Demon Hunting with a Dixie Deb (29 page)

He stroked his mustache and looked Sassy up and down.

“Good God A'mighty,” Houston said. “You're rolling around like an English pea in a brown paper sack in that thing.”

“Leroy, you'll make her feel self-conscious,” Lucy scolded. “It's what we had.”

Lucy, Sassy noted, didn't notice the dog, either.

Trey stretched and jumped down from the couch. Without a backward glance, he trotted out the door—the closed door.

Houston handed Sassy and Taryn bright yellow hard hats that said
Peterson Lumber
on them
.

“Put these on,” he said. “OSHA says.”

Waving good-bye to Lucy, Sassy and Taryn left with Houston to begin their tour. As soon as Sassy stepped outside, she was blasted with noise and smells.
Wham.
Her headache and nausea returned full force.

Houston struck out across the yard and Taryn followed, her long legs allowing her to keep up. Sassy lowered her head and plunged after them, though the noise and smells of the lumber yard pulsed around her in sickening waves.

Houston stopped outside the main shed. “Peterson Lumber has forty-eight employees.” There was pride in his voice. “We got sawyers, edger-men, spotters, trimmermen, lumber graders, chain pullers, to name a few. Every man jack of 'em got sawdust and wood sap in their veins.” He pointed to one of the Caterpillars Sassy had observed upon their arrival. “The debarked logs are moved from the log deck to the live deck with a log loader.”

He indicated a column of smoke coming from the boiler. “The stripped bark is sent to a boiler that produces steam used later in the drying process. After the logs are debarked and placed on the live deck they move to either the pony rig band saw or the head rig band saw, depending on size. Pony rig's for smaller logs. Head rig's for the big ones. Wasted wood is wasted money. Our sawyers make sure there's as little left over as possible. After the logs are cut, they go into what we call the infeed conveyer.”

He motioned at the noisy main building. “Let's go inside where you can see the saws at work.”

He led Sassy and Taryn up a narrow flight of metal stairs and into the mill. The din inside was a physical thing, and the smell of fractured wood coated Sassy's mouth, nose, and sinuses until she thought she would choke. Men in goggles and hard hats stood at the end of a huge contraption. A log screamed as it was fed into the blades.

“That's our big band saw,” Houston yelled in Sassy's ear. “We call her Fran. Call her something else when she's acting up that I won't repeat. Lately, that's been a lot. She's forty-three feet long and eleven inches wide. All bitch and no boobs—that's our Fran. Keeps our sawfile on his toes.”

Sassy nodded, clinging to the metal safety railing for dear life. She was woozy and sick, and she longed to run screaming from the building.

“The logs go into the band mill,” he continued, unaware of Sassy's discomfort. “The center piece is called a cant. The cant goes on down the belt and is put through an edger. The edgerman adjusts the saws as the cant enters the edger to get the maximum value out of the lumber. The sideboards on the cants fall off for processing. See?”

Sassy swallowed the taste of wood and forced her gaze off the railing's chipped green paint and onto the drama below. The debarked logs trundled down the conveyer and into the cruel teeth of the saws. Her knuckles whitened. Death, she was looking at death. This was a charnel house where once-vibrant living trees were sliced to bits.

“From the edger, the boards go to a trim saw,” Houston said. “That's where your spotters come in. The spotters move lumber away from the edger to keep things moving smoothly. The trimmer-man decides what length to cut the boards.” He waved his hand. “The bits and pieces left over drop through the grates to the outside slasher conveyor. From the trim saw, boards go to the grading table, where the graders grade it and mark it, check it for moisture and classify for drying. It's then sorted and put into holders. The boards then go to the stacker line where these little pieces of wood called ‘stickers' are stuck between the layers.”

“What is the purpose of these stickers?” Taryn asked.

Though she did not raise her voice, her words could easily be heard above the racket.

“They help with the air flow,” Houston said. “So the lumber dries better.”

To Sassy's profound relief, Houston turned and went back down the stairs. Sassy stumbled after him, eager to put the horror of the saws behind her.

Taryn caught up with her at the foot of the stairs. “Sassy, what troubles you? You look as though you have eaten a barrel of green apples.”

Sassy clutched Taryn's arm. “Oh, Taryn.” Sassy's mouth trembled and she blinked back tears. “I've made the most awful mistake. I can't do this. I can't run the mill.”

T
aryn stared at Sassy. “Whate'er do you mean?”

Sassy wrung her hands. “I thought this job would be about nature, and fresh air, and growing things, but it's about death.” She shuddered. “Look around. There are corpses everywhere. They're grinding the bodies to make money. It's horrible. It makes me want to throw up.”

“Death is part of life,” Taryn said gently. “Trees die from insects and disease and rot. Lightning strikes the forest and sets it ablaze, leaving a charred wasteland. New growth springs from the ashes and the woodlands return, richer than before. Trees are used for firewood and shelter, for furniture and weapons—in countless ways in this world and others.”

Sassy removed her hard hat and stared at it. “You're right. I know you're right. I don't know what's wrong with me.”

Houston gestured impatiently. “You two coming?”

“Hold but a moment, good sir.” Taryn gave Sassy a shrewd, assessing look. “I suspect your fae blood is at the heart of your distress. Many fairies are tree shepherds. That would explain your extreme reaction to the milling process.”

The fairies; of course it was the fairies. It was a relief to know the cause of her discomfort, but one glaring fact remained.

“Shiitake mushrooms,” Sassy said. “How am I going to run a mill when it makes me physically ill?”

“Perhaps you should reconsider and sell to your aunt.”

The thought was tempting, oh, so tempting.

Sassy shook her head. “I can't. People will lose their jobs.” She slapped the hard hat back on. “I'm not going to let that happen.”

“Well spoken. I applaud your courage and resolve.”

“Oh, pooh,” Sassy said.

Now that Sassy was away from the saws, she felt a little better and they continued the tour. They made a circuit around the rest of the yard with Houston showing them the large green containers where the wood chips were housed and the huge sawdust sheds.

“Used to be you couldn't give sawdust away,” Houston said. “We'd have to burn it or dump it. But it's used for all kinds of things these days, by dairy farmers and to make particleboard and such. Price has more than doubled. Something that used to be a dang nuisance makes us a handy profit now.” He looked around with satisfaction. “Every byproduct of the timber that's brought through our gates gets sold but the steam from the boilers and the shriek of the saws. Ain't figured how to sell them yet, but give me time. I will.”

Sassy smiled to herself. She was starting to like the surly manager.

One of the Caterpillar operators snagged a load of logs in the massive metal hook. The machine swung about and rumbled toward a large conveyer belt with rotating metal teeth.

“That is an impressive machine,” Taryn said. “I would know more about it.”

The huntress had that look again, the one she'd gotten when the log truck had boomed past them.

“That's a log loader,” Houston said. “He's moving logs onto the live deck. See?”

“Fascinating.” Taryn gave him a cool smile. “Pray continue.”

“Um . . . well . . .” Houston cleared his throat. “The logs go into the debarker and then into the saw shed.” He raised his voice over the noise of the loader and the rumbling conveyer belt. “Every man here is like a cog in a big machine. It's the loader's job to keep the sawyers supplied with the right mix of logs to keep the line running smoothly.”

Taryn watched the operator chug into position with the heavy load. “A thing of power, but slow.”

“Don't need it to be fast,” Houston said. “Need it to be able to handle the load.”

A small, wiry man in work pants and boots exited a shed whistling a nameless tune. The Dalmatian trotted into view wearing a doggy grin, and the man's whistle dried up. Trey wagged his tail at the man and disappeared.

“He's back.” The startled employee dropped the shovel in his hand and backed away. “The ghost hound is back.”

The man turned and ran like the devil was on his tail. He grabbed another worker and waved, saying something they could not hear.

Houston slapped his hard hat against his thigh. “Tour's over, ladies.” He yelled across the yard at the worker. “Don't start that ghost foolishness, Furr. I mean it. I won't have you riling the men.” Houston spat. “Ghosts and curses. No such thing.”

He'd hardly finished this pronouncement when a log loader swung away from the live deck with a screech of gears. Inside the cab, the driver wrestled with the out-of-control machine, his eyes bulging with fright. The long arm whipped around. The logs in the hook swayed, and the grapple opened and spilled its load.

“Watch out,” Houston shouted as tons of raw wood barreled down on them.

A log separated from the bundle and crashed, end over end, straight at Houston. Taryn threw her arms around the big man, and they disappeared.

Sassy turned to run. Her feet got tangled in the oversize coverall and she face-planted. She rolled over and screamed as the logs thundered toward her. No time to move. She would be crushed.

Something big and heavy landed on top of her. A log? No, something well-muscled with a subtle green musky scent. Looking up through the cradle of Grim's powerful arms, she saw the logs bounce and roll harmlessly away.

Grim's golden eyes blazed through the russet curtain of his hair. “Sassy, are you hurt?”

Sassy wanted to burst into tears and throw her arms around him. She wanted to bury her face against his broad chest and soak up his heat and strength. She wanted to kiss his firm, sensuous mouth and keep on kissing him.

Tasting Grim would be sweeter than all the desserts in Miss Vi's bakery case; all the sweets in the
world.

Instead, she allowed him to help her to her feet.

“I'm fine, thank you.” She gave him a trembling smile. “A little shook up, maybe.”

He put his hands on her shoulders. “You are certain?”

A tremor ran through Grim's big body, and he was pale beneath his tan.

“Nothing bruised but my dignity.” Sassy searched his face for answers. Was he hurt? Had he exhausted his reserves of energy when he'd shielded her from harm? She knew so little about him and less about magic. “What about you? Are you all right?”

“No, by the sword. I am not. You were nearly killed. If I had not looked back—” Grim shook his head. “I was almost too late.”

“But you weren't too late. You saved me.”

He brushed his thumb across her nose. His hand was shaking.

“You have dirt on your face,” he murmured.

“Do I?”

Sassy was covered in dirt and sawdust from head to toe. She was dressed in a shapeless bag and Trey's grungy boots. For a gal whose custom was to be perfectly groomed and dressed to the nines, this was not her finest hour.

It didn't matter. Grim looked at her as if she was beautiful and precious. She felt breathless, on the verge of something too wonderful to describe.

No designer dress or expensive pair of shoes could ever make her feel so desirable.

Grim reached for her. “Sassy—”

Men ran out of the buildings. Grim dropped his hands and stepped back. Fifty yards away, out of the path of the wooden avalanche, Houston was yelling at Taryn.

“Big as a minute and I weigh two hundred and thirty pounds. There is no way you pulled me clear, much less way over here.”

Taryn's lips moved. Sassy couldn't hear what she was saying. Houston went stock still and stared at the huntress.

The log load operator jumped out of the cab of the Cat.

“Is everybody all right?” The man stumbled around a fallen log, eyes wide in his stark face. “Jesus, that's the most amazing thing I ever seen. Thought the lady was dead for sure. This big guy comes outta nowhere and the logs bounce right off 'em. Like they was surrounded by a force field or something.”

Mr. Houston shook himself as though waking from a trance.

He scowled. “What the hell, Burke? Are you on drugs? You almost killed me, you idiot. This woman, too, if I hadn't yanked her out of the way.”

Sassy did a double take. Houston thought
he'd
saved Taryn? It had been the other way around.

Burke sputtered. “Drugs? You know me better'n that. It wasn't my fault, I swear.”

“Shut up, Burke. You got any idea what you've done?” Houston spun the man around to face Sassy. “This here's Sarah Peterson, Trey's sister. The new
owner
. If those logs had rolled her way, you would have killed her.”

“Rolled her way? But, boss, the Cat—” Burke sputtered. “The logs—”

Burke was confused and he wasn't alone. The logs
had
rolled her way. If Grim hadn't shielded her, she'd have been squashed like a pancake. First the witch and now this; two near misses in one day.

Uncle Gaudy said things happened in threes. What would happen next?

The thought made Sassy quake.

“Get your gear and get out, Burke,” Houston said. “You're fired.”

He turned his back on the stunned driver and stalked over to Sassy and Grim.

Burke dogged his heels. “I'm telling you, this weren't my fault. One second everything's fine. The next thing I know, the damn Cat's out of control.” He turned his pleading gaze on Sassy. “You gotta believe me, miss. There was nothing I could do. It's like that loader was possessed.”

Oh, Sassy believed him. She believed him all right. A whiff of evil still lingered in the air.

Eddie Furr slunk out of the crowd. “The loader was possessed. The mill is cursed.”

Houston threw his hard hat on the ground. “That's it. I've had enough of this mumbo jumbo. Get your things, Furr. You're fired, too.”

Furr's eyes widened. “What? But that ain't fair. I ain't done nothing.”

“You're a troublemaker. Spreading stories about ghosts and curses and keeping the men on edge. I've had a belly full of it.”

Sassy understood Houston's frustration, but jobs were hard to come by in Hannah. And although Mr. Houston didn't believe in ghosts or curses, Sassy knew that both were real. She was also certain the log spill had been no accident.

“Mr. Houston,” she said. “Perhaps you should—”

Her words were swallowed by Furr's protests and the uneasy grumblings of the men.

“Patience,” Grim said in a low voice. “Think you it wise to do this now?”

Sassy hesitated. Grim had a point. Undermining Houston in front of his men would be a mistake. Better to talk to him tomorrow, after he cooled off.

Cussing and complaining, Burke and Furr pushed through the group of men and left.

Houston rolled his shoulders and glared at the rest of the workers. “Anybody else got something smart to say? No? Then quit standing around with your thumbs up your asses and get to work. We got a yard to clear.”

Houston gave Sassy the once-over. “You all right, Miss Peterson? Must've scared you half to death to see your friend Taryn in danger like that. Good thing I pulled her out of the way.”

“Yes, indeed.” Taryn strolled up to them. “I am greatly in your debt, Mr. Houston.”

“Nah. Always happy to help a lady in distress.” Houston paused to bellow at a heavyset man in a baseball cap. “Get away from that Cat, Percy. Nobody touches it until a mechanic goes over it with a fine tooth comb.”

“Thank you for showing us the mill, Mr. Houston.” Grim shook the manager's hand. “It has been most enlightening, but it is time Sassy and I were going.”

“I'll be back in the morning,” Sassy said. Houston's face clouded up and she added, “I plan to stay in the office. I want to take a look at the books and the computer. Get my bearings.”

Away from the noise of the saws and the smell of sliced wood and sawdust; out of Houston's way.

Houston grunted. “That 'ud be all right, I guess. I got no patience for paperwork or computers. Rather be working the plant. We need someone to take care of orders. It's more than Lucy can handle.”

“Creamy,” Sassy said.

Tomorrow she would use her charm to convince Houston to rehire those men. Furr couldn't help it if he saw ghosts. And that log loader hadn't malfunctioned because of anything Burke did or didn't do.

No, dear old Aunt Susan was behind the accident and the other troubles at the mill, too. She was trying to run Sassy off. Sassy felt it in her bones. They'd see about that. Susan Harwood wasn't the only demonoid in town. She'd met her match in Sassy.

Houston strode away, barking orders this way and that.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Sassy rounded on Grim.

“What's going on here? Why does Houston think Taryn saved him? And what do you mean
I enjoyed the tour
? You weren't here.”

“Taryn adjusted his memory,” Grim said. “Houston thinks you were not in danger. He also thinks he rescued Taryn and that I arrived with you.”

Sassy stared at him. “She what?”

“She adjusted his memory,” Grim said. “Mortals sometimes see things they should not, so we adjust their memories. Else we would be in violation of the Directive against Conspicuousness.”

“That's
horrible
.”

Taryn arched a brow at Sassy. “Before you judge, think but a moment. Memories had to be altered after your fairy fit.”

Sassy's cheeks grew hot. “I didn't realize—I guess I didn't think—” She lifted her chin. “I don't care. It's wrong.”