Page 2 of Spiced Up by Sawyer (Mountain Men Fall Harder #3)

Chapter Two

SAWYER

I need more nails for the festival setup, more coffee, and about six more hours of sleep.

What I don't need is to run into the corporate scout who's here to dissect my town like a biology project.

But as I push through the door of Munson's General Store, there she is.

Lola Winslow is standing near the counter with a steaming paper cup in her hands like she belongs here.

Except she doesn't.

“Sawyer, sugar!” Joy calls from behind the counter. “What perfect timing.”

Perfect's not the word I'd use. Not when Lola turns at the sound of my name, and I get hit with those wide green eyes and a smile that manages to be both confident and uncertain.

“Morning, Joy. Ms. Winslow.”

Joy practically bounces. “You two know each other already ?”

“We met yesterday,” Lola says.

“Briefly.”

“He caught me. Literally. When I tripped.” Her cheeks flush a rosy color, matching the pretty pink of her lips.

“Did he now? How romantic!” Joy's eyes are sparkling with mischief.

I start moving swiftly toward the right side of the store before Joy gets any ideas. “It was gravity, Joy, not romance.”

“Extremely unromantic gravity,” Lola adds, a hint of humor in her tone.

Joy waves a dismissive hand. “Well, that's exactly how the love bug bites ya in a place like this. One minute you're walking down the street, minding your own business, and the next…”

“Next, someone's assessing your town for corporate development.” I grab a roll of duct tape I don't need, anything to keep my hands busy.

Joy's happy expression shifts as Lola's shoulders tense and she nervously runs a hand over her silky curls.

“Oh my. A development? What kind?” Joy asks.

“Hotels,” I say before Lola can sugarcoat it. “Big ones. For tourists who want to experience small-town charm without actually having to deal with small-town inconveniences.”

“Sawyer, I’m sure it’s not like that,” Joy warns.

But I'm not backing down; I spent most of last night looking up Grande View Hospitality. I turn to face Lola, who’s clutching her coffee cup in both hands.

“Why this town, Ms. Winslow? There are plenty of tourist destinations that would make your bosses more money.”

“Sometimes it's not about the money.”

I study her face, looking for the lie, the corporate speak, the practiced deflection. Instead, I see what looks like sincerity. She’s either a terrific actress or she really means what she says.

“Isn't it always?” I ask, but my voice has lost some of its edge.

She doesn't answer. Just turns and heads for the canned goods aisle like she's retreating.

Smart move.

I should grab the nails and get back to festival prep. And stop thinking about how she felt pressed against me yesterday, with those soft curves and her summery floral scent.

Instead, I follow her.

Lola's reading soup labels like they contain the secrets of the universe. She spins around and nearly collides with my chest. We're close. Way too close.

I catch that scent again, lilies or daisies, and it makes me want to lean in closer. There are flecks of gold in her big green eyes, and her pink lips part slightly when she looks up at me. My cock jumps in my pants.

“Sorry,” she breathes, stepping back and bumping into the shelf. A can wobbles.

My hand shoots out to steady it, and my fingers brush hers. That jolt from yesterday hits again, sharp and electric, and her eyes widen like she feels it too.

“Careful!” My voice comes out rougher than I intended.

We're staring at each other. The logical part of my brain is screaming warnings at me. She's here to change everything I love about this town. She's exactly the kind of woman who looks at places like Maple Ridge as quaint little pit stops on the way to something better.

But logic is overridden by how the morning light catches in her dark curls, bringing out a deep red tone. She hasn't stepped away even though there's room now, and her breathing is shallow.

“Sawyer?” Joy's voice cuts through whatever spell this is. “Y’all find what you need back there?”

“Yeah,” I call back, but I don't move. Neither does she.

“Good. Because before you arrived, I was telling Lola about our famous corn maze. You should take her through it on Saturday. You know that maze better than anyone. How about you show our new visitor some small-town hospitality rather than picking a fight?”

My first instinct is to refuse. The corn maze is a Maple Ridge tradition, one I’ve been to every year since I was a kid. It's not for corporate scouts.

Lola smiles up at me. “Actually, that sounds like fun.”

“Bet you’ve never been in a corn maze before.”

“No, I haven't.” No shame in her voice, no pretense.

“Of course you haven't. City girl?”

She shrugs. “Guilty as charged.”

Joy appears at the end of the aisle like she's been waiting for this exact moment. “Wonderful! Sawyer’ll make sure you don't get hopelessly lost.”

I should say no. But there's a hopefulness in Lola's expression that stops me.

“Fine. But if you're going to stumble around in a corn maze, you'll need better shoes.” I cross my arms.

Lola looks down at her heels. “And what exactly is wrong with my shoes?”

“Everything.” The corner of my mouth twitches despite myself. “There's a store down the street that sells boots. Real ones.”

“I have boots.”

“Let me guess… designer ones that have never seen actual dirt?”

Her chin lifts, and there's fire in her eyes now. “I'll have you know I'm perfectly capable of handling a little dirt.”

My cock jumps again at the challenge in her voice. “We'll see about that.”

“These boots are perfectly fine for strolling,” she says, smiling in a way that hits low in my gut.

“They will not survive five minutes with me.”

She arches a brow. “Is that a challenge?”

I grab the nails off the shelf and head for the register, trying to process what just happened. I don't make a habit of taking girls through the corn maze. And she’s not just a beautiful girl, she’s the enemy.

“There you go,” Joy says, handing me the nails.

I glance over at Lola. “Seven o'clock, Saturday. Don't be late.”

I'm out the door before I can change my mind, passing Martha from Jackson’s Orchard on the way out. I catch Joy's voice as the bell chimes behind me.

“Well, that went better than I expected.”

I stride down Main Street, trying to figure out what the hell just happened. The smart move would be to cancel. But I keep thinking about how she felt in my arms yesterday when I caught her, like she fit there.

I'm either making the biggest mistake of my life, or...

Or maybe Joy's right with that old saying about the leaves that are gathered in clumps on the sidewalk. Something about men from the mountain falling when they do?

Either way, I'm screwed.