Begging for Bad Boys

by Willow Winters

  “Not that!” Kat laughed, hitting him playfully. “Have you noticed my glass is empty, Sam?”

  Sam frowned at her empty champagne flute. “That’s weird. Here, I’ll get you something.”

  He raised his hand to motion a waiter over, but Kat pulled his arm back down.

  “No, they didn’t forget me, silly. I’m not drinking,” she said to him, with a meaningful smile.

  Sam laughed. “Is this some kind of last-minute wedding day diet, because honey, you don’t need it.”

  He raked his eyes admiringly over her figure.

  Kat rolled her eyes. “No, it’s not a diet! Sam, can’t you think of any other reason why I wouldn’t be drinking tonight?”

  Understanding dawned on Sam’s face. His mouth gaped.

  “Are you? Are we? It’s... wait, really? Oh my God!” Sam clasped her hand to him, then kissed it.

  Kat nodded and smiled at him, her free hand absently caressing her still-flat stomach. “I couldn’t wait to tell you any longer!” she whispered into his ear.

  Sam smiled brilliantly at her, kissed her happily.

  “The best is yet to come,” he said.

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  Lumberjack BOSS

  by Tabatha Kiss

  Chapter 1

  Hazel

  “They were lost for hours,” I say, digging my fingers into the diary’s leather binding, “just wandering around in circles out in the middle of the woods until they came upon the river. That’s when my father took her hand, brought it to his lips, and said, ‘I’m sorry. I know you’re distraught and tired and hungry but you’ve never looked more beautiful to me.’

  “Then, he kissed her and they laid down a blanket and made love in the middle of a field of hazel plants.” I chuckle. “That’s how I got my name; Hazel. I’m pretty sure I was conceived there. Afterward, they got up and my dad walked to the nearest tree and he carved their names into it because if they were never going to forget that moment, then the damned forest wouldn’t either — but that’s my dad, he says things like that.”

  I pause and look at the old woman sitting beside me.

  She sighs and clutches her chest. “That’s beautiful, sweetie.”

  “I had no idea any of that happened until last week when I found this.” I hold up the diary. “And then I thought, ‘This is it! This is a sign.’ So, I packed a bag and now I’m here.” I gaze out the bus window. “My parents spent their honeymoon somewhere out in these woods. In her diary, my mother said that she never truly knew who she was, never understood her purpose in life, until she set foot on Lover’s Trail. I guess I’m kinda hoping the same happens to me.”

  She reaches out and lays a wrinkled hand on mine. “I’m sure it will, dear.”

  I roll my eyes. “God, I hope so. I’m broke, unemployed, single…”

  “So am I,” she quips. “You don’t see me complaining.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re really ol—” I bite my tongue. “You seem to have a whole lot of other things going for you.”

  The old woman gives me one last polite smile before staring forward at the front of the bus.

  I silently scold myself as I open my mother’s diary again.

  August 18th, 1991. It’s my wedding day!

  She was my age when she wrote that, almost to the day. Young and so full of life and love. My parents had only known each other a week — a week! — but that’s all it took to know they wanted to spend the rest of their lives together and they did, until…

  I let my thoughts taper off.

  Whitefish, Montana. Lover’s Trail at the edge of the lake. My mother practically drew a map right to it. I look out the window again and watch as the trees pass us by and civilization drifts even further into the background. That clean, mountain air seeps in through the window beside me. I stretch upward to take a huge whiff of it, relishing in the perfect, woodland smell.

  My parents experienced their happy ending out here. For the first time in my life, things feel like they’re falling into place. Full circle is just around the corner. Life as I know it will never be the same after this.

  I hug the diary against my chest. Somehow, it still smells like her. Years of being stuffed in a storage box never killed the essence of her on every single page.

  I’m going to make you proud, Mom. I’m—

  A loud bang echoes from the back of the bus. My spine stiffens as we jolt to the side of the road amid the cautious gasps of the other passengers.

  The bus grinds to a shaking halt and the driver throws open the door. “Probably just a flat, folks. Hang tight.”

  The others groan. Several of them stand up to stretch their legs and a few more snatch packs of cigarettes from their bags and follow the driver out to light one up.

  I sigh and stare out the window at the trees until my eyes fall on a road sign nearby.

  Lover’s Trail. Next exit. One mile.

  I gasp. “Lover’s Trail!” I grab the old woman’s shoulders and give them a shake. “Lover’s Trail!”

  She gawks at me and I pull my hands away.

  “Sorry, uh… excuse me.” I stand and push into the aisle, reaching up to retrieve my duffel bag from the overhead compartment.

  “Ow!” the woman hisses at me.

  I hop backward as she yanks her foot out from under mine.

  “Sorry! Excuse me! I’m sorry,” I repeat, though I can’t stop smiling.

  There’s no way this flat tire is a coincidence. The universe wanted me to stop here. It wanted me to see this road sign at exactly this moment in time. My heart pounds against my ribs as I rush down the aisle; an epic metronome counting down to the best days of my life.

  “Hey, lady!” the driver cries out as I step off the bus. “Where are you going?”

  I beam at him. “This is my stop!”

  “This is the middle of nowhere. It won’t take long to fix the flat…”

  I fill my lungs with the pleasant, forest air. “Something tells me I’ll be all right.”

  He waves a passive hand and says nothing more as I strap my bag over my shoulders and walk away.

  Lover’s Trail. One mile.

  One foot in front of the other, I hike down the highway. Nature tickles all of my senses. I understand now why city folk are so high-strung. You just can’t take this kind of deep breath in the middle of a concrete jungle like Spokane.

  I follow the highway and take the first exit towards Lover’s Trail. The street instantly becomes narrower and I have to hug the tree line to keep from getting run over by the rare passing car but it’s totally worth the mud on my sneakers.

  A campground soon comes into focus. Signs point towards cabin and boat rentals. Rusted tables and dry fire pits lie scattered around. My smile widens the further I walk. Twenty-five years ago, my parents probably strolled across this same gravel, hand-in-hand, staring deeply into each other’s eyes…

  I head straight for the shack across the lot but I pause as I see a paper sign haphazardly taped to the window out front.

  CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE

  I bite my lip. It’s autumn, but surely people camp and hike just as much now as they do over the warm months, right?

  I cup my hands to the filthy windows and peek inside. There’s no sign of life anywhere. A thick layer of dust coats every surface. This place has been shut down for a long time.

  Still, I give the door a quick knock. “Hello?” I call out, tapping a little louder.

  I try the handle but it’s locked. No answer either.

  Where is everybody?

  I turn around and scan the campsite until I find another sign shaped like an arrow pointed straight for Lover’s Trail. With my smile back on, I walk from the gravel to the grass, taking wide strides towards the woods.

  When I get there, I freeze in place.

  A thick fence blocks the path into the woods, along with a metal sign bolted in front of it
.

  PROPERTY OF L JACK INDUSTRIES

  NO TRESPASSING

  FUTURE HOME OF JACKMAN SPRINGS!

  STATE-OF-THE-ART LAKESIDE HOUSES!

  My chest sinks.

  They’re gutting the campsite to put in a housing development?

  Oh, no.

  My heart breaks. No, no. They can’t! This place is a part of me; a piece of my history I didn’t know about until now. They can’t mow it down. Not yet. Not ever.

  I grit my teeth and step forward, reaching up to get a firm grip on the fence before pulling myself up. I can’t say physical activity is my strongest asset but the adrenaline pumping through me makes me forget about that.

  “Ooof!”

  I slip off the fence and tumble the rest of the way down. My duffel breaks my fall but any pain I feel washes away the second I realize I’m lying on Lover’s Trail.

  Here we go…

  I stand up, brush the dirt off my pants, and start walking.

  Chapter 2

  Leo

  “Jackman Springs,” I say, pacing in front of my desk. “Imagine, if you will, brand new, state-of-the-art homes featuring the views of yesteryear and the technological advancements of tomorrow. You wake up every morning and gaze out your solar-paneled windows at your own woodland paradise.”

  Bobby sits on the sofa by the wall with a clipboard balanced on his knee. “No,” he says, marking through the speech with a red pen. “Drop the if you will part. It’s too cliche. Go straight into brand new.”

  “All right…” I clear my throat. “Imagine brand new, state-of-the-art…” I stop. “Are you sure? I kind of liked that pause.”

  “No, drop it,” he says, running a hand through his short, black hair to wake himself up. “Less is more. Also, it makes you sound kinda douche-y.”

  “Well, we don’t want douche-y.”

  “Yeah, douche-y is generally frowned upon.”

  I nod and stare out my office window at the dark blue mountains on the horizon. “Brand new, state-of-the-art homes featuring the views of yesterday—”

  “Yesteryear.”

  “Yesteryear and the technological advancements of tomorrow…” I let my voice fall but I continue muttering the first line to myself until Bobby stands up.

  “You all right?” He caresses his bare chin. “Your beard isn’t as shapely as it usually is.”

  I scratch at it. “I’m fine. Just worn out, I guess.”

  He perks up. “Want to stop and try again tomorrow?”

  “Yeah,” I answer. “Any calls from Patterson about the zoning budget yet?”

  “Not since you asked me twenty minutes ago, no.”

  “Let me know as soon as—”

  “As soon as he gets back to us.” He smirks. “You know I will.”

  I wince. “I’m doing that thing again, aren’t I?”

  He waves a hand. “Yeah, but don’t worry about it. We break ground on Tuesday. You’re stressed out. Speaking of which…” His face curls with excitement. “It’s Wednesday night. Ladies’ night. Come grab a drink with me. Let off some steam. It’ll be good for you.” He gestures to my flannel shirt. “And you’re already dressed to impress. The girls around here really dig the classic lumberjack look.”

  “Then, why don’t you ever wear it?”

  “Because I can’t grow the beard.” He gently smacks baby-smooth cheek. “The mystique is lost without the beard.”

  I shake my head and sit down in my desk chair. “Well, no, thanks. I don—”

  “I don’t have time,” we say in unison.

  Bobby laughs as I glare at him. “Come on, man. You do have time. Just put the building regulations down and step away from the desk.”

  “I don’t have time,” I repeat.

  “Leo, I’m your assistant,” he says. “I know your schedule better than you do. Also, I’m ninety-nine percent sure those calluses on your hands come from handling wood — and not the fun kind.”

  “I just need to make it through Monday’s meeting with the board,” I say. “Sit them down, present a more polished pitch, and get them to smile and nod one more time to formally approve the project. Once that’s over, I’ll look into more fun ways of handling my wood but, until then…”

  He nods. “Budgets and regulations.”

  “Budgets and regulations.”

  “Also, your dad will probably disown your ass if you screw up your first solo multi-million dollar project this close to launch...”

  “Yeah…” I pause as that sinks in. “Thanks a lot for that reminder.”

  “It’s what an assistant is for.” He glances at his watch. “Well, it’s almost seven. Do you mind if I go out and grab a drink? I’m still young and very nubile.”

  I grin. “Knock yourself out, Bob.”

  He hands me the clipboard. “Thank you.”

  The phone rings at his desk in the lobby and he spins around to answer it.

  “L Jack Industries; Lumber and Real Estate. … Is the CEO in?” He peeks over at me and I shake my head. “No, he just stepped out, but…” He pauses. “Hold, please.” He presses the phone to his chest. “Uh, Leo. It’s the police department.”

  I glance up. “The police department?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What do they want?”

  “A young woman was caught trespassing on the Whitefish Lake property. They want to know if you’d like to press charges.”

  “No…” I run my fingers through my hair. “No. I don’t have time for that. Just tell them to get her out and send her packing.”

  Bobby lifts the phone to his ear. “No, ma’am. That won’t be necessary. Thank you for calling. … All right. Have a good night.”

  He hangs up and grabs his coat off the back of his chair.

  I try to focus on my speech again but curiosity pokes at me. “Did they say what she was doing there?” I ask.

  “They did not,” he shrugs. “Figure she’s just a hiker who strayed too far in. No harm done.”

  I nod. “Right.”

  “Want me to call back and find out?”

  “No,” I answer. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Goodnight. Oh—!” He sticks his head back in. “Don’t forget that you have to meet the contractor on site first thing tomorrow.”

  “First thing tomorrow. Contractor. I’ll be there. And don’t forget to let me know as soon as—”

  “Patterson calls,” he interrupts with a smile. “I know.”

  I give him a quick thumbs up and he waves as he takes off towards the elevator down the hall. As soon I hear the doors slide closed, I lean back in my chair and stare at the wall.

  “Imagine…” I begin again, “if you will…”

  I frown to myself.

  Okay, yeah. It sounds douche-y.

  I turn my truck onto the mountain road and shift into a lower gear to climb the steep incline. Whitefish, Montana fades off behind me, quickly replaced by trees and nature. Just the way I like it.

  I roll down my window to let the cool, forest air seep into the truck. I fill my lungs with it and flick on my brights as the road starts to bump and weave in the darkness.

  A few miles of this and I’ll be home.

  My cabin comes into view, along with my golden retriever lying on the porch waiting for me. She stands up with excitement but doesn’t race off the porch until the truck is parked and I step one foot out. I’ve trained her well.

  “Hey, Pearl,” I say, scratching behind her ear as she hops up to greet me. “I know, I’m late. I’m sorry. You hungry?” She barks. “Yeah. Me, too. Come on.”

  I unlock the door and she bolts inside between my legs, instantly running into the kitchen and planting herself by her bowl.

  My stomach growls as I move through the living room to the fireplace. If I don’t start a fire now, I’ll regret it once I sit down with my dinner.

  Pearl barks again from the doorway between me and the kitchen.

  “Hang on,” I tell her as I stack a few
logs. “You’re gonna want to curl up here with a full belly, aren’t you?”

  She pouts silently but waits as I build an orange flame.

  “All right…” I say, sliding my coat off and tossing it onto the rack. “What do we have?”

  Pearl wags her tail and follows me to the fridge. It pounds behind my knees, nearly knocking me off-balance as I scan the shelves for grub.

  “Oh, I know,” I chuckle at her. “You want me to heat up that leftover steak, don’t you?”

  Her snout nudges me and she lets out a whine.

  “And you want me to split it with you, don’t you?”

  She kicks up and scratches at my knees.

  “Okay, okay…” I grab the foil-wrapped meat, along with a potato to toss in the microwave. “Steak, it is.”

  While the steak heats on the stove, I walk over to the kitchen table. A hand-carved chessboard sits at the center with several finished pieces standing on top. I palm a block of basswood and place it in my jeans, along with my pocket knife. Once I’m through with dinner, I’ll try and get started whittling the queen — though I’m still not entirely sure how I want her to look yet.

  Pearl watches as I cook, pausing periodically to lap the drool off her lips. I flip the steak over, getting it nice and warm before chopping it up and tossing bits of it into her bowl. She devours it immediately and by the time I sit down in the living room with my own portion, she’s finished and ready for her evening nap by the fireplace.

  I smile at her as she curls up and rests her head against my foot.

  “Good girl,” I tell her, taking a bite from my warm, buttery potato.

  Chapter 3

  Hazel

  L Jack Industries.

  Lumber and Real estate.

  Established in 1890, just a few months after Montana became a state, by Leopold Jackman. The company has been owned and operated by the billionaire family ever since…