Clear Cut Page 2

  As he typed, he couldn't help but think that, if it was humanly possible to hate a place after only having been there a couple of hours, he might. Being there felt a little bit too much like being at sleep-away camp when he was ten; the feeling that no one liked him -- which wasn't fair, as he'd only met one person so far, although it was clear that Tavaras didn't like him -- the prospect of food that he didn't like or wouldn't eat; the living conditions, not that he really minded them, but it all reminded him of those camp days. He kept waiting for someone to come up and order him to go play kickball, or to tell him it was time to do sand paintings, or something. He might not be ten years old anymore, but darned if he didn't feel like he'd regressed nineteen years in ten minutes.

  Carter noted that he still hadn't seen the site, or 'side,' as that was what Tavaras had called it. He was starting to wonder how much other logging terminology he lacked. When he'd been prepping to come up here, he'd been more worried about how the men on the crew were going to react to his opinions, so he'd focused on learning how to sound less like who he really was. It hadn't occurred to him that he should have been focusing on how to sound more like them. He knew what logging did to the environment, and to natural habitats, but he had no idea what loggers actually did. Other than destroy the planet. He didn't know how they cut down trees, or what they did with them after they'd cut them down. It wasn't as if you could just pick up a tree and throw it onto the back of a truck. There had to be tractors and... other large equipment. Or Paul Bunyan.

  He sighed and folded the laptop closed.

  Going back to the kitchen, Carter turned the risen bread dough into loaves and left them to rise a second time, and then he surreptitiously poked around the bunkhouse. He figured no one was going to be coming back any time soon if they were supposed to be working, and his curiosity knew no bounds. It turned out to be a waste of heart-pounding anxiety, though, because there wasn't really anything to find. The place was pretty bare-bones -- beds, bureaus, but not much in the way of personal effects. No pictures on the walls, no photographs, no colors, really. It was like standing inside a black-and-white, silent movie.

  Thank goodness for really big ovens -- all three loaves of bread plus both casseroles were about to go in at the same time. He figured the bread would take an hour to bake, and then the casseroles could bake for another forty minutes or so after that. Even with canned beans, there really wasn't such a thing as baking a casserole for too long.

  And sure enough, at a few minutes after seven he heard the noise of some large vehicle pulling up outside the building, and headlights shone through the window. The front door opened with a bang and heavy footsteps pounded up the hallway. He heard other doors opening and closing, and then the sound of running water. There was a lot of good-natured talking and some laughing. No one came into the large room.

  After a little while Carter went into the kitchen and checked the casserole. The bread was already cooling on the top of the stove. While he was bent over looking into the oven, someone came in behind him and said, "Can I help with anything?"

  Carter turned and saw a young man who probably looked even younger than he actually was. He had the smooth skin of someone who hadn't even started shaving yet.

  "Hi, I'm Jeff. I'm the new guy."

  "Actually, I think that would be me," Carter said sheepishly. "In a really literal sense, anyway. I'm Carter." He offered his hand, and Jeff shook it.

  "New guy gets all the unpleasant jobs," Jeff explained. He was tall and thin with brown hair and big square hands.

  "Good thing I don't mind cooking." Carter smiled at the kid and gestured at the oven. "It's done, but it can sit there until people are ready to eat."

  "That'll be soon. We have a quick wash-up when we get back to the bunk and then we fall on whatever food's ready."

  "Who usually cooks?"

  "I've been doing it about half the time -- new guy and all -- but it switches around. Depends on who doesn't mind, who'd rather be here than up on side." Jeff reached into one of the cabinets and pulled down an armful of plates. "And don't worry -- most everybody's way friendlier than Nate. Don't take it personally, the way he acts. He doesn't like anybody."

  "I'll keep that in mind." Carter took out some forks and knives and joined Jeff in setting the table. "I didn't cook any meat," he said, trying for casual as they paced each other around the table. "Is that going to be a problem?"

  "You're a vegetarian." Jeff glanced at him. "Guess that shouldn't come as a surprise, considering..."

  "Considering I'm into animal rights?" Carter suggested.

  "Yeah," Jeff said, and from the way he said it Carter knew that what Jeff really meant was 'considering you're one of those environmentalist nuts.' He'd heard the tone of voice often enough before to know the proper translation. "And yeah, it might be a problem, but it shouldn't be yours."

  "But you think it will be."

  "It might."

  Three men came into the large room.

  "Guys, this is Carter," said Jeff. "That's Big Mike, and that's Don, and the guy with the hair is Flash." Jeff pointed to each one of them in turn.

  "Hey," Carter said. Another three men descended upon them, and by the time they had finished setting the table and he had worked out that their names were Keith, Jared and James, it was time to get the casserole out of the oven.

  Everyone sat down and was passing food amicably enough when Tavaras came in and threw himself down in the chair at the end of the table. "What the hell's this?" he demanded, looking at the casserole dish that Jared had handed him.

  "Casserole," Jeff said.

  "I can see that, I'm not blind. I meant what the hell's it made of?"

  Carter answered. "Beans, rice, tomatoes, carrots, onions. Garlic, seasonings... I'm forgetting something."

  "Yeah, you forgot the fucking meat," Tavaras said darkly.

  "I didn't forget it." Carter was careful to keep his voice low and mild. "I don't cook meat. I tried to tell you that before you stalked out of here this afternoon, but you didn't seem particularly interested in hearing what I had to say."

  "That's because I didn't have time. It wasn't my choice to have you here, and to be perfectly honest I don't want you here."

  Everyone else at the table was quiet, the only sound from them the clink of forks on plates and chewing. They didn't seem particularly disturbed, almost like this wasn't an unusual occurrence. Several of them -- Flash, and he thought James -- were watching with some degree of curiosity.

  "Well, I'm here. It doesn't seem to matter very much whether you want me here or not."

  "No. I take orders from somebody above me, same as most folks. In this case you're right, at least. Here you are. Doesn't mean I have to like it."

  "Doesn't mean I have to like you, either," Carter said, and he heard a sharp intake of breath that he thought might have been Jeff.

  "True enough," said Tavaras, and Carter wondered for a second if he'd seen a brief flicker of something other than dislike in the man's eyes.

  "So we'll just stay out of each other's way as much as possible until I finish what I came for and get the hell out of here, is that it?"

  Tavaras nodded shortly. "Sounds like a plan. In the meantime," he pushed his chair back and stood up, "I am not going to eat this rabbit food."

  "It's not bad, Nate." This was from the older guy, Keith, if Carter remembered correctly. "I mean, it'd be better with some hamburger in it, but... it's okay."

  There were a few murmurs of agreement from some of the others, but Tavaras shrugged his shoulders and stalked off without saying another word.

  "He's not much for the long goodbyes, is he," Carter finally said.

  Again, everyone seemed absorbed in the meal. A large bread knife was used to hack off thick slices of the homemade bread, and the casserole was spooned out generously. Carter wasn't sure if it was a testament to his cooking or just a sign of how hungry the men were after a hard day's work.

  Jeff willingly came and helped
Carter clean up after dinner. They washed dishes and wrapped up the half loaf of bread that was left over and then Jeff went out and sponged off the table. They didn't really talk during any of this, but it was a companionable silence.

  "Do you know where I'm supposed to sleep?" Carter asked, when they'd finished.

  Jeff nodded. "Yeah, in with me. It's the smallest room, so nobody wants it. And no one wants to bunk with the new guy."

  "Are you talking about you, or me?" Carter grinned.

  "Me, but I guess it applies both ways, huh?" Jeff gestured with his head. "Come on, I'll show you."

  It was not only the smallest room but also the room furthest from the bathroom, which Carter supposed was the reason the new guy got stuck with it. The two beds were practically on top of each other, and the one bureau was halfway in the closet.

  "I know it's kind of cramped," Jeff said, and he sounded apologetic. "Heck, it was cramped when it was just me."

  "It's okay. I didn't expect the Hilton. And I didn't bring a lot, anyway."

  He went out to his car and brought back the two bags he'd packed, dumped them on the spare bed, and went back for his notes and stuff that he'd left in the living/dining room or whatever the heck he was supposed to call it. Keith and Jared were hanging out in there, sort of half listening to the radio and half reading magazines. Carter hoped it didn't seem weird that he was retrieving his things -- it wasn't that he didn't trust these guys, because they seemed pretty cool -- but he was worried about leaving them out in the way of 'normal life' in case Tavaras got all weirded out. He wanted to stay as far away from that man as possible.

  * * * * *

  Some of the crew tried to convince Nate that the food was worth eating on his way out of the room, but he didn't have the energy to try it, or to argue, so he just shrugged his shoulders and headed for his office.

  Once there, he sat behind his desk for a few minutes, looking at the USFS paperwork he was supposed to have filled out by yesterday. Good thing the timing was so flexible -- it wasn't supposed to be, because it was the government, but it was, because it was the government. It had taken Keith most of the day to drive down and pick up the belt, and by the time he'd gotten back it had been getting on toward quittin'. Flash managed to get the belt back on the skidder and get the thing running, and they'd finished up what they could for the day and come down for dinner. Which he hadn't had.

  Nate sighed and stood up, walked over to his bed, and flung himself down on it. The crooked bar that was supposed to hold the mattress up dug into his hip and he sighed again, shifting his weight more to one side.

  Fuck it all. How the hell was he supposed to put up with this environmentalist -- who Jackson had sworn to him, up and down, fifteen times, was an ex-environmentalist -- for a month? What if that was a conservative estimate and the guy was here for two months? Nate would fucking kill the man if he was here longer than a month, there was nothing else for it. He'd go to jail for murder because of a stupid tree-hugging, vegetable-eating... shit. He'd run out of words.

  Fuck.

  Nope, on second thought he hadn't run out of words. Not four-letter ones, anyway.

  His stomach growled and he sighed again. He was going to have to go out later and make himself a sandwich or something, because there was no way he was going to get through the night without something to eat. But he'd wait until people had cleared out of the kitchen, when he'd attract less attention.

  In the meantime, he could take a shower. Plenty of hot water because no one bothered to do more than wash their faces and hands -- well, and sometimes arms -- when they got back to the bunkhouse, and everyone was busy eating in the big room. A little privacy sounded like just what he needed to take the edge off.

  Nate grabbed his towel, a pair of clean sweats and a T-shirt and ducked around the corner into the bathroom, which was right next to his office-cum-bedroom. He shucked off his clothes and cranked the water as hot as it would go. He stood under the punishing stream, letting the heat burn away the discontent and unpleasantness of the day.

  Slowly, he worked the bar of soap between his hands, feeling the lather gradually build up at the same rate the ache in his groin did. It was rare that he had the chance to be in the shower alone -- the stalls were separate, but a thin curtain between himself and the other men in the bathroom didn't feel like privacy. Sure, he could have jerked off in the shower with someone else in the next stall, but he didn't. Didn't know why. It wasn't that he thought sex was dirty or anything... he just kept it to himself.

  One soapy hand was wrapped around his cock now, both soothing and encouraging the heavy, dull ache at the same time. He leaned his shoulder against the cool tile wall and closed his eyes, focusing on it, letting his hand stroke and fondle slowly, taking his time. For once there was no hurry, nothing urgent waiting for his attention other than this physical act.

  Nate stifled his groan by biting his lower lip, his cock throbbing in his hand as he came. The waves of pleasure washed over him and he wondered, not for the first time, why he didn't allow himself this more often. Every time he forgot how good it was.

  He grinned as he felt his tension drain away with the water, and leisurely finished his shower.

  Dressed in clean clothes and back in his room, Nate lay down on the bed again and stared at the ceiling. He was cold -- a wet head would do that to a man -- so he pulled the wool blankets up over himself and after a few minutes he felt his eyes closing. He'd just rest here for a little while, and then he'd...

  He woke up after midnight with a confused start and an empty belly. The light in his room was on, and he never slept with a light on, so he knew right away that something was wrong. It took him nearly a minute to remember what had happened, and he had that trembling, shouldn't have gone to sleep feeling that came after a rare midday nap. Damn it. He knew how important it was for him to follow a sleep pattern -- when he fucked with it he always ended up, well, feeling kind of like this. Like he'd just run a marathon while he had the flu.

  Nate got up, shivering with the lowered body temperature of someone who's been deeply asleep, and pulled on a sweatshirt and some socks. The bunk was quiet; usually everyone was in bed by eleven at the latest, and tonight was probably no exception. When the weather was good enough they usually were out of the building by eight a.m., and being bone-tired drove a man to his bed even when his brain would have preferred to stay up.

  He made his way quietly down the hallway, intent on the kitchen, and savoring the strangeness of being up while everyone else was asleep.

  To his surprise there was a light on in the big room, and the environmentalist dick-head was sitting on a chair with a laptop computer balanced on his knees, typing away. Nate tried to ignore the man and went through the doorway into the kitchen. He found some unsliced bread wrapped up in aluminum foil and cut a couple of pieces with a serrated knife, then dug around in the refrigerator until he found some sliced ham. He piled the meat onto one piece of the bread, slathered on some hot mustard, and crushed the second piece of bread on top into a crude sandwich.

  Taking a huge bite and chewing appreciatively, he got himself a drink from the tap -- thank fuck for crystal-clear well water -- and leaned against the counter. He was so hungry he barely finished chewing one bite before taking the next. Within five minutes the sandwich was gone.

  "Hey."

  Nate turned to see environmentalist guy on the other side of the window that opened between the kitchen and the big room. "Shouldn't you be asleep?" he asked.

  The guy -- Carter -- shrugged. "Jeff snores."

  "And the bed sucks. S'okay, you can say it. Not like it's any secret."

  "It's not that bad," Carter protested mildly. "I've slept worse places."

  "Don't think sleeping on the ground counts, when you're making comparisons to beds."

  "I wasn't thinking about camping. I was thinking about... " Carter cut himself off abruptly, shook his head.

  "Whatever. If you're gonna stay up, make sure you're q
uiet. The guys need their sleep."

  A flicker of annoyance crossed Carter's face. "I'm not here to cause trouble, you know."

  "Could have fooled me. S'all you're gonna be, messin' around, asking questions." Nate looked at Carter thoughtfully for a long moment.

  Carter stared back at him, arms crossed at chest level.

  "What do you want?" Nate asked finally.

  "Excuse me?"

  "What, I'm talking some foreign language you don't understand? What. Do. You. Want?"