He made one hot mountain man, even if his hair was getting a bit shaggy and his beard a little too long. A pair of scissors could fix that easily enough.
His chest was thickly furred above his pecs and that black wiry hair stopped just before his sternum to pick up again below his naval to only disappear past the waist of his jeans.
That was one hell of a trail I wouldn’t mind blazing.
I ran my tongue over my lips, fighting the urge to lick the sweat off those pecs, even knowing it might taste bitter from his acidic attitude.
Hell, I wanted to do much more than give him a tongue bath. But Chase was holding an ax. And up here no one would hear me scream if he decided to use it on me for ogling him like a depraved, sex-starved gay man who had a thing for bears.
Which, apparently and very unfortunately, I was.
Without a pause in the swing of his ax, he called out, “You done?”
I lifted my eyes just as slowly as I had lowered them. I still had time to appreciate the man since he hadn’t turned to look at me yet. “Done with what?”
“Your latest assessment.”
Shit. Busted. “I have no reason to assess you.”
He slammed the ax into the large stump so it got wedged in the center. Releasing the handle, he turned to face me and pulled off his leather gloves. “Then don’t.”
I can’t help it if I appreciate the view. As much as I don’t want to. “Can I ask you a question?”
He reached for the T-shirt hanging over a nearby branch and I almost shed a tear when I thought he was going to pull it on.
He didn’t. Thankfully, he only used it to wipe the sweat off his face. “No.”
I asked it anyway, since apparently we were still playing the let’s-be-a-dick game. Even if I had to accept a loss, it would still be satisfying to get in a few good hits. “When’s the last time you smiled?”
His expression changed from empty to totally closed off.
“I can tell you used to smile because you have permanent lines at the corner of your eyes.”
With his shirt now tossed over his shoulder and his hands plugged on his hips, he turned to face me completely, his dark eyes locking with mine. “Why the hell are you here?”
If eyeballs were capable of shooting lasers from them, I’d be dead.
“I haven’t seen you in town in weeks. I got worried.” I might have missed him going into town but that was my only plausible excuse to check on him. And when I asked around, no one else had seen him, either. Not anyone at The Eagle’s Nest, Harry’s Hardware or even at The Roost.
“I don’t need anyone worrying about me.”
“Maybe not. But just because you don’t need it doesn’t mean it won’t happen.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Apparently.” My eyes flicked to the huge pile of split wood that still needed to be stacked, then I glanced back over my shoulder to the almost-full lean-to. “If you haven’t noticed yet, you have enough firewood for the next three winters, Chase. Or do you prefer C.J.?”
He ignored my question. No surprise. “I don’t do it for the firewood.”
Who splits firewood for the hell of it? It wasn’t fun. It was back-breaking, blister-causing work. “Then what are you doing it for?”
“I do it…”
That pause was telling and gave me my answer.
He did it as an outlet. A form of therapy. To chase away whatever ghosts haunted him.
Whatever those were.
But if it helped, it helped. It must since the half-moon shadows under his dark brown eyes were now gone. Seeing him head-on, I confirmed his face didn’t look as gaunt, either. His eyes were no longer empty, even if they held a bit of annoyance in them right now. For both disturbing him and asking questions he didn’t want to answer.
In fact, I was pretty sure if I asked him what color the sky was, he would purposely not answer. Simply to make a point.
No matter what, there appeared to be a little bit more life to him now. Unlike when I first spotted him at the Eagle’s Nest. He had looked like he’d been run over by a damn bus.
Maybe not physically, but emotionally.
Something or someone had damaged this man. Whatever it was, whoever it was, was most likely the culprit in why the next book in his series had been delayed.
Whatever happened had knocked him off track.
The sun glinted off his wedding band. If I was a betting man, I’d guess it had something to do with that.
A wedding ring without a spouse. Maybe it had been an unwanted divorce on his part and he was having a tough time letting go.
Not all parties in a divorce wanted one. In fact, some fought a divorce hard. They wanted to make the marriage work even when they shouldn’t.