Page 2 of Cherished by the Fearless Mountain Man (Lumberjacks of Timber Peak Valley #5)

Willa

“Take it easy, Mrs. Reed,” I call out as I latch the front gate of my patient’s house. “No more rearranging the furniture, all right?”

The older woman waves me off with a roll of the eyes. “Oh, please. I’ve been moving furniture longer than you’ve been alive.”

“Still, let’s give your sprained wrist the rest it needs, okay?”

She smiles and shrugs before heading back inside. I laugh. Mrs. Reed is a stubborn lady, that’s for sure. She’s super friendly, though. It's hard to be stern with her.

I sling my nursing backpack over my shoulder and head to my little hatchback parked on the street in front of her house.

This is only my second week on the job, but I’m loving every minute of it.

Being a home nurse has been my dream since nursing school.

At first, I pictured myself in a big hospital, like the one from Grey’s Anatomy , until I realized that real hospitals aren’t anything like the shows.

What I wanted was to serve a small town and be part of a tight-knit community.

Timber Peak Valley is exactly that. Working regular hours also beats the irregular shifts nurses have to work at the hospital.

So yeah, when the job of a home nurse became available in this small town, I was elated.

But to be honest, now that I’m here, it’s all suddenly super real. It makes me nervous to know that I’m responsible for a slew of patients without someone supervising my every move. Yet a strange excitement curls in my chest. I’ve worked hard for this. I can handle it. I want this.

I glance at the next patient on my list. It’s a guy named Brock, who had a chainsaw accident that resulted in a deep leg laceration.

Lives alone. Grumpy, stubborn, and apparently allergic to help.

Doesn’t matter, though. Grumpy or not, the guy needs me, and it takes more than some annoyed facial expressions to scare me off.

I pull out the directions his family scribbled down when Brock was at the clinic and squint.

The first part sounds easy, but then I get confused.

Turn left at the big pine tree with the yellow ribbons, then go past the broken fence.

If you hit the pile of firewood shaped like a bear, you’ve gone too far.

Seriously? I blink, then read it again, wondering if it’s a joke or a riddle. Either way, this is what I’ve got to work with. I'd better get going.

I throw the papers on the passenger seat and start the engine.

“All right. Big pine tree, yellow ribbon, questionable bear-shaped firewood. I’ve got this,” I tell myself.

After all, getting to meet all kinds of interesting people and visit places I’d never have come across myself is also part of the charm of working as a home nurse.

When I spot yellow ribbons fluttering in the wind on a pine tree branch, I’m happy and relieved. By now, my GPS has abandoned me, but I’m sure I’ll find Brock’s house without it.

I pass the broken fence next, proud of my navigational skills, until I come across the bear-shaped firewood.

I turn the car around, which is hard to do on a narrow mountain road, and drive back at a snail’s pace.

To my right, I spot a tiny dirt road that I missed before.

A wooden mailbox clues me in that it leads to a house. Bingo.

A rustic cabin comes into view, and I park my car.

When I get out, I’m amazed by how quiet it is up here.

The trees sway in the wind, and birds chirp from all directions.

The scent of pinecones fills me with a blissful feeling.

It must be amazing to live here. Not that there’s anything wrong with my apartment in Timber Peak Valley town center.

I’ve got views of the mountains, but this is something entirely different.

It’s peaceful. Out here, you’re immersed in nature, not watching it from afar.

I grab my backpack containing my medical kit and head up the wooden porch. I rap my knuckles against the door.

“Hello, it’s Willa,” I announce.

“It’s open,” a deep voice replies.

I try the doorknob and sure enough, it’s unlocked. I wipe my feet on the welcome mat and step inside.

“I’m in here.”

I follow the voice into the living room and almost drop my bag when I see the face that belongs to the deep timbre.

Brock is on the couch, his leg propped up on some pillows.

He looks grumpy but hot as hell. Jesus Christ. His flannel shirt is half unbuttoned, clinging to a chest that looks like it was carved out of granite.

His beard is thick, his jaw sharp enough to cut glass.

His hair is a tousled mess like he just rolled out of bed.

Or wrestled a bear and won. I’m not even joking.

Brock looks like he could win a fight like that.

And those eyes? Deep, dark, and currently narrowed at me like I’m a Girl Scout trying to sell him cookies.

“Are you the nurse?” he grunts, like the word personally insults him.

I blink, trying to remember how to speak. “Uh… yep. That’s me. Willa, the nurse.”

Great. Day two of week two on the job, and I’ve already turned into a cliché. Flustered by a hot, grumpy mountain man who looks like he hasn’t smiled since last century.

But I’m a professional. I’ve got this.

“How are you feeling?” I ask as I approach him.

I do my best not to stare at his muscled arms and legs, but it’s like it’s stronger than me. He’s wearing shorts, probably because pants would irritate his wound, and his muscled legs are doing things to me I’ve never felt before. Not with a patient anyway.

I’ve seen my fair share of body parts during my training as a nurse. It’s all clinical. Functional. Not hot or ugly . Not something to gawk at.

But Brock’s body? Yeah… It’s not like other people’s. His body looks so good that it makes me wonder what it’d be like to run my hands over it.

And I need to stop thinking like that. Immediately.

I clear my throat, still waiting for his reply, but all I get is a shrug.

“Mind if I take a look?” I ask.

Another shrug. Another grunt.

I sit on the edge of the couch, angling myself so I can get to his leg. He shifts slightly, giving me enough room, and I do my best not to notice how close my knee is to his thigh.

Focus, Willa. This is wound care. Not mountain man appreciation hour.

I set my nursing bag on the floor beside me and pull out a fresh pair of gloves, gauze, saline, and tape.

“All right, let’s take a look,” I say, more to myself than to him.

Brock doesn’t respond. He watches me with that unreadable look in his eyes, like he’s sizing me up. It feels oddly intimate to be watched by him like this, but for some reason, I don’t mind.

I gently peel back the existing dressing. It’s not terrible, but it’s ready to be changed. The wound is deep and fresh. The stitches are clean, but the edges are still red and angry, as expected. This isn’t the kind of wound that heals in a day.

“How’s the pain?” I ask as I carefully clean around the area with saline.

He shrugs again. “Fine.”

Of course. A man like him gets his leg sliced open by a chainsaw and calls it fine.

“Well, it looks like it’s healing okay,” I say. “But you’re not out of the woods. You’re still at risk for infection, and you’re not supposed to be putting weight on it, remember?”

“I remember,” he mutters, sounding gruff.

“I’m going to apply a new dressing. This might sting a little,” I warn.

But he doesn’t even flinch. Wow. He’s surely living up to his mountain man image. I guess it’s only normal. A man who yields chainsaws for a living is probably tough as nails.

As I press the clean gauze into place and tape it down, I smile. Tending a wound and helping someone heal is what I love about my job. Even if my patient is a stubborn, broody lumberjack who doesn’t like it that he needs help from someone.

“There,” I say once I’m done. “Good as new. Well, close enough.”

He glances down at the bandages, then looks back at me. “Thanks. You from around here? I’m asking because I haven’t seen you in town, and trust me, I’d remember.”

My heart skips a beat at his words. Is he flirting with me or stating the facts?

“I moved here last month. This is my second week as a home nurse. Still learning. One grumpy patient at a time,” I say with a wink.

He grunts, but his mouth twitches. It’s not a smile, but it’s close.

“You always this grumpy?” I ask to lighten the mood.

He arches an eyebrow, and for a second, I’m worried I’ve crossed a line.

But then he speaks. “No. I’m usually the one teasing and joking around. But this leg wound’s got me going crazy. I hate being cooped up in here. I feel useless. Going out of my damn mind.”

“Didn’t your accident happen yesterday?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I never sit around and do nothing for a day. Not even when I’m hurt. I usually limp around if I have to. But I can’t with this,” he says, gesturing to his leg.

I put my supplies away and smile at him. “I can help you with food or fetch you a drink if you want? I have a few minutes before I need to head to my next patient.”

He shakes his head. “I’m fine. But thanks.”

“You sure? I make a good cup of coffee.”

His eyes show hesitation, but then he shakes his head again. “I’m all set.”

I get up, ready to head out. I grab my bag and tell him goodbye, but before opening the door, I turn and give him a stern look.

“Don’t try to do anything by yourself, okay, Brock?

It’s not good for your wound. And when it doesn’t heal properly, you won’t be looking at weeks of recovery, but months. Got it?”

He gives me a salute, and I finally see a smile on his lips. “Got it, Nurse Willa.”

I grin. “See you tomorrow, Brock.”

I head back to my car with a spring in my step. God, that smile… It should be illegal. It makes my heart do things it has no business doing when it comes to a patient. I shouldn’t get carried away like this. I’m a home nurse. A professional.

Truth is, nothing about today felt professional. Not the way my heart raced every time our eyes met, or how I lingered longer than necessary when checking his bandages. And definitely not the way my stomach flipped when he said “Nurse Willa.”

I try to block any thoughts of him and grab my papers with the details of my next patient, even though I’m already dreaming about seeing Brock again.

Tomorrow can’t come soon enough.