Livvy Sherman was on a quest to find her long-lost father, whether she would admit it or not. Family had always seemed out of reach for her. But then she found herself looking down the barrel of Jesse Tully's shotgun and her path seemed very clear. To run!
Jesse Tully's life was all about hard work and responsibility until hippy-dippy Livvy trespassed onto his logging job. Until then, he'd worked hard to keep everyone happy including his disapproving father, his crabby grandma, a teenager, and a struggling family business. Then Livvy turned his world and his heart upside down. She brought light and laughter to his life, but it was no secret Butternut Creek was simply a blip on her radar. But then, just as she'd surprised him the day he found her in the forest, Jesse had one final surprise for her.
Tess Morrison weaves her stories from her northern Wisconsin home surrounded by gardens and forest on an antique table she found in the back of her barn. When not writing she can be found in the garden or cooking in the kitchen, dancing to the classic rock channel, or wandering around her beautiful state.
Livvy finds herself left in the woods by her so-called friends and partners in an environmental protest. Fearing she'll be eaten by wild animals is banished from her thoughts as soon as she finds herself looking down the barrel of Jesse's gun.
Livvy burst through the cover of the forest onto the bumpy woods road frantically searching for the others. All that remained was the dusty remnant of a hasty retreat and cans of spray paint alongside the bulldozer. They left her. In the woods. Alone.
Her best friend left her here. Somehow, that seemed only fitting.
Panic pushed the air from her lungs. What if there are no cabs in this God-forsaken part of the country? Where was she to go? And if she were lucky enough to get out of this mess, what would she do for transportation? She could follow the road out of the forest, but then what? And the animals. For all she knew, bear and wolves were watching her from the bushes at this very moment savoring her scent and licking their chops. With the luck she’d been having lately, she’d end up as summer sausage hanging to dry in some nutcase’s cabin. A prickle at the back of her neck gave her the feeling she was not alone.
Slowly, she turned and…Holy Mother of God, she wasn’t alone.
A man bore down on her and fast. A very large man in a flannel shirt and jeans, a billed cap on his head, and boots that sent dust clouds with every stomp. Paul Bunyan lives and breathes–that is except for the very large shotgun swinging from one very large hand and the dangerous fire lighting his eyes.