I lifted the chainsaw and got back to work.
The fallen oak was a big one. It probably came down in last week’s storm along with half the trees in the county. I’d already limbed it, cutting away the smaller branches and tossing them to the side of the trail where they’d decompose back into the forest floor.
Now I worked on bucking the main trunk, cutting it into sections small enough for hikers to have a clear path down the trail.
The saw bit into the wood, sending up a spray of sawdust that stuck to my hair and settled in my beard. I braced my legs, keeping my weight balanced as the blade worked through the dense heartwood.
The trick was letting the saw do the work, not forcing it, just guiding it steady and true while the chain teeth chewed through fiber and grain.
It was easy to get a chainsaw blade trapped if you didn’t know what you were doing. And once the wood had a grip on it, it never wanted to let go.
But I worked with the skilled confidence of someone who’d grown up with a chainsaw in their hands. My dad had believed in treating us like small adults instead of children growing up. Which meant I knew how to do everythingheknew how to do.
My mind wandered back to the curvy tourist while my hands stayed busy.
I wonder if she’s a natural redhead?
Yep, I decided as I finished the cut and repositioned for the next.Has to be.
The thought led to other thoughts, the kind I had no business entertaining about a woman I’d exchanged less than twenty words with.
Would she have freckles on her shoulders too? Across her chest? What about down her soft stomach to where those leggings hugged her hips?
My cock gave a hearty attempt to get me to go find out. But I just focused on the cut.
A woman like that wouldn’t have time for me. And even if she did, what would that accomplish?
I’d learned a long time ago that one-night stands didn’t satisfy me.
Sure, there was some pleasure involved, but it was fleeting. And inevitably, whoever I bedded would start to hope for ‘something more’.
The only ‘something more’ in my life was my business with my best friend, Boone. That kept me busy enough.
The second section fell away, and I killed the saw to roll the log off the trail.
My shoulders burned with the effort, but it was a good burn, the kind that reminded me I was alive and capable and didn’t need anything more than this.
The mountain was my life, my home,andmy business.
And I was so attuned to it that I could sense the rain coming before it fell. I had another hour or so to get some cutting in.
I packed up my gear and headed for the side trail I’d marked earlier, where another downed tree was blocking the path to the old trapper’s cabin. This one was smaller, a young maple that had snapped in the wind, and it only took me twenty minutes to clear.
By the time I finished, the light had changed.
The shadows had grown long and purple, stretching across the forest floor. The wind had picked up too, carrying that particular scent of moisture and ozone that meant rain was almost here.
I’d been so lost in my work and my thoughts about a certain redhead that I’d lost track of time.
Shit.
Tucker would be locking the gate soon, but I still had time to get there if I hurried. Otherwise I’d have to hop the fence and call a buddy to come give me a ride home.
I started up the trail at a quick pace, my boots finding the familiar footholds without conscious thought.
The birds had gone silent, and the small forest critters had retreated into their dens. A storm wasdefinitelyrolling in.
Mist, which had been lightly gathering in the air, came down faster now, and the first raindrops of the night landed on me at random intervals.
