Page 4 of Caught By the Lumberjack

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out to see Grant McAllister's name on the screen.

"What?" I answered, eloquent as always.

"Well hello to you too, sunshine," Grant's amused voice came through the speaker. As Ashwood's most respected smokejumper, Grant maintained an irritating level of cheerfulness even in crisis.

"Sorry," I sighed, dropping into my desk chair. "Rough day."

"Word travels fast around here. Heard you had to wrestle some protester off your property this morning."

I groaned. "News already made it to the firehouse?"

"Are you kidding? Dan was driving by and saw you carrying a woman in tie-dye away from a tree. By lunchtime, half of Ashwood knew about it. So..." I could hear the smile in his voice. "How was your date with Mother Nature?"

"Hilarious. She chained herself to a ponderosa we're scheduled to harvest tomorrow. Had to cut her loose."

"Dan said she was cute."

I hesitated a beat too long before answering. "Wouldn't know. I was too busy trying to keep her from sabotaging a $30,000 day's work."

"Uh-huh," Grant replied, unconvinced. "So this wouldn't be the same woman Peyton and I saw handing out flyers outside the general store an hour ago? Petite, sandy-colored curly hair, looks like she walked straight out of Woodstock?"

My stomach clenched. "She's still in town?"

"Very much so. Seemed quite passionate about saving trees from, and I quote, 'the corporate guillotine of Ridgeway Logging.'"

"Jesus Christ," I muttered. "She's going to be a problem."

"Only if you let her get to you," Grant said. "Though judging by your tone, she already has."

"She hasn'tgotten to me," I growled. "She's just a nuisance."

"Sure, sure. Hey, want to grab a beer at the Skyline over in Hope Peak tonight? Mack and Ian will be there."

"Can't. Got to go over numbers for tomorrow's harvest. Need to make sure we hit the ground running after today's delay."

"All work and no play, Vaughn."

"Some of us have businesses to run," I replied, but without heat. Grant was a good friend, one of the few people in Ashwood who didn't treat me like my father's disappointing replacement.

After ending the call, I tried to focus on the spreadsheets before me, but my mind kept drifting back to Clementine andher ridiculous painted van. If she was handing out flyers in town, she was likely trying to drum up local opposition to the harvest. The last thing I needed was community pushback when margins were already razor-thin.

I'd have to deal with this myself. Now.

Twenty minutes later, I pulled my truck into a parking space outside Sue's Place. Sure enough, through the large front window, I could see a flash of tie-dye moving among the tables.

The bell above the door jingled as I entered. Susie Wheeler, the diner's owner, gave me a knowing look from behind the counter.

"Afternoon, Vaughn," she called. "Coffee?"

"No thanks, Susie," I replied, my eyes already locked on the colorful figure weaving between tables, distributing what looked like homemade flyers.

Clementine hadn't noticed me yet. She wore the same flower-embroidered leggings from this morning, paired now with an oversized violet sweater that slipped off one shoulder. Her tawny hair was gathered in a messy bun on top of her head, little tendrils escaping to frame her face. She smiled and chatted animatedly with the locals, most of whom were regarding her with the polite bemusement Ashwood typically reserved for tourists.

I'd like to say my approach was strategic, but honestly, I just strode directly toward her like a heat-seeking missile. She turned, mid-sentence, to old Calvin Parker, and froze when she saw me. Her eyes widened briefly before narrowing in recognition.

"Well, if it isn't Mr. Chainsaw himself," she said, her voice carrying in the suddenly quiet diner. "Come to arrest me for exercising my First Amendment rights?"

Calvin, a retired firefighter who now worked for Harriet Lindstrom's orchard, looked between us with undisguised curiosity before discreetly retreating to his booth.

---