Ash checked the map his dad had drawn for him. The GPS on his phone wasn’t reliable this far out of town—hell, this far north for that matter.

He’d spent the morning fighting with his dad about getting a second opinion, but the stubborn old fool wouldn’t budge. Seeing his lumberjack of a father lying in bed, looking pale and weak, was hard to accept.

Well, there were ways around the man. He’d spent most of his growing up years figuring out how to navigate that slippery slope. This was no different. He still had contacts in the area, and he’d kept up correspondence with his school buddy Gideon who’d become a doctor. Granted, he wasn’t a cardiologist, but maybe Gideon could talk some sense into Quinn and point them in another direction. Giving up to die at home was not the answer.

The snow-laden spruce trees parted to reveal a deep-turquoise lake with mist rising from the surface. Mountains in the distance stood as watchmen over the area. He braked and took in the view, letting it wash over him with inspiring swells.

In all the places he’d been, none of them compared to the majestic beauty of Alaska. He’d forgotten how much he loved it here. Actually, he’d locked away thoughts of home since they always brought up memories of her.

He steered his dad’s old pickup truck, with the Bleu Carpentry logo painted on the side, down the one-lane road. A quaint, artistic, log cabin came into view. This was different than the typical Lincoln log structure. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the view, with jutting half turrets and eyebrow dormer windows giving the house a whimsical feel.

Jack Wilde had outdone himself with this little log cottage. It would be good to catch up with him again. He’d missed the creative, vivacious jack of all trades. Once he’d hoped to call Jack Wilde his father-in-law, but that dream had been smashed when she’d broken his heart.

Quickly, he squashed those thoughts before they could take root. He parked and climbed out of the truck. Grabbing the clipboard off the seat, he tucked a pencil behind his ear.

The sound of a chainsaw vibrated on the air. He could see wood chips flying in front of the Jeep he’d parked behind.

Traipsing through the packed snow, he followed the constant buzz of the saw, and came up short at the pixie wielding a chainsaw, slicing into a large, upright log.

That was not Jack.

Clad in Carhartt overalls and a blue-checkered flannel shirt, with leather gloves protecting her hands, as well as earmuffs, safety glasses, and a knit hat stood Sorene Wilde.

His heart spasmed, and he found himself clutching a fist over the spot in a useless attempt to keep it inside his chest.

He wasn’t ready to see her. Not today. Not with his emotions swimming so close to the surface worrying over his dad.

What was she doing here?

Obviously working.

He gaped as he watched her confidently handle the chainsaw, chipping away at the log as though it were an extension of her body. He could already see the image of a bear taking shape.

When had she learned how to do this? In high school, she always carried a pocket knife—so did everyone else in Alaska—but she constantly whittled little animals out of scrap wood with hers.

Apparently, she’d graduated to more powerful tools.

The buzzing of saw suddenly ceased, and Sorene set it down at her feet, wiping a flannel-covered arm over her brow.

He didn’t move.

Maybe she wouldn’t notice him and he could sneak back to his truck, which is what he should have done before she’d killed the engine on the saw.

She turned toward him, and suddenly he couldn’t breathe.

God, she was stunning.

Her flushed cheeks had lost the fullness of adolescence, revealing sharp cheekbones and making her eyes behind the clear safely glass look enormous.

Had they always been that green?

Her cupid-bow lips fell open with a gasp, and her chest heaved on a stuttering breath as if she found it hard to breathe in his presence too.

“Ash?” she whispered his name, and everything inside him clenched. He loved how she said his name, a mix of prayer and wonder. “What are you doing here?”

He swallowed, attempted to speak, and had to swallow again. “Quinn is sick, so I came home.”

“Sick? What do you mean sick?”

Crap, he’d promised his dad not to say anything. “Uh, he needed some help with the business and asked that I meet Jack out here. Where’s your dad?” That last bit came out sounding too high-pitched.

If there is a God, please let Jack be inside the cabin.

He couldn’t be alone with Sorene. His defenses weren’t fortified enough.

“When did you return home?” Her eyes narrowed. “Does Jack know you’re in town?”

“Uh…yes. Dad told him I’d be helping out.”

A scary glow entered her eyes. “I’m going to skin that meddling man alive.”

He was slower than she, but eventually he caught on. “Jack sent you here to meet with Quinn today, didn’t he?”

“Yep.” Her lips thinned as she pressed them into a hard line.

He wanted to turn that hard line into a welcoming smile again. She used to look at him as if he painted the winter skies in northern lights.

They’d been each other’s first, and he’d measured every woman against her, and they’d all fallen short. Now she regarded him with apprehension and distrust. More than anything he wished he could change that. It would probably take a time machine in order to achieve such a miracle.

“It looks like we’re working together whether we like it or not. I’m sure we’re adult enough to get through it.” Squaring his shoulders, he tried to wash off the need to continue their argument that had sent him packing ten years ago.

She refused to see reason then. Would she be more reasonable now with a bit of maturity?

One searching look into those simmering green eyes told him now was not the time to bring up the past. Maybe working with him, she’d soften enough to hear him out? “Take me through what you need, and I’ll get out of your way.”

“Fine.” Sorene dusted off her clothes. Spinning she stomped up the wide-covered porch into the cabin.

Fine was right.

Sorene Wilde was still the finest woman he’d ever come across. Even with bits of wood and sawdust caught in the blond curls that had escaped her knit hat and clad in the androgynous outfit, she was more woman than any he’d ever meet in all his travels.

He followed her at a leisurely pace, his concentration split between taking in her comely backside and the log structure he was here to work on.

Focus, dude. You have a job to do. Think of Dad.

That did the trick. The cabin was different than most he’d seen. More fairy cottage than rustic, mountain home. The type of house an Alaskan fairy might carve out of the wilderness. Someone like Sorene.

“Are you building this place for yourself?” he asked.

She stopped and turned. “No. Why would you think that?”

He shrugged. “Just that the design seems more like something you would choose.”

“What do you know about my tastes? It’s been ten years since you knew me. I could be a fan of modern construction for all you know.”

A surprised laugh escaped him. “Doubt it. Some things always remain the same.” Like how she made his blood boil just looking at her. “This design has your fingerprints all over it. You drew up homes like this in high school, in that sketch pad you always carried around.”

Surprise registered in her expression. “You remember that?”

“I remember everything about you.” And he badly wanted to know this older, wiser version of the girl he’d loved.

“Actually, I did help draw up the plans. Dad took my advice to heart and Ryder engineered the blue prints.”

“Jack Wilde is a smart man and Ryder is obviously bright enough to recognize your talent.”

She looked away as if uncomfortable with his praise. She’d never taken compliments well, doubting herself and her ability. Guess that hadn’t changed, which saddened him.

“Is that bear outside for the staircase?” he asked attempting to get them on firmer ground.

“Yes.”

He waited a beat and then realized she wasn’t going to add more. “What’s your vision for the kitchen?” He’d get her to talk even if it were only about what Bleu Carpentry could do for Log Wilde Homes.

“I think it would be best if we reschedule this until your dad is feeling better. He always seems to know what I want for a job before I do.”

What she’d left unsaid hung like ice fog in the air between them. She didn’t want to work with him. He wished more than anything that he could confide in her about Quinn. He needed a sounding board, a shoulder, someone to lean on. He didn’t know if he was strong enough to deal with the possibility of losing his father.

She’d lost her mother to leukemia. Of all the people he knew she would be the one to advise him. But he very much doubted she’d be open to listening. He’d lost his mother at an age where he couldn’t remember anything about her. She’d taken off with a tourist, abandoning him and Quinn when he was a toddler. Any memories he had of her were from the limited photographs his father hadn’t thrown away.

“Dad will be out of commission for a while. You’ll have to work with me or find another carpentry crew.”

There, what’ll you do with that?

He was getting annoyed by the way she regarded him as though he was no better than an irritating mosquito. Bleu Carpentry was the only cabinet and door business in the area. If she didn’t work with him, she’d have to hire an outfit from Fairbanks, which would increase costs and delay the time frame.

She curled her lips over her teeth for a moment before releasing them. The action caused her mouth to pinken.

Would those lips still taste as sweet, feel as soft under his?

Christ, he shouldn’t be thinking thoughts like that. She was colder than the glaciers clustered in the mountains surrounding Heartbreak. If he attempted to kiss her, most likely she’d leave him frostbitten.

Unless a kiss could thaw the ice field between them?

She scowled, the action causing her brow to furrow. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” he asked, his voice suddenly husky. Would she name what she saw in his eyes?

“Calculating,” she answered.

“Do you ever think of me, of us? Because I’ve never gotten you out of my system, and Christ knows I’ve tried.” He took a step toward her.

She retreated, seemed to realize how her action weakened her position, and stood her ground. “What are you doing? This is not professional behavior.”

He barked out a humorless sound and tossed his clipboard to the floor. “Then you’ll have to write me up for this.” He snaked one hand around her waist, pulling her flush against him, while anchoring the other hand behind her neck, imprisoning her for his mouth to swoop down and capture hers.