Dancing Moon Ranch 10 Forb

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Just ahead, he wheeled his truck alongside his cabin and headed inside.
Two hours later, he rolled up the topographic maps scattered on the table in his cabin and slipped
them into a tube. The afternoon had been a wash. His mind hadn't been on eagle nests or the Grizzly
Mountain Wilderness Area. His thoughts kept returning to O'Reilly, and he knew he wouldn't be able
to focus on nests until he'd checked out his father's allegations about the trees.
Rolling out a survey map, he studied the area where the trees were supposed to have been cut,
noting that it was near a small concealed hollow he knew well. It had been seven years since he'd
been there, and he wondered if the names he'd carved in the old oak were still legible. That was the
summer he went to work for Gib O'Reilly. A summer that changed his life forever.
Taking one last look at the survey map, he grabbed the machete and headed up the logging road
toward the northeast boundary.
***
Tess O'Reilly pulled her Jeep off the red-dirt logging road and came to a halt in front of the
trailer that would be her office. Her gaze moved over the once familiar surroundings. The logging
camp seemed the same after seven years, yet somehow different. The silvery boards on the cook
shack looked more weathered, the moss on the roof of the woodshed, thicker. Even old Harvey
looked older. She stared at the aged truck with TIMBER WEST LOGGING written across its door. It
was still parked beside the water tower where it had been when she'd left, but now weeds reached
through the grille and thrust from under a hood that remained ajar. She smiled at its crooked mouth.
Harvey, as her dad named his truck, brought many a belly laugh as it belched and bucked over the
rough roads. The sight of Harvey brought fond memories.
Her eyes were drawn to the men ambling toward the cook shack, all of them unfamiliar except
Ezra Radley the camp cook, who scurried around the pack, a sack of flour slung over his shoulder. As
the last of the men funneled into the building, Tess twisted her dark hair into a rope and coiled it into
a knot on top of her head, then shoved on her hard hat to hold it in place. The men wouldn't welcome
a lady boss, but at least she'd look the part.
At the entrance to the cook shack, she paused to listen to the boisterous voices coming from
inside. Then drawing in a long breath to quiet the hammering of her heart, she swept open the door.
The guffaws and bellows of the men tapered into silence as eyes raked over her. Parking her hands on
her hips, she said, "I'm TJ O'Reilly, and I'll be taking over for my father. I want the equipment moved
to the north plateau near the ridge this afternoon so we can start cutting pole timber on Monday."
A man with hair the color of straw squared his shoulders and said, "Gib doesn't log that area
until later."
Tess held the man's gaze. "And your name is?"
"Broderick. Curt Broderick."
"You operate the dozer, right?" Tess said.
Curt straightened, and replied, "Uh, that's right."
"Okay, Curt. Gib's not running this operation now, I am, and we will be cutting pole timber
there." Although her father wanted to wait until the price inched higher, she made the decision to cut
now for much needed operating capital, otherwise Timber West was apt to fold, and one thing she
vowed when she offered to take over her father's failing business: she'd see Timber West back on a
firm financial foundation by the time her father took over again.
"We won't be doing anything until we get a tire for the skidder," Curt challenged.
Tess looked directly at him. "Just get the rest of the equipment moved. I'll worry about the
skidder tire," she said, annoyed that the tire hadn't arrived. She'd deal with the tire jobber in Baker s
Creek... after she finished with these men. "Any other problems?" she asked, scanning the faces of the
men before returning to Curt Broderick.
Curt looked at her with undisguised resentment a woman moving into his turf and telling him
what to do. But she'd worked crews of men before, and she'd learned early on that spotting potential
troublemakers and confronting them often earned their respect. Curt Broderick, she suspected, was a
man who needed individual attention. "Curt?" she asked. "Any other problems?"
Curt's eyes bored into her, then he shook his head, and said, "No, just the tire."
"All right then." Turning from Curt, she said, "Which one of you is Jed Swenson?" She scanned
the faces, searching for the big man her father described as woods boss. When she got no response,
she looked at Curt. "Didn't Swenson see the notice I posted about this meeting?"
Curt scratched his chin. "Yeah. Maybe he's in the bunkhouse."
Muffled laughter spread, then died.
Tess propped her hands on her hips. "I don't intend to go looking for Swenson in the bunkhouse,"
she said. "You tell him to be in my office at noon."
"I will if I can find him," Curt said, with irony.
"What do you mean, if you can find him?" Tess asked. "He is woods boss here, isn't he?"
A man in the back of the room muttered, "You're boss lady, you should know."
Suppressed chuckles rustled through the group.
"I see." Tess studied the amused faces. "Okay then, if you don't find Swenson, we'll start moving
equipment without him."
"Gib doesn't work us past noon," a man leaning against the wall challenged.
Tess eyed the man goading her. "What's your name?"
"Dempsey."
"Mr. Dempsey, if you find the hours here too long, maybe a rest would be appropriate."
He eyed her, dubiously. "Rest?"
"Away from here, where the hours aren't so long."
Dempsey straightened up. "Well, sometimes Gib does work us longer."
"I know how Gib O'Reilly runs this camp," Tess said. "I also know he keeps logs on the dock,
and they won't get there by quitting at noon."
Dempsey's scratched his jaw like he needed something to do, but said nothing, so Tess knew he'd [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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