Taken By the Lumberjack

She inherited a crumbling bar. He decided she needed help.

Curvy girl Charlie Jones did not move to Montana for this. For him. For the kind of big, silent, jaw-clenching lumberjack who looked at a woman as if he’d already decided exactly what he wanted to do with her.
Every Friday night, he was there. Same booth, same broody attitude. And dark eyes that tracked her every move — watching, like she was the only thing worth looking at in the whole damn room.
She didn’t need that kind of attention. What she needed was someone to fix the endless list of things falling apart around her before the taproom took her down with it.

Then one night, one bet, changed everything.
Colt McAllister didn’t flirt. Didn’t charm. Didn’t say a word he didn’t mean.
He just showed up — toolbox in hand, jaw set, and eyes that made her forget she was supposed to be running a bar.
Now the leaking pipes and the failing ice machine were the least of her problems.

Because the only thing harder than keeping this bar alive — was keeping the big, sexy lumberjack out of her bed.