A Reason to Kill (Reason #2) Read Online Free PDF Page A

pulled her glasses from her face. After she had wiped her mouth, she looked up at Max and smiled shyly, her face turning pink with embarrassment. When her eyes hit his, his gut tightened further in response and he took a step back from the intensity of the color. Unable to break her gaze, Max stared back as she blinked slowly, lazily, as if she’d just woken from a long restful nap. Then she smiled, turning the full force of those crystal blue pools on him, and something shifted in Max, as if the earth tilted off its axis. Heart pounding, Max took a step towards her reaching out. When her tiny hand folded into his when he picked her up to help her home, he knew then he was in trouble.
     
     
     
     
     

Three
    Great Ass
     
    “It says here that Trails End is a logging town. They’re proud of their history and every year before the winter months bring little daylight, they celebrate their town’s heritage with a Founder’s Day logging competition. Three friends, loggers who wanted to start their own business, founded the town of Trails End in 1898. Joseph Hunter, who cut trees until the day he died. And Albert Potter, who left behind the rugged life of a logger opening the town’s first bar and finally Guy Madison, who also left the lumberjack life to become the first mayor of Trails End. To this day a Hunter, Potter, and Madison still reside in Trails End,” Frank read from one of the Founder’s Day fliers.
    “Apparently, Founder’s Day brings everyone from their homes and to the inlet of Crystal Lake to either participate in the festivities or watch as they consume their weight in beer,” Lucy laughed
    “The brochure says they use the bay for logrolling. It’s roped-off and the shallows are sectioned-off for the events. Whoa, there are sixty-foot-tall cedar spar poles for speed climbing and various sized poles of cedar for sawing competitions and axe-tossing,” Frank finished.
    Even though it was early, there were people milling around like the middle of the afternoon. Kids eating ice cream and cotton candy, men and women in different costumes depicting days long past, and the sound of chainsaws rang out as I took it all in behind the dark lenses of my sunglasses.
    Someone tap-danced on my head the night before, I’m sure of it. In fact, I’m pretty sure whoever it was wore boots—big, manly, black boots.
    We were currently loading the Jeep to head up into the mountain range to Grizzly Pointe. The drive would take ten minutes and then we had to hike up the ridge to the area where the bears were most likely roaming. Since my head was pounding from too many shots, all I wanted to do was load into the Jeep and leave.
    Frank was stuffing the last of our gear in the trunk while I nursed an enormous cup of coffee. Lucy, who was staring across the parking lot at the festivities, suddenly shouted, rather loudly, I might add, “Oh, wow, look at how fast they climb those poles.”
    Frank and I both looked up and turned towards the field when she shouted. Then we watched as loggers sprinted up sixty-foot poles, all sure-footed. They appeared to be using some sort of strap and cleats to climb the poles and from this distance, looked just like monkeys climbing a tree. Once they made it to the top, they descended just as quickly. However, one man, huge compared to the others, was quicker by far. He went up and down the pole, leaving the others in the dust.
    Something tugged at my memory and I thought back to the night before and the picture of Paul Bunyan on the wall. Unfortunately, most of the night was a blur. There was drinking, I remembered that. Singing Billy Joel was kinda clear, though I prayed it was a hallucination brought on by too much alcohol. Oh, God, and puking on someone’s boots, I vaguely remember that as well. There was a faint memory of green eyes staring back at me, angry at first and then gentling when I got sick. There was also a vague memory of strong arms carrying me to my room. Thankfully, when