Page 37 of Jealous Lumberjack

Always watching.

6

LILY

Two whole days of lying in this bed, swaddled in blankets, hand-fed food like I’m convalescing in some 19th-century sickroom.

I’m not dying. I’m just a little bit scratched. Banged up at best.

“Stop glaring at me,” Bear mutters from the chair in the corner, arms crossed, watching me like a prison warden.

“I’m not glaring,” I snap. “I’m... restless. You’ve barely let me out of bed.”

“You need to heal.”

“I need to move,” I shoot back. “I’m used to working, to being on my feet. I don’t do well sitting around.”

“Too fucking bad. You decided to risk your health and that beautiful skin getting torn up. This is the consequence. Your foot still needs to heal.”

I grind my teeth. Every argument with him is like punching a wall—immovable, unyielding, frustratingly solid.

By the fourth morning, I can’t take it anymore. I throw back the blankets, plant my feet on the floor. “My foot is fine. I’m going outside.”

He rises instantly, that giant frame unfolding like a grizzly stirred fromhibernation. “The hell you are.”

I fold my arms. “You want me to heal? Then let’s do something useful. I lost my backpack somewhere on your mountain, just before I fell into your snare. It had things I need.”

His eyes narrow. “Oh yeah? Or maybe it had something else. A phone. A weapon. A signal for whoever you’re really running from.”

My stomach twists, but I lift my chin. “If I had a working phone or any means of signaling anyone, do you really think I’d have gotten lost long enough to have landed in your snare in the first place?”

Silence. His jaw flexes.

“Fine,” he growls at last. “We’ll go. But if you so much as look like you’re trying to run, I’ll drag you backhereand keep you on your knees until you forget what country you’re in.”

I can’t help the sizzling shiver that rolls through me at the raw menace, even as I huff. “Whatever, Bear.”

Something flickers in his gaze at the name.

But as he turns away, I’m sure I catch the faintest twitch of his mean mouth.

The forest is alive around us, birds darting through the canopy, the scent of pine and damp earth sharp in the air.

Bear walks beside me, steady and silent, his strides twice mine. I’m still in his socks... well, two of them since he insisted doubling up provided more cushioning.

They swallow my calves, nearly to my knees, but they keep me warmer than leggings. His T-shirt hangs loose on me, brushing my thighs, and the boxers he lent me keep me from being totally underwear-free.

I notice that he didn’t offer to give back my bra. That his eyes stray to my chest every few steps, andhelicks his lips every time.

I shouldn’t feel this level of power at that small gesture, but damn, I can’t help myself. I’m learning that I can’t help myself much around this big brute.

He only lets me walk when the ground softens with moss, his hand heavy at my elbow as if testing whether I can manage it.

The moment stones or roots cut through, he stops, crouches, and hauls me effortlessly into his arms.

I squirm the first few times, embarrassed, but he just tightens his grip, muttering, “Not letting those feet split open again, petal.” His chest is hard under my cheek, every step a steady thunder, and eventually I stop fighting.

When he does set me down again, it’s with a look that says he’s still in control. His hand hovers at my back, not quite touching, close enough that I feel the heat of him, ready to catch me if I stumble.