“I don’t like you going out there alone, honey,” Mom had complained the day before when I’d dropped Millie, my Australian shepherd, off for free doggy daycare with Gramma. “Even your father goes out with a crew because it’s dangerous,” she’d added, knowing I wasn’t going to take her advice because I was a pain in the ass.
I stepped out the door of the car and stood in the silence that blanketed everything for miles in all directions. The air was crisp for late May, and the smell of pine, hemlock, and cedar assaulted my senses. The scent was as strong as the recently purchased deodorizing tree shape I’d hung in the old Subaru. The previous eighty-year-old owner had had six dogs, and I was convinced he’d raised them in the car. He had done a great job Fabreezing the shit out of the cloth interior because I didn’t begin to get the real nasal assault for a few days after the bill of sale was handed to me.
At an elevation of nearly forty-eight hundred feet, and with it still being spring in late May, the cool air was also a surprise along with the disturbing quiet of my surroundings. “My favorite weather guy said there’s a chance of spring snowfall at elevations over three thousand feet this weekend,” Mom had also stated, adding to her laundry list of reasons for me to not go overnight into the forest alone.
In typical fashion, I waved her off and even ignored the weather app on my cell phone, which now showed zero bars of coverage. Cell service had been lost once I got out of civilization about fifty miles back in the small town of Arlington. I’d stopped at one of my fave roadside drive-ins in the tiny town for one of their famous blackberry milkshakes. It was there while sitting at an abandoned picnic table that I noticed I had one bar left.
The lack of cell service didn’t matter to me. I had no one to text or send sweet messages to anymore. He’d died a year ago, and I was three days away from the first anniversary of that awful day. Another reason Mom didn’t want me disappearing into the woods: to hide from the pain, something I’d been doing ever since the dreadful call. In fact, I’d stopped answering the phone these days. I wished I’d ignored it a year ago as well.
CHAPTER TWO: Dirk
After the third trip up the trail to the tower and back, I was exhausted and still had one more to go. The exhaustion wasn’t just from the nearly four-mile trail I had to follow while carrying loads of provisions and equipment, there were also a hundred and eleven wooden steps to the top of the tower where a twenty-by-twenty cabin sat high above the forty-to-fifty-foot trees of the forest. I wasn’t a math guy, but those were a lot of measurements and distances in my mind, and even though I was quite fit, the chore was a test for me.
All that was left back at the truck were some personal clothes and enough lube to keep me busy jacking off for the next few months before my replacement would show up when we rotated the three month schedule. A satellite link for communication that provided internet for my computers and personal iPad would be my company as I kept a trained eye out for smoke or any indication of a devastating fire. I wasn’t too concerned this early on in the year because it had been a wet spring with even a late-season snowstorm in the forecast for any day now. The storm was my biggest concern in regards to getting completely packed in for the ninety-day shift.
The slam of a car door startled me as I approached the parking clearing, just twenty yards ahead of me. I’d received no heads-up about a supervisor’s visit or surprise survey party, so I wasn’t expecting any humans to be around. But the slamming of a vehicle’s door certainly proved someone was there. Last time I checked, the native black and brown bears weren’t driving automobiles, and the mountain lions in these parts were lethally quiet.
When I made the clearance I saw the front of an old beat-up Subaru. I thought it had been a reddish brown at one time. One of the passenger side doors was blue, so obviously a junkyard visit had happened sometime in the car’s past. The rear hatch was open, and I could see a person rooting around the interior of the car. From the looks of the car, the occupant was probably some tie-dye-wearing hippy looking to escape from the grid and man’s advances in the tech world. I’d give him a quick lesson on how he couldn’t be on state land without a permit and encourage him to head south toward Oregon where his lifestyle would be more welcome.
I cleared my throat after reaching the front of the stranger’s car. The noise from the rear of the car prevented the interloper from hearing me, so I tapped on the hood loudly. “What the mother…?” the man yelled, bumping his head on the hatch as he jumped backward.
“Hey,” I said, waiting for him to follow my voice as he was rubbing the top of his head. “What are you doing here?” I asked, following the side of his car and toward where he was leaning against the rear bumper under the lifted hatch.
“What the fuck, asshole?” he hissed, pinching his mouth and still massaging his skull. “Thanks for the heads-up.”
I was angered by his outburst but his looks disarmed me. He was definitely not a hippy. An angel from heaven maybe, but certainly no tie-dye anywhere on him. He was maybe three inches shorter than me. Hard to know for sure with his hiking boots on. He had a monied look even though his car was a piece of shit. His hiking vest over a thin matching windbreaker by outdoor brand ROA was the dead giveaway. The vest was nearly a thousand bucks, and he had the matching jacket underneath. Yeah, he was money. His short, sandy-brown hair was expensively mussed and capped a stunning face with square-jawed studliness. “Please don’t unpack,” I began. “You need to turn around and go back to the highway.”
“Yeah?” he asked. “How about you fuck off and mind your own business?”
My idea that perhaps he was heaven-sent evaporated immediately. The devil had personally sent this jerk. He was amazing to look at but a total tool with an attitude to match. “Actually, this land is my business,” I declared. “And you require a permit because you’re on private state land where I’m currently in charge. Any other questions, asshole?” I added the insulting name because he’d called me the same thing first. I wasn’t much into tit-for-tat name-calling, but he needed a personality transplant stat.
“Well, is that so?” he remarked, standing and stepping toward me. I instinctively reached for my handgun I had secured to my belt. The gun was for wildlife protection, but his eyes were angry and wild enough to get me to keep a hand near the holster. “You’re in luck, buddy, because I actually have a permit to be on this land,” he bragged. “One given to me by Myles Jensen,” he added. “Ring a bell, wise ass?”
The name he’d spoken did ring a bell. A very fucking big bell. Myles Jensen was the Washington State Commissioner of Public Lands. My boss and many levels above my pay grade. “Yeah, I’ve heard of him,” I admitted reluctantly.
“I’ll tell him about your warm greeting when I get home on Monday. He’s my father.”
CHAPTER THREE: Blake
Ihated him at first sight. Tall, blond, perfect teeth, and a five-day growth of beard that every hunky, outdoor god sported in the Northwest. I’d fantasized about his breed of man for as long as I’d lived in Seattle. I was born and bred here and loved the exquisiteness of this corner of the union. This man was a part of that beauty, and I was sure he already knew he was stunning. His short-sleeved, khaki button-up was open to a bare chest that shimmered with light perspiration. A pair of ridiculously tight fitting khaki shorts barely kept his thighs and bulge encased in fabric. Fuck! He was hot.
“Still want to see the permit?” I asked, ignoring him now that I’d decided he was too hot to be a decent person. I went back to removing gear from the car. I knew his type and how they breezed through life with a lifelong pass to perfection. He wouldn’t get the satisfaction of one ounce of my drool. Besides, I hadn’t had the taste of flesh in months. I could hold out another day.
“Everyone knows Mr. Jensen is the commissioner,” he stated. “So, yeah, I’ll need to see the permit,” he added, nervously looking away for a second.
“Suit yourself, boy scout,” I muttered, reaching for my backpack. “What badge you working on?”
He shook his head in disgust at my juvenile behavior and I suddenly felt embarrassed. He was right. I was a jerk. I was mad at him for questioning me and for being there. Hell, I was mad at the entire fucking world for that matter. I wanted to walk through the woods behind me and forget about life and assholes like him, but he was intruding on my hike of misery. I hoped the permit was in the pack.
“The permit please,” he said. “Your copy will be yellow.”
“I fucking know the damn thing is yellow,” I exclaimed. “What I don’t know is where I put it.” I patted my vest pockets and rubbed my hands across my cargo shorts. “How about I show you my license and you’ll see I’m related to your boss?”
“Does your license proclaim that you’re the son of the Commissioner of Public Lands?” he quipped. “Because I’ve never seen one of those.”
“What it says is that my last name is Jensen, smart-ass.”
“Oh, yeah . . . hmmm, Jensen,” he began, frowning and nodding his head up and down as irritatingly as he could. “Yeah, sure. That’s a rare enough last name to convince me.”
