It was mid-afternoon when Chad pulled into the lot of the small market. An elderly man in bib overalls sat just outside the door, arms folded over his chest. His eyes held only mild curiosity as Chad approached.

"We ain't got any gas, if that's what you're after," the man said.

"I filled up in the last town, so I'm good." Chad offered his most disarming smile. "I'm actually wondering if you can tell me anything about the grove."

The store owner's expression darkened. "Don't know what you're talkin' about. You're in the wrong part of the state." Leaning forward, he stroked his unruly beard. "And who the hell told you the grove was here, anyhow?"

That question let Chad know he was exactly where he needed to be. He took a few steps toward the man and held out his hand. After introducing himself, he added, "I'm a journalist. I'd like to interview the woman tending to one of the last stands of Northern Red Oak, Quercus rubra."

The man didn't bother shaking Chad's hand. "I'm tellin' ya, son, you've got your facts wrong. The last specimen within a fifty-mile radius died two years ago."

"That's a shame." Chad made no attempt to hide his skepticism. "I've come a long way, and I think if I were to let the world know about this woman, it could only bring more awareness to the tree's plight."

"Ah, save it." The man waved dismissively, then climbed to his feet with a labored groan. "Someone's given you bad information. Now, I suggest you head on back to where you came from while there's still plenty of daylight. You've probably done figured out by now that cell phones and GPS don't work out this way; you're in a mandated quiet zone. And you don't want to be driving around in the dark, getting yourself lost."

"Oh, I know exactly where I am. I have a map." Chad pulled it from the back pocket of his jeans.

The old man raised an eyebrow. "Didn't know you youngins could read one of those."

Chad had to laugh at that. In his early forties, he hadn't been called a youngin in a long while. "I've managed well enough. Guess I'll just keep driving until I find what I'm looking for."

"It ain't anywhere near here," the man said while pulling open the store's screen door, "so make sure you don't run out of gas drivin' around in circles."

Chad allowed himself one heavy sigh before heading back to his car. His source had mentioned this very market, and Chad had been warned that he wouldn't get any information from the locals. Still, he had to try.

As he now traveled west, the road beneath his tires turned to gravel, and then to dirt. The car's window was lowered to let in the fresh air. The day was warm enough, but the night promised the chill of early fall.

His source told him to keep a careful eye out for a small cairn. It would be on the right side, and just beyond, Chad would find a road amounting to little more than a trail through the woods. 

When he spotted the stand of stones, less than two feet high, a flush of satisfaction warmed his belly. In just 2.8 miles, he would arrive at a path to the left, far too narrow to accommodate a vehicle. That path would lead him to the woman he wished to interview.

Minutes later, Chad was on foot, his hiking boots enabling him to cover the uneven terrain. It wasn't a long trek through these woods to the grove of oak trees, reportedly the last remaining in the state, and among the few in the entire country left unscathed. 

So far.

Chad was attempting to maneuver around some brambles when a woman's voice carried to him. "Stop right there."

He froze, holding up his hands, for he'd also been cautioned that the woman he sought would be armed. Daring to look over his shoulder, he found her standing about ten feet behind him. In her hand was a pistol. Though Chad was mostly ignorant about guns, he guessed she had a .22 aimed at him, probably with only enough power to wound rather than kill. Still, he most certainly didn't want to be shot.

Staying motionless, he introduced himself and explained why he was in these woods.

The woman's gaze, along with her grip, was steady as she replied, "I have nothing to say to you."

Chad took a moment to study her. Strangely enough, she wore a baggy white dress. It looked like something she'd hastily pulled on when she heard his vehicle. If so, did that mean she roamed around these woods naked on mild days?

Strands of her blonde hair were drawn back into a braid to keep the locks out of her face. He'd been told she was young, but he wasn't expecting to encounter a woman in her early twenties. The boots on her feet were weathered.

"I just want to tell your story," he quietly persisted. "And I promise I won't divulge the location of these oaks. I won't even disclose the state. I only want to know why you've devoted your life to protecting the trees."

"Turn around."

He wordlessly obeyed. Locking eyes with the woman, he could sense her distress at his presence. 

"Am I the first to find you?" he asked. "I mean, aside from the scientists. They seem to guard the location of this grove with their very lives."

"So, who sent you here?" As the woman spoke, she didn't lower the gun. 

"Someone who feels your story deserves more attention. Someone who trusts us both." 

Chad noticed the realization crystallizing on the woman's features, and it made him fear he'd revealed too much. Desperate to earn her trust, he rushed on. "You're Ursula, right? I just want you to know how much I admire what you're doing. My source tells me you spend almost all your time out here, monitoring these trees for blight. That has to be difficult, braving the elements while depending on the locals for food and other necessities."

Ursula merely rolled her eyes. "I don't need accolades. What I need is for you to leave. Right now."

"Can't we speak for just a few minutes? Tell me what it is about these trees that has made you determined to save them."

Finally, the young woman lowered the weapon. "You're out of your fucking mind if you think I'm taking you to them. You could have carried the blight on your clothes, your shoes—"

"I changed my clothes and shoes in the nearest town," Chad said. "I threw away the ones I'd been wearing. This outfit I have on now is brand-new."

"Or on your car," Ursula continued as if he hadn't spoken. "You're a hazard."

"I don't need to see the trees; I didn't expect to. The last thing I want to do is jeopardize them." Mustering all his courage, he took a single step in her direction. "You must realize the environmental and economic havoc their disappearance has wreaked."

"Of course I do," she snapped. 

"More trees are being cultivated, but they're not yet blight-resistant. And there aren't nearly enough to replace the ones that have already died."

"I know all this!"

"Are you lonely?"

He hadn't meant to blurt out the question. In his mind, he'd practiced this interview numerous times, carefully choosing the words that he hoped would coax forth Ursula's story. But he now sensed her patience wearing thin.

Ursula's face was inscrutable as she regarded him. "You really want to know my story, Chad?"

"I do," he immediately responded.

"Then strip naked right here. I don't care if your clothes are new; I want them off of you."

Chad's mouth dropped open. "Are you serious?"

"Absolutely. So do what I say or leave."

He looked down at himself, then back at the woman. In the past, he'd risked his safety for the sake of a story, and not once had he regretted his actions. But this? This made him feel far more vulnerable than the gun Ursula held.

Still, he wasn't about to concede defeat and slink back to his car. 

His boots and socks came off first, and then his jeans. He was wearing a simple T-shirt, which he pulled over his head. Standing only in his boxer briefs, he asked, "You really want me totally naked?"

"Yep." Ursula already seemed bored with this scenario, impatient to move to the next step of whatever she had planned.

"Fine." Chad stripped free of his underwear, then forced himself to stand to his full height. Ursula gave him an appraising look, her expression betraying nothing. 

He tried to imagine himself the way she saw him. His body had softened in recent years, and his dark hair was graying at the temples. Ever the realist, he knew he'd best be described as average. 

But Ursula's gaze lost some of its iciness as she said, "Follow me."

"Hope we're not going far, since I don't have my shoes on."

"Only a short distance."

Chad winced at the feel of rocks and broken twigs digging into his feet while she led him off the path and farther into the woods. Was this some kind of game to her? he wondered. His keys and wallet were still in his jeans, and he cursed himself for leaving them behind.

Leaf litter from previous years cushioned his steps somewhat, and the trees grew denser around them. Chad figured Ursula was leading him in the opposite direction of the endangered oaks. 

Minutes later, she came to an abrupt stop. The path was no longer in sight. Chad thought they'd walked a straight line from it, but he couldn't be certain. He was plenty distracted by being stark naked out here, with the wind caressing parts of his body normally covered by clothing.

"Lie down." She pointed at a small mound of leaves close to her feet.

Chad's wariness morphed into irritation. "Why do I need to lie down in order to hear your story?"

Ursula turned toward him then. "I won't hurt you." Her voice was low, almost soothing. He watched as she strode to a nearby tree stump and placed the gun upon it. "You need to trust me."

He was about to refuse, to tell her he'd already done more than enough. But even as he swore under his breath, he had to laugh at how absurd this situation had become. Here he was, traipsing nude through the woods in the hopes of learning more about a weird woman who'd devoted her entire existence to protecting a small stand of near-extinct trees.

There was no delicate way to lie at Ursula's feet. Thank God it hadn't rained recently, and the leaves were only damp with mold. Once on his back, he stared up at her expectantly. "Ready to start talking?" 

The smile she flashed bordered on playful. "Not just yet."

Chad frowned as she pulled the fabric belt from the loops of her dress. It was dingy, just like the garment she wore. He fought back a rush of alarm; no way in hell would he allow her to tie his hands.

Instead of attempting to bind him, she sank to her knees at his side. His sharp intake of breath was clearly audible when she moved to straddle his hips. The skirt of her dress fanned out around them. 

"Close your eyes," she said. 

"This is insane! Utterly pointless."

Yet he obeyed. She was gentle in applying the blindfold, and almost tender in laying his head back down on the pillow of leaves.

Drawing in a steadying breath, Chad caught her scent. She smelled of earth and sweat; remnants of summer seemed to cling to her dress. And beneath all that, he detected something far more intimate, something women usually masked with frequent showers and sprays. 

It was enough to make his cock twitch.

Ursula must have sensed his growing arousal, for she shifted position in order to bear down on his thigh. 

A faint moan escaped him when he realized she was naked beneath that dress. The heat of her sex seeped into his skin, strengthening his erection.

"Sometimes I'm lonely," she confessed. 

Then she took his cock in her hand, stroking him to full hardness.

All his journalistic ambition vanished. His purpose for being here, and his plans for an award-winning story, grew murky in his mind.

"We shouldn't," he managed to weakly protest.

Ursula shushed him, and the argument died on his lips once she slid her cunt along the underside of his cock. Already, she was wet, her glide lacking any friction. 

As her hips moved with a perfect rhythm, she leaned forward until her lips were close to his ear. Her breath was unexpectedly sweet. 

Chad fought back a groan, desperately trying to focus on her words. She told him of her life in the woods, and how she'd almost frozen to death her first winter out here. She spoke of the little hunting shed which provided shelter. She could effortlessly start a fire and had even learned to trap small game.

She revealed scraps of her past, how she was lost after finishing high school, without any direction. In town one day, she met an older woman doing research on Quercus rubra. That woman, a forest pathologist, inspired Ursula to spend the next several months learning all she could about the Northern Red Oak and the blight threatening to obliterate it. She also learned that if the blight was detected very early on, it could be eradicated from an afflicted tree and thus prevented from spreading to others. But detection and treatment needed to occur in a matter of days, not weeks or months. 

And that was when Ursula realized her purpose.

Her words were punctuated by faint moans; not once did she grow still above him. Half-wild with need, Chad lifted his hands and felt for her. She guided his palms to her breasts, small and firm beneath the dress. Her nipples hardened from his touch.

"The scientist you met in town," he said through quickened breaths, "is she the one who told you where to find the stand of oaks you're now monitoring?"

"I won't say who told me."

Reaching between them, Ursula took him in her hand again. He didn't need the sense of sight to know when she placed the tip of his cock at her entrance. He felt her flesh giving way, ready to take him inside.

"Do you want me?" she asked.

"God, yes!"

She sank down, slowly accepting every inch. Chad rested his hands on her hips, as if to restrain her movement. If she rode him fast, he risked coming too soon.

But Ursula seemed in no hurry. Leaning forward again, she resumed her story, the words sometimes snagging in her throat. She told him of the trees, and how she'd given a name to each one. She described her almost-hourly inspections of bark and branches, searching for the first signs of disease. Dread was ever present, sometimes almost palpable, for she worried how long her watchfulness could prevail.

Chad wanted Ursula to keep talking, to unravel more and more of her mystery, but he finally had to cry out, "I'm close."

His warning did nothing to dissuade her. If anything, he sensed her surrender to the rawness of her own need. Their fucking soon lacked any shred of grace; instead, they both panted as she rapidly slid along the length of his cock.

His fingers clawed at the leaves, seeking out the earth below. Ursula made a sound like a sob, and Chad felt her stiffen, then shudder. Unable to deny his own release, he came with a shout, his hips fiercely bucking. 

She toppled forward to rest against him. He felt her tongue and teeth at his neck.

Tentatively, he slipped his arms around her, and she relaxed into his embrace. "What happens if you're injured or you fall ill?" he said quietly. "You could die out here."

Just as quietly, she replied, "Then I'll die where I belong."

​*****

Back in the city, Chad didn't even try to write Ursula's story. He told his editor it was a false lead, a complete waste of time. His deception, and his sudden lack of ambition, made him worry he was growing too soft for the job. Yet he knew shining a spotlight on that grove of oaks, and on the woman guarding it, would do far more harm than good. The trees just might survive if the outside world stayed well beyond the forest's borders. 

As the days grew shorter and the chill of autumn deepened, he often thought of Ursula. He hoped she was warm and healthy, safe among her beloved trees. He sent a check to the owner of that market. The man could barely afford to keep the place open, but Chad knew he supplied Ursula with many necessities. 

On the memo line of the check, he wrote: For her.

It wasn't until late spring of the following year that Chad received a card in the mail. It had no return address, and its postmark revealed it had been sent from a small city he'd passed through on his way to interview Ursula. The card was generic, with a print of watercolor flowers on its front. 

Inside was a single leaf, its green deep and rich. He recognized it immediately, for a Northern Red Oak had once towered above his childhood home. 

With trembling fingers, he held it to the light. What a risk she'd taken to send him this. To trust him with such a gift. 

The card bore no message other than a scribbled note, barely legible: For the man who knows my story.