Page 7 of Eco-Activist's Mountain Men
"Look, where am I, and who the fuck are you?" I blurt out, desperate to anchor myself to something real.
And then it hits me—the hike, the banner, the storm. The walkway collapsing. The pain. The wolf staring at me as everything went black.
"All coming back to you now, is it?" His grin widens.
"Yeah. I fell. I remember that much."
He gives me a half-mocking, half-playful round of applause.
"Got it in one. You fell out of our walkway while you were hanging a banner calling us a bunch of bastards. We found it this morning. Don’t worry—it’s safe. You’ll get it back once it dries out. Must’ve cost a fortune to print something that big. Anyway, let me answer your questions in order.
"Where are you? You’re in the logging camp owned by McKenzie Forestry Services, just up the track from where you fell.
"Who am I? I’m Toby James, at your service." He grins again, boyish and infuriating.
"I’m what they call the Equipment Operator here. I handle all the machinery except the chainsaws. I do the lifting, hauling, baling, binding, transportation—all the heavy work.
"Luke’s the chainsaw guy. Head Feller. Man’s a genius with a saw. You should see him in action, it's like watching ballet.
"My older brother Jack runs the crew. He’s in charge, which apparently means he earns more than the rest of us, though none of us is sure what he actually does.
"Then there’s Eric. He joined us at the start of the season from Oregon State. Research scientist. He’s studying genetic diversity. Not officially one of us, but he’s a good guy. You’ll like him.
"And that’s the team. Four of us. Five if you count Southpaw. He's a wolf that's taken a shine to our illustrious company. He comes and goes as he pleases, and we share a slice of bacon or two with him every now and then.
"Now, your last question. How did you get here?" He leans in conspiratorially, as if this is the punchline to a particularly good joke.
I nod, though honestly, I can barely keep track. Jesus, this guy loves the sound of his own voice. Still… he’s dreamy. Reminds me of Kellan Lutz in his tight-fitting T-shirt, loose combat pants, and with a swaggering self-confidence that borders upon arrogance. This guy's way hotter than any of the pasty-faced boys in the activist scene. Shit, I always knew I was contrary. Even fancying the wrong guys proves it.
"Okay, simple. Southpaw saw you fall and fetched Luke—Luke’s our resident giant, you’ll meet him again soon. He carried you back here, stripped off your wet clothes—which, incidentally, are over there, clean and dry." He nods toward a table. "And then he wrapped your ankle and wrist. After that, he went back to his first love, which is chainsaws.
"So yeah, you owe Southpaw your life. If he hadn’t spotted you and led Luke to you, you’d have been dead in that storm. Best way to thank him? Toss him a strip of bacon. Pretty sure that’s wolf language for "Thank you for saving me."
"What? What are you even talking about?"
He laughs, but kindly, like he’s letting me in on the joke instead of making me the joke.
"Brain a little scrambled? Understandable. Here, let me sum it up. Ready?" He doesn’t wait for an answer.
"You fell off our walkway while hanging a banner, yeah?"
"Uh… yeah."
"And you blacked out, yeah?"
"Yeah, I remember. I was in a lot of pain because of my—ow!" Up to now, I haven’t moved. First, I woke up. Then, I froze when I saw a wolf sharing my bed. Then this maddeningly gorgeous man strolled in and leaned on the doorframe like he owned the place. Between all that, I hadn’t exactly worked up the courage to move. I’m not even sure what I’m wearing. I had clothes on last night when I fell, but those would’ve been soaked through. I don’t feel wet now. Which means… someone undressed me. Someone touched me. Someone saw me. My stomach flips as I realize that, and I stare at him, trying desperately to catch up with everything this hunk has been rattling off.
He carried you back here, stripped off your wet clothes. What the fuck?
The thought skitters through my still-foggy brain as I try lifting my left arm—the one I hurt when I fell. A sharp yelp bursts out of me.
"Damn, that hurts."
Toby winces in sympathy.
"Yeah, Luke says it’s not broken, but it’s gonna hurt. Same with your ankle. You must’ve landed badly, twisted your right ankle, and then tried to catch yourself with your left hand. One busted ankle, one busted wrist."
He shrugs. "Could be worse. At least you can still text and hobble around. You’re right-handed, yeah?"
