Page 1 of Liberated By the Logger

CHAPTER ONE

ASPEN

Well, this sucks.

When my absentminded boyfriend—Gary—changed our brunch plans last minute for something more exciting, I didn’t think we’d be tromping through the uneven terrain of the Rocky Mountains National Park.

Heck, he didn’t even tell me how to dress for the day. Had I known I’d be hiking for Lord knows how long, I would have worn suitable attire. Sneakers and a thin windbreaker are not durable enough for this environment. My hiking boots and hooded down coat would’ve been a better fit for this dreary fall day.

With Gary, I should know better. My tree-hugging, hippy boyfriend would live in a yurt in this national forest, smoking the wild weed he collects and living off the land, if the park rangers didn’t force him off the grounds every time he tried to claim squatter rights. There’s nature lovers and nature obsessed—Gary is the latter.

As my ankle rolls over another stone, I grumble a curse at my stupidity for not demanding Gary tell me what I would need for this less than exciting outing.

Don’t get me wrong. I love nature. The gorgeous Rockies are one of the main reasons I chose to attend Colorado State University Warner College of Natural Resources for my doctorate in forest science. It’s where I met Gary—not in class. He’s not a student. He’s a nature fanatic I met while I was collecting specimens in the forest. Most of my education takes place in the field, and I’m usually dressed for the occasion.

Today, not so much.

Glaring daggers at the back of my boyfriend’s head, I test my ankle before putting pressure back on my foot. It’s fine, but the mishap could’ve been prevented had I been wearing my tall Keen hiking boots.

Not bothering to slow for me, Gary plows on ahead with his big backpack and walking sticks like a seasoned pro. “Come on, Aspen. We have to hustle if we want to get to our final destination on time.”

Hustle? Where the hell is he leading me?

As we approach two hours into this hike, we’re fairly deep inside the woods. We’ve out hiked any other sane trekker trying to avoid the forecasted rain. The only other people this deep into the trails are the park rangers patrolling the area and the loggers using their chainsaws in the distance.

Scrunching my face at the cloud-covered sky and feeling the first raindrop of the day land smack dab between my eyes, I flick the moisture away with my finger. “How much further are we going?”

“Not too far now. But we need to hurry.”

I scurry to catch up, my eyes focused on the ground to save me from another accident. “Why the rush?”

And if we’re rushing, shouldn’t we be turning around to head out of the forest before the storm hits?

Suddenly stopping in his tracks, I nearly run into him from behind, catching myself at the last second. Gary points with one of his long walking sticks at the towering skeletal remains of dried up Ponderosa Pine ahead of us. There’s a painted red band around the trunk at chest level, as well as a base marker at ground level—all clear indicators the forestry department marked it for cutting.

Seeing the dead state of the tree on a main hiking trail, it’s understandable why it needs to be removed. It’s a safety hazard to hikers and wildlife, not to mention tinder for wild fires.

“There she is—a tree in need.” Gary grabs my hand, leading me toward the pine.

“In need? Of what?”

“Tender loving care,” Gary answers, dropping his pack at the base of the tree. As he gets down on the ground, Gary hastily unzips the backpack, pulling out a chain and lock. “Here, take these. We don’t have a lot of time.”

Confused, I take the heavy chain and lock from him. “Um, what are these for?”

He smirks at me from where he kneels on the ground, zipping up his bag. “Oh, you’re going to love it. It’s something I’ve been wanting to do for months and finally got the courage to try.”

Springing back on his feet, Gary has a heated look in his eyes, the look he gives me when he’s wound up below the waist. It’s also the look he gets when talking fervently about nature preservation. I’m hoping his reaction is the former.

Last night’s sexcapade was another dud and I could use a good lay not involving my fingers or toys.

He takes me by the shoulders and gently pushes my back against the trunk of the tree. A few dead pine needles rain down on us.

No matter. This miserable hiking exploit has taken an unexpected turn towards Pound Town.

My lower stomach clenches with needy anticipation.

Things are getting juicy!