LUMBERSNACK JACK BY KRIS RENEE – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Kris Renee
- Language: English
- Genre: contemporary romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 4.8 MB
- Price: Free
Bo
“Mr. Bohannon! I insist you stop!”
Jack Bohannon looks down from where he’s suspended at the top of a
huge maple, his chainsaw engine idling. The branch he felled echoes as it
falls to the forest floor while the pissed-off jackhat in a monkey suit glares
at him from below. Well, Bo assumes there’s a pissed-off look on his mug.
He can’t really tell from this high up.
“Get ’im out!” he yells and whistles down to his men, waiting for one of
them to grab the idiot by his scruff and move him out of range. There’s a
reason these heavy branches are called widowmakers. This fucking city fool
is going to get himself killed out here! Bo ignores the penguin man’s
yapping and revs his chainsaw. sScrew that. He gets back to hacking.
When you’ve been in the Monongahela logging business for two decades
— and have spent the past fifteen being the Bull of the Woods — you know
what a wrench in plans can do to the entire enterprise, morale of the men
included. Around every bend, there’s the threat of an unexpected fuckerupper in logging — weather, floods, mudslides, land disputes, insurance
regulations. But Bo’s never missed a deadline, and he’ll be damned if he
misses one because of someone else’s oversight. Let the weasel write him
up. Wouldn’t be the first time, and sure as shit won’t be the last.
Once Bo’s got the necessary cuts made, he whistles to his crew and starts
his descent. He did the most dangerous part and now the fallers can cut the
tree down without risking their necks. A felling mishap can get you killed,
but a topping mishap can make it so you want to die.
As soon as his boot spikes hit the mud, he’s accosted by a string of weak
threats in a stuffy suburban accent. “I could have you removed today! You
are placing yourself and this company in unnecessary peril! You knowingly
—“
Bo spits a wad of phlegm out of his mouth, including wood shavings that
flew between his lips while he was topping and wipes his mouth on the cuff
of his worn, rolled-up flannel sleeve. “Lay off my ass, Ron.”
Flustered by the insult, the insurance man slips and slides on the damp
and squelching ground, unable to make purchase in his shiny, slippery dress
shoes. He tries to keep pace with the foreman, throwing down a chainsaw
like it weighs nothing and yelling out orders. He’s having difficulty holding
onto his pretty briefcase and keeping his balance. “My name’s Don, Mr.
Bohannon, and you know that.”
Paying no mind to the suit at his back, Bo finds his right-hand man in the
crowd of bustling lumberjacks and whistle punks. Shelby’s leaning against
Bo’s old red Ford pickup, cell phone against his ear and a real piss
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