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I bring the blade down to the fallen tree and guide it through the lumber, lost in a simple world where hard work equals good pay. When Owen and I built up our logging company, we knew we didn’t want to clear-cut, leaving ugly scars of splintered stumps through the forest.
When our great-grandfathers worked this land, they did so carefully. Then, somewhere along the way, greed became more important than giving a crap about the next generations. I’m not against making a living. We all want nice things, and who knows, maybe one day I’ll have a little boy of my own to pass some of those things on to. But money and fancy toys don’t mean shit if you’ve destroyed the very world those kids need to grow up in.
From the corner of my eye, I see something bright yellow. I ignore the flurry of color closing in on me and let the chain eat through another length of wood. A thick spray of dust and woodchips spew up from the blade in a beige arc and splat against a woman in a canary-colored coat.
Shit.
This must be the lady renting the cabin. From the way her full, red lips twist down and her eyebrows knit together under her bright blue glasses, I can see she’s not too impressed. She starts waving her hands and shouting something, but I can’t hear her over the noise.
I immediately cut the engine. “What’s that?”
Suddenly it’s like someone turned off the mute button on a television. Her voice is shrill and angry.
“I said that this noise isn’t acceptable,” she sputters and frantically brushes the wood chips from her coat. “When I rented your cabin up there, I was promised a calm, quiet escape. This noise is impossible to work with. I mean, how am I supposed to write when you’re making so much racket?”
I shoot Owen a pointed look, but he doesn’t catch it. He’s still slicing through his end of the tree. This is exactly why I didn’t want to turn our other cabin into a rental. The last thing I need is uptight city folks out here expecting life to be some magical movie moment. Like, just because they decided to hole up in a cottage for a week or two now all of a sudden they can feed wild animals out of their palms while birds sing along with them.
“Writer, huh?” I don’t hide that I’m sizing her up. I let her stand there uncomfortably pouting as I slowly study her. She’s cute but fiery. I like that. The way her red hair is lying perfectly around her pretty face, the way her ridiculously blue glasses frame her brown eyes, the way her lips are painted a pop of red that I’d normally think means she wants to get fucked like a little slut in a dingy bar bathroom, but on her it somehow looks as classy as it does sexy.
“Yes, that’s right,” she huffs.
“What kind of books?” My eyes edge down, soaking in the way her coat clings to her breakneck curves. Her tits are so round, the expensive fabric of her too-fancy coat is barely being held together by her big wood buttons. My gaze slides further down, shamelessly sliding over her plump bubble butt peeking out from under the edge of her jacket. I can’t help but lick my lips.
“I write romances. Mostly about Christmas. And couples who meet at cabins, and, well that’s why I rented this place. I guess I needed some inspiration.” She deflates a bit. “I have a deadline that I have to meet or my editor is going to kill me.”
I run my free hand over my beard, trying to hide my smirk. “Romance, is that so? Are you writing that cheesy stuff my mother used to read with Fabio on all the covers? Or are you writing that porny stuff like that Fifty Shades shit?” My eyes narrow and I imagine her sprawled out across my bed with her hands tied to the headboard with a blindfold on. I don’t know much about those books, but I know they get women more horned up than if they got drunk on champagne and watched an entire marathon of Magic Mike movies eating nothing but green M&Ms.
She blushes and looks down at her furry boots. My smile grows wider as her cheeks grow redder. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”
“Oh, so you are writing the good stuff then.” I press her. I like watching her get so squirmy. It’s easy to push her buttons. I like giving Owen a hard time too, it passes the day, but what can I say? When he gets all flustered, it just doesn’t do anything for me.
“I will have you know that I have written twenty-two novels and they are wholesome and sweet, unlike you. I have never written a sex scene let alone porn.” She meets my eyes and I can see the flames growing behind hers. Looks like I hit a nerve.
