Orion is very outdoorsy and skilled with a chainsaw. He makes great pieces of art out of stumps. Here's a handy guide for you about the Anatomy of a Lumberjack.
Let's end with a little excerpt from More Than Cookies.
The July sunshine filtered
through the maple trees and white pines, casting warm, golden streaks on the
lush greenery beneath Orion Finley’s booted feet. He absolutely loved
summertime in the Vermont woods. Everything smelled fresh and alive. Huge
dragonflies hovered in place as they checked on a leaf here, a branch there,
then landed on a rock bordering the path leading deeper into the woods. A few
hawks circled overhead, letting loose screeches every now and then to make sure
Orion knew they were keeping an eye on him.
Only two things were missing to
make this trek into the forest perfect. His dog, a Greater Swiss Mountain dog
named Ranger, and his six-year-old daughter, Myah Rose. Both were currently
held captive in his fire-breathing ex-wife’s lair.
Temporary.
He had to constantly remind
himself that it wouldn’t be this way forever. He would get both of them back.
Soon. Orion didn’t care what he had to do, but Ranger and Myah belonged with
him and he wouldn’t stop until everything was as it should be. He had plenty of
room at his farmhouse for a small girl, a large dog, himself, and his father,
Ian Finley, a retired fisherman who Orion now cared for. He could handle it
all. He knew he could. Proving it—when his opposition was a she-beast lawyer he
used to love—was turning out to be the biggest challenge of his life, but he
wasn’t one to shy away. Especially not when the reward was getting to see Myah
every single day.
Damn, he missed her blue eyes
and her black hair—two features she shared with him, only her eyes were bigger
and her hair longer. Her smile was definitely better than his too, because she
still remembered how to smile. His lips, on the other hand, were reluctant to
take on that shape since The Divorce. Since Adriana Whitfield-Finley, his once
true love, decided being married to a chainsaw artist and living in the woods
of Vermont wasn’t what she was “put on this stinking planet to do.” She wasn’t
supposed to be “wasting her time and intelligence on someone like him.” Her
words. Her razor sharp, dice-a-man’s-heart-into-pieces words.
Whatever. He never should have
gotten involved with her in the first place. He knew as well as his father did
that sophisticated women didn’t settle down with men like them. Men who liked
to spend their days outdoors, making things with their own two hands. Men who
were more comfortable wearing sawdust than cologne.
Men who weren’t rolling in
money.
Orion’s mother had skipped out
on them when he was ten. Adriana hadn’t made it to Myah’s tenth birthday before
she had to get away from the “stifling squeeze” Vermont—and apparently he—had
applied to her metaphorical throat.
He hated metaphors.
He also wouldn’t be getting
into any situations remotely resembling a relationship with a woman. They were
all sweet smiles and passionate kisses… until the claws came out.
No thanks.
Sighing now as he continued
farther into the woods, Orion pushed aside thoughts of Adriana, Myah, Ranger,
and his father. This morning was about finding the perfect trees for his next
sculptures. The order was for three life-sized black bears—one of his most
favorite things to carve. A zoo in New York had requested the carved critters
for a display to be erected near the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center in
December. They wanted them now so they could build the rest of the display
around his bears. This one customer would bring in some good money. Hopefully
it would be enough to convince a judge that he could support his daughter.
After taking a swig from his
water bottle, Orion followed a brook toward a grove of suitable pines. Tall,
straight, and healthy, they were perfect for this project. He reached into the
pocket of his cargo shorts and produced three lengths of bright orange rope. He
tagged three trees to mark them for his buddy, Adam Rouse, who would come in
with the heavy equipment, cut those babies down for him, and tow them to
Orion’s workshop. Then he’d get to hack away at the logs until the bears
emerged from the shavings.
He couldn’t wait.
Carving always made him feel… free.
As if he could give birth to absolutely anything he wanted out of that wood. As
if it were just waiting for him to breathe beauty, creativity, and art into it.
As if, without him, the wood would not have fulfilled its true purpose in this
life.
He ran his rough and scarred
hands over the trunk of the nearest pine. The bark scraped across his
fingertips—except for the pinkie fingertip on his left hand. He’d lost from the
first knuckle up to the tip during one carving project, making the entire cast
of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz for an
obsessed Frank L. Baum fan. If Orion had “only had a brain,” he would have been
extra careful carving around the lion’s mane, but he’d still been developing
his techniques. Still experimenting with which angles created the right
effects, which tools did the job best. He’d made a rather important note to
self on that job. Under no circumstances should one’s pinkie finger come into
contact with the grinder’s blade. Not good. Lots of blood. Lots of swearing.
Looking at that abbreviated
finger now, he shook his head and pulled out his cell phone.
“Hey, Adam,” he said when his
buddy answered, “I’m west of the brook, about two-thirds of a mile in. Tagged
three trees.”
“Got it,” Adam said. “I’ll grab
those for you tomorrow.”
“Thanks, man.” And that ended
their conversation. Vermont men didn’t need a lot of words to get jobs done.
Orion liked it that way.
Carrying his phone, he turned
to retrace his steps back to his workshop. As he walked, dog barks and a few
gunshots echoed somewhere closer than he would have liked. Damn hunters were
always parading through his land with their bloodhounds, cornering bears, and
calling it a sport when they put a bullet into the trapped creature.
Pointless.
As far as Orion was concerned,
there were much better ways to spend one’s time.
He continued on his way but
stopped when a deer bounded across his path. Its big brown eyes connected with
his for a moment then the animal was gone. While Orion stared down the path the
deer had taken, another shot rang out.
Something hot and painful bit into his right thigh. He immediately clamped a hand over the aching
area, and his stomach did a sick flip-flop when his hand came away wet and red.
His vision got spotty. His ears rang and not in the
this-is-an-awesome-rock-concert way. No, definitely more like the
I’ve-been-shot-and-am-going-to-pass-out way instead.
This was so not the morning he’d planned.
See where Orion ends up after being shot in More Than Cookies and enjoy Book One in the series, More Than Pancakes, for FREE in ebook!
Toodles,
Chris
www.christinedepetrillo.weebly.com
