Total pages in book: 21
Estimated words: 20660 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 103(@200wpm)___ 83(@250wpm)___ 69(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 20660 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 103(@200wpm)___ 83(@250wpm)___ 69(@300wpm)
Chapter Eight
Jack
The moonlight spills through the open barn windows, silver and clean. I’m standing beneath it, holding a beam steady while Holly climbs the ladder to drill the brace in. She’s balanced, focused, frustratingly good at everything. And barefoot.
Of course she is.
“You know,” I mutter, staring up at her legs, “OSHA would have a field day with you right now.”
She glances down, drill in hand, ponytail swinging. “You quoting OSHA now, Jack? Didn’t peg you for a rule-follower.”
“I’m not. But I do like keeping people in one piece.”
She smirks. “You’re just mad you can’t handle me up here in your man space.”
I step in closer, hands gripping the base of the ladder. “Holly, you’re in my space every damn day. And I haven’t killed you yet. That’s progress.”
“Admit it,” she says as she drills, hips swaying slightly. “You like me here.”
I grunt.
“That’s not a no,” she teases.
I open my mouth to snap back when her foot slips.
Everything slows.
She yelps, the drill clatters, and I catch her—full body, full weight—right against my chest.
My hands lock around her waist. Her legs tangle in mine. And her breath ghosts over my throat as she gasps.
“Nice catch,” she whispers, breathless.
I hold her tighter, every muscle locked down, jaw clenched. “Don’t move.”
“Jack…”
“I said—don’t move.”
She freezes, wide eyes finding mine.
Because I can’t hide it now.
She’s pressed against me, and she feels exactly what she does to me. My pulse hammers as I walk us slowly backward, pinning her against the barn wall.
My voice drops, rough. “You keep pushing me.”
“You keep letting me.”
My hands brace on either side of her head. Her fingers twitch at my chest like she’s fighting herself. I dust my nose along the soft angle of her neck. Her big round eyes hang on mine, begging for me to do something, anything. “Tell me what you want.”
She shakes her head, suddenly shy, so I continue, “If I kiss you again, I’m not stopping.”
Her breath catches. Her gaze drops to my mouth. “Jack…”
“I’m not going to pretend I don’t want you. Not anymore.”
She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t push me away. Her chest rises fast, her lips parting—
And then she turns her face.
My hand hits the wall.
Hard.
She ducks under my arm and walks away fast, barefoot on concrete, shoulders tight.
I stand there, fists clenched, jaw tight, watching the spot she left empty.
She wants me.
But something’s still holding her back.
And I plan to find out what the hell it is.
Chapter Nine
Holly
They show up on a Sunday.
No warning. No call. Just a sleek black SUV crunching gravel in the drive and two too-perfect silhouettes stepping out like they own the damn mountain.
My stomach drops before I even open the door.
Jack’s out back, sawing cedar for a client job, and I’m praying he stays there.
“Mom? Dad?” I step out onto the porch, already bracing.
My mother’s mouth pinches like she’s sucked on a lemon. “Really, Holly? This is where you’ve landed? Thank God you still had your location turned on on your phone or we’d never have found you.”
My father just scowls at the cabin like it’s a personal insult. “We thought this was temporary.”
“It was,” I lie.
They glance past me. Toward the woodshed. The stacked lumber. The sound of Jack’s saw slicing through silence.
“Is he here?” my mom asks, voice sharp.
“Don’t,” I warn, stepping in front of them. “This isn’t your business.”
“It became our business the second you dragged Josie out to the middle of nowhere to shack up with some—some woodsman.”
“Woodsman?” I snort. “Jesus, Mother. He’s not Bigfoot. He builds furniture. He runs a business. He’s Josie’s—”
The door creaks behind me.
Jack.
His voice is quiet, lethal. “I’m Josie’s what?”
I whip around. He’s shirtless again, jeans dusty, sawdust clinging to his skin like a second layer. His eyes, though—those are pure fire. Cold and hot all at once.
“Jack—”
He walks forward, slow and steady. "Your parents came to visit?"
My mom’s mouth drops open. She’s not used to men like Jack. Men who don’t flinch. Don’t grovel. Don’t give a damn about their curated disappointment.
“Jack, please,” I say, stepping between them.
But he doesn’t look at them. He only looks at me.
And suddenly I know.
He heard enough.
“Inside,” he says.
“Jack—”
“Now, Holly.”
I glance at my parents. My mom looks scandalized. My dad just folds his arms.
I walk inside.
He follows.
The moment the door shuts, it’s like the oxygen gets sucked out of the room.
He doesn’t say a word. Just stares. Hard. Like he’s stripping away every layer I’ve ever used to protect myself.
I open my mouth. Close it. Try again.
“They don’t know the whole story,” I whisper.
“But you do.”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t tell me.”
I swallow. “I wanted to. I planned to—”
He steps closer. “Don’t. Don’t stand there and feed me pretty lies like they’re easier to swallow than the truth.”
“I was scared, Jack.”
“Of what?” His voice cracks. “That I’d be a bad father? That I wouldn’t care? That I’d walk away?”