The Woodsman's Baby

by Eddie Cleveland

  Disappointment swirls inside me. It catches me off-guard to realize I miss feeling the heat of his body against mine. Not to mention his thick, hard cock.

  I slap my hand over my mouth like I just spilled a deep secret, even though I haven’t spoken a single word. Even allowing myself the thought feels like a betrayal though. Not to mention dirty. I don’t know Sawyer, besides, what about Ben?

  What about him? He fucked Kate, remember? My voice of reason reminds me with the subtlety of a punch in the face. You know what they say, the best way to get over a guy is to get under another one. I slowly slink my gaze over Sawyer’s sexy body. He looks so peaceful when he isn’t yelling at me. Not that I’ve been easy to deal with either.

  Ben and I are history. All I need is to delete his smug face from my account to make it official. He might be rich and famous, but I’m not here to wipe his boots on. I hope Kate can find satisfaction with his little dick.

  Sawyer is lying on my fur coat, using it as a mattress and has his parka covering him from the waist down. The disappointment I was feeling earlier just doubled.

  Stop being such a perv, I chide myself silently. However, I don’t look away from him. I realize my breathing has quickened and my heart is beating faster. My eyes slide over his wide chest, his muscles are clearly cut, but covered under his dark hair. He looks so manly. Not like Ben’s waxed chest that would look okay for a day until his hair tried to break back through the surface and made his skin rashy.

  With Sawyer’s brown beard covering his neck, he looks like a wild man. A man who could do whatever he wanted to me… and I’d love it.

  I shake my head. Woah, where is this all coming from? You’d think I’d never seen a guy before from all these repressed desires bubbling up inside me. The truth is, I’ve never met anyone like Sawyer before. Not only because of how strong and big he is, but also when I look into his eyes I can see a depth that I never see in my social circle. I can see he has a past. He has his demons. Why else would someone go live in the woods by themselves? I can’t help but wonder if we don’t have more in common than he thinks.

  I creep over to the kitchenette and open the cupboard. The instant Folgers isn’t my first choice in coffees, but it will give us a caffeine fix. Grabbing the big teapot on the stove I feel the water inside slush around. It’s more than enough for a couple cups of joe. I light the propane stove and turn it up high.

  My stomach rumbles, reminding me of the supper I skipped last night. I’m regretting my stubborn decision to go to bed hungry. I rummage through the cupboards and take stock of our limited supplies. Cans of beans, saltines, condensed milk, a box of rice, spices. Not exactly the makings of a farm fresh breakfast here.

  Beggars can’t be choosers, my stomach growls at me as I reach for the crackers. I rip open the plastic and grab a handful. They’re stale and not unlike eating salted cardboard, but they’ll stop me from starving.

  I can hear the water bubbling inside the kettle and I remove it from the heat before it whistles. I don’t want to wake Sawyer. I have no idea how late he was up last night, but judging from the fresh bed of coals in the fireplace, it couldn’t have been too long ago that he was doing his best to keep us from freezing to death.

  I stir the hot water in with the powdered coffee and look over at him. He still hasn’t budged since I opened the bedroom door. Carrying my mug, I tiptoe over to him. There’s a book on the floor lying next to him that I hadn’t noticed before. A paperback.

  I inch forward, trying not to make a sound. I know I shouldn’t be sneaking up on him, but my curiosity has gotten the better of me. I’m dying to know what kind of book keeps Sawyer up reading throughout the night?

  I lean over to get a closer look, but the cover is half torn off.

  “What are you doing?”

  I jump, almost spilling my coffee. Instead it just splashes against the sides of my mug a little too high and lands on my fingers.

  “Ouch. Fuck!” I walk over to the counter and lay the cup down, examining my hand.

  “Are you ok?” He jumps up immediately and leaps over to me.

  “It’s nothing,” I blow on my fingers.

  “Are you sure?” Sawyer grabs my hand and looks at it closely. I can’t help but smile at the concern etched into his face.

  “I’m sure. You just scared me, that’s all.” I answer.

  “I scared you? You were the one standing over me while I was sleeping,” he drops my hand and stares into my eyes.

  “I wasn’t watching you sleep or anything!” I blurt out unconvincingly and heat burns in my lying face. I twist my head away from him, looking back at the book he abandoned on the floor. “I just wanted to know what you were reading,” I refuse to look back up at him. I can feel his intense gaze on me. Looking at me closely. Like he’s trying to read the pages of my book. The story of my life.

  “It’s The Catcher in the Rye,” he finally answers and drops his eyes. He turns on his heel, crossing the floor to the stove and makes himself a coffee. “Heard of it?” He doesn’t bother to look at me when he asks. He probably thinks I somehow haven’t. Like he’s the only one between us that’s ever read a book.

  “Of course I’ve heard of it! It’s my favorite book. Oh, I haven’t read it in a while though. It’s so good.” I ramble on enthusiastically. It’s strange how, no matter how little you know about someone else, no matter how little you can relate to them or their lives, when you find out you share the love of the same book, you instantly feel closer to them.

  “Congratulations, you do know how to read,” Sawyer puts a pin in my elation as he turns around and frowns at me.

  I look down at my dwindling coffee and try not to show him that he’s hurt me. It’s obvious that’s what he wants. I won’t give it to him.

  Maybe if I was a bit kinder to him yesterday he wouldn’t be so bitter today. I realize that he went through an enormous amount of work to try to keep me safe and fed yesterday, and I turned my nose up at him like a spoiled brat.

  “Hey,” I force my voice to stay steady. I glare up into his angry face. “I’m sorry, ok?”

  I watch as his eyebrows slide back over his eyes. His lips fill back out from the straight line he always presses them in. He looks less intimidating. He looks… hot.

  “I never said thank you for everything you’ve done for me. For saving my life,” I whisper, “so, uh, thank you. Sincerely. I mean it. I know you don’t like me, but we don’t have to like each other to be civil, right? I’m sure I’ll be out of your hair soon and you’ll never have to put up with me again. So, can we just try to get along?” I breathe in deep and wait for anything except the sound of silence. I swear I can hear the soft snow falling outside.

  “You’re right,” Sawyer finally answers me, standing up tall. “The last I heard, it sounds like we’re still going to be here for a couple more days, so there’s no point in being at each other’s throats the whole time.

  He holds his coffee cup and it looks dwarfed in his grasp. All I can think about is how I want to feel those big hands on my body.

  He smiles a genuine smile that makes my heart fluttery and my cheeks heat up. Sawyer clears his throat and gulps the last mouthful of his instant joe. “I should get out there and chop some wood,” he jerks his head to the winter wonderland waiting outside the window.

  “Wood?” I glance out the window but don’t see what he’s talking about.

  “Yeah, I found a tarped-up pile of dry logs under the snow yesterday. And a dull ax to cut it with,” he shrugs, “but it’s better than nothing, right?”

  “I guess so,” I agree.

  “Ok, well hang tight and I’ll get that sorted out,” he pulls on his boots and parka, looking over his shoulder at me quickly before opening the door to disappear into a sea of white.

  I can feel the usual tension between us shift. It changes like tectonic plates that normally shatter the earth with deep quakes, then merging together to form an entirely new land. One forged just for us. />
  11

  Ashley

  The air around me has never felt frostier. The heat that radiated out from my body as he smiled at me has faded, leaving me colder than if I would’ve just stayed passed out in the snow.

  The tiny cabin looks drearier, like it’s been painted from the dullest, greyest pallet of the least inspired artist. I never realized before how much more vibrant this place feels with him in it.

  How much more vibrant I feel, is more like it.

  I watch from the window as Sawyer trudges through the snow and makes his way to a mound. I’d never think there was anything under it, but obviously, his observation skills are better than mine. He digs into the drift and tugs on a black corner that, the more he yanks on it, pulls back like a big blanket revealing a messy pile of logs underneath.

  He wastes no time setting up a huge log as a stump and placing the first log on top. Thwack! His ax slides through the piece and the log explodes into two. So much for it being dull. Either that or his sheer strength doesn’t make a difference.

  I’ll admit it, I stand here longer than I should, and watching closer than someone with a passing interest would. I’m absorbed by him. Looking away doesn’t feel like a natural option.

  Thwack! His pile of split logs is growing on each side of his stump. It’s mesmerizing to watch him.

  There’s something about a man who works with his hands. A man who’s tough enough to protect you from anything, but gentle enough where a softer touch counts. There’s that heat again. Creeping up my cheeks and teasing the insides of my thighs.

  Outside, Sawyer looks back to the window and I practically fall to the floor in an attempt to hide. I don’t want him thinking that I’m staring at him. Just because that’s exactly what I’m doing, doesn’t mean he needs to know.

  I squint at the cabin and feel like the life is being drained from me. I should go help him, I nod at the thought, knowing full well it’s a lie. Help him. Fat chance of me being very useful with wood chopping.

  I don’t care, I’ll just keep him company then. That’s what every guy living off the grid and removed from society wants, right? Company. A friendly chat. Probably not, but it’s what he’s going to get.

  I tighten the drawstring on the flannel pants Sawyer loaned me. I untie the front of his shirt and just let it hang around me like a dress. As I slip into my coat, I notice the glint of my engagement ring on my finger. It feels like an anchor to a miserable life. A life that is already feeling less real by the minute. I slide the ring from my finger and into my coat pocket. Even when I get out of here, I’m not going back to Ben. I’ll give this back to him.

  My boots and hat are quickly slipped on and I wade through the heavy snow. I didn’t expect to be up to my pussy in snow. I guess that’s one way to cool down the flames of desire.

  I push through, maybe this wasn’t the best plan, but I don’t care. I close the gap between him and I and feel the color return. It’s like every step I take toward him brightens the entire landscape. This must be how people felt when all they watched their shows in black and white and then it switched to color.

  Sawyer raises his arms overhead and swings the ax down, cleanly splitting a log in two. He notices me approaching and slings the ax over his thick shoulder and tilts his head at me. “What are you doing out here? Everything ok?” He asks. As I get closer, I can see concern flashing in his eyes.

  “I came to help,” I pant. I’m starting to wonder if I’m going to need help pushing through all this snow. Spin class has got nothing on this cardio burn.

  “You know how to split wood?” He looks unconvinced. Wise man.

  “Well, not exactly,” I manage to make my way through and stand next to him. “But, I’m willing to learn, if you’ll teach me,” I look up at him and watch him size me up.

  “Ok,” he finally answers, “it’s not like it’s a big secret. I’ll show you how,” he agrees. “Come here,” he nods to the spot right in front of him.

  I stand between him and the stump, looking up at him and he laughs. “Not like that, like this,” he grabs hold of my hips and easily flips me on the spot so I’m facing the stump.

  You can flip me around the bed like that anytime.

  I suppress a giggle at the thought and start to cough a little.

  “You ok?”

  “Yeah, just breathed in a snowflake I think,” I smile, but I can’t see if he believes me or not. He probably doesn’t care.

  “Ok then, first thing you want to do is hold the ax low on the handle, that way you get more power,” he guides my hands to the position.

  I can feel his strong body behind mine, like a wall protecting me from the world. It feels amazing. I close my eyes and enjoy his bare hands on mine. I don’t even care about the snow falling on my face or how stupid I look in his pants, nothing matters right now except the buzz of excitement running up my arms and through my chest.

  “Good, so now you’re going to lift the ax up overhead, it’s a bit heavy, are you sure you want to do this?” For once, he isn’t mocking me. I can hear the genuine concern in his voice.

  “I’m stronger than I look,” I scoff.

  “If you say so,” he moves in closer and I can smell the fire smoke and cedar musk that I woke to yesterday morning. I clench my thighs together as I remember how his cock felt against my ass. I try to focus, but his words blur together.

  “Now swing it down,” he interrupts my moment. I fling the ax down as hard as I can, trying to follow his guidance. I miss the log entirely. Instead, the steel head digs into the stump and the log wobbles over and falls into the snow. I try to grab the ax and yank it back out, but it’s biting into the wood deeper than I thought and I lose my grip. I flail my arms in wide circles as I fall back into the snow beside the completely untouched log I was supposed to chop.

  “Smooth,” Sawyer laughs. “Hey, I have an idea, give me your phone and I’ll take a picture of this for you. I bet it’ll be a big hit with your online fans,” he laughs good-naturedly.

  “I’m good,” I laugh. “They can miss out on this one,” I try to roll over so I can push myself back up to my feet, but the deep snow has me rocking back and forth like a turtle on his shell.

  Sawyer laughs harder, I’d be annoyed if it didn’t make me so happy to hear him enjoy himself for once. “You know what? I thought it was a good time to take a break anyway.” He chuckles and cannonballs into the snow next to me. White powder billows up into a mushroom cloud above us. It seems appropriate given the nuclear level of heat growing between us.

  I giggle as he settles back in the snow with me.

  “I’ve gotta admit it, it makes a comfortable seat.” I nod at the snow.

  “Yeah, those must be hard to find with an ass like yours,” he muses. His eyes grow wide and his cheeks flush as he realizes the thought he just shared. “I mean, with your curves, not that I’ve been checking them out. Ugh,” he sputters, “I’m gonna shut up now,” he grimaces like his voice is physically painful to listen to.

  “It’s ok. I’m glad you noticed me,” I let my eyes travel over his body lacking all subtlety. Right now, I say, fuck being subtle.

  “So, the Catcher in the Rye is your favorite book?” He changes the subject.

  The distraction works, I can’t help the goofy grin overtaking my face. “It is,” I gush. “I love it. I bet I’ve read it a hundred times.”

  Sawyer looks at me closely. His face is a mixture of awe and cynicism. “Don’t get me wrong,” he chooses his words carefully, “but, you don’t exactly seem like a big believer in Holden Caulfield’s life philosophy,” he twists into the snow uncomfortably.

  “No,” I agree, “you aren’t wrong. I don’t agree even a little with his view on everyone being phony like that’s a bad thing. But let me guess,” I smile, “you’re a subscriber.”

  “Is it that obvious?” He teases me.

  “Yeah, the whole ‘hermit in the woods’ thing you’ve got going on is a dead giveaway,” I giggl
e like I’ve had too much to drink. I feel that way too. Like a drunk flush has overtaken my senses and I’m indulging in my euphoria.

  I lie back in the cold snow and enjoy the sensation against my skin. When is the last time I just enjoyed the outdoors? When is the last time I talked to someone about a book? I try not to let the thoughts rain on this moment with depression, instead revelling in the fact that I’m doing both now.

  “Ahhh, I thought I was more of a mysterious stranger than a hermit. I guess I’ll have to work on my brand,” for once his words don’t have any barbs. It’s refreshing to have a lighthearted conversation with him. I love that he can be self-deprecating instead of always exchanging insults.

  “I can see that. Mysterious stranger,” I repeat his preferred label. “Whatever it is, it doesn’t surprise me you’re a Holden Caulfield fan,” I muse.

  “So, what’s your take on the book then?” He pressures me.

  “Like what message do I get from it?” I flutter my eyelashes at him.

  “Yeah.”

  “I think Holden is right, there’s a whole lot of fake people out in the world,” I explain.

  “Especially now,” Sawyer interrupts.

  “Maybe. But the thing I think most people don’t see is you need to be a bit of a fake to get by. Ever heard of ‘fake it till you make it?’” I think back on how I had to do just that. I had to change my life. And it worked.

  “That’s the exact opposite message you’re supposed to get from that novel,” he laughs.

  “That might be true,” I admit, “but guess what? Holden was the same holier-than-thou teenager who looked down on being phony so much that he ended up writing his book from a mental institution.” I throw out some facts most lovers of the book want to ignore. “Maybe if he would’ve learned to play nice, he would’ve had a happier life,” I counter.