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Wood You Be Mine (Lovewell Lumberjacks) - Softcover

Buch 1 von 4: Lovewell Lumberjacks

Elliot, Daphne

 
9798217195763: Wood You Be Mine (Lovewell Lumberjacks)
Softcover
ISBN 13: 9798217195763
Verlag: Berkley, 2026

Inhaltsangabe

A grumpy small-town lumberjack and his sunny new-in-town neighbor cross axes and risk their hearts in this swoony romance, now in a print edition with exclusive bonus material!

This stunning first-edition paperback features gorgeous plaid stenciled edges.

The first time I met the grumpy lumberjack next door, I almost burnt down his cabin.
The second time, I was in an argument with a moose (don’t ask).
The third time, I was naked.

Henri Gagnon is not just my neighbor and landlord, but a flannel-clad foe who helps run his family’s lumber business. His protective streak clearly does not apply to me, since he’s convinced I won’t make it through the Maine winter.

But I’m going to show Henri and the rest of this small town that they’re wrong. I have one year to prove myself as the elementary school’s principal or I’ll be getting the axe.

So I simply just don’t have time to pine away for the lumberjack next door, no matter how good he looks chopping wood in his suspenders, or the way it makes me feel when he calls me buttercup.

I definitely don’t have time to wonder what would happen if I asked him if he wood be mine...

Die Inhaltsangabe kann sich auf eine andere Ausgabe dieses Titels beziehen.

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

In high school, Daphne Elliot was voted “most likely to become a romance novelist.” After spending the last decade as a corporate lawyer, she has finally embraced her destiny. Her small-town steamy novels have earned her the reader title of “Queen of the Lumbersnacks” and are filled with flirty banter, sexy flannel, and lots and lots of heart. She lives in New England with her husband, two kids, a 100lb dog, backyard chickens, and an increasingly concerning collection of decorative axes.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

one
I had a new neighbor.

I had planned to meet her this afternoon, but the day had gotten away from me. According to my mother, who had come by to give her the keys, she arrived late in the afternoon and seemed happy with the place. I should go over and say hello, but it was already after nine, and at the moment, the thought of having to be social made me want to vomit. We had texted a few times, so she had my phone number. If there was something wrong, I'm sure I'd hear about it.

Bobby Redmond had talked me into renting to her at a discounted rate, and, since tourist season was wrapping up, it would have likely been empty for a while anyway. And a school principal was an ideal tenant, right? She was probably a sweet, older woman who would join my mother's weekly bridge game. Nothing to worry about.

I had built the cabin, and it had been my home for years, so the idea of renting it to strangers always made me cringe. But it was necessary. Money didn't grow on trees. I knew that for a fact, since trees were my livelihood. And my rental properties were an important source of extra income these days.

Paz and I were still trying to get out of some of Dad's more generous contracts-just a few of the messes we were cleaning up-so I wasn't in the position to turn down the money.

My house and the cabin sat on a little more than ten acres and weren't all that close. From what I'd heard, I doubted I'd see her much anyway, especially with the hours I was currently working.

I stretched out on my leather chair-a gift from my mother after I built this house. I had been up since 4:00 a.m., when I got a call that there was an issue with one of the trucks up at camp, and every muscle in my body ached.

A steak, a glass of scotch, and a long, hot shower-preferably in that order-were on the agenda tonight. But right now, Rochester was not having it. Instead of curling up beside me, he was whining and pacing in front of my feet. So much for a break. All I wanted was to play today's Wordle and zone out in front of ESPN for a while.

But he would not be denied, so, grumbling, I grabbed a coat and stuffed my bare feet into my boots. I flicked on the floodlights and opened the back door, cursing the damn dog for needing to pee.

Soon, Heathcliff joined him, running in circles and barking. I stepped off the porch so I could holler at them if they went too far. But when I looked down the hill toward the cabin, my heart nearly stopped.

All the lights were on, and the door stood open, smoke billowing out into the cold night.

I didn't think. I just ran. Fuck, please don't let there be a fire. My phone was on the kitchen counter, but I didn't turn back for it. Response time up here on the mountain was shit anyway. I needed to get there.

My dogs passed me, sprinting toward the cabin and jumping all over the poor woman on the porch, who was bent over coughing.

"What happened?" I yelled while running full speed down the hill.

Her eyes widened as I skidded to a stop just inches in front of her, nearly taking her out.

I grabbed her by the shoulders. "Are you okay? What's going on? There's a fire extinguisher under the kitchen sink."

She looked at me in a daze and coughed into her elbow. "Calm down, flannel fireman. It's just smoke."

"What the hell is going on?"

"I lit the wood stove, and the cabin filled with smoke."

I heaved a deep breath, peering around her at the cabin. "There isn't a fire?" I was still gripping her shoulders.

"No. Just a lot of smoke. I know it's August, but it's chilly tonight, so I tried to start a fire in the wood stove."

I leaned against the doorframe and braced myself, my head spinning and a stitch in my side. Note to self: run more.

"You're not in danger?"

She shrugged. "Only of smoke inhalation. And getting tackled by you." She seemed pretty unbothered for someone who'd almost burned to death in my cabin. It was only then that I noticed she was wearing a threadbare T-shirt and no bra. And she was a far cry from the dowdy, older woman I'd expected. She was young. And pretty. And thoroughly unimpressed by my attempted heroics.

"Who are you?" she asked.

I stuttered, too transfixed by her very prominent nipples.

"Eyes up here," she said firmly, pointing to her eyes with two fingers and frowning.

"Sorry," I mumbled, staring at my feet. I was absolutely making this worse.

She sighed. "I keep making bad first impressions. I'm Alice Watson. And I assume you're my landlord?"

I nodded, still unable to look her in the eye.

"Hmm." She tilted her head and gave me a once-over. "I thought you'd be, you know, old and stuff. Bobby Redmond said you've been around forever and know everything about the town, and I guess I thought you'd be a kindly, elderly man."

She took a deep breath, but before I could respond, she kept going.

"Like the kind who keeps Werther's on him at all times and carries a handkerchief? Not, you know." She waved her hands up and down the length of my body wildly, making her breasts jiggle and my pants tighten. "This. Whatever you are."

My brain reeled with her chatter. Would she ever stop talking?

"I'm Henri," I said, hand outstretched. "That's Heathcliff over there." I pointed at the larger dog, a Lab mix with a deep brown coat. "And this guy"-I scratched at the ears of the scruffy tan mutt who was always parked by my right kneecap-"is Rochester."

A smile spread across her face. "Brontë fan?"

I shrugged. "Who isn't? Now, let me see what's going on."

I pushed past her into the cabin with my dogs on my heels.

I headed to the corner of the open-plan living space and toward the stove. It looked like she'd piled a bunch of newspaper on top of one log. The newspaper was charred but only smoldering, and the log hadn't caught. She clearly had no idea how to build a proper fire.

"Are you out of your fucking mind?" I shouted as I tipped at the waist and ducked my head low to inspect it. "You didn't open the flue."

She looked at me blankly. "I put a log and some newspaper in and lit a match."

I winced, rubbing my temples to keep from tearing her head off. She could have died of carbon monoxide poisoning. Idiot.

"The flue," I said slowly. "The little hatch that opens the chimney to the world. It's how the smoke gets out. The stove pulls oxygen in from the room to fuel the fire, and then the carbon dioxide is released through the flue up the chimney and outside."

She stared at me with wide, confused eyes, mouth agape, but for once, she was silent.

"When you don't open it, the smoke goes back into the house, putting you at risk."

I expected her to apologize. Or at least seem upset. Instead, the most confusing thing happened.

She laughed.

And not a dainty, cute laugh. A full-on leg-slapping, face-splitting belly laugh.

"Of course I almost burn the house down on my first day," she said, wiping tears out of her eyes. She continued to giggle. "God, that is so Alice."

She walked over to the coffee table and pulled out a bright pink Post-it note from the box on top. On it, she scribbled open flue, and she then stuck it on the wall next to the woodpile.

"You need a Post-it for that?" I asked, still confused by the woman standing inside my house.

"It never hurts to have a reminder!" she said brightly, hands on her hips. "I didn't realize. It's just so like me to almost burn the place down."

"You didn't burn it down. You just almost caused smoke damage."

"But still. Fuck, I have so much to learn if I'm going to survive winter in Maine."

She was not wrong. And all my protective instincts heated to a simmer beneath. She was pretty and helpless, and that T-shirt was really thin.

I put a hand on her shoulder but stayed an arm's length away. "How about I teach you how to pack and light the stove and how to adjust it? If you want, I'll write you notes." I chuckled.

"I know you're making fun of me, Brawny Man, but at this point, I'll take all the help I can get." She looked up at me, those hazel eyes tear-filled from her hit of laughter.

My stomach clenched at the vulnerability laced with the good humor in her expression. This woman did something to me that I really did not have the time or energy to unpack.

After I showed her how to stack and manage the wood stove twice, she took a video of me doing it a third time for future reference. By the time I finished, the wall was covered with neatly arranged Post-it notes, detailing the step-by-step process.

We aired the place out and got the stove roaring. She was eyeing me suspiciously as I finished up, adjusting the opening to increase the heat and scratching Heathcliff behind his left ear while he kept his attention locked on our new tenant. The damn dog looked smitten. Bastard. "You are such good boys," she cooed. "I wish I had cute furry buddies to snuggle with and keep me warm."

That statement sent my mind reeling. I was cute and furry; I could keep her very warm. But I said nothing. Just shook the thought from my head and stacked another armload of firewood next to the hearth.

She was right, of course. She probably would not survive the winter here. As much as I didn't want to get involved, my protective instincts were already kicking in. I'd have to keep a close eye on my distracting new tenant.

two



I spent the morning unpacking and making a trip to the hardware store to fix up my new home. The cabin was clean, spacious, and charming. It was so much more than I could have hoped for. The log-style home had a green metal roof and a beautiful porch occupied by two rocking chairs. Not to mention windows and rustic charm for miles. Massive mountains surrounded by dense pine forest provided the perfect backdrop for my next chapter.

The interior was open plan, with a large bedroom and a small study. The main area had a wall of windows that faced the mountains. Granted, it was a bit spartan, with simple furniture and a masculine leather sofa, but I could work with that.

Leaving my little bungalow in Havenport behind had been heartbreaking. I'd spent years scraping and saving and painting and scouring all the local antiques markets for the perfect finds and making it mine.

But Havenport real estate was in demand, and I had several offers within a day of listing it. And after putting my furniture into storage and packing up what was left in the back of my Subaru, I was ready to start fresh. Even if I had spent a good part of the drive north yesterday crying.

If things went well, I'd be looking for a cozy house of my own up here soon. I hadn't seen much of the town, but the scenery I had seen so far was beautiful and peaceful. So different from what I was used to, but I craved something new. And Lovewell, Maine, would be the perfect place to start again.

After heaving a load of my new purchases from my trunk, I turned and started for the door, but a few steps in, my heart stopped.

I was face-to-face with a moose. And not just any moose, but the largest moose to ever walk the Earth. A Guinness Book of World Records moose. The moosiest moose to ever grow antlers and stroll lazily across my path.

Because this was one big fucking moose. Granted, this was my first moose sighting, but I'd never been so close to a creature of this size in my life. And it was terrifying.

I stood perfectly still, gripping the purple storage tote of throw pillows in my hands tightly. While I had spent the past few minutes admiring the simple beauty of my new home, I had failed to anticipate that it came with killer wildlife. In Havenport, the most dangerous creatures around were the harbor seals that sat on the docks in summertime, looking for snacks from gullible tourists.

I took a breath and tried not to scream. The moose was nonplussed, walking right across my path to the house. Hopefully it would keep moving before it noticed me. Then I could run inside and scream out the terror currently choking me without startling any wildlife and getting myself trampled.

But then it turned its head and snorted, condensation flying out of its massive nostrils. Gross. And it made eye contact.

My heart stopped. Its antlers were wider than my car.

Speaking of antlers. Could this giant animal impale me on them? It would be just my luck if this moose hated teachers. Or yellow, which was the color of my dress. What if yellow was to moose what red was to bulls?

I had spent too much time reading about the history of Maine and not enough time googling "safe moose interactions."

I took a small step backward, catching sight of my car in my periphery. If I could just scoot back and get inside, I'd have a small amount of protection. But the trunk was closed, and I had already locked the door. And, of course, my purse was in the house with my keys and phone.

The moose kept me in its sights as I took another gentle step back. My legs shook with the need to flee, but I fought the urge. I had to stay in control.

Breathe. Step. Breathe. Step. When I got close enough to the hood, I slowly lowered the storage tote onto it and climbed up. I backed up against the windshield, wondering whether I'd break my neck if I tried to get on the roof. The moose took a step toward me, snorting like it was going to charge. I reached into the tote in search of a weapon, anything I could use to protect myself, and grabbed the first thing I could find, which happened to be an economy-size box of super tampons. I ripped it open and threw them at the moose one by one, shouting as loud as I could.

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Verlag
Berkley
Erscheinungsdatum
2026
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 13 
9798217195763
Einband
Paperback
Anzahl der Seiten
336
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