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This doesn’t feel like work.
“The snow is getting thicker,” the man says from what appears to be the kitchen. “I’m not sure you’ll be going very far today.”
I bite down and scamper over the broken floorboard to look outside.
“Snow? What?” I gaze in wonderment out the window. “Shit… You’re right.”
A fresh burst of snowfall scatters across the greenery of the paddock. I see a small flock of sheep hiding beneath the cover of a birch tree that is bending in the wind. The rainfall has quickly changed and wicked gusts of wind doesn’t allow the snow to settle quickly. But as we stand there for a moment, completely silent, the rain seems to be completely replaced by a steady swirl of snow that’s thicker than the stuff we get back down the mountain. It’s falling and dancing all the way to the ground.
I pull my phone from my pocket, needing to capture this beautiful sight.
“That won’t work up here,” he grunts.
My finger slides across the screen. “The camera will. Plus, it’s one of those fan-dangle brand-new smart phones that can roam the world without any issues.” I glance down at the blank reception bar. “Or not.”
He chuckles and I swear the whole fucking cabin shakes beneath the weight of his amusement.
“Come on,” he says. “If you’re stuck here, we may as well get this damn inspection over with. Unless…” He scans me up and down, eyes lingering over my body. It’s the same expectant look in his eye, twinkling, striking me like he wants something from me. “Unless you have something to say…”
This time it’s me frowning. “No… Why do you keep-”
“Never mind.” He cuts me off and trudges forward, that grumpy look intensifying even more. “Start here then.”
I pluck the pen from the clipboard, side-eyeing the glum expression tugging at his eyes. He looks like he’s trying to hold something in. I can’t work out if he hates me, or whether I’m just irritating him because he didn’t check his fucking mailbox for the notification of the inspection.
Shit. I wonder if he even has a mailbox? Do mountain men like him have basic reading and writing skills?
Whatever his problem is, I’m not about to start taking his shit too. He might be a big, burly mountain of a man, but I’ve come up here to make a point. If I’m going to go against my brother’s wishes and start taking my life, my job,my dreams, seriously, then it needs to start right now.
I’m not a pushover. I’m not a pushover. I’m not a pushover.
“That sink.” I shove the tip of the pen towards the dripping tap. “Needs fixing. Leaking water makes wood swell and can cause rot. It also attracts disease and all types of disgusting molds that can make you seriously ill.” I look around the cabin, face hardened. “Got it? Good. Moving on.”
I feel uneasy being so harsh. Actually, in reality, Iadorethe kitchen. It’s petite and tiny, cluttered with various pots and pans that look older than me. The stove looks like a wood-burning one, the comforting aroma of charred wood bringing a sense of calm over me.
But I force those feelings back.Be strong. No more taking shit.
I stomp forward, glaring at the firm, ice-cold stare shooting in my direction before I move away. My palms are sweaty, my stomach squirming like I’m going to be sick. I pace, my narrowed eyes scanning the cabin.
“The fireplace…” I twist. He hasn’t taken his eyes off me, by the way. “Any blockages? Build up of debris gone unnoticed? That can be a real issue, again with the timber cabin. Any flare ups could be disastrous. You could lose everything.”
He shakes his head, the wet strands of long, blond hair shifting across his broad shoulders.
“No. I clean it regularly.”
He leans back against the wooden counter in the kitchen and folds his arms over his chest.
“Of course you do,” I say, trying not to peek between the gap in his flannel shirt.
I want to cry right now; he looks so fucking gorgeous. A tree-trunk leg crosses over the other and I’m reminded of my old friend in the way he is standing. The way the tip of his boot points down on the ground, allowing his calf to relax and sway.
I strike the pen over the paperwork. I’m pretty sure I do it just to avert my eyes, but it doesn’t work. I find that gap in his shirt again, and this time I see the dark smattering of his hairy chest.
This all feels so unfamiliar.
My renewed attempt at making something of myself isn’t going to plan. The change in attitude, sparked by the constant demands of my brother and his need to control absolutely everything is falling short.
And it’s all because of the sexy man-beast in front of me.
