Chapter 3
M ac throttled the motorcycle gently as he rounded the bend, the dual sport's tires crunching over pine needles and small branches with ease.
To his left, the lake glistened, calm and glassy, under the late afternoon sun.
He'd always preferred this side. It was quieter with less foot traffic from the campers.
Just trees, water, and the occasional moose that dipped into the water to eat the aquatic plants at the bottom of the lake.
He pulled up where Beckett was working a chainsaw through a fallen tamarack. His cousin's shirt was already soaked with sweat, and sawdust was clinging to the front of his jeans. Mac killed the engine, swung his leg over the bike, and waited for the saw to shut off.
"Trail blocked again?" He grabbed a pair of gloves from his side pouch.
"Last night's wind took it out, along with three more about two thousand feet back before the ridge." Beckett grunted. "Figured I'd get ahead of it before the hikers start whining about having to climb over."
Mac joined him, hauling chunks of wood off the path and stacking them to the side. The work was simple, satisfying. He looked around and spotted the UTV with the trailer hooked up behind it.
Beckett, seeing him looking, said, "I figured I'd start piling it up at the cabins. It might hold us for a few weeks, depending on how fast the campers burn through the pile."
"Good idea." He threw a log toward the trailer.
Each cabin and tent site came with a stack of wood that campers could use as they wanted.
They took the time to provide a fuel source, as it prevented campers from having to chop branches and destroy the smaller trees around each site.
Sometimes, it was amazing what people would do without a second thought. Trees didn't grow overnight.
A second motorcycle approached. Higher-pitched and buzzing, it could only be the small dirt bike that belonged to his son.
He turned in time to watch Jetter skid to a stop.
He instantly took in the condition of his boy.
His son's jeans, cut off at the knees, were soaked.
His t-shirt clung to him. He wore his helmet like a badge of honor.
Mac raised an eyebrow. "You go swimming with your gear on?"
"Nah, I took it off." Jetter grinned, water dripping from his chin. "I was on the rope swing. I nailed the flip this time."
Mac shook his head, amused despite himself. "You catch anything for dinner?"
"Three trout. They're in the sink soaking."
"Good." He clapped his son's shoulder, watching him rev the bike and take off again, tires kicking up a spray of dirt.
Beckett leaned on his chainsaw, watching the boy disappear. "I remember when the biggest decision I had to make was whether to go fishing or riding."
Mac grunted. He remembered too. Long summer days, no responsibilities, just the hum of the engine and the tug of a line. Life had gotten heavier since then.
He'd hooked up with Tara, Jetter's mom, never planning on making anything serious with her. Next thing he knew, she was telling him she was pregnant. He thought his life was fucked.
But it'd all turned out. Tara had Jetter's best interests at heart, and she let Mac have his son all summer long, now that he was old enough to express his own wishes.
Yet, they both understood that he was still young.
It wasn't uncommon for Tara to come up for the day and see Jetter.
And, during the cold months, she'd bring Jetter to him when his son got homesick for the mountain.
He turned to grab another log when a flash of peach against the green caught his eye. He stepped to the side, squinting through the trees, thinking maybe he'd spotted the ass-end of an elk.
Instead, he saw Lauren stretching to reach a branch.
He cocked his head. In her hand, she held a small camera.
It looked like she clipped it on the pine needles.
Her sundress fluttered in the breeze, the color soft against the rugged backdrop.
She was muttering to herself, adjusting angles, checking her phone.
Beckett let out a low whistle. "That's the content creator, huh?"
Mac didn't answer. He was already walking toward her.
He stepped into the clearing. "What the hell are you doing?"
Lauren startled, swinging around, almost losing her balance. "You scared me."
She pressed a hand to her bare chest. His gaze dropped. Damn, she looked pretty, running around in another sundress.
"You should really make some noise when you walk." She blew out her breath. "Give a girl a little warning, huh?"
"You never said what you're doing," he stated.
"Setting up a shot. I'm trying to get a panoramic video of the lake with me in the same frame. It's for a reel about sixty seconds long. It always seems like my views drop off if I make them any longer."
There was no fishing reel in sight. He had no idea what she was talking about.
Mac frowned at the contraption. It looked like no camera he had ever seen. The small black box had a clear lens, resembling a bubble. She had it mounted on a flexible arm, half-twisted around the branch like a snake.
"You're gonna spook the wildlife," he said.
"If you could convince a moose or bear to walk into the shot, I'd cut you a deal on the profits I make from going viral." She tilted her head. "Actually... could you help me? You're so tall. If you hold this up just a little higher, I can get the lake and the sky for a more dramatic video."
Mac hesitated. He didn't want to get involved. Didn't want to be part of whatever curated world she was building. But she was looking at him with those big, shiny brown eyes, and it made it hard to say no.
He took the camera, lifted it high, angling it as she directed.
"Perfect." She stepped into frame. "Now hold still... and don't scowl so hard. You'll break the lens."
Mac didn't smile at her teasing, but something in his gut tightened. She was trouble. Peach-colored, camera-wielding, city-fied trouble.
And he was already in deeper than he wanted to admit, standing by the lake with his arm up in the air, holding a camera like he was a fucking crane. Beckett was probably laughing his ass off at him.