Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

T amlyn

I can hear Barron's frustration in every heavy step he takes as he walks off his front porch and into the woods. The crunch of pine needles under his boots is louder than it needs to be. The man practically stomps through the underbrush so loudly I don't even think he realizes I'm here, creeping up on his cabin in the early morning. "Hey!"

He turns, finally catching sight of me behind him. He seemed lost in his own world and after watching him for a few long moments, I sense that this man doesn't let many people into his inner world.

"What?" comes his growl.

"I–I was wondering if you wanted to take me on a tour of your words?"

"Why?" He's moving again, totally uninterested in me.

"Well, no one knows these woods better than you–"

"Because they're mine."

"Right." I press my lips together, struggling to follow along behind him. I trail him for a few silent moments, unsure of what else to say. With my eyes on the stretch of his back, the toe of my boot catches on a root and I stumble, nearly falling with a grunt.

He pauses, eyes shooting to me before he returns the few paces to me. He stops just short of me, his gaze lingering long on my lips before he utters, "You coming?"

I swallow, nod, and then he turns and stalks off again. The set of his broad shoulders tells me he's regretting every second of this little expedition already. His jaw is tight, lips probably pressed into that familiar hard line he wears like a shield.

Good. Let him simmer. I'll take my time.

I dart from plant to plant, my eyes wide as I drink in everything around me. Copper Mountain is alive in a way that thrills me, each corner of the forest a new discovery. Every tiny bloom, every swath of moss is its own little universe, full of secrets just waiting to be uncovered. I stop mid-step, crouching down to inspect a patch of lichen creeping over a fallen log. The vibrant green is almost neon against the deep brown of the bark, and my fingers itch for my camera.

"This is incredible," I murmur, not caring if Barron hears me or not. "Look at the way it spreads. Have you seen anything like this?"

"Lichen." His voice is gruff behind me, like he's just spitting out a fact to keep me from asking more questions.

I glance back over my shoulder. He's standing a few feet away, axe slung over his shoulder, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. "Yeah, I know it's lichen. But look at it." I flash him a grin, daring him to argue. "Do you even appreciate how rare this particular species is in this environment?"

Barron doesn't even glance at it. "It's lichen. It's everywhere."

"Not like this, it's not," I say, standing and brushing off my knees. I bite back a grin as I walk past him, deliberately brushing against his arm. His body goes stiff, his eyes following me as I move ahead, and there's that tightening in my chest again, that pull between us I can't seem to shake. I could swear he feels it too, no matter how hard he tries to ignore it. "You don't appreciate it, Barron," I say over my shoulder. "You're missing the magic."

"I'm missing my sanity," he mutters, but I catch the twitch of his lips, that almost-smile he tries to hide.

I spin around to face him, walking backward now as I tease him. "Are we here to hike or run a botany class?" His voice is low, rough, but there's something else there too—something that makes my stomach tighten in response.

"Why can't it be both?" I shoot back, my eyes gleaming with mischief. The truth is, I'm enjoying this—poking at him, getting under his skin. It's not just fun, it's… electric. Barron grumbles under his breath, trying to play the gruff, no-nonsense lumberjack, but I see through it now. There's more to him, hidden beneath that tough exterior, and I'm going to dig it out, one rare plant at a time.

We push deeper into the forest, and the air changes as the trees thicken, their trunks towering like ancient sentinels. It's cooler here, quieter, the sounds of the forest muted beneath the thick canopy of leaves. I stop again, crouching by a small stream, the water trickling over smooth stones. At the edge of the bank, a delicate flower blooms, its petals a soft, pale pink. I reach out, brushing my fingers lightly over the blossom, and a thrill of excitement runs through me. "Look at this!" I call back to Barron, barely able to contain my enthusiasm. "It's incredible. Do you know how rare this is?"

Barron approaches, but slower this time. His gaze flickers to the flower, then back to me. "It's a flower," he mutters, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

I can't help but laugh. "You've seen it a hundred times, huh?"

"More," he says, adjusting the axe on his shoulder. "A thousand."

I shake my head, biting back a smile as I stand and brush off my hands. "You don't appreciate anything."

His eyes narrow at that, his jaw working like he's fighting back a retort. Instead, he just grunts and turns back to the trail, leading the way again with those long, determined strides. I follow, but I can't resist pushing him further. "You know, for someone who spends all his time in nature, you don't seem to see it."

"I see it fine," he growls without turning around.

"No, you see it. You don't feel it," I say, and I know I'm pushing, but I can't help it. There's something about the way he locks himself up, like he's afraid of what might happen if he lets himself soften, even just a little. I want to crack that shell. I want to know what's underneath.

We walk in silence for a while, but it's not peaceful anymore. The air between us is heavy, charged with something neither of us wants to acknowledge. I steal glances at him as we hike. His jaw is still tight, his eyes set forward, but there's something about the way he's walking now—slower, like he's more aware of me behind him. The tension between us is almost unbearable, like a rope pulled taut, waiting to snap.

The forest opens up as we reach a small clearing at the top of a ridge. The view takes my breath away—the valley sprawls out below, a sea of green stretching all the way to the horizon. I stop, my chest rising and falling as I catch my breath, and for a moment, the world feels still.

Beside me, Barron slows to a stop, his breathing steady, but I can sense the weight of his presence. I don't have to look at him to know his eyes are on me.

"You see it now, don't you?" I ask softly, my voice barely above a whisper. I don't know why I ask, but I need to hear him say it. I need to know he can feel it too, this connection to the land, this pull between us.

He doesn't answer right away, and the silence stretches between us, thick and palpable. Then, finally, he speaks, his voice low and rough. "Maybe."

I turn to look at him, my heart pounding in my chest. His eyes are dark, unreadable, but there's something there—something deeper than just frustration or irritation. Something I recognize because I feel it too. I take a step closer, and for a second, neither of us moves.

"You're not so bad when you're not scowling," I tease, my voice lighter now, trying to cut through the tension.

Barron's lips twitch, but he shakes his head. "Don't get used to it."

I laugh, but it's softer this time, and the sound dies on my lips as I realize just how close we are. The heat of his body rolls off him, and I can feel the magnetic pull between us, stronger than ever. My breath catches in my throat, and before I can stop myself, I reach out, my fingers grazing his arm. His muscles tense beneath my touch, and his eyes flicker with something I can't quite read.

But I know one thing—I'm not walking away from this.

Neither is he.