Page 3 of Cherished by the Fearless Mountain Man (Lumberjacks of Timber Peak Valley #5)

Brock

The front door opens, and the familiar voices of my brother and sister echo through the house.

“Brock?” Callie calls out. “We brought coffee and those disgusting protein bars you like.”

“In the living room,” I answer, my voice rough and hoarse from a lack of sleep.

Archer appears first, filling the doorframe with his broad shoulders, followed by Callie, who’s carrying a cardboard tray of coffee cups. They both stop short when they see me.

“Jesus, you look like hell,” Archer says, confirming how I feel.

“Thanks, I guess.” I try to sit up straighter and wince as the movement pulls at my stitches.

Callie sets the tray of coffee cups on the side table next to the couch and gives me a once-over, scrunching her nose. “When’s the last time you showered? Or changed clothes?”

I glance down at the same t-shirt I’ve been wearing for the past two days. “I’m okay.”

“You don’t smell okay,” Archer says.

“Should we help you into the shower?” Callie asks.

Archer gives her a look. “Can’t we ask that home nurse to help him with that? I don’t want to wash my brother’s… well, you know.”

“Guys, stop. I’m not asking Willa to wash me. I’m fine.”

There’s no way in hell I’d let Willa help me get cleaned up. I can’t have her seeing me like this. Helpless, needing someone to scrub my back like I’m a ninety-seven-year-old man in a nursing home. No thanks.

“Willa?” Callie raises an eyebrow. “That’s her name?”

I grab one of the coffee cups, hoping they’ll drop the subject. “Yeah. Nurses have names, too, you know.”

“Pretty name,” Archer says with a stupid grin. “Is she pretty too?”

“She’s my nurse.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Callie kicks his shin. “Leave him alone.”

But Archer’s like a dog with a bone when he gets an idea. “I’m just saying, maybe that’s why our brother suddenly cares about personal hygiene. When’s she coming by today?”

I check the clock on the wall. Nine-fifteen. Willa usually shows up around ten. “Soon.”

“Aha!” Archer points at me like he’s solved some great mystery. “You want to look good for her.”

“I want to not smell like a garbage truck when a medical professional is trying to do her job,” I lie.

“Right.” He’s still grinning. “Because you’re usually so concerned about your appearance.”

Callie stands up, hands on her hips, and shoots our brother a look that could melt steel. “Okay, enough, Asher. Stop the teasing.” She turns to me. “Brock, do you want help getting cleaned up or not?”

I hate this. Hate needing help with something as basic as taking a shower. But the thought of Willa walking in here and seeing me like this makes my stomach turn.

“Yeah,” I mutter. “I could use some help. Thanks.”

“Good. Now, Archer can find you some clean clothes while I help with the shower. That way, he doesn’t have to chance seeing your bare ass.”

Archer laughs as he heads over to my bedroom closet to pick out some clothes.

Callie helps me get off the couch. I wince every time I so much as move a muscle.

Fuck. I wish I could stay on the couch, but I need to get cleaned up.

Thankfully, Callie doesn’t make a big fuss.

She pulls a stool into the shower for me to sit on, turns on the faucet, and leaves me alone while I wash myself.

These bandages are supposed to be waterproof, so at least I don’t have to worry about that.

Twenty minutes later, I’m back on the couch, smelling as fresh as the mountains do on a spring morning. Callie and Archer stock up my fridge with food, and leave right before Willa’s supposed to arrive.

For the past few days, she’s all I’ve been able to think about, which is weird, because I’ve never been obsessed with a woman before.

Maybe it’s the result of being cooped up in my cabin all day.

Thinking of her keeps me busy. It doesn’t have to mean anything.

At least, that’s what I tell myself. Deep down, I know that’s not it.

Truth is, every time Willa’s near, my heart almost beats out of my chest. It’s gotten so bad that I’m afraid I’m developing a cardiological problem on top of a nasty laceration.

At exactly ten o’clock, I hear her car pull up the gravel drive. My heart does that stupid racing thing again every time she arrives. I run a hand through my damp hair and try to look casual, like I haven’t been waiting for her to show up.

“Hello, it’s Willa,” she calls through the door, same as always.

“Come in,” I call back, and this time my voice doesn’t sound like I gargled with gravel.

She steps inside, and I notice she’s carrying a white bakery box along with her usual medical bag. She looks… Fuck, she looks beautiful. Her hair’s pulled back in a ponytail, and she’s wearing scrubs that show off her soft curves in all the right ways.

“You look good today,” she says, giving me an appraising look.

I grin. “I took a shower.”

“That always helps,” she says with a laugh. “I brought you cupcakes from that little bakery, Sweet Peak Retreat.”

I stare at her. “You brought me cupcakes?”

She suddenly looks flustered. “Is that weird? I thought—”

“No,” I say quickly. “It’s not weird at all. It’s nice. Thank you.”

She beams at me, and I have to look away before I do something stupid like tell her how pretty she is when she smiles.

“We can have one after I check your leg,” she says casually, like the word “we” doesn’t do things to my insides.

Willa sits on the edge of the couch, closer than usual. Then again, maybe I’m imagining things. It’s not like I have a ruler to know exactly how close she sits to me every day. I let out a small grunt. When the hell did I become the kind of guy who overthinks where a woman sits?

“How’s the pain today?” she asks as she opens her medical bag.

“Better. Still hurts, but not like the first few days.”

“Good. That’s what we want to hear.” She pulls on her gloves. “Any swelling? Increased redness?”

“Not that I’ve noticed.”

I can’t exactly tell her about the swelling that’s happening in… other parts of my body, can I?

She carefully peels back the bandage. Her fingers brush my skin, and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from reacting in completely inappropriate ways.

“This looks good, Brock,” she says, leaning closer to examine the wound. “The stitches are holding well, and the redness is going down.”

She’s so close that I can count the freckles across her nose. And when she concentrates, she gets this little wrinkle between her eyebrows that I find ridiculously endearing, like now.

“You’re healing faster than I expected,” she continues, cleaning around the wound with gentle, practiced movements. “You must be taking my advice about staying off it. That’s good.”

“I’m trying.” I clear my throat. “Going crazy sitting here, but I’m trying.”

“I know it’s hard. What do you usually do when you’re not at the lumber yard? You could do more of that now that you’re unable to work.”

I shrug. “I usually work.”

She laughs. “Okay, what else? There must be something you like to do for fun.”

Yeah, you.

I swallow. “Fish. Hunt. Hike. Fix things around the cabin.” I pause. “I’m not good at sitting still.”

“I can tell.” She applies the new bandage with careful precision. “So, what got you into logging? You seem passionate about it.”

“My dad. He ran the business before us. Taught Archer and me everything we know. There’s something magical about working with your hands and creating something useful from raw timber.”

She tapes down the edges of the bandage and smiles. “I feel the same way about my job. There’s something extremely satisfying about helping people heal and seeing them get better.”

“Is that why you became a home nurse? The helping people part?”

She sits back, pulling off her gloves. “Partly. But mostly because I love the connection. In hospitals, you’re one of dozens of nurses. Patients become room numbers. This way, I get to know people. Like you.”

The way she says like you sends goosebumps all over my body.

“All done,” she says, but she doesn’t move away. “Now, about those cupcakes. I may have gone a little overboard. The lady at the bakery said she knew you, and she insisted I take extra.”

“You told her they were for me?”

“I told her I was the new home nurse and wanted to bring something nice to a patient who had a chainsaw accident. She did the math. Small towns, right? I think she was hoping I’d spill some gossip about how you’re recovering.”

“What did you tell her?”

“That patient confidentiality is a real thing, even in small towns.”

I nod, impressed. “Good answer.”

“So, coffee and cupcakes? I promise I make better coffee than whatever you’ve been drinking.”

I should say no. My siblings already brought me coffee. And I should stick to the professional relationship Willa and I have and not blur the lines. But the way she’s looking at me, hopeful I’ll say yes and a little shy at the same time, makes it impossible. She’s hard to resist, that’s for sure.

“Yeah,” I finally say. “I’d like that.”

She grins and gets up. “Excellent.”

As I watch her move around my kitchen like she belongs there, humming softly to herself, I realize I’m in deep trouble. Because this isn’t just attraction anymore. This is something else entirely.

And I have no idea what to do about it.