Chapter 17.
Mac hadn't intended to find herself out on the logging road. It was treacherous for someone unfamiliar with navigating it, and even though she still had directions to the logging site, the journey was just as harrowing.
At the very least, she was driving Harm's SUV, which made traversing the rough terrain a little easier. As she neared her destination, the heavy machinery came into view, and she pulled up behind his familiar white work truck.
Luck was on her side, he wasn't deep in the brush but standing near the yarder, hands on his hips, talking to one of his coworkers.
He wore a light blue undershirt, his work pants held up by suspenders branded with the company's name. His hard hat was tucked under his arm, and as he ran a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, Mac couldn't help but take him in.
Damn, he looked good.
She sighed heavily as her heart skipped several beats. No matter how much time had passed, she still loved him. Still wanted him. But she was also angry. Hurt. Disappointed in both of them and that would take time to heal.
Her reason for climbing the mountain had nothing to do with lingering feelings and everything to do with concern. That morning, when he'd tried to slip out quietly - although he was anything but - Harm had forgotten the two gallons of water sitting on the kitchen counter along with the metal lunchbox packed with the food he needed to get through the day.
It nagged her to think he would be without something to eat and like a good (former) best friend, she went after him.
"Harm… uh, David," she corrected herself as she cautiously approached the group of men.
The hum of machinery seemed to grind to a sudden stop. When he turned to face her, his eyes widened whether from shock or something else, she couldn't quite tell.
"Mac?"
"You left your lunch… and a couple of gallons of water," she said, motioning to the items she had placed atop the hood of his work truck.
Mac could feel the men's eyes on her. Unlike the last time she had climbed this mountain, there was no armor to shield her, no Marine uniform to hide behind and command respect. Just a T-shirt and form-fitting jeans that made her feel oddly exposed.
Her sunglasses held her hair back in a deliberately casual way, but her confidence wavered under his gaze. The gravel crunched beneath her sneakers as she took another step forward. "I ummm, didn't want you to starve."
Harm wanted to pull her into his arms, to kiss her senseless, to swear she was the only one he wanted. He had made mistakes, but so had she and their relationship was worth it. But he shoved those feelings deep when he left the house that morning or he tried to.
"Thanks. I'll put them in my truck." He had barely taken a step toward her when a bellowing voice cut through the air, stopping him dead in his tracks.
Of course. Dax.
He exhaled sharply, closing his eyes for a brief moment. Of course, this would happen. And of course, the loudest mouth on the mountain, the one person he clashed with the most, would be the one to stir trouble.
"Well, goddamn, Elliot," Dax called from the open door of the yarder, gripping one of the handles for leverage as he stepped out. His voice carried easily over the clearing and every single one of the men stopped what they were doing to watch the spectacle. "One ain't enough for you? You need two?"
Laughter followed, ugly and taunting, from the handful of men who backed Dax. A few catcalls rang out before Harm turned a menacing glare on them, cutting the noise short. The men knew Elliot was not a man to toy with. They'd seen him at his worst fueled with rage and anger that easily flourished.
"Alright, boys," Harm said, his voice tainted in a dangerous timbre. "Cut the shit and mind your business."
But Dax wasn't finished. He sneered down at Mac. "Get her off the landing, Elliot. Bitches don't belong on the mountain."
A weaker woman might have flinched. Might have turned away. But Mac had endured enough in the military to know how to handle men like Dax. She straightened her spine, her chin lifting defiantly.
Before she could move, Harm's hand wrapped around her bicep, halting her trajectory. He knew that look in her eyes, her razor sharp determination, the kind that meant business. And he had no doubt that if she wanted to, she'd put Dax on his ass in a heartbeat with her sneaker on his throat.
"Mac." he warned.
She shook him off and stepped forward. "What did you just call me?"
Dax smirked. "A bitch." He said it lazily, as if daring her to react. Then he jumped down from the yarder, landing just a few feet away. "Look, honey, I don't know you, but I do know that ever since you showed up, Elliot here has been working like shit. Missing turns, putting others at risk. So yeah you're a fucking bitch and you need to get the hell off my mountain."
Mac barely blinked. "Well, this fucking bitch doesn't wanna get off your mountain."
A few of the men chuckled, watching the exchange with interest. Mac turned, scanning the crowd, daring anyone to step in.
"In fact," she continued, her voice like steel, "I'll put my money where my mouth is. A grand says I can do this job for a full day, no complaints, no whining, no crying, and no quitting."
The crowd stirred at the challenge. Dax scoffed, but his expression faltered slightly. "You're joking."
Harm stepped in, knowing that taking her side would earn him some points he badly needed. "And I'll double it."
Dax turned on him with an incredulous look. "You sure know how to pick 'em, Dave."
"David," Harm corrected, "And I stand by my bet."
"Oh, please. She won't last twenty minutes before she pisses her pants or breaks a nail. Marine or not, women are weak."
"Then let her prove she's not." This might have been irrational, but he wasn't backing down any more than Mac was. Harm knew the job was brutal, but he also knew she was more than capable of keeping up. And if anything, maybe this would bridge the gap between them.
CB, who had pulled up moments earlier and had been quietly listening from his truck, finally stepped out. He shook his head, his expression a mix of disbelief and amusement.
"Colonel, are you serious?"
"I am. Just tell me what I need, all the required gear, and I'll be here at o'dark-thirty with the men. If anything goes wrong, you have my word, it's on me and only me."
Despite his better judgment, CB nodded. "Alright. If only to shut Dax up once and for all." He turned to Harm. "She's your responsibility, Hammer. Show her how to use the equipment. And unless you're damn sure she's ready, don't let her near the brush or the landing. Agreed?"
"Aye, sir."
CB turned back to Mac, his voice a bit softer. "With all due respect, Colonel, come with me. I do need you off the landing so the crew can finish up for the day. I'll give you a list of what you need, and I hope your Marine training has prepared you for playing in the dirt."
Mac smirked. "I used to camp in the desert for fun with the scorpions and other critters. Trust me, I'm not afraid of a little dirt and grime."
CB wasn't surprised, Marine's were a special breed. "Okay then…Ooh-rah."
The road twisted as Harm drove through the thick fog that clung to the mountainside. He'd made the same drive each morning and yet he was more cautious than ever. Mac sat beside him in silence, gazing at the terrain through the small clear patch she had wiped on the foggy window.
She wore faded jeans, a well worn pair picked up at the thrift store after yesterday's altercation. Her new boots felt stiff and though she'd layered against the chill of the morning with a long sleeved flannel and a blue windbreaker, she was still cold. A hardhat rested in her lap, her fingers lightly tracing the edge as Mac sat lost in thought.
Harm tightened his grip on the wheel, eyes scanning the winding road ahead. "Not too late to turn back."
Mac let out a sharp snort, shaking her head. "No. No way."
She shifted slightly, adjusting her grip on the helmet in her lap. The determination in her voice was unmistakable and Harm smirked but said nothing, just pressed the gas a little harder as they continued the climb.
The landing looked almost alien in the pre dawn.
Silhouettes moved through the haze, men scattering about, checking gear, tightening straps, and murmuring instructions to one another. The fog made them appear like ghosts.
She hopped out when the truck stopped and leaned against the hood as Harm tightened the laces on his boots. "Looks like they're getting ready," she said, her voice low but steady.
Harm nodded, eyes scanning the landing. "Yeah. Haulers will be here soon. Whatever is on the landing has to be on the way to the mill to make space for more turns." He placed his hands on his hips and surveyed the landscape taking note of the one vehicle that was missing, Dax's. He hoped the veteran logger would skip work that day but the chances were slim. "Remember what we talked about last night. Head on a swivel, listen for the beeps from the whistle."
"I remember."
He turned to look at her, smiling proudly. Mac already wore her hardhat while his was still in the toolbox of the truck. She stood with a determined posture not unlike a warrior ready for battle. "Alright, Marine. What does one whistle mean?"
"Stop the moving line but if it's a long whistle it means slack the line."
"Good. You'll pick up a few others when we're out there. C'mon." He led her down into the brush beneath the skyline where a mass of felled trees waited to be hauled.
Harm gave Mac a thorough rundown, pointing out where she needed to stand and, more importantly, where she absolutely shouldn't.
She listened carefully, nodding as he explained, asking the right questions. The fog made everything feel even more intense once the rumble of machinery filled the air.
He then turned his attention to the carriage system, motioning toward the thick cables stretching into the mist. "That," he said, "is the skyline. The carriage runs along it. It raises and lowers the choker chains and drags the logs out of the brush."
Mac watched as the carriage, a heavy steel rig covered in grimy, dented steel. It glided along the cable, ready to drop its chains into the tangled mess of fallen timber below. The whole setup was power incarnate and she could already see the danger in standing too close should something happen to the skyline.
"Stay clear when it's moving," Harm added. "If something snaps, you don't want to be anywhere near it."
Mac smirked. "Wasn't planning on it."
"I'm serious. You run." But it wasn't just the carriage or the chains that worried him. Timber could easily become dislodged from the landing or the stacks they had cut days earlier. One wrong shift, one unstable log, and everything could come crashing down at over fifty miles an hour.
Harm had seen it happen before, the sheer carnage a rolling log could bring. He'd watched a man get taken out, barely surviving as the timber slammed into him with a staggering speed. The memory was never far from his mind and served as a grim reminder of how deadly this work could be.
He glanced at Mac, her expression unreadable as she observed the operation. He knew she was tough but toughness alone couldn't stop a runaway log. "Just stay alert, Marine…This place, it doesn't give second chances."
"Understood, Commander." She gave him a quick smile, then drew a steadying breath. "I'm ready."
He looked at her for a long moment. It had been a while since anyone had used his rank, and he hadn't realized how much he'd missed it. Harm wasn't a Commander anymore, hadn't been for over two years. The power of that rank was gone, but hearing it again gave him a needed boost, a flicker of pride that reminded him of who he used to be. "Let's go."
The men were far more sympathetic than he'd expected. Operations slowed during the first two hours to give Mac time to acclimate to the job. Ace assisted with the rigging and also showed her how to properly hook the logs. Another logger guided her on where to stand and how to move safely. They rallied with her, not against her and Harm felt some of his apprehension melt away.
It was going surprisingly well, too well. Mac was proving herself with every turn they pulled off the mountain. Her smaller frame let her slip between tight spaces the larger loggers could never reach. Before long, she was moving across the rugged terrain with confidence, keeping pace with the rest of the crew.
The logging was smooth and efficient until Dax showed up an hour late, held up by a crash in town that had blocked the mountain road. When he finally arrived, he was furious, practically yanking the yarder operator out of the cab. "This is my yarder, Jacob… go get my coffee."
"Take it slow," Jacob warned. "We've got Elliott's woman down there."
Dax shot a glare down the mountain and snorted. This would be fun. "Whatever. That cunt doesn't belong on my mountain and I told you to get me my coffee."
"If anything happens to her, Elliott will kill you."
"Let him try…" Dax turned his glare on the younger logger. "You think I'd purposely hurt someone, Jake?"
Jacob sighed, he honestly wasn't sure and that worried him. "Just go easy, Dax."
"Easy? Sure. Tell that to CB who's been busting my balls this job. The mill wanted this shit off the mountain yesterday and it's been delays after delays."
He slammed the clutch, and the carriage zipped down the line at top speed. "Go get my coffee and watch how a real man runs a yarder."
Harm overheard the zipping sound that reminded him of a sizzling livewire. His jaw tightened but said nothing hoping it was just the edges of paranoia.
He turned back to the slope where Mac was working, her movements focused as she helped rig the next turn. She was doing fine, better than but she wasn't accustomed to the sounds of the machinery to notice the carriage descending faster than usual.
Harm narrowed his eyes and then motioned to the top of the hill. "Hey, Ace. I think someone else is running yarder, not Jake."
Ace glanced up, followed the cable line with his eyes, then shrugged. "Could be Dax. I think I saw him head that way."
Harm took a deep breath and then reached for the radio on his chest. "Yarder cab, this is Elliott. Who's on the controls up there?"
There was a short pause, static crackling from the device as he waited for a response. Dax's gruff voice eventually broke the stafic a breath later. "Don't worry 'bout a thing and get your asses moving. We've got wood to pull out of those hills and you're slowing down production."
"Harm." Mac caught the tension in his face and overheard the familiar voice on the radio.
"Was that Dax?"
"Yeah," he said, eyes still on the carriage sailing through the skyline. "He's running yarder now-"
He looked from the cable line back to her. He wanted to tell her to leave and walk off the mountain because she had nothing left to prove. She wouldn't. Not Mac. This was a challenge she would see through.
"Head on a swivel, Marine," he warned, his voice low and serious. "Things are about to get serious."
She followed his gaze uphill, watching as the carriage started moving again. "Understood."
"I mean it, Mac…"
Her gloved hand dropped to his forearm, squeezing gently trying to find reassurance for both of them. "I know what I'm dealing with. Don't let him get to you. You're a better man than he is."
Harm didn't feel like it, not today. Not since in a drunken stupor he'd beaten that man badly. This would be the time for Dax to plot his revenge, a game he didn't enjoy participating in. "Stay safe."
She gave him a wry smile. "Don't worry, Flyboy… I didn't come all this way to get crushed by a few logs." Despite taking a steadying breath, her heart began to beat faster than ever.
The turns moved at a quicker pace now, the kind the crew was used to when they were behind schedule. The rhythm was unrelenting, each carriage hauling more than the last, pushing hard to make up for lost time. The strain on the skyline became obvious as the cables groaned from the weight of every load.
It was too fast. Too heavy. Too dangerous even for the seasoned crew.
"Slow it down, Dax. Skyline's starting to complain," Harm said into the radio with an even tone hoping it would not rile Dax.
He knew exactly what could happen if the line gave way. If the skyline snapped under the strain, it could send the carriage and tons of timber crashing down the mountain. If the force was hard enough, it could also topple the yarder despite the half dozen cables anchoring it to the landing.
Best case, no one got killed. Worst case was a senario he didn't want to entertain. And even if they all walked away, hours, maybe days, would be lost to restring the line and repair the battered machinery. All because some asshole couldn't set aside his grudge.
Dax's voice crackled back over the radio, his irritation evident in his tone. "Quit babysitting the line, Elliott. We're fine. Get back to work."
"You're gonna regret it if that line snaps, Dax. Slow. Down."
For a moment, there was only static. Then Dax's voice, more dismissive than ever, came through. "You worried about your precious skyline or your girl down there, Prettyboy? Either way, we've got wood to move, and you're slowing me down."
Mac was in the middle of securing the next rig when a strange, high-pitched noise caught her attention. She froze, listening for a moment before the unmistakable sound of the skyline protesting the weight hit her ears again. This time it was a sharp, strained screech that set her nerves on edge.
She glanced over her shoulder at the rigging, then up at the carriage zipping down the line. The noise was louder now, unnatural. There was too much strain. She could tell that something wasn't right.
Harm's voice cut through her thoughts, "Mac! Move! Get out of the way!"
She didn't need to be told twice. She ducked low, scrambling toward safer ground, but her eyes stayed locked on the carriage, heart hammering as the tension in the air thickened.
The skyline was groaning louder now, as if it were alive, angry and ready to take out anything in its path.
CB stood on the landing, eyes trained on the hillside below. His instincts kicked in as the strange, strained noise from the skyline reached him. He'd been doing this long enough to know something was wrong. "Ease off, Dax," he called over the radio.
Dax's response was as gruff and dismissive as ever. "Don't worry, Boss. I've been running this crew before you even decided to take over your daddy's business. Let the real men work."
CB's blood boiled, but he didn't rise to the bait. He wasn't one to take insults from anyone, especially not from a guy like Dax, who was already walking a fine line with the crew. "Finish this turn, Dax," And then I want you off the yarder. We're due for some words."
"Whatever you say, jefe," Dax sneered, slamming down on the controls and sending the carriage across the line, dropping the choker cables when he heard the appropriate beeps from the whistle.
Mac hurried to secure the turn. But just as she tied the last choker, the carriage jerked the cables upwards too early. Her fingers slipped and thankfully she yanked her hand back just in time. Her glove had been the only casualty, its leather finger tips snipped by the metal wire.
"Mac?" Harm's voice crackled through her radio, his concern was evident.
"I'm fine," she replied quickly, brushing the moment off. "Just need to be faster."
"Faster isn't always better out here," Harm warned. "You've already proved yourself. Let's go."
"I'm not quitting," Mac snapped, more determined than ever to push through.
But the tension was palpable, and Dax wasn't letting up. He pushed harder this time, determined to keep the rough pace until the skyline gave a final, tortured groan and snapped a second later with a deafening crack.
The carriage which was pulling up a load of timber careened off the line slamming to the ground so hard that the logs which were halfway up the mountain slipped free of their chokers. They slid down the mountain at an insane speed barreling straight towards where Mac and the rigging crew stood.
Harm's heart stopped. "Mac, get clear!" But the chaos happened too fast. And in the blink of an eye she was gone.
A haunting silence followed.