Page 33 of Eco-Activist’s Mountain Men (Mountain Men Reverse Harem #4)

Jack

T he last few days might just have been the best of my life so far.

After the storm, we’ve been getting what the old-timers call an “Indian Summer.” I don’t know where the phrase comes from, but these last couple of weeks as fall rolls in have been beautiful—hot, sunny, and calm, like the storm never even happened.

But the weather’s just icing on the cake. The cake itself… that’s the part that matters.

I’ve never started a family. Never quite met the right woman. Truth is, I hardly ever meet women at all.

I went straight from school into the Army, then into the Rangers. After that, I came right into forestry services. Neither job exactly puts you in contact with nubile blondes in office corridors or buxom brunettes in gyms. Mostly because there aren’t corridors. Or gyms. Or brunettes.

Sure, there are women in the military. A few in the logging industry, too.

But they’re few and far between, and most of the time, romance isn’t even on the table.

Oh, I get along with them just fine. I’ll do the job with any of them, shoulder to shoulder, and they’ll tell you I’m solid—reliable.

But that’s it. Just not an option for more.

So Luna was a bolt from the blue—for all of us, not just me. Eric, Luke, Toby, and I—we’ve all felt it. And from the looks of things, Luna feels the same way about us.

I’ve been trying to figure out what it’s like. Closest thing I came up with is epoxy resin—the kind that comes in two tubes. One’s the resin, the other’s the catalyst. Left alone, the resin stays soft, pliable. But mix in the catalyst, and it hardens to rock in minutes.

That’s what she did to us. Before Luna, we were fine—but not really one thing. Just four guys living side by side. Then she came along, mixed her spark into the batch, and suddenly, we’re not four individuals anymore. We’re one unit. A family.

And the strange thing is—it’s not bitter. It’s not jealous. Sure, there are four of us, but only one of her. You’d think it would breed competition, fighting, and resentment. But it hasn’t. I don’t feel the need to prove myself better than the others. None of us does.

It’s not a zero-sum game. No “winner takes all.” We’ve found a way to make it work for all of us. That’s a damn miracle right there.

We’re like the Three Musketeers—with Luna as D’Artagnan. Except there are four of us. So maybe the Four Musketeers… and D’Artagnan. Or hell, better yet: the eco-activist and the four mountain men. Someone ought to write a book about us.

Five nights ago, we sealed it up at the plunge pool. A night burned into my heart. Since then, camp’s been lighter, happier. We’ve laughed more, worked harder, and produced more than usual. Guess being in good moods makes the labor easier.

And the crazy thing? Luna’s only been here nineteen days. Nineteen days to turn all our lives upside down and inside out. The woman’s a tornado.

The only cloud on the horizon is this Tim Collier character. Luna says he plans to fly in with a crew in three days, cameras rolling, looking to make us look like fools.

Won’t work. Luna’s resigned from Kill Climate Change, even if they don’t know it yet, and she’s not climbing any walkways to unfurl banners.

But even if she did, so what? A banner doesn’t make headlines anymore.

I don’t get it. Luke doesn’t either—something about it’s bugging him.

Something that doesn’t add up. We’ll find out in three days—if Tim even shows. And if he does, we’ll be ready.

“Hey, Jack. Did you know the cell’s back on?” Toby pokes his head through the office door, grinning.

“What?”

“We’ve got a signal again. As of ten minutes ago.”

I hadn’t noticed. It’s been so long without service, I’d gotten used to leaving my phone on the bedside table. Relief washes through me at the thought of being back in touch with the outside world. Still… part of me hopes it won’t ruin this little slice of heaven we’ve carved out here.

I head to my room and grab my phone. Might as well get the laptop too—time to check company emails and call in to Head Office. It’s past due that I report in.

Most of the messages are routine. Friends asking if we’re alright. Some work emails I can handle easily. Spam, a couple of invoices. One from Eric’s university asking me to confirm his secondment is on track. Nothing major.

Until the voicemails. That’s when everything shifts.

I hit play, and my boss’s voice fills the room.

“Jack, hi, it’s Pat.”

Pat Mackenzie. Owner of Mackenzie Forestry Services.

Known him a long time. He was one of my dad’s Army buddies—they served together in the first Iraq war.

After he got out, Pat used his inheritance money to start the company.

When I left the Rangers, Dad introduced us, and Pat took me on.

Been with him ever since. The company’s been my home, same as the lodge, same as the forest.

“Listen,” Pat goes on, “sorry to do this over voicemail. I’ve been trying to call for a week, but with your cell coverage down, I couldn’t. And I didn’t want you hearing this from someone else.”

The first time through, I was confused. The second time, dread already clenches my gut.

“Sad to tell you this, but Mary…” His voice catches.

“Mary’s got cancer. We’ve known for a while, but we haven't had clarity about her future. Well, now we do, and it’s not good.

Docs say six months, give or take. So here’s the deal: I’m retiring, effective immediately.

The business means a lot, but Mary means everything.

We’ve agreed to spend as much time together as we can, while we still can.

That means I've got to sell the business.

Problem is, it's not worth all that much.

I've spoken to our accountants, and they've consulted with a couple of specialist business valuers and resellers.

Even with our twenty-year contract with the Forestry Service, plus the other two long-term contracts, and factoring in the yard we own outright and all the equipment, they're saying three to five million, tops.

"So far, I've had an offer from Collier Logging, but I don't want to sell to them. I don't like the CEO; there's something about him I just don't trust. He lowballed the hell out of me. Offered one and a half million. That's maybe half what the company's worth—if not less.

"My accountant says if that's all I can get, once all's said and done, I'll be left with less than fifty grand a year, and what's that worth these days? The bastard knows I'm in a hurry, so he's taking advantage. Tells you all you need to know, doesn't it?

"Frankly, Jack, that's not much to retire on—especially after the government takes their slice. God knows how much Mary's medical bills are going to cost before she… You know."

Collier. That name rings a bell. I don't handle the trade side of the business—that's Pat's domain, I'm the operational side—so I'm not up to speed on all the competition. But I swear I've heard that name recently… I just can't place it.

"Anyway, buddy, I'm sorry to dump this on you.

Give my best to Toby—and to Luke, too. Let them know what's going on.

If either of them decides to move on, they'll get a solid severance package and great references.

The same goes for you, of course. But I'd rather you stayed and saw it through.

Maybe we can find a better buyer, last minute. I'll keep you posted. God bless."

I stand there, staring at my phone.

Just when everything was going so well, this has to happen.

It's bad enough to learn Mary's got cancer and only a few months to live.

But now the whole company's in play, too.

If Pat sells it as a going concern, maybe—maybe—we can keep things going as they are.

But chances are, a new buyer will want to make changes. Maybe big ones.

Could be for the better… but what if it's not? What happens to the five of us then? Just when we were finally getting started…

And now this.

We need a meeting. It's only fair that I let everyone know the situation.

We all have to decide what we want to do.

Me too, though I already know in my heart I'll stay on until the very end.

I owe Pat that much. Also, out of respect to Pat, we need to make sure any mission by Kill Climate Change to make the company look bad doesn't succeed.

The last thing Pat needs when he's trying to sell the company is bad publicity.

Let them have one last evening without knowing. Tomorrow at breakfast, I'll break the news.

I sleep fitfully, disturbed by bad dreams. Well… one bad dream, on repeat in what feels like a never-ending loop.

A man I don’t recognize, with an unpleasant fake smile and cold, hard eyes. He’s sitting in a jeep on the edge of our property. Off to my left, Luna’s chatting with Luke. They’re laughing and smiling, sharing a joke without a care in the world.

Then I see the man lift a gun—a rifle.

I’m frozen. I can’t move. All I can do is watch as he takes careful aim, straight at Luna. I try to shout, to warn her, but no sound comes out. My mouth is open, but I’m silent as the grave.

There’s nothing I can do as he sights down the barrel. Time slows to a crawl. I see his finger tighten on the trigger. Slowly. Slowly. Slowly?—

And then I wake up with a jolt and a shout, my heart pounding, breath ragged, sweat beading on my forehead, muscles taut, sheets tangled around me.

I tell myself it was only a dream. But it feels so real.

By the third time, I give up and glance at the clock beside the bed. Five-thirty.

I sigh. I don’t even want to go back to sleep if another round of this is what’s waiting for me.

I head to the bathroom and take a long shower, switching between hot and cold, trying to shake off the despair settled in my bones. But it clings to me.

Eventually, I get dressed and step into the kitchen.

Maybe coffee will help.