Page 2 of Protected By the Lumberjack
While my brothers deal with operating the timber company from the office, I'm camped in these godforsaken woods, scouting how deep we can realistically get in to thin out the trees in an attempt to keep the forest healthy and reduce the damage that another fire would do to the mountains.
With the sun getting low, the temperature is dropping fast. Throwing the hatchet into the stump I've been using as a chopping block, I get busy turning my firewood into fire.
Somewhere off to the northwest, I hear the distant white noise of the river making its way into the canyon where it'll end up running through the Jones land. The Joneses still own the land, but it's the Murdocks that own the timber rights to most of it.
Ever since a dispute between partners back in the eighteen sixties caused Anders Jones to sell his timber rights to my own ancestor in a revenge deal against Brodie McAllister.
Not sure how that worked out for Brodie and Anders, but it changed the course of my own family's destiny.
The small fire catches in the ring I dug out, and a noise in the forest has me checking my rifle to make sure it's loaded and easy to get to.
Word on the mountain is that the local Sasquatch population doesn't like this forest any more than most humans do, but it's the wolves that I'm worried about.
A few locals have had close encounters, ultimately leading to the pack's discovery. Before then, it was the general belief that any wolves that had once called this area home had been wiped out like they had been in so many other parts of the country.
A month or so ago now, researchers finally found the physical evidence they needed to prove the pack is here.
It's the rumors that they aren't too shy to approach humans that has me-- and everyone else with a lick of sense that has reason to come out here-- making sure to stay armed.
Crunching sounds that were sporadic and distant before are on the move and headed my way.
My hand goes for the firearm propped against a nearby tree. I silently will the wood to catch in the fire.
Then a figure breaks through the trees into my minimalist camp and I can't believe what I'm looking at.
A woman stumbles forward. Her eyes widening as she takes in the rifle aimed directly at her, and the rough old bastard behind it.
"Thank God."
The words come from a ragged voice that sounds like its being forced through a dry throat, but she doesn't say anythingelse. She doesn't take another step toward me as I lower the rifle. She just collapses on the ground.
Chapter Two
Honey
Unfamiliar sounds slowly reach through the sweet relief of sleep deeper than I've had in weeks. Crackling noises. Footsteps that sound carefully placed, like they're trying to be quiet.
That's what pulls me into consciousness long before I'm ready to greet it. The sound of another human nearby.
Then the unfamiliar feeling of being wrapped in a comforting cocoon, swinging lightly like I'm in a cradle that's being rocked. A soft creak with each gentle sway. And I'm warm. So deliciously warm.
Slowly, I open my eyes and look around without moving.
It's well after dark. A few stars peek through the trees above me, but I'm still in the dense forest, the treetops hiding the open sky. Ropes extend over my head and near my feet, securing me between trees and above the ground. Hence the swinging.
Confusion tangles in my weary brain at what I'm seeing. Being tied to trees doesn't go with the secure, comfortable feeling I'm wrapped up in.
Waking up a little more, I move my head, test my arms and legs. The brush of nylon against my face feels unfamiliar, but the warm blanket covering me is soft.
It takes a fair bit of brain power before I realize I'm in a hammock.
A small campfire blazes a soft orange nearby. I hear wood crack and pop and watch sparks explode in the smoke rising from the flames.
The sound of the coals being stirred reminds me that I'm not alone. With a cautious move, I lift one hand and pull the side of the hammock down so I can peer over the edge of the fabric.
He's beautiful.
It takes conscious effort not to gasp aloud when I see the man tending the fire.
