

For fuck’s sake. We’re all perving on him. I’m probably the worst. Many of the women in this room are married, or about to be, so their gawking could be considered harmless.

But I am legit staring at my former best friend with panty-dampening lust.

chapter five

Cain

It’s been over a week since I learned about my internet celebrity status. Sasha and I have come to an agreement of sorts. She can continue, but I don’t want to know about it, and it can’t interfere with her schoolwork. It’s awkward as fuck knowing that people are staring at my body while I work, but the project has given Sasha a bit of a purpose.

While it may feel like she’s pimping me out, I prefer to look at it like this: she’s resourceful and has mad technology skills. I make a mental note to have a conversation with Birdie Crawford and Emmy Miller. Both ladies are in the computer field and may agree to mentor Sasha.

I work shirtless because we live in Texas, and it’s hot as the damn sun sometimes. And if people like looking at me because I’m a big hairy mother fucker, who am I to deny them?

Sasha doesn’t have school today, so I told her we’d go for breakfast at Ruthie’s diner. We’re halfway through our pancakes—banana and chocolate chip for Sasha and granola with blueberry for me—when I see a familiar face walking past the diner window.

The food in my mouth immediately turns to ash, and a knot forms in my belly. I try to swallow to give Sasha a heads-up, but I’m not quick enough.

“Sasha, my darling,” Courtney coos next to our booth.

My sister stills before slowly looking up at the woman. “Mom?”

“It’s me, baby.” Courtney holds her arms open in a gesture that could mean she wants a hug, but I’m wagering it’s more of a ta-da moment. Like her presence here is anything to celebrate.

I glare up at her. “What are you doing here?”

“Can’t a woman come to see her daughter without having a reason?”