Page 5 of Caught By the Lumberjack

"I don't have the authority to arrest anyone," I replied evenly. "Though I'm sure Ashwood’s Chief of Police, Ian Thornton, would be happy to hear about your trespassing this morning."

She crossed her arms over her chest, tilting her chin up defiantly. "Public information campaigns aren't illegal."

I plucked one of her flyers from a nearby table. The hand-drawn image showed a crying tree being cut down by a faceless man with a chainsaw. "STOP RIDGEWAY LOGGING FROM DESTROYING FIRE MOUNTAIN'S ANCIENT FOREST!" the headline screamed in red letters.

"Interesting definition of 'information,'" I said, holding up the flyer. "This is defamation."

"It's the truth," she countered, stepping closer. "Your company is planning to cut down trees that have been growing since before America was even a country."

Every eye in the diner was on us now. Sue had stopped wiping down the counter. Greg Summers, the town mechanic, was openly staring, his fork suspended halfway to his mouth.

"My company," I said, keeping my voice low but intense, "practices sustainable forestry that keeps fifteen local families fed. We selectively harvest and replant twice what we take. We maintain habitats for wildlife and protect watersheds."

"Oh please." She rolled her eyes, but uncertainty flickered across her face. "Next you'll tell me you personally tuck baby deer into bed at night."

Despite my frustration, I nearly smiled at the absurd image. "Look, Miss Fox—"

"Clementine."

"Fine. Clementine. You've clearly come to Ashwood with some pre-conceived notions about my business based on...what? Some internet research? A documentary you watched while high in your van?"

Her cheeks flushed, and I knew I'd hit a nerve. "I've been studying forest conservation for years. I know what commercial logging does to ecosystems."

"You know whatirresponsiblelogging does," I corrected. "Ridgeway isn't that kind of operation. Never has been, never will be."

She stepped even closer, close enough that I could see the gold flecks in her hazel eyes, close enough that I caught that scent again—maybe sage or cedar?

"Prove it," she challenged.

"Excuse me?"

"Prove you're as eco-friendly as you claim. Show me your operation, your replanting efforts, your selective harvesting techniques."

I blinked, thrown off-balance by her unexpected request. "You want a tour of my logging operation?"

"I want evidence that you're not just another greenwashing corporate destroyer hiding behind PR buzzwords."

The diner remained silent, the collective gaze of half of Ashwood burning into us. I was acutely aware of how this exchange would be recounted in shops and living rooms across town by nightfall.

"Fine," I said, surprising both of us. "Tomorrow. 8 AM. I'll show you exactly how Ridgeway operates."

She narrowed her eyes, clearly suspicious of my easy capitulation. "Really?"

"Really. Meet me at the access road where I found you this morning. Wear boots, not..." I gestured vaguely at her sandals. "Whatever those are."

"They're Birkenstocks, and they've carried me through protests across three states."

"Good for them. Wear boots anyway. It's a working forest, not a hippie commune."

The corner of her mouth twitched, almost like she was suppressing a smile. "I'll be there. With boots. And a camera to document everything."

"Fine by me. Nothing to hide." I turned to leave, then paused, facing her again. "And stop distributing these." I waved the flyer. "At least until after tomorrow. If you still think we're evil forest destroyers after seeing our operation, then..." I shrugged. "Do what you want."

She regarded me for a long moment, then nodded, a single decisive dip of her dimpled chin. "Deal. But if I find a single unethical practice—"

"You won't," I interrupted. "But on the extremely remote chance you do, I'll personally help you chain yourself to whatever tree you want."

That earned me a genuine smile, brief but dazzling. Something warm and unexpected unfurled in my chest at the sight.

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