Page 42 of Seale the Deal

I did, I admit. You sure you want to?

Wrenley strides over and places her hand on mine, on the saw. Her skin is cool and soft.

I’m ready for my lesson.

I breathe her in, clean and sweet and undeniably female. My body wants a hell of a lot more than a lesson. But my brain, what’s left of it, knows better.

Alright, I say roughly. Let’s do that log over there. I point to a downed tree that looks like an easy mark.

We walk over. I carry the saw, while Wrenley practically skips.

First things first, I say once we get to the log, check that the log is stable. The last thing you want is for it to roll on you.

Her brow furrows. You didn’t do that.

I’m experienced.

She huffs a breath. Or cocky.

Also accurate. I take a step closer, the saw still quiet in my hands. Okay. Here’s my biggest rule: no drop starts. That’s dangerous if you don’t know what you’re doing.

Wrenley lifts a brow at me. What’s a drop start?

Exactly, I murmur, flashing her a grin. So we’re going to do it safely. You hold the rear handle down here—yeah, just like that. Keep your foot through the rear guard so it doesn’t kick out on you.

Her hands slide into position, fingers wrapping the handle. I kneel beside her, guiding her fingers over the choke and the primer bulb. Press that a few times. Then set the choke here.

She does as I instruct, her eyes flicking to meet mine, wide and focused. I can feel the heat of her shoulder next to mine. The little breath she lets out is sweet and nervous and far too close to my neck.

Now, hold this throttle trigger—careful!—and pull the starter cord.

She tugs once, twice, and on the third pull, the saw sputters to life, the engine snarling beneath her hands. Her eyes go wide with surprise, lips parting slightly as she keeps her grip.

Holy shit, she yells over the noise, her smile stretching so big it damn near steals my breath.

I cover her hand with mine again, steadying the saw. Just hold it steady. No pressure yet. Let it idle for a second.

She nods, face flushed with the mix of cold air and adrenaline.

I should be thinking about safety and making sure she doesn’t drop the damn thing. Instead, I’m hyperfocused on the way her hips shift and her hands flex, the way I want to wrap myself around her from behind and guide her through every motion, every breath.

I take two steps back, folding my arms. I can tell I’m enjoying my time with her too much. She’s not my actual future wife. And while building a solid friendship will help us get through until we can divorce, friends don’t hold each other. Besides, she’s a capable woman. She doesn’t need me to do it for her, and I doubt she wants me to.

Feet shoulder-width apart, I call over the noise of the chainsaw.

Wrenley does as instructed. She looks confident and determined. Her brows pull together in concentration as she lowers the saw, the tip hovering over the thick, round spruce.

Whenever you’re ready, I say.

She takes a breath and squeezes the trigger.

The chainsaw roars, and she brings the blade down, just brushing the surface, and then she starts the cut. For a few seconds, it’s perfect. Her body curves in the right way to control the saw’s weight. I watch the blade bite through the bark, sawdust curling up in pale ribbons. Then the teeth catch on something, and the saw bucks.

Shit! Wrenley jerks the blade back instinctively, wobbling slightly on her feet. The sound of the saw sputters as she releases the trigger. It stalls, growling into silence.

I’m at her side in a second, not touching her but close enough so she knows I’m there.

You okay? My voice is calm, even though my pulse spiked the second the saw jumped.