CHAPTER TWO Dirk

A fter the third trip up the trail to the tower and back, I was exhausted and still had one more to go. The exhaustion wasn't just from the nearly four-mile trail I had to follow while carrying loads of provisions and equipment, there were also a hundred and eleven wooden steps to the top of the tower where a twenty-by-twenty cabin sat high above the forty-to-fifty-foot trees of the forest. I wasn't a math guy, but those were a lot of measurements and distances in my mind, and even though I was quite fit, the chore was a test for me.

All that was left back at the truck were some personal clothes and enough lube to keep me busy jacking off for the next few months before my replacement would show up when we rotated the three month schedule. A satellite link for communication that provided internet for my computers and personal iPad would be my company as I kept a trained eye out for smoke or any indication of a devastating fire. I wasn't too concerned this early on in the year because it had been a wet spring with even a late-season snowstorm in the forecast for any day now. The storm was my biggest concern in regards to getting completely packed in for the ninety-day shift.

The slam of a car door startled me as I approached the parking clearing, just twenty yards ahead of me. I'd received no heads-up about a supervisor's visit or surprise survey party, so I wasn't expecting any humans to be around. But the slamming of a vehicle's door certainly proved someone was there. Last time I checked, the native black and brown bears weren't driving automobiles, and the mountain lions in these parts were lethally quiet.

When I made the clearance I saw the front of an old beat-up Subaru. I thought it had been a reddish brown at one time. One of the passenger side doors was blue, so obviously a junkyard visit had happened sometime in the car's past. The rear hatch was open, and I could see a person rooting around the interior of the car. From the looks of the car, the occupant was probably some tie-dye-wearing hippy looking to escape from the grid and man's advances in the tech world. I'd give him a quick lesson on how he couldn't be on state land without a permit and encourage him to head south toward Oregon where his lifestyle would be more welcome.

I cleared my throat after reaching the front of the stranger's car. The noise from the rear of the car prevented the interloper from hearing me, so I tapped on the hood loudly. "What the mother…?" the man yelled, bumping his head on the hatch as he jumped backward.

"Hey," I said, waiting for him to follow my voice as he was rubbing the top of his head. "What are you doing here?" I asked, following the side of his car and toward where he was leaning against the rear bumper under the lifted hatch.

"What the fuck, asshole?" he hissed, pinching his mouth and still massaging his skull. "Thanks for the heads-up."

I was angered by his outburst but his looks disarmed me. He was definitely not a hippy. An angel from heaven maybe, but certainly no tie-dye anywhere on him. He was maybe three inches shorter than me. Hard to know for sure with his hiking boots on. He had a monied look even though his car was a piece of shit. His hiking vest over a thin matching windbreaker by outdoor brand ROA was the dead giveaway. The vest was nearly a thousand bucks, and he had the matching jacket underneath. Yeah, he was money. His short, sandy-brown hair was expensively mussed and capped a stunning face with square-jawed studliness. "Please don't unpack," I began. "You need to turn around and go back to the highway."

"Yeah?" he asked. "How about you fuck off and mind your own business?"

My idea that perhaps he was heaven-sent evaporated immediately. The devil had personally sent this jerk. He was amazing to look at but a total tool with an attitude to match. "Actually, this land is my business," I declared. "And you require a permit because you're on private state land where I'm currently in charge. Any other questions, asshole ?" I added the insulting name because he'd called me the same thing first. I wasn't much into tit-for-tat name-calling, but he needed a personality transplant stat.

"Well, is that so?" he remarked, standing and stepping toward me. I instinctively reached for my handgun I had secured to my belt. The gun was for wildlife protection, but his eyes were angry and wild enough to get me to keep a hand near the holster. "You're in luck, buddy, because I actually have a permit to be on this land," he bragged. "One given to me by Myles Jensen," he added. "Ring a bell, wise ass?"

The name he'd spoken did ring a bell. A very fucking big bell. Myles Jensen was the Washington State Commissioner of Public Lands. My boss and many levels above my pay grade. "Yeah, I've heard of him," I admitted reluctantly.

"I'll tell him about your warm greeting when I get home on Monday. He's my father."