Page 23 of Eco-Activist’s Mountain Men (Mountain Men Reverse Harem #4)

Luke

W hy does life have to be so damn complicated?

One of the reasons I chose this job was that I wanted to keep things simple.

Growing up was anything but simple. Dad walked out when I was little, and Mom had to raise four of us on her own.

She worked herself into the ground—scrubbing a corporate office at dawn with a cleaning crew, then heading straight to our elementary school to dish up lunch in the cafeteria, scrubbing pots and pans afterward, and by evening she was back on her feet again, cleaning a different office after hours.

Even working three shifts, she barely scraped enough together to keep us afloat.

Looking back, I’m pretty sure she skipped meals so we could eat.

She wore thrift store clothes so we could stay warm.

We could only dream about Nikes or Pumas.

We wore knockoffs—the cheapest no-name sneakers she could afford.

The other kids noticed. They always notice. We were the food stamp family. The cool kids ignored us, or worse, constant little digs, sniggers, and whispers. Never quite bad enough to get a teacher to intervene, but bad enough that every day at school felt like walking into a storm.

And me? I had a short fuse. Still do, but back then it was nuclear. Nobody messed with my little brother or my two sisters unless they wanted me in their face. Because of my size—and my reputation—I was the one teachers always blamed. I got labeled the troublemaker, even when I hadn’t started it.

I must’ve been hell for Mom. She was always getting called in to “discuss my aggressive behavior,” missing work, and risking her work because of me.

I did lousy in school. No qualifications, no clear future.

Options around Portland were slim. I picked forestry mostly because—hell, trees don’t talk back.

But once I started, I found I actually liked it.

I got obsessed with the techniques: how to bring down different species in different situations.

Then it grew into more. Limbing, stacking, hauling, processing.

Watching a log become a four-by-two beam that would build a house, or a slab of figured walnut that’d end up as part of a handmade guitar.

For once, I wanted to know everything.

I never really looked back. Especially after I met Jack on my very first day.

Jack took me under his wing, showed me how to cool my temper, and how to get along even when I didn’t agree with someone. More than that, he taught me self-discipline and self-reliance—stuff I hadn’t had much of before.

I’ll never forget my first week. Six of us recruits, starting chainsaw certification. Jack was our instructor, showing us how to strip, clean, and maintain saws.

I’d gotten blackout drunk the night before. Stayed out until three, passed out on the floor. Rolled into training late, hungover, unwashed, still in yesterday’s clothes. I must’ve stunk, though, at the time I barely noticed.

Jack didn’t kick me out. Didn’t humiliate me. Just nodded me in. I tried to keep up, but my head was splitting and my stomach kept turning. I couldn’t focus. I fell asleep.

When I woke, I was in his cabin. Recruits had dorms, but instructors got their own. He’d undressed me down to my boxers, washed my face, and tucked me under a blanket. He was sitting nearby, book in hand, when I opened my eyes.

We talked for hours. I told him everything—about my family, my screwups, why I’d joined forestry to try and claw out a different kind of life. He shared his own stories. His rough start. His military years. Then he showed me his most precious possession: a Bronze Star with the “V” device for valor.

He told me how he earned it. Five of his buddies died in a botched assault on a Taliban stronghold. The rest of his squad barely made it out. Jack stayed behind, held the line alone, covering their retreat until he was sure they were safe.

That night, I learned what honor really meant. I swore to myself: no more blaming others. No more letting booze steer the wheel. From that day, I’d own my choices. And I have.

Mom passed a few years back—cancer, only fifty-four.

I’m convinced stress wore her down. At least she lived to see me graduate from the U.S.

Forest Service Crosscut and Chainsaw Program, a certified operator with steady work.

That gave her some peace, I think. I still talk to my brother and sisters from time to time.

Can’t remember the last time I saw them in person. Maybe Mom’s funeral.

Still, I’d found my path. I stayed with McKenzie Forestry Services, rose through the ranks until I was a senior chainsaw operator, running operations here in Mount Hood National Park. Cutting, replanting, managing ecosystems. Real work. Honest work. And I was doing fine.

Until Luna came along.

At first, she reminded me of my kid sister. That was all. I picked her up, carried her back, cleaned her up, bandaged her ankle, and put her to bed. Didn’t even see her as a woman.

But then I saw the banner tangled up around her when I first found her:

Kill Climate Change

Stop the Logging

Save the Planet

Clear as day, she was one of those activists. Eco-warrior, treehugger, whatever label you want. I’ve got no time for people who make noise, stir up trouble, put others at risk—without lifting a finger to actually do something useful.

The way I see it, we plant more trees in a season than her whole crew will in their lifetimes.

Still, I went back to that site the next day. Looked around. Found her backpack. And something else too.

A pair of wire cutters. Brand new. Already rusting. I thought long and hard about those cutters. The only purpose I could think of was to cut the stays—the wire ropes that extend from the walkway up into the trees, acting like suspension bridge cables to carry the load.

Cut all the wires, and the whole walkway collapses.

But suppose you didn't cut all of them?

Or… suppose you didn't cut them all the way through?

A clever person, armed with wire cutters and enough knowledge of how those walkways are built, could make it look safe—until someone stepped on the right spot. Then wham. Down it comes.

If that's what happened, it changes everything. It's not just trespassing—it's an attempt to cause serious injury or even death.

So… did she do it herself? And if so, why?

Or did someone else do it to her?

I couldn't be sure. But I decided I'd better keep a close eye on her—and find out all I could about Kill Climate Change.

But then, over time, my feelings about her changed.

At first, I'd been seriously wary of her, but then, as she'd imposed her personality and character on us during her stay at the lodge, and even though she had some weird ideas about environmentalism and ecology, and despite mistrusting her motives, I'd grown more and more to see her as being a lot like myself.

Oh, superficially, we're like chalk and cheese.

I'm big and powerful, she's petite and athletic.

I come from a poor background, whereas her daddy is wealthy.

I apprenticed into a trade, and she went to college (before dropping out anyway).

Different, right? But are those differences really all that important?

Or are they just superficial? Because where we are alike is in our commitment to doing what's right, our willingness to help a good cause, our dedication to our friends, and our steadfast approach to following through on our promises.

Worse, I've felt myself become more and more physically attracted to her.

There's no denying it, she's cute. Petite—dainty, even—with the pert breasts and firm buttocks of an athlete or gymnast, rather than the long legs and shapely, hourglass figure of say an actress, or model.

Hot, though, all the same. As much because of how she carries herself, as just what she looks like.

That "fuck you" attitude that basically says she doesn't care what any else thinks, that she doesn't need anyone else's approval to feel good about herself.

That's gold dust. I'd never realized before how much it turns me on.

So now I'm kind of stuck. Because Jack's already told me how much he feels for her, and I owe Jack everything. I can't stand in the way of his happiness; it wouldn't be fair. It wouldn't be honorable, not when I owe him so much.

Looking back, I realize how I've allowed myself to take my frustrations out on her.

Of course, she took it badly and ran off.

That's my fault. I'm the direct cause of her running away like that.

If I hadn't been such an asshole, she wouldn't have run off, and she wouldn't have fallen, hit her head, and been knocked out.

Indirectly, then, I am responsible for her getting injured, and if she'd died up there… well, that would have been my fault too. Thank God she hadn't died. At least I don't have that on my conscience. Even so, I owe her.

Carrying her down from the mountainside was just the start of my repayment. My penance. Now I need to find a way to pay back the rest.

And in the meantime, there's another problem, and that is that I still don't trust her.

Whilst I now fully realize I should have gone about it differently, I did have a legitimate point in the kitchen yesterday morning.

She's had fresh orders from her climate change activist boss, this Tim Collier character.

So far as I can see, those orders are to assist in an activity designed to make McKenzie Forestry Services look bad and damage our reputation. That's where we part ways.

Because I simply cannot allow that.

And now to the worst part of all. Something I am embarrassed to face and confess, even to myself. But if I'm going to have any peace, then I'm going to have to bite the bullet and deal with it.

Last night, I stayed late in the chainsaw shed, finishing off some work I was doing on one of our smaller pruning saws.

As I walked past the building, I noticed the light was on in Luna's bedroom—our medi-bay—and the curtains were not fully drawn.

I could hear noises coming from within. Sort of groaning and moaning, and what sounded like furniture being moved.

So—and I realize this was a very bad thing to do—I crossed the yard and crept up to the window.

What I saw took my breath away. What I saw was Luna, Jack, and Toby, naked as the day they were born, going at it together on the bed like they were in some kind of porn film or something.

I was astounded, rooted to the spot. First in horror— what the hell were Jack and Toby thinking?

—and then in anger— you don't realize what she's planning to do to our company— and finally in jealousy— why the hell should it be them, not me?

But that's not the very worst part of my confession.

The very worst part is that I went back to my own room and I…

I masturbated. I replayed the images I'd seen of the three of them—kissing, caressing, stroking, and yes, fucking, plain and simple—and I had imagined myself there too, stroking myself to satisfaction whilst thinking of her.

Afterwards, of course, I'd felt awful. I felt like I had become exactly that thing she had herself accused me of being in the kitchen, when we'd argued. She'd called me a "peeping Tom," and without knowing it, she'd ended up being right.

So now I need to talk to Luna. I can't let all this ill feeling fester.

I have to resolve our issues somehow—not just for my own sake but for all of us.

If I don't, the canker will grow and spread.

I need to confess my sins to her and ask for her forgiveness.

But I also need to ask her what her true intentions are.

Is she for us, or against us? Is she really behind an attempt to get someone injured, or even killed? Or is she on our side?

Because from where I'm sitting, she can't just carry on sitting on the fence and playing both ends.

She has to decide?—

Us or them.