Page 2 of Rescued By the Lumberjack
For a guy who owns a logging company, the old man doesn't much like cutting down trees.
Which is the reason I'll keep working for him as long as he'll have me.
I mark the trunk of each tree with the company's trademark, just a 3CM that I've got down to a quick flourish of the spray paint gun after all these years, and follow the two older men deeper into the dark patch of woods we're working in today.
Nervously looking back over my shoulder to gauge how much daylight we have left before the sun drops behind Benson Peak in the west and plunges the Weeping Wilderness into early darkness.
I'm not much for folklore and I've never been known to scare easily, but this dense patch of remote forest gives me the willies.
I've been a resident of the small mountain town of Moonshine Ridge long enough to have heard all the stories the folks on this mountain are still telling after a century and a half since the old mining camp became a town, and I've been around for all the new stories that keep coming out of these ancient peaks.
Including the tales of women going missing while traveling the old road that once cut through this forest, and the more recent discovery of an undocumented wolf pack that might explain those disappearances.
"This one," Oz slaps a meaty hand against the trunk of another tree, the gold wedding band on his third finger glinting in the last of the sunlight that reaches beyond the tree line.
Clinton waves me forward with the spray paint again, himself glancing back toward the sun like I'm not the only one keeping track of daylight.
This forest stretches farther than we'll be able to manage in one season, covering the mountain pass between here and Paradise Point and running north for a couple hundred miles, based on the satellite images I've seen.
The old wagon road is the only trail that goes through the place and that doesn't get enough traffic to keep it intact.
Jake and Levi'll be up here this summer, running a couple of crews to cut the trees we're marking now. The area's too remote to get heavy equipment in, so the crews are gonna be camped up here for weeks, doing the work by hand.
After the Placer Canyon fire a few years back, fire management HQ finally gave in and gave Oz Lancaster the thumbs up to bring the Murdock brothers in to thin the deadfall out of the area, hoping to avoid another fire like the one thatleft Placer Canyon and most of the east slope of Benson Peak nothing but a charred scar running through the local mountains.
The few times I've driven up here with Oz, I see the way his hands tighten on the wheel as we pass the old forestry road up to the Benson fire lookout. The fire took the whole area out and I guess Oz and his wife, Meadow were the ones stationed at the tower the night the evac call came in.
That's the same fire that damn near killed Chief Diaz just a week later.
I get why the old man gets a little jumpy about the thought of losing more old growth forest to fire. Outside of the fact that he's our wilderness fire management inspector-- it's kinda his job to keep these mountains from burning down.
"Think that's plenty for the day," Clinton says, nodding toward the fading sunlight filtering through the canopy.
The boss is a man of few words. When Clint does speak, he does it in a deep voice that carries like he's yelling, even when he's not. Has a way of making you listen.
"We can be done for the day." Oz agrees with a smile and a pat against another tree trunk-- this one's just getting an affectionate love pat, I won't be marking that one to take out.
We're careful about what we cut, dead, dying, and carefully selected trees that are choking the forest's ability to thrive.
Birch McAllister even added some specialized equipment down as his mill to process the smaller trunks so we can keep operations local.
Working for the Murdock brothers is a far cry from the big logging outfit I started off with when I was just a kid. The one that operated out of pure greed and didn't give a fuck about the land it was scarring or the communities it was driving into poverty.
It's good to work for a company I can respect, and I like the way the people of Moonshine Ridge stand by each other.
It's the reason I bought the house in town, the reason I plan on staying here till I die, and the reason the glint of light off Oz Lancaster's wedding band catches my eye-- Moonshine Ridge is where I'm going to raise my family and grow old beside the woman I love.
As soon as I find her.
Chapter Two
Phoenix
There's part of my brain that's screaming something about not running, but I can't help myself. Adrenaline is pumping through my veins and my body is determined to make use of it, even if I do know better.
Behind me, I'm sure I hear it chasing me but I'm not looking back to find out.
Sprinting for the tree line at record speed, I break out of the forest and back onto the main trail. The sun is still hanging above the mountains, so I know I have enough time to get back to the trailhead parking lot before dark.
