Page 22 of The Lumberjack and the City Slicker

The bear stands there for one more tense beat, watching, head cocked.

Then he snorts—loud, offended—and turns, lumbering back into the trees like we’re not worth his time.

The second he disappears, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

Clara lets out a sobbing laugh.

“Oh my God.”

“Yeah,” I mutter. “Welcome to Woodhaven.”

She tries to sit up.

Her heels are stuck so deep in the mud it’s like the earth has claimed them as a sacrifice.

She makes a frustrated sound and yanks—doesn’t budge.

“I’m stuck,” she says, accusing the ground like it’s personally slighted her.

“You’re wearing heels,” I shoot back.

“I’m aware!”

Another crack of thunder rolls overhead, closer now. The wind cuts harder.

She’s shivering again, violent enough I can see it in her shoulders.

She’s not going to last out here.

Not like this.

Not with her car dead and the temperature dropping and Scar prowling around like a grumpy landlord.

I glance down the road, toward where I know her vehicle is sitting like a useless brick.

There’s no way I can haul that thing up to my place tonight. Not in this weather.

Which leaves one option.

The one I don’t want.

I swear under my breath and crouch, grabbing her under the arms.

“What are you doing?” she yelps.

“Saving your life,” I growl.

“I didn’t agree?—”

“Lady, you don’t get to negotiate with hypothermia.”

I bend down and pluck her feet out of her stuck heels. Then, lift her in one motion, because her legs aren’t helping and her shoes sure as hell aren’t.

“I don’t care if they’re made of gold,” I snap, and then I bend, grab her ankles, and yank.

The mud makes a disgusting sucking sound as the shoes release with a violent pop. They stay behind like anchors.

Clara stumbles barefoot into the mud, squealing.