Page 2 of Lumberjack DADDY (Yes, Daddy #55)
ELI
M y skin prickles, and the hair on the back of my neck stands on end, which tells me I’m being watched.
It’s that sixth sense that kept me out of a lot of bad shit back when I was in a combat zone.
I’ve learned to trust it. Rely on it. I lower the axe and turn to the trees that ring the clearing and spot her.
And the moment I do, I feel my stomach lurch.
She’s small, no more than five-two or so, with rich auburn hair that falls to her shoulders and deep brown eyes.
Her complexion is milky white, like cold porcelain, and she’s got a small, petite figure.
Even through the hoodie she’s wearing, though, I can see her full breasts and generous curves.
She looks young, but I can tell she’s all woman. And she’s fucking gorgeous.
When our gazes lock, her mouth falls open, and I can hear her squeak, even from where I’m standing.
She quickly turns and runs, seeming to be heading in the direction of the cabins I own.
Nobody else should be up here, and I’ve only got one renter at the moment, which tells me that was very likely Emery Pierce hiding behind that tree, gawking at me.
When I read through her rental application a couple of weeks ago, I got no sense that she was so young.
If I had, I probably would have rejected it.
Young girls—young people in general, really—tend to be more trouble than they’re worth.
Loud music, louder parties, and rampant alcohol and drug use.
I’ve had to deal with it more than once after somebody rented one of my cabins.
It’s why I have such strict rules about my rentals.
I listen to the rustle of the undergrowth and snapping twigs as she retreats for a minute before turning back to the task at hand.
It takes me another half an hour to finish chopping my pile of wood.
After that, I load it into the wheelbarrow, then throw my t-shirt on and haul it all back to my cabin.
I stack it up in the box just outside my front door, close the lid, and lock it up.
By the time I’m done, the sun is slipping below the horizon, casting the sky in soft, dark purple and blue hues.
Starlight begins to twinkle overhead like cold chips of diamond, and the temperature begins its nightly plunge.
The forest around me is perfectly still.
Perfectly silent. This far away from the so-called civilized world, it’s easy to imagine that I’m the last person on Earth.
And that probably wouldn’t be such a bad thing.
In fact, I’m pretty sure I’d be okay with that.
Standing on the porch of my cabin, I breathe deeply, savoring the rich, earthy aroma of the forest around me and listen to the night creatures begin to stir.
With a sense of satisfaction, I turn and head back into my cabin and close the door, locking it behind me.
I turn on my Bluetooth speaker and start my randomized playlist, and as the hard-rocking Battery by Metallica fills my cabin, I grab a can of stew from the pantry and put it on the stove.
While that’s getting warm, I jump in the shower and take a few minutes to luxuriate in the nearly scalding water, washing away the day’s exertions.
Fresh and clean, I get out, towel off, and throw on a pair of sweats, socks, and a t-shirt.
By the time I make it back out, the stew is bubbling nicely.
I dish it out, grab some crackers, and take a seat at the table in the nook as Pink Floyd’s Time issues from my speaker.
As I eat, my mind keeps flashing back to the girl in the woods.
The girl in cabin B. Emery Pierce. My mind keeps seeing her face.
Of course, there was surprise—shock—when our eyes met.
There was a lustful hunger in them as well.
But beyond that, there was something else in her eyes.
She had an almost haunted look about her.
Grief. Pain. A blend of both. I recognize it so easily because I see it every time I look in the fucking mirror.
I’m forty years old, did four tours overseas, and have a lifetime of things I regret.
Things I’d do over if I had the chance. A lifetime of people I’ve lost and a lifetime spent having the world pile more and more onto my shoulders.
Some days, the weight feels like more than I can bear.
But that’s my life. Without my past, I wouldn’t be who I am today, and whether I regret it or not, I’m pretty goddamn okay with who I am.
But what could cause a girl so young to have such sorrow and pain in her eyes?
She couldn’t be more than twenty-one or twenty-two.
She seems way too young to have such a deep shadow following her around.
She hasn’t yet lived enough life to have those kinds of weighty regrets.
And yet, I saw them in her all the same.
It makes me curious about her. Not curious enough to go knock on her door and ask.
The biggest reason I live out here in the middle of nowhere, on my own, is because I don’t do people.
Not anymore. They’re complicated and messy.
They’re difficult to deal with. And aside from people, I don’t do drama, and people inherently come with lots of it.
All I want is to live out here in peace.
Drama-free. And most of all, people-free.
I’ve had my fill and simply want to live out my days in quiet.
I make a fair amount from my military pension and some smart investments, but I still need to generate an income.
If not for that need, I wouldn’t have the rental properties I have.
Wouldn’t rent my cabins out AirBnB-style, and would live my life completely on my own. As I want it.
But life seldomly ever lets us live it as we want it. And so, here I am. Forced to deal with people out of necessity, not desire. And yet, despite that, I can’t keep myself from feeling somewhat intrigued by the girl in cabin B.