Page 13 of Horned to be Wild (Harmony Glen #7)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

T orin spent the night in an agony of indecision.

The memory of their time in the workshop kept replaying in his head.

The sight of her in his arms, her skin flushed and streaked with paint, the softness of her breasts, the sweet scent of her arousal, and the tight, hot clasp of her cunt around his fingers.

It had been almost impossible to resist her when she told him to lose control, to take her. She was so sure that he wouldn’t hurt her, and part of him believed her. But if he was wrong…

He was up before daybreak the next morning, pacing restlessly back and forth as Mabel watched him from her comfortable perch in the corner.

“What should I do, Mabel?” he asked, and the goat cocked her head to the side, ears pricked forward. “I’ve never met anyone like her before.”

The goat bleated sympathetically.

“Of course I want her. But what if she’s wrong? What if I can’t control myself?”

The goat didn’t have an answer for him, and he resumed his pacing, wishing he could be as certain as Lila. He knew she trusted him completely, but the fear lingered, the worry that he might lose himself to his instincts and hurt her in the process.

The sound of tires on gravel pulled him away from his churning thoughts. Fuck. He’d forgotten that he had a wood delivery this morning. He headed outside to meet the driver.

The bright blue delivery truck had pulled up in front of the workshop, its engine still running. The usual drive, a young human male, jumped down from the cab, clipboard in hand.

“Morning!” the driver said cheerfully. “Got your shipment of cherry and maple. Want it in the usual spot?”

He nodded, already moving to the back of the truck to help unload.

“Man, this is some quality wood.” The young male grinned at him as he hefted a thick cherry plank. “Not that I’m surprised—you always order the good stuff.”

He grunted and reached for another piece. The wood was indeed beautiful, rich with possibilities. He’d selected these pieces specifically for some designs he’d been considering, projects that had begun to take shape in his mind since Lila had entered his life.

“Sure has been a busy week,” the driver continued, seemingly unbothered by Torin’s silence. “Lots of deliveries for folks getting ready for the Harvest Festival. And lots of pickups from your neighbor. She must be quite an artist to be sending all those orders off to the city.”

His body went rigid, the wood frozen in his hands. Time seemed to slow, the driver’s casual words echoing in his ears.

The city.

The phrase landed like a stone in his gut, his vision narrowing to a pinpoint as memories crashed over him—another voice, another time.

“I need more than a lumberjack in a backwater town. I’m leaving for the city.”

Annette’s words still cut like a freshly sharpened blade. The dismissal in her tone when she’d looked around his workshop, when she’d called his art trinkets.

The driver, oblivious to Torin’s internal earthquake, continued chatting. “My cousin works for that fancy art supply place in the city. Says they’ve been shipping stuff to her address all month. Guess her work’s really taking off, huh?”

Each word drove the knife deeper. His muscles tensed, his jaw clenching so tight he could hear his teeth grinding.

“You okay, man? Want me to take that?” The driver reached for the plank he was still holding.

“Fine.” The word came out as a barely recognizable grunt as he set the wood down with mechanical precision.

He managed to regain enough control to finish unloading the rest of the delivery, but he was no longer present. His body worked on autopilot while his mind spiraled.

Lila. The city. Taking off.

Of course her art was getting attention. How could it not? Her work was vibrant, alive, filled with emotion and skill. She was destined for great things, bigger galleries, wider recognition.

Things he could never give her.

“Just need your signature here,” the driver said, holding out the clipboard.

He scrawled something illegible, his hand moving mechanically.

“Great working with you! See you next month!” The driver’s cheerful farewell barely registered as he climbed back into his truck and drove away.

He stood in his yard, surrounded by beautiful wood meant for creations he’d planned to make with Lila in mind, and felt the weight of inevitability crushing him.

She would leave. They always did.

He’d been a fool to think otherwise, to let himself hope. He was just a lumberjack, a curiosity at best. His art might have impressed some children, might have surprised Lila initially, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough to keep someone like her.

Someone so bright, so talented, with a brilliant future stretching out before her.

He picked up the planks one by one, carrying them to his storage shed with careful, measured steps. Each piece now felt like a mockery of his hopes. What had he been thinking? That they could build a life together? That she’d be content here in this small town, with him?

He remembered standing in this very yard, watching his ex drive away.

It would happen again. Perhaps not today, perhaps not tomorrow, but eventually. Lila would realize she was meant for bigger things. The city would call, and she would answer.

And he would be left alone, again.

His workshop, usually a sanctuary, felt claustrophobic as he stepped inside.

Everywhere he looked, he saw traces of Lila—the stool where she’d sat sketching designs for the murals; the wall where they’d pinned her watercolor concepts; even the floor still bore faint traces of paint from their playful, passionate encounter.

A half-finished carving sat on his workbench, something he’d been creating for her. A delicate wooden frame for one of her watercolors, with intertwined vines and small woodland creatures hidden among the leaves. It had been meant as a surprise, a way to showcase her work.

Now it seemed presumptuous. Inadequate.

With one powerful sweep of his arm, he pushed it aside. The piece clattered to the floor, unbroken but abandoned.

He went back to his cabin and closed the door behind him, the heavy thud of the door echoing through the entire house. The walls of his cabin closed in around him. The familiar darkness of isolation, of self-protection, crept back in, comforting in its painful familiarity.

This was safer. This was what he knew. Allowing himself to hope, to imagine a future with her—that had been the aberration.

He moved to the window, closing the heavy curtains against the cheerful morning sunlight. In the dimness, he sank onto his chair, head in his hands.

It had been foolish to believe in the possibility of a future, to dream that she could love him as he loved her. It was inevitable that she would move on to bigger things, to the city that offered her the opportunities and recognition he couldn’t provide.

He wouldn’t call her. Wouldn’t go to her cottage. Better to end it now, before he fell any deeper, before the inevitable heartbreak destroyed him completely. It’s already too late , a voice whispered inside his head. He’d already revealed too much, exposed too much of himself.

Mabel bleated from outside, as if sensing his distress, but he ignored her. The goat had been instrumental in bringing Lila into his life, but even Mabel’s mischief couldn’t change reality.

Lila Monroe was destined for bigger things than Harmony Glen. Than him.

The city was calling her. And just like before, he would be left behind with nothing but his wood and his memories.

There would be no more breakfasts, no more stolen kisses or teasing, no more of her laughter and brilliance lighting up his world.

Better to keep her at a distance, to protect her and to protect himself from the pain that was bound to come.

He would let her go, let her spread her wings and fly to the city that was calling her. He would let her find her way in the world she was destined for.

A world where he didn’t belong.