After three attempts to start it, the chain saw finally sputters to life on the fourth pull.
Everyone cheers.
“I was afraid I was gonna have to go in there and help him,” Ron mutters.
My face flares so hot that it feels like my skin’s about to burn off. Right now Pane Maddox is an extension of me. If he fails, I’ll never live this down.
“Maybe your bad luck’s turning, Rowe,” Clarice says brightly. “Let me know when he gets in your pants.”
I. Just. Want. To. Die.
One good thing: Pane’s positioned himself correctly. Thank God for that. I hold my breath, praying he doesn’t sever an artery.
He approaches the first log and immediately lowers the saw. It cuts the wood, but once it’s through, the saw kicks back.
I gasp as the bar, whirling teeth attached, jumps up, aiming straight for Pane’s face. Just before the saw pierces his helmet, the chain brake activates and the engine dies.
I exhale. Oh, that was so close. Thank goodness for the chain brake. Otherwise, Pane would’ve sawed into that arrogant head of his.
After two tries, he gets the engine started again.
“This is more interesting than being at work,” Ron yells over the sound of the motor. “You may have to get in there and help him, Rowe.”
“Nope,” I say tensely. “He’s doing just fine.”
Cristina’s face scrunches in disbelief. “‘Just fine’? He almost decapitated himself.”
“Nah, it’s got a safety,” Clarice informs her. “He’s doing good for a Yankee.”
Cristina and I exchange a look. Technically, her parents are Yankees, and she didn’t move to the South until she was ten. She still doesn’t have much of an accent, but my friend has lived in town long enough that no one calls her a Yankee anymore.
At least not to her face.
“He’s going in for the second cut,” Ron announces.
Pane lowers the bar to the log, but he makes a mistake with his technique and I cringe, anticipating what happens next. The saw glides through the wood, but it stops halfway when the log pinches around the bar. Pane keeps the chain going, but it doesn’t move.
He stops the chain saw and yanks the machine until it finally breaks free from the cedar.
“He’s gonna keep having that problem,” Clarice murmurs.
Pane gets the saw going again, but I can see the frustration on his face. My heart pings. I know how hard this is, and I also know how much is riding on his success.
Worse, a quick glance at Coleman Barrier, who’s standing on the other side of the yard, tells me that he’s enjoying this. He doesn’t bother hiding the smirk plastered across his smug face.
The only thing that would make this situation nastier was if Sally Ray and Luke were here. One glance around the crowd tells me they’re not.
Oops. I spoke too soon.
Luke enters the crowd. His eyes flick toward me, and my gaze darts away before he can see me looking at him.
The anticipation in the air is thick. Folks won’t leave until Pane either succeeds or fails miserably, and no one will help him. They’re too curious about the rich man doing everyday work. They want to see where this goes. Worse, from the looks on some of the people’s faces, it appears they want him to fail.
That’s just wrong.
I cross my fingers again, hoping Pane will succeed this time. Once the saw starts, he begins cutting, but the log, which is sitting on top of another one, shifts and closes in on the bar. The saw is pinched, and Pane kills the motor. But instead of pulling up, he wiggles the saw from side to side, bending the bar too far to the righ—
Snap.
There’s a collective exhale among the crowd.
Oh, crap.
Pane just broke the chain saw.
