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

Chapter Three

LOLA

The hiking trail winds up into the mountains like it's been here forever. Which, judging by the way the path follows the natural curve of the ridge, it probably has.

I’ve already explored Jackson’s Orchard, chatting to Martha Jackson who gave me a cup of her delicious spiced apple cider, and Osprey Lake.

I chose the trail for my assessment because, according to my research, this area offers the optimal combination of scenic views and buildable land.

What I didn't expect was how the forest hums with life: a woodpecker hammering above, water tumbling over stones, and the wind whispering through the trees.

I pull out my tablet and start making notes.

Approximately 50 acres of mixed hardwood forest. Elevation provides a panoramic view of the valley. The access road would need to be widened for construction vehicles.

The words feel like I’m dumping garbage all over the perfection all around me.

My phone buzzes with a text from my sister Stacy.

Mom says you're on some big important business trip? Since when do you do big important anything?

I stare at the message, my heart sinking as I process that too-familiar sting of being the family disappointment. Instead of responding to Stacy, I scroll to a different contact, my cousin Juniper.

Help me, Juniper. I think I'm losing my mind. I’ve agreed to go into a corn maze with a huge, gorgeous mountain man who thinks I'm here to destroy his town. Which I am. Sort of. What’s wrong with me? Tell me to be sensible.

Juniper’s response comes back in under a minute.

Honey, go get lost in that maze! Literally and figuratively. Life's too short for safe choices.

I smile despite myself. Trust Juniper to cut straight to the heart of things.

She's always been the one person in my family who doesn't make me feel like I need to apologize for existing. She’s making a name for herself as a baker in Snowflake Falls, but she’s had to fight against family expectations to do it.

Footsteps crunch on the leaves behind me. I turn around, and it's Sawyer. Dark jeans, a forest-green shirt, and well-used work boots. A utility belt hangs around his hips, and there's a radio clipped to his shoulder.

He’s a park ranger. Of course.

The shirt clings to his broad chest and shoulders, highlighting the outline of muscle beneath the fabric. When he moves, everything about him screams raw, masculine power, and my core responds with an embarrassing rush of heat.

He nods down at me from his great height. “Lola.”

I try to keep my voice level and professional, although I’m ridiculously pleased he’s calling me by my first name now.

“Hi, Sawyer. I didn't expect to see you up here.”

“It's my job to know who's wandering around the mountain. And what they’re doing up here.”

The deep rumble of his voice makes my legs tremble. I press my thighs together and hope he doesn't notice the flush creeping up my neck. His dark eyes take in my tablet and the camera around my neck.

“I'm doing research.”

“Right.” Sawyer steps closer, and I catch his scent again. It’s pine, woodsmoke, and musk, and it makes my brain go a little fuzzy. The space between us crackles with electricity. “Tell me more?”

“An environmental impact assessment. I need to document the existing ecosystem before any development recommendations can be made.” That’s not exactly the truth, but it’s not a lie either.

His expression shifts slightly. “And what's your assessment so far?”

I wave my hand around at the forest surrounding us and swallow hard. “Well, it's certainly a significant habitat. An old forest; the kind that takes centuries to establish.”

“Does that mean it’s enough to recommend against development?”

I crane my neck to meet his gaze. His dark eyes are intense.

“I haven't finished my assessment yet.”

He nods toward my tablet. “What does that say?”

“That it’s prime real estate for a luxury resort that could capitalize on the natural beauty while providing modern amenities.” The corporate speak is bitter on my tongue.

“Capitalize on the natural beauty.” He repeats the words as if they taste as bad to him as they do to me. “By cutting down trees to build parking lots?”

“By creating sustainable tourism opportunities.”

“Bullshit!”

I bristle, even though part of me agrees with him. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” He steps closer, and suddenly I'm very aware of how massive he is and how isolated we are up here.

My pulse hammers against my throat, and it's not entirely from anger.

Heat pools low in my belly. “I've seen your company's idea of sustainable tourism. You sliced up half the mountain for a ski lodge up in Gatlinburg. Called it eco-friendly because you planted some saplings out the front.”

My stomach drops. “How do you…”

His voice is quiet, but there's steel underneath. “I do my research too. Your company has a track record, Lola. And it's not pretty.”

I want to argue, but I can't. He's right. Grande View's idea of sustainable development usually involves sustainability for their profit margins, not the environment.

“That wasn't my project,” I say weakly.

“But you work for them.”

“Yes, I work for them. I'm good at my job. I know what I'm doing.”

“Do you?” He takes another step forward, and we’re so close now that I have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact.

His nearness is overwhelming; all that masculine heat and the clean scent of his soap mixing with mountain air. My nipples pebble against my bra, and I pray he can't see the effect he's having on me.

Sawyer’s voice is low. “Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're trying to convince yourself as much as me.”

I take a deep breath. “You don't know anything about me.”

“I know you looked like you were going to cry when I described cutting down trees for parking lots.”

“I was not going to cry.”

“Weren't you?”

The question is gentle, and it’s a hundred times worse than if he'd kept challenging me. I focus hard on a beautiful red oak that has to be at least two hundred years old.

“My thoughts don’t matter. I have a job to do.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you have a job that makes you miserable?”

The question hits too close to home. I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly cold despite the autumn sunshine.

I shake my head. “It's a good job. Stable. My parents are proud of me for finally doing something serious with my life.”

“Finally?”

I shouldn't be telling him this. He's essentially the enemy, the local who's going to fight any development I recommend. But the way he's looking at me, like he actually wants to understand me, makes the words spill out.

“I wanted to be an artist. Stupid, right? I was going to study photography, maybe graphic design. But my parents said art school was just another expensive mistake waiting to happen.”

“So you became a corporate scout instead.”

“I became a professional. Someone who can support herself.”

“And how’s that working out for you?”

I shrug. “Ask me again when I'm not standing in the middle of a forest I'm supposed to recommend for destruction.”

The hardness of his expression softens. “You don't have to recommend it, you know.”

“Yes, I do, Sawyer. It's my job.”

“Your job is to assess. Not to rubber-stamp whatever your boss wants to hear.”

Tears spring to my eyes, and I blink hard. “Do you think I haven't thought about that? You think I don't know this place is special? That tearing it down for some resort would be... would be…”

“Criminal?”

“Heartbreaking.” I immediately wish I could take it back.

We stare at each other for a long moment. The forest around us is still; no rustling leaves, just the distant sound of water and my own pulse hammering in my ears.

“Then don't do it,” he says.

“It's not that easy.”

“Why not?”

I struggle to find the right words. “Because I need this job. Because my family finally respects what I do for a living. If I screw this up, I'll be the disappointing daughter who can't stick with anything long enough to make it work.”

“Or you'll be the daughter who had the courage to do the right thing…”

His voice is low, intimate, and when I look up at him, there's an expression in his eyes that makes my breath catch. The way he's looking at me sends warmth spreading through my chest.

But then my phone rings, shattering the moment.

“I have to take this,” I drag myself away from Sawyer's magnetic pull.

Mr. Grande's voice is brisk. “Lola. Status report.”

“I'm still conducting the site assessment,” I say, turning so Sawyer can't see my face.

“Good. We'll want to move fast on this one. How soon can you have your preliminary report?”

“I need at least a week to be thorough.”

“A week? Lola, you’re assessing real estate, not discovering a new species. I need it by Monday morning.”

Monday. Three days away.

“Of course, Mr. Grande. Monday.”

“Excellent. And remember, leave the tree-hugging to the environmentalists.”

He hangs up, and I'm left staring at my phone like it might explode.

“Everything alright?” Sawyer's voice is neutral.

I turn back to him. “Fine.”

Sawyer doesn’t look convinced. He just studies me with those dark, steady eyes that make my stomach twist.

“Don’t get lost up here, Lola,” he says finally, voice low and rough.

Then he turns, boots crunching on the leaves as he heads back down the trail. I fight the stupid urge to call him back. My pulse is still beating too fast. I should cancel the corn maze, be sensible, and focus on my work. But I’m not going to. Like my cousin said, life’s too short for safe choices.

And I’m ready to start living a little.