Page 48 of Liberated By the Logger

Of course, they offered me a job. I haven’t verbally agreed to anything yet, but I’ve already decided on saying yes—I just need to ask when I start.

When the group settles, Brose turns to me and continues his speech. “I’m proud of you, darlin’. Few people impress me, but you amaze me daily. And I’m so damn fortunate to have found you.”

My eyes water and my throat thickens with emotion. “Brose…”

Before I can say another word, Brose drops to one knee beside me and holds a gold ring with a solitaire diamond in front of me.

Caught completely off guard, my mouth drops open.

“Aspen…” Brose clears his throat before continuing. “I’ve waited a long time to propose to you, purchased this ring the day after you moved in and hid it in the bottom of my dresser drawer for this moment. I would’ve done it immediately, but I wouldn’t distract you from your passion. Now that you’ve graduated, I can’t wait a second longer. Aspen, darlin’, will you make me the happiest man on this mountain and be my wife?”

My answer is immediate. “Yes! Hell yes.” I grab him by his beard covered cheeks and plant a wet one on his lips.

Brose smiles against my lips, kissing me back. He’s barely slid the ring on my finger before everyone descends on us with hugs and congratulations. I can’t stop crying happy tears and Brose’s face is stretched into a permanent smile.

My mom is buzzing with excitement. “Should we plan a wedding for next spring?”

I lean into Brose while I answer. “I was thinking fall.”

My mom taps her chin, wedding ideas already flitting through her mind. “Next fall? That sounds perfect.”

I shake my head before I look up at Brose. “No, not next fall. This fall. On the anniversary of the day we met, where we met.”

Brose smiles victoriously. “A mountain wedding—now that sounds perfect.”

And the rugged Mountain Logger and his nerdy Forest Scientist lived Happily Ever After.

EPILOGUE

HOLDEN

The hike up the mountain to where O’Mara Timber is working is enjoyable for a fall day. The sun is shining and the mountain breeze is fragrant with a hint of snow in the air. Clusters of golden yellow leaves from the birch tree forest and soft forest greens from the surrounding pines and aspens make a patchwork quilt of color along the rocky terrain. And the birds are chirping their merry songs.

All is calm until Ambrose’s voice hollers across the mountain, scaring the birds enough to take flight.

“Goddamnit, Gary! Get off my mountain!”

With a sigh, I come to the clearing where the loggers have been working on felling the dead, dying, and overcrowded trees to allow for new growth on the grounds. I’m not surprised to see Rocky Mountains National Park’s infamous yurt squatter causing havoc with the park’s contracted logging company. Gary has been a bit of a pest over the last year, specifically having a beef with the first-line logging superintendent and co-owner of O’Mara Timber.

Ambrose towers over the scrawny tree hugger with his bolt cutters in his hand. The only reason the logger hasn’t cut Gary loose already is to stop him from running off, allowing me to take Gary into the police station to press charges. As a park ranger, I’m often tasked with having to arrest unruly visitors. Gary is one of my regular problem children, so to speak.

The tree hugger glowers up at the logger from where he’s chained himself to a marked tree for felling, one infested with Mountain Pine Beatles from the looks of it. He sneers at Ambrose. “You don’t scare me, lumberjack.”

The giant logger ducks his face to look eye level with the nature activist. “Be glad I don’t have my axe on me, boy.”

“You may have taken my woman, married her, and knocked her up, but this…” Gary pauses, running his hand affectionately along the crumbling pine bark trunk, “…this you cannot have. She’s mine and she deserves to remain here on this mountain with me. I will not let you kill her.”

“How many times do I need to explain this to you? She,” Ambrose quickly corrects himself, “IT is already dying, Gary. Mountain Pine Beatles. If you love trees so damn much, perhaps you should get yourself an education in natural science to find a cure to stop the little buggers instead of fucking with my logging operation all the time.”

You can see the moment the light bulb in Gary’s weed-riddled brain illuminates. His eyes get all big and his mouth goes slack in the “Eureka!” moment. “Hey. That’s not a bad idea.”

Ambrose turns to me, thumbing toward my suspect. “Genius this one.”

Shaking my head, I take out my cuffs from inside my coat. “Cut him loose.”

Making quick work of cutting the lock and removing the chains, Ambrose holds Gary by the biceps while addressing me. “Do I get to throw him off my work site?”

“No,” I say with a smirk, locking the cuffs on Gary’s wrists. “But I’ll take him into custody. That should buy you a few days before he’s let out of jail.”