Chapter Two

Percy Stonewall leaned a hip against his semi's fender with his arms crossed as he watched the massive log loader machine lift the thirty-six-foot logs onto his trailer. Keeping a sharp eye, he made certain the young idiot behind the controls placed the logs uniformly. There was nothing more dangerous than poorly placed logs shifting while in transit.

Seeing the freshly placed log spin into an undesirable angle against the one next to it, he nearly pushed away from the truck to say something. Fortunately, the site foreman stepped in first. The man spoke into his earpiece, catching the loader's attention, and helped the obvious newbie adjust the log.

Then the foreman—Gerry Burke—headed his way, his rueful smile barely seen due to his thickly whiskered face. "Don't worry, Stone," he said by way of greeting. "We're keepin' an eye on this young gun, but he's learning quickly."

Stone nodded once, slowly. He knew Gerry was aware of his real name—Percy—but no one called him that. In fact, if anyone tried, Stone either ignored the person or threatened to knock their teeth in—depending on the situation. Even his work shirt sported his name as Stone.

Only his mother had gotten away with calling him Percy, and she was long passed.

"I appreciate that, Gerry," Stone replied, returning his attention to the loading of his trailer. "We seem to have a new set of trainees every year."

Meaning, Stone always kept a sharp eye on whoever was loading his trailer because they seemed to get younger every year.

Not that I'm that old.

But Stone sure felt it sometimes.

Stone had done two tours in the Army, working as a mechanic in the motor pool. The skills sure came in handy when anything on his rig broke down. Bills to pay to fix anything on the big machine could stack up damn swiftly.

After his time in the military, Stone had returned stateside and taken up trucking. He'd done long-haul for a few years until his mother had become sick. Stone had rented a cabin near her, bought his own rig, and become a logger. When his mother had lost her battle to cancer, he'd appreciated the fond memories their time together had given him. He'd bought the cabin and stuck around.

"That we do," Gerry agreed affably, turning to stand next to Stone. He focused on the loading, too, placing his hands on his hips. "This life sure ain't for everyone, and they either figure it out damn quick or stick around for years." Casting a smirking glance Stone's way, Gerry told him, "Most discover that playing with giant machines isn't nearly as glamorous as they think."

Stone scoffed under his breath. "No, it's not." Although, he'd sure enjoyed working on the military vehicles.

"Nice haircut," Gerry commented, glancing at him and taking in Stone's short red hair. "Never seen you with short hair before."

"Summer's coming," Stone replied gruffly, suddenly feeling self-conscious about the short, slightly spiky style that the barber had talked him into. The guy had winked and told Stone that it accentuated his cheekbones and blue eyes. Stone had been too uncomfortable with the guy's obvious flirting to say no. To get Gerry to stop staring, Stone claimed the first thing to come to mind and gruffly muttered, "Long hair was getting hot."

In truth, Stone couldn't remember if he'd ever had his hair so short after leaving the military. He wasn't a prideful man, and he'd never had trouble getting laid when the itch hit him. Having his hair long or short had never really mattered beyond how easy it was to deal with.

Gerry nodded once and returned his attention to where it should be—the loading operator. "Fair enough." After the loader shut off the machine—must be his break time—Gerry grunted and took a step forward. "Have a safe trip."

Just when Stone was about to say, "Thanks," an odd noise filtered through the suddenly quiet trees. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Narrowing his eyes, Stone tipped his head and listened, trying to decide just what in the hell he was hearing.

"Shit," Gerry muttered, scowling. "What the hell is that?"

"It sounds like... screaming," Stone murmured, a chill working up his spine. "Like someone screaming bloody murder."

Stone slowly spun, wondering where the noise was coming from. His adrenaline began to spike as he searched for the source. Instinctively, he felt the need to help, to make the obvious suffering stop.

Except, then the noise stopped, leaving him in uneasy silence.

Gerry cleared his throat, startling Stone and drawing his attention. The foreman was rubbing the back of his neck, looking just as uneasy as Stone felt. The scuff of a boot on rock caused them both to jerk.

Laughing, the noise sounding self-conscious, Gerry stated, "Must have been a wild animal makin' a kill."

Stone nodded once, although he wasn't certain he agreed. "Sure."

After clearing his throat, Stone swept his gaze around the area again, but there was nothing to see but trees, logging equipment, and the crew. He saw the pensive expression on the young loader's face. Stone felt about the same, but his military training kept his stoic mask in place.

"Well, have a safe trip, Stone," Gerry told him with a wave. "See you day after tomorrow."

Stone nodded, leaving Gerry to deal with his worried-looking loader. Heading to his trailer, he went through the process of tying down his load. He slid the bar into the slot on the crank and tightened the chains.

Satisfied with them, Stone made his pre-trip inspection, checking tires, gauges, and fluids. All the while, he listened for any noise that wasn't normal. The fact that the loggers didn't restart their equipment told Stone that he wasn't the only one preoccupied with the odd screams they'd heard.

With a shake of his head, Stone climbed into the cab of his truck. He eased noise-canceling buds into his ears before firing up his rig and rolling down his windows to feel the cool air on his face. The low rumble and vibration worked through him like the feel of a familiar caress.

Stone smiled as he checked his gauges before easing his truck into gear and releasing the brake. With a shift of feet and hands, he began working through his gears, starting his truck moving. He rolled out of the loading lot and rumbled down the gravel road.

Glancing back and forth, Stone kept an eye on the trees around him. He saw nothing but pines as he drove for several long minutes. Stone began to relax and reached over to grab his bottle of water.

Just as Stone twisted the cap off the bottle, several somethings darted from amidst the trees about thirty feet ahead of him.

"Shit," Stone hissed as he hit the brakes. The plastic bottle crunched as he instinctively tightened his grip. "What the—"

Stone realized he was seeing not one, but several large brown bears running across the road.

And is that a freakin' panda?

"What the hell?" Stone repeated, slowing, working to a stop as he drew closer to the weird sight.

As Stone watched the panda disappear between the pines, he felt his truck jolt. He snapped his focus in the other direction in time to see another bear spin around and, on three legs—his left foreleg held off the ground—lope back into the trees.

"Ah, damn," Stone muttered. "I just hit a freakin' bear." Placing his semi in park, he put on the brake before shutting down his rig. Staring into the trees on either side of the road, Stone didn't see any hint of the bears. "Hope I didn't hurt him too bad."

Stone enjoyed hunting every year, and one of the worst things to do was injure an animal without actually taking it out. There was no telling how much pain it could be in or where or when it would die from its injuries. Stone sure didn't want that for a bear he'd accidentally hit.

Reaching into his glove box, Stone pulled out his pistol. He opened his door and carefully climbed to the ground. Stone kept a sharp eye on the woods around him, listening for any sounds.

Stone heard nothing. Even the birds had ceased chirping.

Never a good sign.

The hairs on Stone's neck lifted as he moved to the front of his truck. He took a quick glance at his front end. Stone noticed a slight dent, as well as scratches, but it was all very superficial.

Noticing some dark hairs caught between two panels, Stone reached out and plucked a few of them. He eyed them for a few seconds, rolling them between his fingers. They were several inches long and smoother than he would have assumed a bear's hair would be.

After another long look around, Stone let them fall to the ground. He blew out a long, slow breath as he squinted, doing his best to peer between the trees. Stone rubbed the back of his neck, still feeling as if he was being watched.

Stone shook his head as he tapped his Glock against his thigh, agitation plaguing him.

Knowing just how bad an idea trying to track the bear was, Stone turned away and returned to his semi's cab. He restarted his truck and continued on his way. After all, he had a load of logs to deliver.

Too bad Stone couldn't leave his worry and concern behind as easily.