Page 4 of Horned to be Wild (Harmony Glen #7)

CHAPTER FOUR

T orin cursed under his breath as he heard Lila approach his workshop.

He’d heard her knock on the cabin door, but he’d been determined to ignore her.

What could he possibly have to say to the tempting little human?

He was a simple man who worked with his hands.

She was an artist. He didn’t belong anywhere near her.

Then Mabel had knocked over the pail that held his carving tools and the clatter echoed through his workshop.

He’d waited with a sense of foreboding for the inevitable knock.

Even then he’d considered not answering the door but her sweet scent had drifted through the door, mingled with the scent of…

apples? When he’d reluctantly opened the door and found her standing on the step, his heart had actually skipped a beat.

Her hair was free, tumbling in loose brown waves around her face, and she wore a pretty sundress that showed off the creamy tops of her breasts and emphasized the irresistible curve of her hips.

His foolish cock immediately hardened but he did his best to ignore it as they stared at each other.

“Hi,” she said finally, her cheeks flushed a pretty pink and her mouth parted in a soft O.

He grunted in response, his eyes locked on her mouth, and her cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of pink as she held out the pie. His stomach growled at the sight and she laughed, a delightful, carefree sound. Fuck, he loved that sound.

“You must have worked up an appetite,” she said. “It was very sweet of you to fix my step. And the little bird was adorable.”

His tail flicked nervously as she smiled up at him.

“Thank you, Torin.”

The sound of his name on her lips made his heart pound, but he only grunted again, determined to make this exchange brief. Take the pie. Thank her. Close the door. Simple.

He had no intention of allowing her into his workshop. He still remembered the pain he’d felt when Annette, his high school sweetheart, had wandered through the shop, casually dismissing all of his work.

“I don’t know why you waste your time on this,” she said scornfully. “You’re not going to get rich making trinkets.”

“I’m not doing it to get rich.”

“And that’s the problem. I need more than a lumberjack in a backwater town. I’m leaving for the city. Tomorrow.”

He’d realized in that moment that she must have known for weeks that she intended to leave, but she’d never bothered to tell him.

He put down the carved rabbit he’d intended to show her—the one that concealed the ring he’d bought for her—and followed her silently back to the cabin.

They didn’t speak as she gathered the last of her things, and she’d climbed into her car and left without a backward glance. He hadn’t tried to stop her.

After she left, he’d focused on his lumber business and kept his woodworking a secret. The business had been successful and he’d managed to save up a nice little nest egg, but he had no intention of showing his creations to anyone else.

He reached for the pie but before he could take it, a familiar white blur shot between his legs. Mabel, sensing an opportunity for mischief, rammed her head against the door before he could catch it. The door swung wide, betraying him completely.

“Mabel!” he growled, but the damage was done.

He watched in horror as Lila’s eyes widened as she looked around his workshop. He was exposed. Laid bare. His private world was now on display.

The room was filled with wood carvings in various stages of completion, the shelves full of the work he’d completed and set aside.

“Did you do all these?” she whispered, her eyes darting from one piece to the next.

He nodded reluctantly. She looked at him, then back to the carvings. She bit down on that tempting lower lip, then handed him the pie.

“Why don’t you put this down?”

His arms were still stretched towards her, so he took the pie and turned away, bracing himself as she looked around. What would she think of his work? Would she dismiss it as casually as Annette had done?

Her footsteps echoed on the worn wood floor and then he heard her gasp, a sound of pure delight, and he couldn’t resist turning around.

She was standing in front of the shelf that displayed several of his most recent carvings.

A deer leaping through the woods. A squirrel perched on a branch.

A small fox, his nose quivering in the air.

She looked over at him, her eyes bright with admiration.

“These are incredible.”

Something fragile bloomed in his chest—a small, dangerous hope that he immediately tried to smother. He’d been here before. Hope was just pain’s patient predecessor.

“It’s just wood,” he said, uncomfortable with her praise, with the admiration in her eyes. It was so different from what he expected, from what he’d experienced before, that he didn’t know how to respond.

She shook her head slowly, still looking around in awe. “No, it’s not just wood. It’s… it’s life, captured in wood. It’s magic.”

His heart pounded at her words but he shook his head. “No. They’re just… toys.”

“Toys? You really think they’re toys?”

She stared at him for a long minute, and he could almost see the gears turning in her mind.

Finally, she nodded to herself and bent to pick up a box tucked beneath the bench.

He’d almost forgotten about it, but she lifted it onto the bench and carefully removed a sculpture.

A stag with a full, majestic rack of antlers.

His last attempt at a gift for Annette, discarded after she left.

Lila examined it carefully and his chest grew tight.

“It’s flawed,” he said quickly, before she could point out the mistakes. “The proportions aren’t quite right.”

“Is that really what you think?” she asked calmly.

“Yes. I know it’s flawed.”

“Then why is it here?”

He didn’t know how to answer that. Why had he kept it?

“Because it’s beautiful.” She answered her own question, her voice ringing with conviction. “As are all these.”

She gestured at the other sculptures, then picked up the fox and handed it to him. “Show me the mistakes.”

He automatically reached for it, the weight familiar in his hand.

The rough pads of his fingertips brushed against her delicate skin and the spark of electricity was just as intense as the first time he’d touched her.

But she didn’t pull away. Instead, she took a step closer, close enough that her scent washed over him again.

She stared up at him, waiting for an answer, but his cock had taken control of his mind.

All he could do was stare helplessly back at her.

“Tell me what’s wrong with it,” she urged.

He finally managed to look away from those dark eyes and focus on the figure. “The angle is off. It should be more upright.”

He demonstrated with the piece and she frowned. “But that wouldn’t look right. It would look too posed. Not natural.”

“Perhaps,” he said grudgingly.

“What else?”

“The tail is too thick. It’s out of proportion to the rest of the body.”

“Really?” She sounded skeptical.

“Yes. It’s too big.” He turned the carving, examining it carefully.

“Let me see something.”

She reached for the figure but instead of taking it away, she posed it so it was sitting on his hand.

“Look at it next to you.”

He obediently looked down at the carving and she laughed. “No. Like this.”

She took his free hand, and a tremor went through his body at her touch.

Fuck. What is she doing to me? He felt as helpless as a newborn fawn, unable to resist her touch.

She placed his other hand next to the carving and he finally understood.

With the squirrel perched between his oversized hands, it looked exactly right.

“Perhaps it isn’t so bad.”

“It’s not only not bad, it’s amazing. They all are.”

Her hand was still resting on his as she looked up at him, her dark eyes shining with admiration and…

something else, something more intimate.

His ability to speak deserted him, and then her cheeks went pink.

She took a quick step back, but in her haste she knocked over his latest project—a carving of a small goat.

He grabbed for it but he didn’t catch it in time and they both heard the crack when it hit the floor.

A surge of old anger and hurt flashed through him—his father, smashing some of his early pieces in a drunken rage, Annette’s scornful words—and he snatched up the broken figure, glaring at her.

He had the sudden, insane urge to hurl it against the wall.

To destroy it, the same way that fragile part of him had been destroyed.

But then she put a trembling hand on his arm, and he froze.

“I’m so, so sorry, Torin,” she said, her voice shaking.

He stood motionless, torn between the instinct to retreat behind his walls and something new—a part of him that recognized the genuine horror on her face.

She wasn’t dismissing his work; she was devastated to have damaged it.

The realization was a shock, and the fragile hope grew stronger.

He looked down at the goat and saw the crack in the neck, but it wasn’t a bad break. He’d be able to fix it.

“It’s just a piece of wood.” He managed to force the words out past the tightness in his throat.

“Maybe so, but that doesn’t mean I don’t recognize how much work you put into it. Can it be fixed?”

He nodded and she sighed, her shoulders sagging.

“Thank god. I’m so glad I didn’t ruin your work.” She bit her lip, then gave him a hopeful look. “Can… Can I help?”

He should tell her no. But then she would leave, and he didn’t want her to go. Not like this. Fuck. He was in serious trouble. He suspected he had been from the moment her soft brown eyes met his.

“All right,” he said gruffly.

She beamed at him, the warmth of her smile like a ray of sunshine breaking through the clouds, and the small, fragile hope took root.