Lumberjack in Love (2 page)

“You know what this place needs?” she asked, meandering around the room.

Marcus looked up from his desk. “I don’t think it needs anything. It’s perfect just the way it is.” His voice grated with irritation.

Ami shook her head. “That’s what most people think. But they are forgetting the most important part of home decor. Living things.” She smacked her hand against the stone fireplace. “This is gorgeous, really, but you need something green to breathe some life in here. You know, plants.”

Marcus’s jaw dropped open. “Green? I’m completely surrounded by Vermont woodlands. Isn’t that enough green?”

Ami rolled her eyes. “That’s outside, Mr. Mountain Manly. You need green inside, too. It helps to connect your outdoor space with the interior space. An English ivy on the mantle would be nice. Maybe
Pellaea rotundifolia
on the coffee table, and a
Nephrolepis
hanging in the corner.”

“
Neph—
what?” Marcus asked.

“A
Nephrolepis
. Boston fern. It’s a great house plant. Easy to take care of. It has a wonderful texture and color.”

Marcus handed her an envelope and shrugged. “I kill house plants. Not a good idea.” He cocked his head to the side. “How do you know so much about plants?”

“PhD in plant taxonomy. Cornell. I know more Latin than the ancient Romans.”

The lumberjack smiled. “Well, now, isn’t that ironic. The city girl knows plants. She can speak Latin, but she’s scared of the outdoors.”

“How do you know I’m scared of the outdoors,
buster
?”

“I could see it all over your face when the hawk flew by. You look around the woods like there’s a monster ready to jump out and attack you.”

Ami narrowed her eyes and poked the giant in the chest. “
That
is a bald-faced lie. I am
not
scared of the woods. I’m simply afraid of…uh…certain mammals that might congregate in forested areas and are reluctant to engage in friendly attachments with
Homo sapiens
.”

Marcus barked out a laugh. “What the hell did you just say?”

Ami slumped against the back of the sofa. “I’m afraid of bears,” she whispered.

“Bears? You’re afraid of bears?”

“Yeah.”

Marcus tried unsuccessfully to smother a laugh. “I’m guessing there’s a story in there somewhere.”

Ami tucked the envelope into her purse. “I’m guessing my sister is wondering where I am. I better get back.” She held out her hand. “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Mountain Man.”

Her hand was engulfed by hot, rough skin. And strength. Her breath grew shaky and her face flamed. She peered up into Marcus’s face expecting a snarky smile, but instead he looked winded. Those shocking blue eyes blinked slowly, and he tightened his grip and tugged. Ami’s slippery new boots slid across the hardwood floor until she was inches away from the mighty man. His gaze dropped to her mouth.

Oh Holy Mother, have mercy on my soul!
Ami acquired an instant need to be man-handled by a lumberjack. Her knees buckled as Henry slammed against her legs. He wiggled his body in between the two of them.

Marcus sighed. “Nice timing, Hen.”

She winced as the fifty-pound dog settled on her foot. “Um, Henry, do you mind?”

The mountain man leaned down and pulled Henry off her shoe. “Sorry about that. Henry likes affection.”

Ami cleared her throat. “No problem. Everyone likes affection, right?”

Those startling blue eyes snapped right up and caught her gaze. She felt warm all over. And cold and shivery. And had another ridiculous urge to run her fingers all over Mr. Anderson’s face, especially that thick, soft beard.
For the love of God, woman, get over it!

“I’d better be going.” She flew out of the house and slammed the door.
What is wrong with me? Obviously, my severe lack of social interactions with the opposite sex has boggled my mind. I cannot believe I’m finding this mountain man so damned attractive. What’s next? A date with Paul Bunyan?

As she put the SUV into gear and tore down the bumpy dirt road, she peeked in her rear view mirror. Mr. Marcus Anderson, Tree House Designer, Environmental Champion, and Bulldog Owner, stood on his porch. She could add another title to his name‌—‌Sexy-Ass Bearded Lumberjack With Gorgeous Eyes and A Killer Smile.
Whoa, they sure make ‘em rugged in Vermont
.

Time for a coffee.

Marcus steered his pick-up truck into the parking lot at Bill and Bob’s General Store. The name was ridiculous‌—‌William was the father, Robert the son‌—‌but the store had everything a man could want. A cup of hot coffee. A stainless steel high quality axe. Dog biscuits made with gluten-free buckwheat flour. He had no idea why Henry liked those so much‌—‌evidently, he was a true Vermonter. And…
a sexy flatlander
.

Sure enough, smack dab in the middle of the aisle stocked with red wine stood the hottie from Boston. Rachel McGuire’s sister. She’d got him tongue-tied after erotic fantasies of Miss City Slicker wearing nothing but her stiletto boots had bombarded his thoughts. All of his blood had rushed southward, and his brain hadn’t functioned too well after that. He must have impressed her with his sparkling conversational skills.

What a nice package she was. Long, slender legs in designer jeans. Tousled blonde hair that looked like she’d just got out of bed. And a knock-out face that reminded him of a Swedish supermodel.

He rubbed his beard. The last thing he needed in his life was a high-maintenance flatlander. Even if she did have a nice ass. Nothing irritated him more than those entitled Boston folks coming up to Vermont, all smug and judgmental about their urban lifestyle. It pissed him off no end. But damned if she wasn’t sexy as hell.

She pulled a bottle of wine from the shelf and stopped Bill as he walked down the aisle.

“Excuse me, Mr. Barker.”

Bill froze. “Oh, hello, Ami. How is your visit going?”

“Great, thanks. Um, I’ve never heard of this wine. Is it locally made?” She winced as she showed him the bottle. It read
Bill’s Red Table Wine
.

“That’s right, miss. A Vermont winery makes that. We sell it. Any other questions?” Bill’s eyes darted around, searching for a quick exit.

“Honestly, Mr. Barker, it wouldn’t kill you to get some wine imported from California. Or Italy. Or southern New England, somewhere along the coast. Maybe Rhode Island?” she begged. “I mean, it’s one thing to be forced to drink that…that…coffee every day. But I can’t believe that you have forty-seven different Phillips-head screwdrivers and no good wine. That is a travesty.”

“Can’t have enough good screw drivers.” Bill scratched his head.

Ami blew out a breath. “Never mind. I’ll get this one. I’m sure Rachel and Doug will love it.”

“Celebrating something?” Bill took the wine from her and headed to the register. It was an old-fashioned affair, circa 1950. No new-fangled computers for Bill and Bob’s. They weren’t quite ready for the twenty-first century. Hell, they weren’t quite ready for the twentieth century.

Ami picked up the coffee carafe on the front counter and sniffed. She shuddered and placed it back on the hot plate. “Um, yes, Natalie’s birthday is today. We’re having a little party. I got her a hand-made doll, and I wanted to donate a bottle of wine for the dinner. I’m cooking, of course.”

Bill nodded once as he bagged up the bottle of wine. Marcus was still leaning against the counter in front of the dog supplies, hidden from her view. He was trying not to laugh at Bill’s expression.

“Whatchu cooking, miss?”

The flatlander graced the old man with a brilliant smile. “Risotto ai Frutti di Mare.”

Bill looked like he had indigestion. “What…uh…is that, Miss Jordan?”

“Seafood risotto. My specialty.”

“Doesn’t sound like something a kid would like to eat.”

The look of indignation on Ami Jordan’s face made Marcus laugh out loud.

“Natalie has a very sophisticated palate, Mr. Barker. She loves my Risotto ai Frutti di Mare. Believe me. She’ll be asking for seconds.”

As Marcus continued to laugh, the flatlander flipped her long, blonde hair over one shoulder and shot him a look. “Oh, it’s you. What’s so amusing, mountain man?”

He strolled over to the check-out line and gave Miss Hottie the once-over. He took a sip of his coffee and raised an eyebrow at her irritated expression.

“Twenty bucks says Natalie doesn’t touch the risotto. I’ve eaten at the McGuire house. She likes mac and cheese.”

Ami Jordan took a step forward until the tips of her black stiletto boots were touching the tips of his Timberlands. “You think you know my niece better than I do?
I…don’t…think…so
. Just because she lives in the middle of the boonies doesn’t mean she doesn’t appreciate fine food.” She glared at him.

“The kid’s eight. No eight-year-old appreciates fine food. Doesn’t matter where she lives. And for your information, I don’t consider Cranville, Vermont the ‘boonies.’ We have electricity, indoor plumbing, and even television. It’s pretty modern here.”

Ami’s eyes narrowed. “Uh huh. There are jars of
penny candy
in this general store. Penny candy! That is ridiculous. And this coffee—” she blanched as she pointed to his cup “‌—‌is not fit for human consumption. No matter what you say, you can’t convince me anything about this place is civilized.” She blew a strand of blonde hair out of her eyes and glanced at Bill. “Uh, no offense, Mr. Barker.”

“None taken.” The man looked resigned. He’d no doubt had this conversation before.

Marcus nodded. “Put your money where your mouth is. Twenty bucks says the kid refuses your dish.”

“Twenty bucks? It’s on…like Donkey Kong.”

She spun away from him so fast, her hair whipped into his face. A strand got caught on his beard.

She grabbed the bottle of wine from Bill, who looked happy enough to see her go, and marched out the door, swinging her sexy ass in a very sassy manner. The silky strands of her hair slid away from his face, and a strange urge to grab some darted through him. He wanted to snag a whole handful of that saucy hair, wrap it around his fist, and pull her back to him. Slam her up against his chest. Rub his beard all over her face and growl at her until she whimpered.

Hell. Damn him for a fool, but the city slicker had juiced him up all right. Too bad she was just another Boston girl with a bad attitude. His least favorite type.

At least he’d enjoy winning the twenty bucks.

Lumberjack In Love

Ami placed a sprig of parsley on top of her masterpiece and stepped back to admire the creation. Another exquisite preparation of Risotto ai Frutti di Mare. Of course, it was flanked by a large bowl of macaroni and cheese and a platter of chicken tenders. Thank God Marcus Anderson couldn’t see that. She would never hear the end of it.

“Hey hon, thanks so much for cooking.” Rachel handed her a glass of wine. “Here you go, Bill and Bob’s finest vintage. It’s not bad.”

Ami tentatively sniffed the goblet. No offensive fumes wafted up, so she took a sip. It was dry, somewhat mellow. “Hmm. Interesting. I’ll have to give my compliments to Bill next time I’m at the general store. This is actually potable.”

Rachel laughed. “I’m sure Bill will be bowled over by that effusive praise.” She slid her arm around Ami’s waist and gave her a squeeze. “How was your trip to Mr. Anderson’s today? Doesn’t he have a cool place?”

Ami shrugged. “I guess so. If you like that whole rustic-living-in-the-woods thing.”

“Isn’t he a nice guy? He’s single, you know.”

Warning bells rang in Ami’s head. Rachel fluffed the napkins on the table while humming a High School Musical song. Very suspicious.

“Sis?”

“Uh huh?”

“You didn’t send me up to that cabin on purpose, did you?”

“What do you mean?” Rachel continued to perform useless table-organizing tasks.

Ami grabbed her sister’s arm and spun her around. Rachel’s eyes shifted nervously.

“Oh my God! You were trying to fix me up with Mr. Mountain Man, weren’t you? You are pathetic! When are you going to stop trying to interfere with my life?”