Read Online TIMBER: The Bad Boy's Baby by Frankie Love - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Frankie Love
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day and show my family that my foray into the woods was a one-time thing.
It’s not working this morning, because once again I’m sick. No matter how plain my food, I still get sick like clockwork
I go to the kitchen, begin rinsing oatmeal bowls and then eventually stacking the dishes in the cupboard.
Before I have to run out of the room.
And get sick again.
11
JAX
T he snow is gone and I’m out back, an axe in hand. My shirt’s off, beads of sweat falling off my back. It’s motherfucking hot out here.
I went into town yesterday, checked my email and bank account. My parents emailed letting me know they were in Florida, in their RV, following their retirement dreams.
I’m happy for them, to have what they want. They say they worry about me, their only son. I emailed back, telling them I’m good. Great, even.
What they don’t know won’t hurt them; it’ll keep them happy. That’s what I want.
I saw the last deposit made to my account from my buddy Dean. It was twice the size it usually is. Guess the trucking company is taking off.
I swing the axe against the massive pine, my eyes burning in jealousy. Anger.
Guess he didn’t need me to be his right hand man after all.
Even though it was my business plan, my love for these old logging roads and these mountains. My desire for people all over the country to have a piece of Idahoan pine and cedar in their custom homes.
Fuck that shit.
I take another swing, like a goddamned lumberjack, not sure what the point is.
I’m out here, because what? I’m being punished for fucking some Sheriff’s daughter?
It’s bullshit.
I don’t want to be a part of a life like that. So rigid, full of rules. I don’t live by the law of anyone.
I live by the law of the mountain.
I take a final swing, and then push against the trunk as the pine falls. I’ve been hacking at this beast for four hours.
Stepping back as it falls, I look around my property. I love this land. And fuck Dean. Fuck our company. Fuck it all.
I don’t need that bullshit.
I pick up the shirt I threw on the ground when I got hot, and wipe my face with it. It may be March, but I’ve worked up a sweat.
As I move toward the cabin for some ice-cold beer, my axe in hand, I see a small car roll up into my driveway.
It’s the last fucking car I ever expected to see again.
It’s Harper’s hatchback, and she’s alone.
She steps out of the car, her face streaked in tears, the same as when she left.
Has this girl been crying for six week straight?
“Harper?” I move toward her and we meet at the steps to my cabin.
“Hey Jaxon … I hope it’s okay that I’m here?”
“You okay?” I ask, shaking my head. She’s wearing a long top over a pair of leggings, boots on her feet. Her long blond hair is braided over her shoulder.
She’s effortless.
“I’ve been better. I didn’t know where to go.”
“Uh, okay, is it your family? That bastard Luke? Did someone hurt you?” I have a million questions for her. Flashes of our time together fill my mind.
Her bare skin, soft and milky. The warm space between her legs. Her wonder, excitement, willingness at the night we shared.
And she’s back. I want to pull her in my cabin, lock the door. Never let her go.
But she doesn’t look alive with the hunger of desire.
Harper looks motherfucking exhausted.
“I don’t even know how to say it,” she says.
“Uh, you hungry? Thirsty?” I ask, trying to remember how to be polite to guests. No woman’s been up here since our time together.
“No, I’m fine.”
“Okay….” This is kind of awkward. I want to kiss her or fuck her, but she came here to talk.
“Can we take a walk?” she asks.
“You drove three hours to take a walk with me in the woods?”
“No,” Harper says, sighing deeply, like this is all too hard. What has her so worked up? “But maybe if we walk it will calm my nerves.”
I bury my ax in a stump and nod toward the path I usually walk on when I want to move
It’s not working this morning, because once again I’m sick. No matter how plain my food, I still get sick like clockwork
I go to the kitchen, begin rinsing oatmeal bowls and then eventually stacking the dishes in the cupboard.
Before I have to run out of the room.
And get sick again.
11
JAX
T he snow is gone and I’m out back, an axe in hand. My shirt’s off, beads of sweat falling off my back. It’s motherfucking hot out here.
I went into town yesterday, checked my email and bank account. My parents emailed letting me know they were in Florida, in their RV, following their retirement dreams.
I’m happy for them, to have what they want. They say they worry about me, their only son. I emailed back, telling them I’m good. Great, even.
What they don’t know won’t hurt them; it’ll keep them happy. That’s what I want.
I saw the last deposit made to my account from my buddy Dean. It was twice the size it usually is. Guess the trucking company is taking off.
I swing the axe against the massive pine, my eyes burning in jealousy. Anger.
Guess he didn’t need me to be his right hand man after all.
Even though it was my business plan, my love for these old logging roads and these mountains. My desire for people all over the country to have a piece of Idahoan pine and cedar in their custom homes.
Fuck that shit.
I take another swing, like a goddamned lumberjack, not sure what the point is.
I’m out here, because what? I’m being punished for fucking some Sheriff’s daughter?
It’s bullshit.
I don’t want to be a part of a life like that. So rigid, full of rules. I don’t live by the law of anyone.
I live by the law of the mountain.
I take a final swing, and then push against the trunk as the pine falls. I’ve been hacking at this beast for four hours.
Stepping back as it falls, I look around my property. I love this land. And fuck Dean. Fuck our company. Fuck it all.
I don’t need that bullshit.
I pick up the shirt I threw on the ground when I got hot, and wipe my face with it. It may be March, but I’ve worked up a sweat.
As I move toward the cabin for some ice-cold beer, my axe in hand, I see a small car roll up into my driveway.
It’s the last fucking car I ever expected to see again.
It’s Harper’s hatchback, and she’s alone.
She steps out of the car, her face streaked in tears, the same as when she left.
Has this girl been crying for six week straight?
“Harper?” I move toward her and we meet at the steps to my cabin.
“Hey Jaxon … I hope it’s okay that I’m here?”
“You okay?” I ask, shaking my head. She’s wearing a long top over a pair of leggings, boots on her feet. Her long blond hair is braided over her shoulder.
She’s effortless.
“I’ve been better. I didn’t know where to go.”
“Uh, okay, is it your family? That bastard Luke? Did someone hurt you?” I have a million questions for her. Flashes of our time together fill my mind.
Her bare skin, soft and milky. The warm space between her legs. Her wonder, excitement, willingness at the night we shared.
And she’s back. I want to pull her in my cabin, lock the door. Never let her go.
But she doesn’t look alive with the hunger of desire.
Harper looks motherfucking exhausted.
“I don’t even know how to say it,” she says.
“Uh, you hungry? Thirsty?” I ask, trying to remember how to be polite to guests. No woman’s been up here since our time together.
“No, I’m fine.”
“Okay….” This is kind of awkward. I want to kiss her or fuck her, but she came here to talk.
“Can we take a walk?” she asks.
“You drove three hours to take a walk with me in the woods?”
“No,” Harper says, sighing deeply, like this is all too hard. What has her so worked up? “But maybe if we walk it will calm my nerves.”
I bury my ax in a stump and nod toward the path I usually walk on when I want to move
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