Harvesting lumber was hard work. Having a piece of machinery you needed to complete the job go down made harvesting lumber damn near impossible. And lying in the dirt under that broken piece of machinery—the one that had eight-inch-wide blades on each side of the clamps currently stuck in position on a two-hundred-pound log right above my head—made me an idiot of epic proportions.

It also made me the head heavy machinery mechanic for Kennard Mills.

“We’re getting fuel in the radiator up here.”

I cursed, wishing my site mechanic would stop pointing out the problems in the engine. I already knew about them, which was why I had crawled underneath the damn thing in the first place. “Yep. I’m waiting on the new injector cups from the supply house.”

Hunter—the best site mechanic I had, even though he was barely more than a high school graduate—sounded almost as shocked as I would have expected him to be. “They still make parts for this thing?”

Not really, no, but there was a strong secondary market for them. I could understand his surprise—I’d have balked the same way had I not worked on these machines every day for the past five years. They looked rough, their bodies showing their age in dents and scratches and the occasional patch of rust we’d have to sand down and seal over. Hell, the delimber had rolled off the assembly line only two years after I’d been born, and I wasn’t some young kid. The machine should have been replaced already, but the men knew it well and could work a log through it in a matter of seconds. And while the outside looked beat to hell and back, the motor ran strong and sure… Most of the time.

“Hunter,” I snapped as I tried for the tenth time to get a hose connected. Damn thing was up in a squirrel trap of parts and wires. My hands were a bit too big to work the pieces into place, but I couldn’t have one of my guys do it. The delimber needed to be moved off the slope it had died on, and there was a log still jammed in the grips. This thing was one good wind away from rolling down the hill and taking whoever was working on it with it. No fucking way was I letting my guys risk their lives that way.

Hunter leaned down to get a look under the rig. “What do you need, boss?”

A beer, a medium rare steak, and a night with a particular brunette. None of which I could have right then. “Pliers. Grab a couple of pairs of needle-nose from my box.”

“On it.”

As he hurried off on my errand, I let my arms drop to the forest floor. Screw the mud—my shoulder was screaming from holding my arm straight up in the air for the last twenty minutes. I obviously needed to hit the gym a little harder. My physical therapist—the one the military had assigned to me after a bullet had torn through most of my right shoulder joint—would have called me crazy. He’d wanted me to restrict the weight I lifted. Had told me to accept the limitations of my fucked-up arm. I’d refused to be limited by scar tissue and bone fragments.

Ever since I’d gotten out of the SEALs, I’d made sure to rehab my arm and work to get it back to normal. Five years of building muscle and increasing flexibility, of pushing past the pain and fighting to get back to full strength. I wasn’t there yet…might never be, but I’d adjusted. My muscles were solid, the weight I could lift more than before the injury. My endurance could obviously use some attention, though. Giving me the next goal to work toward.

Rex—my canine partner in crime and one of the smartest damn dogs on the planet in my humble opinion—lay down and shimmied under the delimber, whining softly as he tried to move closer to my side. His ears perked up when I looked his way, his eyes brightening.

“You know better than to be under here.” His head dropped at my tone. I reached out and scratched his ears, hating for him to look so unhappy. He was a good dog, just a bit needy. Damn thing stuck to me like Velcro. Usually, I didn’t mind—most people in town had gotten used to the mutt always being by my side. On the job site, though, there were places he couldn’t go. Underneath an old logging delimber resting in a precarious position and jammed with a log that weighed over five times what he did was one of them.

“Here you go,” Hunter said as he bent down to see under the body of the delimber and handed me the needle-nose pliers. “Hey, Rex. Should he be under there?”

Not in the least. “Rex, go. Guard Hunter.”

The dog huffed but did as he was told, crawling out from under the machine to stand at Hunter’s side. Guarding the kid. As he’d continue doing until I called him off.

Seriously, smartest dog in the world.

Shoulder still screaming but not willing to stop because of it, I went back to work. It took about fifteen minutes of prying, tugging, and cursing a blue streak for me to get the hose clamp seated correctly. Another five to finish putting things back together so I could test the engine. Twenty minutes of burning, agonizing pain.

But if the thing started up, it would be worth it.

Moment of truth.

“Let’s see if she’ll turn over, Hunter.”

Within seconds, the old engine roared to life, the big clamps above me sliding down the length of the log and cutting off all the limbs from the main trunk. Exactly as it was built to do.

“Cut it off,” I yelled, my ears thankful when the engine quieted once more. “You gave me a run for my money, didn’t you, old girl?”

I fell back to the forest floor again, giving myself one quick moment of satisfaction before pushing myself out from underneath the rig. I needed a beer after that job. Not that I’d have one anytime soon. Kennard crews were working double shifts at the Hansen harvest site. A rough monsoon season and a motorcycle gang fucking with us had delayed our efforts, and the weather reporters were all calling for an early snow season. We needed to get the trees felled, the limbs stripped, the logs loaded, and the trucks back down the mountain to the mill before winter hit. That meant time was short.

Once on my feet again, I pointed at Hunter. “Go tell Camden she’s back up and running.”

Hunter looked uncomfortable but bounded toward the site manager—the one I wouldn’t have wanted to talk to either. Dead eyes, haggard appearance, and enough bad attitude to feel it from fifty yards away, the guy wasn’t looking his best. I couldn’t blame him for that, though.

Camden Reese. Site manager for Kennard Mills, former Marine, friend of the Kennard family practically since birth, and recent widower. A motorcycle club called The Soul Suckers had burned his house down after he’d found them in the woods by our job site. Turned out, they’d been cooking meth out there, and we’d gotten in their way. They’d struck hard and killed Camden’s wife in the process. They’d also destroyed one of the best men I’d ever met in doing so.

But we’d gotten them back for that, me and Alder Kennard, the man in charge of the mill. We’d retaliated one night in Alder’s barn when more Soul Suckers had shown up. If anyone ever tried to tell me those two guys who’d come for Alder hadn’t deserved to die, I’d simply remind them one of them had lit that fire and taken a good woman from our community. The community the Kennard family had been tasked with protecting. The people I’d lay down my life for. I might not have been a Kennard by blood, but the second son of the family was more my brother than any blood relative could be, so I did my best to live up to the expectations placed on their shoulders.

As I sat on a fallen log with Rex beside me, my phone rang. It took me a second to recognize the song playing, but when I did, I knew exactly who was on the other end of the line. No one else would put a seventies ballad as their ringtone.

I didn’t need to greet the motherfucker with anything more polite than, “What is this shit song, and why is it on my phone?”

Bishop—best friend, former SEAL teammate, and all-around pain in my ass—laughed. “Stephen Bishop’s It Might Be You is a classic. You should listen to it.”

“Last time I checked, I still had my balls. So, no.”

“Don’t worry—I’ll call you every five minutes and let it ring so you can go deep with the earworm.”

He would, too. “I can’t believe you fucked with my phone again.”

“I can’t believe it took you this long to figure that out.”

“It’s the twenty-first century—who calls people?”

“I like to be unique.”

“What you like to be is a jackass, jackass. Why are you calling? Shouldn’t you be busy doing things to your girl that are illegal in some states?”

“Is that jealousy I hear in your tone, Gage?”

It might have been, but fuck if I’d admit that. I was actually glad Bishop had hooked back up with his ex-girlfriend. Thrilled, really. These past few weeks with Anabeth, he’d been happier than I’d ever seen him in all the years we’d known each other. Not that I got to see him much—Anabeth worked as an entertainer in Vegas reading tea leaves and tarot cards and shit. Bishop had been spending more than half his time out there since they’d jumped back into a relationship. Good thing, too. The Soul Suckers had a score to settle with her, one we’d blocked once already. They’d taken her hostage on my watch, sneaking past me and busting into her house before I’d known they were there. We’d gotten her out alive, but it’d been close. Close enough for a heavy ball of lead to sit in my gut whenever I thought about the mistakes I’d made that night. Never again.

“I’m not jealous, man. But I know what I’d be doing if I had a woman by my side who looked like your Legs.”

Though I didn’t want a woman like Legs—tall, with big blue eyes and long, red hair. No, I wanted a woman who was short and curvy with dark hair and hazel eyes. I wanted her bad. But having a hard-on at a job site was probably a bad idea, so I kept the thoughts of that woman tucked away as deep as I could. Just like every other day since she’d shown up in Justice.

Bishop just laughed. Again. “Keep calling her that, and she’ll strike back at you one of these days.”

“I await the battle of words. Now, really…what’s up?”

His joking tone changed, grew more serious. “I’m not coming back this week.”

“Staying in Vegas again?”

“Yeah. Anabeth got a last-minute gig at some awards show, and there’s a bike rally outside the city.”

He didn’t mean Schwinns. “Seen any of our friends there?”

“There’s been a few vests on the strip.”

The Soul Suckers were a national club, so that didn’t surprise me. Didn’t mean any of them was from the branch one county to the west of us or the one causing trouble down in Boulder, but the possibility was there. “Better not to risk leaving her alone if they’re that close.”

“That’s my thought, too. So you’ve got my place to yourself for another week.”

Because I’d been living with him while I remodeled an old cabin I’d bought over the summer. “No problem. I’ll take care of things.”

“Keep your dog off my couch.”

I tilted my head at Rex, grinning when he mimicked me. “I don’t think you need to worry about your couch. He’s been sleeping on your bed.”

“You’d better be fucking with me.”

Maybe. Maybe not. But I sure did like pushing Bishop’s buttons. “I’d wash your pillows when you get back if I were you. He likes to plant his ass right in the middle of them.”

“I will kick both of you out if I find a single dog hair on my pillows.”

I held the phone away from my mouth, making a static sound by blowing air over my teeth. “What’s that? SSSHHHHHHH. You’re break—SSSHHHHHH—up. Can’t—SSSSSHHHHH—you.”

“You’re a jerk, Gage Shepherd. Tell my brother I’ll call him later.”

“Will do.” I brought the phone back to my ear. “Watch your back, man. And if you need someone else to watch it for you—”

“I’ll call. Have fun not talking to Katie.”

Before I could fire back, he hung up. Of course. Typical Bishop—lob one last softball and make a quick exit. And the one he’d lobbed at me?

Katie. As in Baker. As in niece to our corrupt county sheriff, recently moved back home to Justice from Denver, and chef-owner of a new restaurant in town. As in the short, curvy, brown-haired princess I’d been lusting after since the first day I met her. Bishop knew about my obsession even though I’d never said anything. Knew and pushed me to do something about it all the damn time. But every time those big hazel eyes met mine, I could almost see the nerves flaring inside of her. I scared her, and that didn’t bode well for me getting a date.

As I tucked my phone back into my pocket, Camden whistled loudly.

“That’s it,” he yelled, looking more pissed than I’d ever seen him. “Let’s call it a day.”

The loggers all packed up their tools and began heading toward the mill’s ATVs that would take them back to their cars parked about two miles south of the ridge. Many of them would end up going to The Baker’s Cottage for dinner. Katie’s place. Like most of our employees, I ate there quite often. I was no Alder Kennard—sitting in a diner booth every night just to get a peek of the girl I was interested in for three long years—but that was only because I hadn’t known the owner for three years. If I had…

Yeah, I owed Alder an apology for mocking him as badly as I did all those years.

Still, The Baker’s Cottage had great food, and it was the only restaurant actually in Justice. Even without the presence of Katie, I’d have probably eaten there almost daily. She was just a bonus—or maybe a punishment. Too fucking perfect for me to ignore and way too sweet to be with a guy like me. Something that irritated me to no end.

I might have been too much for her—between my long, thick hair, my full beard, and the ink running from my wrists to my neck, she wouldn’t have been the only woman put off by my appearance. She was just the first one whose disapproval bothered me.

And as such, I was thinking I could make a few concessions for her. Cut my hair, trim my beard—neaten up my overall look. Tame the mountain man thing I had going on. I couldn’t get rid of the tattoos, not that I wanted to, but I could clean up. The guys would roast me for it, but if those simple things might help me get my hands—and potentially other parts—on those killer curves I practically drooled over? It’d be worth the ribbing.

I’d have to figure out how to talk to her, too. I mean, I knew how to talk—she wasn’t the first woman I’d ever wanted to pick up. But around her, my thoughts turned too dirty, too base. She talked about the food she made and what was happening in town, while all I could think of was how sweet her pussy would be on my tongue and if she was a screamer when she came. I wanted to find out. Needed to. Hard to do when I couldn’t open my mouth for fear of scaring her off with how much I wanted to get her naked.

When Camden finally came up the hill—the last man to leave the site—I gave him a fist bump and followed him toward the ATVs.

“You coming to The Baker’s Cottage with us?”

Camden shook his head, looking tired and downright mean. “I’m heading home.”

Which meant driving to where his house used to be and getting drunk in his car. I knew. I didn’t say much, but I knew.

“Gonna snow soon,” I said, keeping my eyes forward and my steps even. “You won’t be able to live in your car much longer.”

Camden’s angry expression darkened farther, and his words hit like fists as he said, “I don’t need you telling me what I can or can’t do, Shepherd.”

Okay then. I whistled for Rex to follow me and climbed onto the four-wheeler I’d driven to the site, leaving Camden to deal with his own exit but keeping close enough to watch him. I’d never leave a man behind, but I also couldn’t help someone who didn’t want to be helped. Some men needed to hit rock bottom before being willing to move forward in life. I’d figured living in a car outside the burned-out shell of a house where the woman he’d loved had been murdered would have been Camden’s rock bottom—I’d been wrong.

So I let his words rest, knowing the guy was torn up by his loss. Rock bottom would come eventually. I could only hope one of us would be around to pick him back up when it did.

I drove behind Camden through the woods, Rex running along beside me. When we made it to the landing where we’d load the logs for their trip to the mill, I parked the vehicle and grabbed a towel from my truck. I was dirtier than my dog, but I knew better than to put my filthy paws on the upholstered seats. Rex did not, so he got rubbed down to remove the worst of the mess. If I were smart, I’d have headed back to Bishop’s to grab a shower and some clean clothes before seeing Katie. Make myself presentable and all that.

I wasn’t smart.

I was impatient.

And I was starving, just not for food.

I’d been in the kitchen with Katie when she’d been covered in flour, elbow deep in raw meat, and sweating as if she’d run a marathon. I still wanted to get my hands on her every second of every day. Even more, really—that passion she had for her work was too fucking attractive to resist. Katie could see me just as I was—end-of-shift dirty with my hair tied back and the ink on my neck on full display.

I’d be in the shower enough tonight once I left her place. Me and Righty had a standing date because if I wasn’t getting any from Katie, I wasn’t getting any from anyone else. I was a one-woman man, and that woman had no clue I was already wrapped around her little finger.