Page 17 of Jealous Lumberjack

The way he says it—rough, almost tender—makes another wave of heat coil low in my belly, shameful and hot. My skin still tingles from his earlier threat. Another spanking if I step out of line. The way he’d looked at me when he said it, like he already had me bent over, begging.

I clench my fists in my lap.

He pushes back from the table, rising to his full height, shadow blotting out the firelight. Something about the way he moves, like the space bends around him, tickles the back of my brain.

It’s familiar, but I can’t place it.

“Get some sleep.”

Then the door swings open. His heavy boots scuff against the porch. A moment later, I hear the sound of wood splitting. The steady, brutal rhythm echoes through the night.

I sit frozen, staring at the bolt.

This is my chance.

I can’t stay here. Can’t let myself get tangled up in the dark pull of this stranger. Now that I’ve had time to think, I’m fairly sure I know where I dropped my backpack. It’s dark out, yes, but the moon’s out.

If I can retrace my steps to my backpack and keep going, I could be down the mountain by morning and on my way to safety.

Away from this heat twisting my body into knots I don’t understand. I need to run, no matter the cost. If I fail, if he catches me again, I’ll pay.

He’ll make me pay.

But if I don’t try, I’ll lose myself.

My gaze drops to my bare feet. The cuts sting, but that won’t stop me. I scan the cabin, heart thundering. His boots are too big—impossible.

But socks will protect my feet.

I creep to where his boots sit, and yes, there are thick wool socks bundled into them. I snatch them up and tug them on.

They swallow my calves, sliding almost to my knees. Way too big, but they’re better than nothing.

I glance once more at the door. At the shadows where he’s out there, putting away the wood hespentall day axing like he’s splitting the mountain in two.

Now’s my only chance.

I tiptoe through the cabin, wincing when every creak of the boards echoes loud in my ears. The bathroom window is still cracked. I hoist myself up and push it wider, squeeze through, my heart in my throat.

Then, breath shallow and heart rapping, I drop down once more and slip into the night.

The night air is sharp, the forest black and silver under the moon.

For ten minutes Irun, until I no longer see the faint light from his cabin through the trees.

Until my muscles scream and my lungs puff like bellows.

Behind me, the peak of his mountain soars black and ominous in the moonlight, and the lights from the town look so dauntingly far a whimper escapes me.

A sharp stone cuts through the thick wool guarding my feet, hard enough to make my eyes sting. I lean against a tree, gasping as the pain intensifies.

Then a rustle to my left has me freezing.

No roar rips through the night this time.

Yet my blood still ices.

Because I know it’s him.