Page 10 of Resisting the Lumberjack

"I'm never late." Standing, taking the empty jar, heading for the door. He turns back from the threshold, sunlight behind him turning the curls golden. "Selene?"

"What."

"Thanks for the bandage."

Hat tip. Gone. October wind swallowing him up like it was waiting for him.

My hand is still tingling. I press both palms flat on the counter to ground myself. The orange cat opens one eye. Maximum judgment. Fully deserved.

Chapter Five

Kidd

She shows up at 12:01 wearing boots that have never seen mud, a jacket too thin for the mountains, and an expression that says she's already regretting this.

Done for. Completely done for. Something in my chest locked into place the second she said Saturday, a bolt sliding home, and it hasn't shifted since.

"You're late."

"It's one minute past noon."

"Ranch time, that's late." Passenger door opened. She climbs in without arguing. New. A week ago she would've stood in her driveway and debated the principle of accepting rides from sandwich thieves. Progress measured in surrendered arguments.

The cab smells like pine pitch, coffee, and the cedar shavings permanently embedded in my floor mats. I cleaned the seat this morning. Vacuumed the carpet. Threw out seven coffee cups and a sawdust pile that was becoming sentient. Diego caught me doing it and grinned so hard I nearly threw a feed bag at him.

She breathes it in. Quick, like she's trying to hide it. Pine and cedar and motor oil. Not a bad combination, on the right day, in the right company.

"How long have you worked here?"

"Four years. Started as a hand right out of... well, right out of a couple years of knocking around doing nothing useful. Dropped out of community college, did odd jobs, ran timber for a logging outfit near Bend that treated its crew like rented equipment. Showed up here with a duffle bag and a bad attitude." Four-wheel engaged as the road gets rough, ruts from the timber trucks chewing the gravel into mud. "Gabe took one look at me and said, 'You any good with a saw?' I said, 'Better than anyone you've got.' He said, 'Prove it.' So I did."

"And the foreman job?"

"Two years ago. Previous foreman retired, and Gabe needed somebody who could handle both sides. Ranch operations and timber. Most guys do one or the other. I told him I'd do both." A log in the road, go around it. The truck tilts and her hand grabs the door handle. Steady. "Youngest foreman in the ranch's history. Nobody let me forget that for a while."

"Bev told me."

"Bev tells everyone."

"She also said you're the hardest worker on the ranch."

That one lands warm. Warmer than it should. A glance at her. She's looking out the window at the pines going by, but something soft sits at the corner of her mouth that she hasn't noticed enough to kill yet.

"Bev's biased. I bring her cookies."

The last hill crests and the meadow opens up below.

Even after four years, it catches in my throat. The east ridge stretching out, pumpkin field blazing orange against dark timber, mountains stacked in layers of blue and purple and gold behind everything. Anna's fairy lights strung through the fence posts catching sun and throwing tiny diamonds into the grass. My stage frame at the far end, cedar posts and crossbeams waiting for decking, looking like the skeleton of something beautiful.

Selene goes still. Her hand drops from the door handle. Her breath catches.

"Oh." Just that. One syllable carrying the weight of someone seeing something that breaks through the insulation they've been wrapping around themselves for months.

"Yeah." My voice quieter than I planned. "Every time."

Down in the field, I show her everything. Booth frames milled from last month's timber. Cedar planks I hand-selected from the best logs, straight grain, no knots, sanded smooth enough to run your palm across without catching. The bonfire ring Hunter built at the field's edge, stone and iron, massive, big enough to throw heat across the whole clearing on a cold November night.

Hay bale seating in concentric rings around the fire pit. Carving station with two dozen pumpkins lined up on a table I built yesterday. Cider press. Sound system mounts on the stage frame. Everything rough and real and built to last.