Chapter 13: Roots in the Mountain Soil
Three days passed in the quiet sanctuary of the mountain mill, untouched by the frantic pace of the corporate world below. The crisp autumn air was filled with the rhythmic sound of Silas splitting firewood and the gentle, steady hum of the stream outside the cabin window. For Leo, the days felt like an impossible dream come true. He spent his mornings helping Silas stack freshly cut pine logs, learning how to measure wood with a carpenter’s square, and listening to the old logger’s endless stories of mountain lore, tracking, and survival.
In the afternoons, Leo worked alongside Jax in the rustic sawmill workshop attached to the back of the cabin. Jax was rebuilding an old, rusted hand-crank water pump that supplied fresh well water to the kitchen. He handed Leo small wrenches, explained the mechanics of rubber gaskets and iron pipe threads, and watched with quiet pride as the boy’s natural curiosity and intelligence blossomed under the patient, unhurried instruction. The haunting shadow of the glass mansion and Eleanor Vance’s cold, stern voice began to fade from Leo’s memory, replaced by the solid weight of a hammer in his hand and the comforting smell of sawdust and pine.
On the fourth morning, Jax stood on the wooden front porch of the cabin, holding a pair of heavy binoculars as he scanned the lower timberline far down the mountain valley. Through the lenses, the distant glint of sunlight reflecting off chrome could be seen moving slowly along the edge of the paved highway where Route 9 met the wilderness. They were still searching, sending scouts and local investigators to comb the outer perimeter of the foothills, but they were blindly casting nets into an ocean, unable to find the single hidden thread that connected Iron Horse Custom Motors to Silas’s secluded mill.
Jax lowered the binoculars, exhaling a long plume of visible breath into the chilly morning air. He knew they couldn't stay hidden forever, but time was working in their favor. Every day Leo spent here was another day of healing, another day of growing strong, and another day of realizing he was a human being with rights and a voice, not a piece of property managed by a corporate trust.
Footsteps creaked softly on the wooden porch behind him. Jax turned to see Leo walking out of the cabin, wearing a brand-new flannel shirt that Silas had custom-tailored down to fit his small frame, along with a pair of sturdy leather boots that actually kept his feet warm and dry. The boy held the old faded photograph in his hand—the same picture of a young biker holding a baby by a rusted pickup truck. But now, instead of gripping it like a desperate lifeline against an invading world, he looked at it with a quiet, grounded smile, knowing the man in the photograph was standing right beside him in the flesh.
"Are they still down there?" Leo asked softly, resting his elbows on the wooden porch railing and looking out over the endless expanse of pine-covered mountains stretching toward the horizon.
"Still looking," Jax replied, stepping up beside the boy and resting his large, calloused hands on the railing. "Driving in circles, checking dead ends, burning expensive gas in cars that belong in showrooms instead of mountains."
Leo looked up, his big hazel eyes shining with a quiet confidence. "They're never going to find us up here, are they?"
May you like
Jax looked down at the boy, the hard lines of his weathered face softening into a warm, genuine smile that reached all the way to his eyes. He wrapped a protective arm around Leo’s small shoulders, pulling him close against the chill of the mountain morning. "No, kid," Jax said firmly, his voice ringing with absolute certainty. "They aren't. Because out here, we don't start over according to their rules. We build our own
[... đã cắt bớt, xem bản đầy đủ trong tệp trên máy ...]
