THE LUMBERJACK
Redbourne Series #7 - Hannah’s Story
Kelli Ann Morgan
Contents
Excerpt
Also by Kelli Ann Morgan
Title Page
Praise for Kelli Ann Morgan’s Novels
Acknowledgments
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Review This Book
Redbourne Family Tree
About the Author
Watch for the Final Installment
Hannah caught a glimpse of one of the competitors, his familiar frame flooding her with a rush of memories...
“It can’t be,” she said under her breath as she leaned forward to take Eustice’s hand.
She missed, her eyes still focused on the logger as she tried to determine whether or not it was just her imagination or if it really was him. Before she knew it, she hit the ground in a splay of pantalettes and petticoats.
Of course, she would have to fall with more than half the town standing around. Normally so sure footed, she quickly tried to gather herself together to avoid any further embarrassment.
“Hannah Redbourne, is that you?”
Too late. There was no mistaking that voice. That wonderful, deep, heart-wrenching voice. She raised her head, her hair falling in disarray in front of her face. She blew a stray lock away from her eyes and looked up. Heat filled her cheeks as he reached down to help her up from the mess she was in, the warmth of his hand cupping her elbow, sending gooseflesh down the length of her. When she was finally in a standing position, she met his eyes. That same tendril fell, blocking her view and she hastily shoved it aside, trying desperately to compose herself.
“Mr. Whittaker…” she had no idea what to say after all these years, “you’re a little far from home.”
He reached out and plucked a long, yellow stem from her hair. His nearness left her feeling slightly off-kilter.
“Mr. Whittaker?” He tilted his head, the hurt barely masked in his eyes. “Has it been that long?”
Hannah swallowed. She may have been a ‘little girl’ the last time she’d seen him, but to her chagrin, he still had the same effect on her.
Breathe, she reminded herself. Just breathe.
Also by Kelli Ann Morgan
The Rancher
Redbourne Series Book One
The Bounty Hunter
Redbourne Series Book Two
The Blacksmith
Redbourne Series Book Three
The Iron Horseman
Redbourne Series Book Four
The Outrider
Redbourne Series Book Five
The Wrangler
Redbourne Series Book Six
Jonah
Deardon Mini-Series Book One
Holden’s Heart
Silver Springs Series Book One
Available from INSPIRE BOOKS
Inspire Books
A Division of Inspire Creative Services
937 West 1350 North, Clinton, Utah 84015, USA
While some of the events described and some of the characters depicted in this book may be loosely based on actual historical events and real historical figures, this book is a work of fiction. Other names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used factitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
THE LUMBERJACK
An Inspire Book published by arrangement with the author
First Inspire Books Kindle edition October 2019
Copyright © 2019 by Kelli Ann Morgan
Cover Design by Kelli Ann Morgan at Inspire Creative Services
All rights reserved.
The reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any format—electronic, mechanical, or as is otherwise invented hereafter, is strictly prohibited without written permission.
ISBN-13: 978-1-939049-55-1
ISBN-10: 1939049555
Printed in the United States of America
Created with Vellum
Praise for Kelli Ann Morgan’s Novels
“...heart-stopping action that will sweep you off your feet and keep you on your toes...”
—Yeah or Neigh: Honest Reviews on THE WRANGLER
“Excellent, well-written plot that kept me reading past bedtime!”
—PollywogPam on THE WRANGLER
“My new book boyfriend is Will Redbourne!”
—CP Reviews on THE OUTRIDER
“Wonderful! Couldn’t put it down! I feel as if I am a member of the Redbourne family! Can’t wait for the next adventure.”
—Cakelady on THE OUTRIDER
“…a roller coaster. Action, suspense, excitement, all rolled together. What a fun experience.”
—Rocky Palmer on THE OUTRIDER
“The Redbourne men are the most amazing characters in the American west!”
—Lesia Chambliss on THE IRON HORSEMAN
“…beautiful settings, sweet romance, and an adventure so intricately woven that it will keep you guessing till the end.”
—Tennille Rasmussen on THE BLACKSMITH
“The book will make you laugh, cry, and in general, you will keep shaking your head, until it finally clicks into place.”
—Donna Feibusch on THE BOUNTY HUNTER
“I laughed. I cried. I cheered.”
—Amazon Customer on THE RANCHER
Acknowledgments
To my incredibly patient and caring fans. I adore you!
To my wonderful beta readers—Jenn and Janene—who were willing to drop everything to read and provide insights to help make this story the best it could be. Thank you!
To my amazing copyeditor, Rocky. Thank you for making sure all my i’s are dotted and my t’s crossed. I couldn’t do this without you.
To my adoring and supportive husband for believing in me and helping me to be the best writer I can be. Thank you for showing me the importance of keeping going through adversity.
To my son, Noah, who is growing up way too fast. Our writing sprints have been a highlight for me while I worked on this book and you worked on yours. Thanks for keeping me going.
To all the doctors who have helped me find answers and to overcome the challenges this year brought and who give me hope for pain free days ahead.
To my father-in-law, Grant,
Aunt Janel and Uncle Garth who helped make
it possible for me to finish this book.
Chapter 1
Oregon, Late July, 1874
“Timmmberrrrr!” Eli Whittaker yelled as the nine-foot circumference Douglas Fir they’d been working to fall for the last four hours popped and crackled like a burning fire until it hurled to the forest floor with a deafening thud—the needles swishing from the rapid descent and finally crunching beneath the weight of its trunk. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and exchanged a satisfied nod with Jim Harper, his falling partner for the last few days.
His heart pumpe
d heavily in his chest and, though he was exhausted from a full day of work, he was invigorated by the accomplishment. It was by far not the largest tree he’d downed as a faller, but they’d done it in fairly good time.
Several men had been standing on the edge of the hillside, watching out of harm’s way as the last tree in the small wooded valley finally fell, marking the end of this leg of their journey. They whooped and hollered, descending the stump-riddled earth with joviality, slapping Jim on the back as he jumped down off his springboard.
“You comin’?” the man yelled up at him.
“I’ll be along,” Eli responded with a wave and a laugh as he took in the excitement from the crew. “Go get some grub.”
Jim nodded, grabbed the kerosene filled flask perched in the bark, and hustled to catch up to the others who’d already scaled the log-covered ground on their way to the cookhouse.
Instead of getting down to join the others, Eli buried his ax into the base of the tree and pulled himself up on top of the room-sized stump and sat down at the edge, his feet dangling below him, and glanced out over the devastation that was once a heavily wooded valley.
A feeling of loneliness and melancholy took place of what should have been a sense of pride at a job well-done at the sight. He wondered how long these trees had been growing to reach such grand thickness and density. While he understood the importance of what they were doing in the name of progress—creating homes and communities, building furniture, offering warmth, and all of the other things that could be done with their bounties, he couldn’t help the sense of loss he experienced at the end of each run.
He knew the others would think him crazy as his beautiful Oregon was littered with thousands of forested hillsides like this, but at this pace, it wouldn’t be too many years before the lumber industry would lay waste to everything that made this his home.
As he looked around him, a small sapling caught his attention. Despite all of the now fallen logs, it grew between them, still reaching for nourishment from the sun, and an idea began to form in his mind. He needed to speak with his father.
His stomach rumbled. They’d put in a long day.
“Maybe after supper,” he said aloud with a little laugh for no one to hear. He climbed down, collected his springboard and tools, and headed up to camp.
When he walked into the makeshift kitchen, he was surprised to see some of the women from Sal’s saloon draped over many of the men, who’d already begun carousing with tankards of ale and gin. The end of a run was often highly celebrated, but usually those types of frivolities were taken into town and not brought directly into the camps.
He shook his head, eager to avoid any encounters. He just wanted to get some food into his belly, then meet with his father in his office before turning into bed. They had a busy day ahead of them, so he needed to get a good amount of sleep. This would be his last time working as a faller, but he was unsure which position his father wanted him to try next.
Isaiah Whittaker had been very insistent upon his children learning every aspect of the business. Eli and his brother, Angus, had worked in almost every position there was in the lumber camps. It didn't seem like the dangers of being a lumberjack bothered his father where his children were concerned. He just wanted them to be respected by the men with whom they worked.
He glanced at the food on the tin plates of the other crew members. The cook had outdone himself today. The serving table exploded with a huge variety of foods. Salted pork was accompanied by a thick stew filled with hearty chunks of meat, potatoes, and some types of vegetables along with thick slices of watermelon and what smelled like strawberry rhubarb pie. And of course, the normal beans and cornbread that accompanied every meal. One of the things he appreciated most about the lumber camps was the quality of the food. There was always enough for a man to take his fill and everything was done well with plenty of flavor and substance, though it was always cooked the same way, so a man knew what he was getting. He’d only been in one camp where the main cook had been lacking in talent, and the man hadn’t lasted long.
“Hey, handsome,” one of the painted ladies cooed as she approached him, her fingers running uncomfortably down his chest until he grabbed her hand and stopped her from moving past his belt, “would you like a drink?”
“No, thank you,” he said with a polite smile.
“Just some company then?” she asked with a hopeful grin.
“Not interested. Sorry.”
The woman patted his cheek with her hand, shaking her head.
“Too bad,” she said as she turned to walked away, then glanced back over her shoulder and added, “Another time, then.” She quickly moved to the edge of the table and sat down in the lap of one of the buckers who welcomed her with open arms.
I don't think so. He had no interest in a woman like her. There was a time as a younger man that Eli may have enjoyed the attentions of one of these ladies, but now, he sought for something more. Something real. And that was not something these women were likely to provide.
He migrated to the small, round table in the corner that had become his sanctuary at mealtime. While he did enjoy associating with some of the men, playing cards and talking about the day’s work, he also appreciated his solace—especially, when the group became rambunctious, loud, and crude. He’d been around it his whole life—not that there was anything different from one camp to the next—but it had grown tiresome. There was only one chair at the table in the corner, so most of the men preferred to sit at the long tables with its benches and plenty of room to socialize.
Cook set down a plate full of food in front of him, along with a large bowl of stew.
“Is there anything else I can get for you, Mister Whittaker?” cook asked with a raised brow.
“This looks like plenty to fill a man's belly,” Eli said, licking his lips. “Thank you.”
Several of the men grabbed their guitars and fiddles, and music filled the cookhouse before long. He didn't understand how the men could celebrate so hard, knowing how much work still had to be done tomorrow. All of the trees that had been cut down now needed to be trimmed of their branches, cut into manageable pieces to be loaded onto wagons or in a line to be drug by several teams of oxen, and taken to the river where they could be more easily transported downstream to the mill.
It didn't take long for Eli to finish his meal.
He grabbed his things, dropped them in the bunkhouse, and headed toward his father's office.
Knock. Knock.
When he opened the door, he was surprised to see Jonah sitting in the plush seat across from his father. The man stood, his hand extended.
“Eli, just the man I’ve come to see.”
“What can I do for you, Jonah? It's been a long time.”
“Six months is hardly what I call a long time, but the boys have been asking after you. Besides, I've come with a proposition.”
“What kind of proposition?”
“Well, I'm headed down to Texas with a herd of cattle and horses for my cousin, Tag.” Jonah pointed to the chair next to him.
Eli sat down, daring a glance at his father.
“And what does that have to do with me?”
“Tag told me that he wrote to you a couple of years ago to look at the possibility of opening a mill down there. He said he never got a response.”
Taggert Redbourne had contacted him quite a while ago with an offer to move a portion of his father’s business down to Texas—though he hadn’t realized quite so much time had passed. He felt a light twinge of guilt seize his gut at the thought of being quite ungracious as to have not responded to the man before now. He’d only met Tag a few times, but over the years had grown very fond of the Redbournes and Deardons alike.
Eli shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
“After going through a few men who he hoped would be up to the task,” Jonah continued, “Tag discovered they just couldn't make the cut and wanted to reach out once again to see if you might be willi
ng to come with me,” Jonah put up a hand as if to stop him from protesting, “just to take a look at what they’ve already built down there.”
Isaiah cleared his throat.
“Tag Redbourne?” he said. “Is that Jameson Redbourne’s son?”
“Yes, sir,” Jonah confirmed.
“You never told me that you are related to Jameson Redbourne, Jonah.”
“I’m sorry, sir. It was never a secret. How do you know him?”
“That is a story for another day,” his father replied cryptically.
Eli narrowed his eyes at the man, but did not say anything.
“Isaiah, I'm hoping we might be able to entice you both to open your minds to the possibilities branching out to Texas might hold for Whittaker Industries.”
The last time Eli had seen Tag was nearly six years ago when the man, his mother, Leah, and his baby sister, Hannah, had made the trek from Kansas to Oregon to visit the Deardons. They’d come just after the winter season. Tag had only come to collect a beautiful wild horse that had been separated and rejected from the rest of his herd, but the women had stayed for several months while Leah helped take care of Emma, Jonah’s wife, during her last pregnancy.
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