The Country Gentleman

by Amberlee Day

  “Don’t I get to see?”

  “Oh, sorry. I texted it to you. Come on, I want to see more of your woods.”

  And Kenzie had lots to show Peter. Since she and Sarah played together in the woods for hours at a time, she had memories of specific spots as much as she did the hiking experience. She showed him Queen Stump and Empress Stump, where she and Sarah pretended they each had their own kingdom, and continuously one-upped each other coming up with the coolest laws.

  “See this?” Peter asked, stepping between the low salal bushes surrounding Queen Stump.

  “The notches on the stump?” Deep indents pushed into several spots around the large stump, about five feet from the ground. “Sure. They’ve always been there.”

  “You know what they are, don’t you?”

  Kenzie did, but she didn’t want to say. She just nodded, and he continued.

  “This is where a plank would have been inserted into the tree, back before it was cut. This was old growth, and the trees were huge. The original loggers would have stood on the planks, where they could stand closer to the trunk in order to make their cut. See, the roots start spreading outward at the base, and it would have been impossible to cut without the plank to rise them up, bring them closer.”

  “That’s from the original logging, then, isn’t it? A hundred years ago.”

  Peter shrugged and patted the deteriorating old stump. “Probably more. These days there’s different equipment, so notches aren’t used. It wouldn’t have been the last time this area was logged, either.”

  Kenzie’s brow furrowed. “The last time? Are you thinking this land’s been logged here since then?”

  Peter looked around. “Do you see any trees as large as this one?”

  “No, but there are plenty of stumps like this. Big ones, with the notches.”

  “Like I said, old-growth logging. This forest you see now was probably after a second or even third logging, in the 1950s or later.”

  He was right. Kenzie couldn’t see a single standing tree half as wide as these old stumps. “I hadn’t thought of that,” she said. “It’s hard to imagine what it would look like with the trees gone. It’s awful.”

  Peter took her hand, and they walked together down the path and out toward the water view. She didn’t want to think about what that would look like, or what was about to happen. For now, she breathed, and felt grateful for this moment with Peter and her trees.

  When their walk was done, Peter didn’t stay. He kissed Kenzie lightly across her luscious lips, made sure she was feeling better, and promised to text her in the morning. Then he got in his truck, put it in gear, and went straight to Paige’s house.

  “A hundred feet,” he growled, marching into his sister’s living room and dropping heavily onto her couch.

  “Nice to see you, too,” Paige said, confused and still standing at the open door her brother had pushed past. “Come on in. Make yourself comfortable.”

  “Her house is a hundred feet from my cut boundary.”

  Paige sat down next to him. “Kenzie’s is? You’re kidding.”

  He exhaled a mirthless laugh. “I wish I was. Here, look.” He pulled out his phone and pointed out everything on the map, including Kenzie’s house.

  “That’s crazy,” she said when he’d finished explaining. “What are you going to do?”

  “Do?” Peter threw up his hands momentarily before dropping them in defeat. “What can I do? I’m contracted to log this land. I can’t exactly quit. We need the work. The crew needs to be paid.”

  “I know. You can’t not work; of course you can’t. I mean, what are you going to do about Kenzie? Did you tell her?”

  Peter shook his head no, staring at his hands. “I mean, sure, I feel terrible that she’s unhappy. She took me for a walk through the woods, and she’s right. It’s a special place. But it’s the Turners’ private forestland, and they’re harvesting. That’s what’s happening, and it’s their legal right to do it.”

  “I know.”

  “In fact, it’s good for the forest in the long run.”

  “I know that, too,” Paige said. “I may not have studied forestry in college, but I grew up in the same household as you, remember?”

  Peter fidgeted on the couch seat, trying to get comfortable, and thumped a throw pillow onto his lap. “I don’t get it. Why is it that good, sensible people—people whose homes are made of wood, who use products from wood every day—can’t reconcile themselves with a tree harvest?”

  Paige folded her arms. Whoops, he was about to be in trouble with his sister, too. “Are you talking about Kenzie?”

  “No … and yes. Paige, she has a wooden house, wooden porch swing, wooden well-house … She even has a wood-burning stove. How can she not see the hypocrisy there?”

  Her face pinched. “Peter. You’re not being fair. I remember when we were kids and you climbed that big tree on one of Dad’s jobs, trying to stop him from cutting it down.”

  Peter huffed a mirthless laugh. “I remember. It’s just hard when I run into adults nearly every day who are just like that ten-year-old kid and don’t understand how a harvest works.”

  Paige’s features softened, and she put a hand on her brother’s arm. “You mean it’s especially hard when it’s Kenzie.”

  Peter nodded. “There’s a small bright spot, though. As far as her forest goes. There’s a pond we have to buffer around, as well as an eagle’s nest at one corner. It’s well-documented as far as the permit goes and was never part of the planned cut. She doesn’t know about the nest, from what I can tell. But those areas bump right up against the tribal lands, and that’s farther away from her place. The cut will change the whole atmosphere of her house and yard.”

  “There’s nothing you can do about that.”

  Peter turned to his sister. She was worried about him, he could see. “The thing is, she hates me for it.”

  “Wait, I thought you said you didn’t tell her?”

  Peter stood up and paced to the kitchen and back. “I didn’t, but she hates the person responsible for this. You can see it.”

  “Of course she does. She loves the trees. Didn’t she call them her woods? She just doesn’t know it’s you, Peter. Kenzie doesn’t hate you.”

  “Not yet, but she will. As soon as I tell her, or she works it out, that’s going to be the end. She won’t want to see me again.”

  Paige’s hand went to her heart, and a tender smile touched her face. “Aw. You really care about her, don’t you, Peter?”

  Peter plopped back down onto the couch again and folded his arms, his expression anything but happy. “Yeah, I do. That’s the problem, isn’t it? There’s no good solution here. If I want to keep seeing Kenzie, I can’t tell her the truth. And if I really care about her, I need to be honest and tell her that I’m the one tearing down her forest.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Peter didn’t see Kenzie again until Wednesday, when she invited him out to dinner. They met downtown at the crepe shop by the ferry. After ordering, they took their savory chicken-spinach-feta crepes to the marina park to eat.

  “How is the clearing going?” Peter asked tentatively, afraid to open a can of worms. Kenzie had apparently moved past her original grief, as Peter didn’t detect it in her face when she nodded and chewed a bite. “Are the headlights still waking you up?”

  “No, the last two mornings they must have started farther away. They’re coming closer once the sun comes up, though. I can’t see them yet, but I can hear them.”

  “I’m glad it’s not disturbing your sleep,” Peter said. He’d reworked his schedule so that his crew worked in the south first thing in the morning and worked their way north. Not all the way north to Kenzie’s property, though. He’d do his best to save that for last.

  “Oh, it’s still waking me up. Not the lights, but I can hear it. Last night I dreamed about that scene in one of the Lord of the Rings movies. Do you know it? Where they’re digging a huge burning pit to cr
eate a super-evil batch of orcs, and whole trees drop in and burn.”

  Peter stopped chewing his mouthful of food. What did that make him, Saruman? He shook his head to clear that image and finished his bite. “That’s a pretty dark thought.”

  “It was a dark dream. Anyway, I’m starting to process this clear-cut a little better.”

  “You are?” A spark of hope lit in Peter’s chest.

  “Yes. I finally heard back from my friend, Sarah. It’s her grandfather who owned the property. Apparently old Nathan Turner died about a year and a half ago.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  “It is. She had her last baby about the same time and didn’t think to let me know. Which is fine; I haven’t seen Sarah since we were seventeen, and her grandfather lived out of state since before that. But her dad and uncles inherited the land, and they decided it was time to harvest.”

  Peter shifted on the bench seat. “I see.”

  “But it wasn’t their idea to harvest. The logging company contacted them, like they were soliciting business.” Kenzie pointed her finger while she talked. He assumed she didn’t mean to point at him, but she was.

  “Well, that’s … that’s probably not uncommon. I mean, doesn’t forestland need to be logged periodically? Maybe the logging company had just done their homework, and knew this land was ready to be harvested.”

  Kenzie shrugged, dismissing the weight of that idea. “Could be. But the thing is, you have Sarah’s dad and her uncles, still grieving over the loss of their father, when bam!” She didn’t exactly slam her fist on the picnic table, but it still surprised Peter. “In swoop the loggers like vultures, just when they’re vulnerable.”

  Peter tried not to stammer. “Maybe it wasn’t like that, though. Maybe they didn’t know the old man had passed away, and it was just a coincidence that they sent out feelers for business at that time.”

  Kenzie shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  “So, what, it’s the loggers’ fault?”

  “Yes. Doesn’t that make sense? Talk about irresponsible capitalism. If they convince the Turners to log, even if they have a permit, they may be logging more than the owners are expecting. But once the trees are down, they’re down. There’s no going back. So the Turners say, ‘Hey, we weren’t planning on taking so many trees down,’ but then they have their money, and there’s nothing they can do about it anyway.”

  Peter had put his crepe down to listen. He realized he was perspiring. “You make it sound like these loggers are bad dudes.”

  “They’re parasites. They come in, clear the land, and leave.”

  Peter frowned. “What about—”

  Kenzie’s phone buzzed, and she took a moment to check the message before muting it. “Sorry, I forgot to turn it off. What were you saying?”

  The delay provided Peter with enough time to process the situation. “Just that they might not be only out for money, not in the way you’re saying. It’s a business, so I’m sure they’re trying to make a profit, but that’s after workers are paid, and insurance, and equipment. Like anything, it’s got to be an expensive venture for the company.”

  Kenzie shrugged. “Anyway, I’ve stopped feeling upset with the Turners. Sarah didn’t know about the clear-cut or said she would have contacted me.”

  Peter wiped his brow. “That’s nice. That she would have, I mean.”

  She asked him about his day, and he talked about his work in general terms: keeping on a schedule, glad the mud was drying since the last rainstorm, dealing with workers wanting days off for summer trips. They talked about Paige, who was doing about the same but had ventured into her office occasionally rather than work from home. When Peter asked Kenzie about her own work, he felt lighter when she smiled brightly.

  “Actually, I’m working on a new project.”

  “That sounds exciting.”

  “It is. Or, I hope it will be. I’m never sure why I jump into something with both feet when I already have so much going on already.”

  Peter took her hand from across the table. “You have a big heart, and big ideas.”

  When Kenzie beamed at him, he felt that overwhelming desire to kiss her. And yet, he knew he was keeping something from her, and that didn’t feel right.

  “Tell me about your new project, Kenzie,” he invited, and she did. It was a race through some forestland in the Olympic Mountains that would coincide with next summer’s lavender festival in a nearby town. Peter thought ruefully that it wasn’t hard to think what inspired a forest race.

  When they’d finished eating, they walked around the waterfront. The air was cooler here by the water, and Peter enjoyed the breeze. He also enjoyed the excuse to put an arm around Kenzie when she pulled her jacket closed. They walked down the open dock, where fishermen pulled up crab pots and couples huddled in romantic twosomes. When they reached the very end, Peter’s worries relaxed. He pulled Kenzie to his chest, and she nestled in.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” Kenzie said. “I had a good day, but you are by far the best part of it.”

  When he kissed her, with the gulls calling and the low-tide scents wafting up on the breeze, Peter knew two things: that he’d rather be with Kenzie than anyone else, and that no matter what it took, he was going to help her come to terms with the logging going on behind her house. It was his only hope.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Are you sure you don’t mind missing hiking club for this?” Kenzie stopped mid-stride to turn her attention to Peter. They’d only been at the Sweet-and-Juicy Strawberry Festival 10k Run site for an hour, and she’d already made the poor man walk at least ten kilometers just helping her set up.

  “Not at all.” His wide grin resonated through her and put a smile on her own face. “Who needs rivers and mountains when I can spend my time among strawberry fields and Kenzie Vega?”

  Kenzie melted inside like chocolate for dipping strawberries—something she’d been thinking about all morning. To Peter, she put on a mock who me? look, complete with eyelash batting, so he didn’t see just how much he affected her. She didn’t have time for playing around, though, and resumed her march back toward registration, with Peter at her side.

  “I really appreciate you being here,” she said. “I’ve organized dozens of events, but there always seems to be something crazy that comes up that I didn’t anticipate.”

  “Like the pins?” he asked.

  Kenzie spun toward him so fast her ponytail flew up. “Exactly! How crazy was that? We always order pins with the number bibs. I knew they had to be there somewhere.”

  “Where did she find them?”

  “They were there in the box, where they should have been. She just didn’t know, so she said she didn’t have them. I think it’s her first time helping with the bibs. What was her name, Susan? Suzanne? Tammy brought her on board for this run, so I don’t really know her.”

  As they checked in with registration preparations, and ensured that T-shirts and goody bags were all out and ready to go, Kenzie finally took a breath. She looked at her watch. “Early arrivals should start coming soon.”

  Peter nodded. “Water stations set up and manned, signs up, your sound guy has the system in place. I don’t know much, but it feels like you’re all ready.”

  Kenzie laughed. “Peter Olson, you’re a natural. You should help me run all my events.”

  “I don’t know. I had no idea these things took so much work. How many times have you run this one?”

  “The Sweet-and-Juicy? This is my third year.”

  Peter shook his head. His admiring expression made her blush. “When you said you ran a lot of races, you weren’t kidding,” he said. “I get it now. You dream them up, and you make them happen. It’s pretty amazing to watch. And clearly you love doing it.”

  Peter’s eyes twinkled and crinkled at the edges. She loved his eyes and gave in to the urge to touch the skin there. He exhaled softly in response, and held her close. When his mouth curled upward on on
e side like that, her heart felt like it had started its own 10K race. Kiss me.

  Peter read her mind, and his lips brushed hers lightly before fully claiming them as his. For a moment she forgot all about the race, the volunteers, and the million details floating around in her head, and let him take her breath away. She felt as if she was floating, with the whole world revolving around the sensations he awoke in her.

  “Kenzie,” a woman’s voice said too soon, “I’m sorry to bother you, but …”

  If Peter hadn’t put a little distance between them at the interruption, Kenzie may have ignored it. Couldn’t they just escape into this beautiful little Peter-Kenzie world for a while? Peter’s expression told her that he understood, but she longed for the end of the day to come so she could spend more time just enjoying him.

  She sighed. “Right.” She patted Peter’s chest, her fingers lingering there, before turning back to her duties.

  As she predicted, early arrivals soon came, starting with a husband-and-wife duo that she would not have pegged as runners: a pale man with more tattoos than muscles, and a young native woman with hot-pink hair and a curvy figure. Neither looked like they ran much, but they wore matching T-shirts that read Strawberry and Shortcake.

  “Welcome!” Kenzie greeted them after they’d signed in.

  “Thank you,” the man answered, concentrating on his number pins. His voice bespoke a confidence his appearance didn’t.

  “Can I help you with that?” Kenzie offered.

  “Here, let me,” Peter told the man’s companion, and she handed him her number as well.

  “Thank you,” the woman said.

  “I’m Kenzie. Have you run the Strawberry 10K before?” Kenzie asked, pinning the number to the man’s shirt back. Under his tattoos, his ultra-pale skin told her he didn’t spend much time outside. His wife’s skin was darker, so it was harder to tell, but Kenzie guessed she didn’t do much running, either.

  “I’m Loren, this is my wife, Reva,” he said. “No, we came to town for the bakeoff. Reva’s strawberry pie’s a killer.”