Demon Hunting with a Dixie Deb - Lexi George Page 0,95
tears. “I’ve made the most awful mistake. I can’t do this. I can’t run the mill.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Taryn 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