Page 10 of Eco-Activist’s Mountain Men (Mountain Men Reverse Harem #4)

Jack

T hey say it’s lonely at the top, and I have to say that I’ve never felt like that, not once in the seven or so years I’ve been in charge of this place.

Maybe that’s down to the team, or maybe it’s the work itself.

Forestry is a dangerous business—in fact, for logging workers, the mortality rate is higher than any other industry in the country, and the non-fatal injury rate isn’t much better either.

I can’t pretend we’ve never had accidents here, but in my seven years, we’ve never had a death. That’s my job: to make accidents as rare as possible. And on my watch, we’ve had an excellent track record so far.

That’s why team cohesion isn’t just some “nice to have.” It’s life or death. You need every man watching not just his own back, but everyone else’s too. Comradeship. Mutual trust. Without it, we don’t survive.

Sure, we get visitors sometimes. Take Eric, for example.

He’s a scientist from Oregon State, seconded to the Forestry Service to help with surveying, cataloging, and tagging rare and endangered species.

Each tree identified on the ground gets an electronic tag linked to GPS, so growth and survival patterns can be monitored from afar.

Eric’s fine. Smart kid, easygoing. Kind of an egghead, yeah, but he fits in. He’s one of us now.

But this Luna girl? She’s different.

It’s been three days. Just three days, but it feels like three years.

First of all, she’s a card-carrying member of the opposition. An eco-activist sent here to disrupt our work, maybe even shut us down. Kill Climate Change, that’s the group she belongs to. Stupid name. Climate’s been changing for millions of years—ain’t nothing humans can do to stop it.

And she’s out here with banners, trying to paint us as the villains for harvesting timber—timber that can be safely replanted, timber the world needs.

We’re not poisoning rivers or strip-mining mountainsides.

Hell, I’ve personally planted thousands of acres of saplings over the years.

Out of our own pockets, too—not on government subsidies.

She shows up, falls out of a tree, gets herself injured, and now we’re stuck with her. And what worries me most isn’t just that she’s here—it’s the way she’s affecting all of us.

Toby’s acting like a dog in heat, tripping over himself to impress her. Doing her favors, making her sandwiches, carrying her around like she’s royalty. He’d throw himself in front of a chainsaw if it’d make her smile.

Eric? He’s gone soft-eyed. I’ve seen him watching her when he thinks no one notices—those quiet, stolen glances. The kid’s halfway in love already.

As for Luke, he can't even stay in the same room. If she walks in, he walks out. Won’t look her in the eye, won’t talk to her. Just keeps his distance, like she’s a rattlesnake he doesn’t want to tangle with.

And then there’s me. And my dream girl. If that's what it was. If that's who she is.

Jesus. I'm the worst of us all .

She’s everywhere. Her laugh, her voice, that toss of pink hair like she doesn’t care.

The steel in her eyes when she argues, the sparkle when she smiles.

It doesn’t matter what I’m doing—strapping a log to the skidder, backing a tractor, or filling out progress reports—she’s there.

In my head. In my chest. In every damn breath.

And it’s driving me crazy.

So what is it about her that’s got me walking around like some kind of lovesick fool? I don’t know. I keep asking myself that. Is it just that I’ve been out in the wilderness too long? No dinner parties, no dates, no “right kind of women”?

But that doesn’t feel like the answer. Not really.

No, the truth is… there’s always been a gap in my life. I never admitted it before, never had time to face it. But it’s there.

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 filling these 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. She almost 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.

"It’s never happened to me before. Not like this.

" I shift in my seat, fighting the itch for a cigarette. I gave them up years ago, but Christ, this would be the moment. "I’ve been with plenty of women in my time. But I’ve never met anyone who—how can I say it?

I’ve never met a girl I looked at and just…

smitten. You know, ‘love at first sight,’ like in those old movies. I always thought it was bullshit.

"I’ve done okay. You know that. If we hit town on a Friday night, I can usually find a willing girl if I put in the effort." I glance at Luke for confirmation. He nods. I go on.

"But when I came across Luna, lying there asleep in the bed… it was like a dream. A revelation. A vision. Don’t laugh at me, Luke.

That’s how it felt. Like God had sent me an angel.

All these years, I’ve gotten by with one-night stands, but never anything more.

Never anything that meant something. Never the one. You get me?"

Luke sips his bourbon. "I hear you, boss."

"I know it’s ridiculous. How old is she—twenty-one? Twenty-two?"

"Twenty-four. Saw it on her license."

"Right. And I’m forty-seven. Old enough to be her father. Hell, I’d have been in the Rangers in Afghanistan. Operation Enduring Freedom. They sent us to seize a Taliban airfield, code-named Rhino. Joint Special Forces deployment."

I take another swallow. The whiskey burns, but I welcome it.

"Jesus, that was a shitshow, Luke. No one there. Couple of goats, that was it. Command spun it as a victory, propaganda gold. Reality? A total waste of time and lives. Two of my buddies died in a chopper crash. A senseless accident. All for a strip of dirt nobody even wanted. Still haunts me."

I drain the rest of my glass, set it down too hard, then grab the bottle again. Tilt it toward Luke. He holds out his tumbler. I refill both. The warmth dulls the hollow ache I’ve carried for years without naming.

"So anyway, there I was, in the medi-bay, staring at her. Angelic, delicate, beautiful. And I swear to God, I heard a voice in my head. Said: This is it, Jack. This is the one you’ve been waiting for. She’s been sent to rescue you, and you to rescue her. That’s what it felt like. That’s the truth."

My story trails off into silence. I look away, not wanting Luke to see my eyes.

For a moment, neither of us speaks. Just bourbon and silence. Then Luke clears his throat. I glance at him. And to my shock, the giant has moisture glinting in both eyes.

"Shit, boss—Jack. I had no idea. I’m sorry, man. You’re the man. Ever since I started, you’ve been there. Remember the Columbia River site? Old-growth forests, managed land? First site I worked. You were there."

I nod, remembering.

"Maybe you don’t realize it, but you saved me.

Back then, I was a mess. Drinking too much.

Gambling. Fighting. And nobody had the guts to call me on it.

Nobody except you. You pulled me aside, told me the truth.

Made me listen. That talk changed my life.

I swear, if you hadn’t stepped in, I’d be dead or in jail right now. "

He knocks back his whiskey, holds out his glass. I refill it with a hand that’s not steady anymore.

"Way I see it," he goes on, "I owe you my life. Always have. And I ain’t the only one. We all saw how you helped the Clifford twins when nobody else would. I’ve heard plenty of stories—guys saying how you set them straight.

Anywhere I go, if I say I work with Jack James and his brother Toby, nine times outta ten, people got a story about you.

"You don’t see it, boss. But you’re a catch. For any woman. Trouble is, you don’t let ’em in. You're still living like you’re in a warzone, treating women like the enemy. You gotta lower your defenses, Jack. You gotta let someone in."

He finishes his glass, stands. His eyes are shining. His voice is steady now.

"Everyone deserves love, Jack. And you most of all. Where you’ll find it—that’s on you. But when you do, you can’t shut her out. You gotta let her in."

And with that, he heads for the door, leaving me half-drunk, dazed, and entirely turned inside out.

I stare at the half-empty bourbon bottle.

This definitely calls for another drink.