Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 80035 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80035 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
He didn’t think it was necessary for me to speak at the meeting, but I disagreed. That was my name on the building. I was the Cunningham they wanted out. I sincerely doubted anyone would have dared pulled a prank like this on my dad. He wasn’t the kind of guy you wanted to piss off. He was intense and scary with it.
I was…the peacekeeper, the temporary Band-Aid. I was a pawn who’d taken a paycheck to oversee a project I hadn’t given a fuck about.
But that wasn’t true anymore. I cared more than I wanted to admit.
I hated the general malaise and mistrust. I hated that the locals railed that they had no voice but did nothing to invite change. I hated that I was everything that they thought I was—a grifter, an opportunist with an agenda. A phony cowboy.
At least, that was how it had started. I wasn’t that guy anymore. I didn’t want to take without giving, I didn’t want to be a corporate figurehead, an out-of-touch cowboy. I wanted to make a difference. And somehow, I had to get my point across to my employees and the entire Four Forest area.
So I addressed a warehouse full of operators, machinists, and mechanics with Cooper’s microphone.
“I’ll keep this quick and to the point. Change is hard, and new ownership makes people nervous. I get it. Rocky Mountain is a corporation, but that’s not a bad thing. Hear me out. We have the ability to pay good wages with benefits, which immediately affects your wallet. In the long term, we can help rebuild this town and fix what’s broken. And don’t tell me nothing is broken—I’ve driven by the burned-out neon sign for Wood Hollow Elementary, the busted swing set in the park, and the rusted trash bin in front of the post office a hundred times. Those are simple fixes, but they aren’t getting done. I’m not here to ruin the town. I want to make it better. That’s going to take change and planning.”
The rumble of dissent frustrated me. Before I could tackle it, someone yelled, “What does a cowboy know about building houses anyway?”
“Nothing. I run a mill,” I shot back. “I know about forestry. I know how to drive a tractor, run the kiln, and how to load a twenty-six-thousand-pound capacity truck. You need me to prove it, I’m all in. But you need someone to run this place too. The job orders to build homes were initiated years ago. We’re here because we know how to do the job better than anyone else without ruining the forest. You don’t believe me…let me prove it. Nothing happens overnight—except maybe photocopying a hundred ancient photos of me and taping them to the warehouse door. Trust me, no one hates that picture more than me, but it doesn’t change anything. We have a business to run and important things to do for this town. I need everyone here on board. If you’re not interested, you know where the door is.”
The warehouse was quiet for a long moment. And it stayed quiet.
A few people moved to the exit, while one or two clapped. It reminded me of the time I’d signed up to play the guitar for the school talent show. I’d taken a handful of lessons and thought I was ready for prime time. My fifth grade classmates hadn’t agreed. It was cringeworthy and embarrassing. Needless to say, I never touched the guitar again.
The desire to join the few folks walking out the door was strong, but the desire to help was stronger.
However, I had a sinking feeling that no matter how much I wanted to do the right thing, I was already in over my head.
22
DENNY
News about the graffiti protest at the mill spread throughout Elmwood like wildfire. This was the final week of camp so the town was still in hockey mode, but the locals threw themselves into a hearty debate on the subject. By the time I’d wrapped up at the rink and headed to the diner with Trinsky and a few other coaches, Wood Hollow was a hot topic.
“I don’t blame them for being leery of corporate takeover,” Court said, popping a fry into his mouth.
“Yeah, but no one’s done much of anything in Wood Hollow in the past hundred years. It’s time to get with the program. I mean, look at this place.” Vinnie gestured to the diner from his perch on a stool at the counter. “Look at the happy campers chowing on burgers and fries. This diner has been here forever, but it didn’t look like this until Nolan made it happen and JC added to the menu. And JC is from fucking Quebec!”
“Trust me, I had a lot of angry customers who didn’t want broken jukeboxes removed from the tables,” Nolan added, resting his hand on his husband’s shoulder. “They didn’t care for the chandeliers I’d chosen, they wanted the ancient cigarette and candy bar vending machines to stay, and they were very leery of JC.”