Page 21 of Eco-Activist's Mountain Men
Back in college, I didn’t have time for girls—I was too busy on the football field, in the weight room, chasing down records. Then came the Army. Rangers, deployments, firefights. After discharge, I came straight here, answering a call from an old military buddy who put me in touch with his father’s company. And I never looked back.
Always work. Always men. Always hard edges and sharp steel.
But a man can only live in that world for so long before realizing something’s missing.
I need someone soft to balance all this hard. Someone to bring color and lightness into the gray, grease-stained, diesel-soaked grind. Someone to come home to at night, not just a bunk in a cold room.
And when I look at Luna… that’s what I see.
A sweet, stubborn, beautiful woman. Someone who makes the whole place brighter just by existing. Someone who could make any man feel like life was worth living. I picture her sunny smile greeting me after a long day. I picture her voice fillingthese silent halls. I picture myself building something real with her—something lasting.
A home. A family. A future.
And then I ask myself the question I’ve avoided all these years:
Have I left it too late?
"Hey, boss."
I look up as Luke comes into the office and drops into a chair like a boulder hitting the ground.
"Hey, Luke, everything okay?"
"Yeah, I think so. We’re clear now on the main track down as far as Creek Bend. It'll take Toby and me another two or three days to reach our boundary, and then we won’t be trapped anymore. Well, not in theory, at least. But God knows whether the highway down there’s been cleared yet."
"Hmm… okay. This disruption’s set us back at least a week, dammit." I sigh. "But alright, you’re right, it has to be done. Carry on. Just try to get back up to the West Ridge stand to finish off the limbing and loading as soon as you can, alright?"
"Sure thing, boss. You know that’s what I’d prefer to be doing anyway, boss, right?"
I sigh again. "Yeah, course you would. I know. I’m not having a go at you, big fella. I’m grateful for all your hard work, truly I am. I just… I just wish this damned storm hadn’t happened, is all."
Luke shifts in his chair, uncomfortable. He looks like he wants to say something, but doesn’t know how.
"What is it, Luke? You obviously want to say something. Come on, out with it. We go back a long way—you know you can say whatever you want to me."
He clears his throat, picks up a pencil, twists it between his fingers, and sets it back on the desk. Clears his throat again.
"Well, boss, it’s like this. I ain’t seen you smile in three days. Not once. And that’s not like you. No, hear me out, boss," he adds, as I open my mouth to speak. "One of the reasons I’ve always liked working under you—one of the reasons I’ve stayed out here all this time—is because of you. Most bosses are assholes. Sorry, but that’s how it is. They don’t know their ass from their elbow. Give ’em two pieces of equipment and they couldn’t tell you which one’s the pike pole and which one’s the hoedad, and they sure as hell couldn’t tell you what either one’s for."
I nod. It’s true. Too many managers these days don’t have a real forestry background anymore. They didn’t come up the hard way, learning from the ground up.
"But what I really like about you—liked about you, anyway—is your positive attitude. No shouting, no bullying, no bitching, no whining. I can’t stand whiners, not at any price."
I raise my eyes to him, surprised at the compliment—if that’s what it is. I hadn’t realized my style mattered to him. A guy with his track record could work anywhere he wanted. I’d always vaguely wondered why he stayed, always vaguely pleased when he turned back up each spring, ready for another season. He’s the hardest worker I know. Skilled too. Built like two oxen strapped together, often able to do the work of three men and half a machine. That’s a hell of a bonus.
"So, boss, I can’t just sit here and watch you suffer like this. You have to get your mind straight. She ain’t the one for you. I’m telling you. She’s a wealthy brat princess, playing eco-activist because she’s bored and it amuses her. She’s dangerous. Shealmost killed herself. Look at how she’s got both Toby and Eric running around after her. Can’t you see it? Can’t you see how she’s tearing us apart?"
Silence stretches between us. My heart pounds, muscles tense. How dare he come in here lecturing me like this? I’ve half a mind to put him in his place…
But then I meet his eyes. All I see there is friendship. Love, even. Respect. I can tell how hard it was for him to say this. The tension drains out of me. I slump back in my chair.
I sigh, pull open the bottom drawer—the one with the bourbon bottle. Burnside Goose Hollow Reserve, small-batch Portland distill, aged in oak casks for forty-five days. Kept for special occasions. Well, hell, this feels like one. I pull out two tumblers, pour generous measures, push one toward Luke, and keep the other. We touch glasses.
I swirl the amber liquid, breathe in the rich caramel-fruit scent, then take a long swallow. I don’t sip bourbon. I chug it. The oaky burn scorches down my throat, and it feels damn good. Luke does the same. I pour us seconds, stopper the bottle, slide it back into the drawer.
"Okay," I say at last. "You’re a good friend. My best friend, actually. Pretty much my only friend, come to think of it. If I can’t tell you the truth, then what’s the point?"
He nods, stays silent, letting me speak.
