Chapter One
Sebastian
Hot, sticky days are my favorite kind of day.
Most of my men grunt and groan about the heat here on the landing. About how the sun is blistering their skin and how they cannot wait for winter to get here. Not me. I love it up here when it’s hot, when we’re slaving away under the sun and working our asses off. Personally, I prefer to feel as if I am doing something worthwhile.
It is one of those sticky hot days up on the landing. Jonas sits on a heap of logs, emptying an entire jug of water in one long gulp. Gavin sits in his buncher, his shirt long gone, his body covered in smudges of dirt. Taking my hat off to swipe a handkerchief at my wet head, I let out a low chuckle.
“Bunch of pansies,” Abel teases beside me, nodding his head at the younger men on the crew. “We live for this sort of shit, boss.”
Nodding at him, I snatch up another huge log, hauling it to the waiting truck. We’ve been at it since dawn, but we have a lot of work to do today. Felle’s Landing is expanding a lot faster than Mack Felle thought it would. We’re a sustainable limber enterprise because we plant double the trees we cut down. This means our landing moves all over the mountainside where we fell trees.
After having some success a little further up the mountain, Mack set up a second landing here with a new team. All of us love the work, we love life up on the mountain, and we love Driftwood Peaks. It is the first place a lot of us settled in after the military. Most of the crew were former squad members in the Marines or Special Forces, so when Mack started the first logging landing, he called a few of his old friends up to come work it with him.
Abel is not wrong—we both live for this shit. “Some of us do,” I tease, nodding at the young guys working just a little slower.
We’re all new to this landing, but Abel and I started out on the first landing. I was stunned when Mack chose me to run this landing. He could have put Asher, or even Ridge, in charge. Felt damn good to be the guy he singled out as good enough to take over a crew working this landing.
“Ah, they will get the hang of it. Gavin is a hard worker, and Jonas is a showoff. They will work off one another well, I think. They just need to be in the shit for a few months, get used to the work. We will make a good team.”
Nodding at him, I agree. Deciding I am being too hard on the new guys, I call for lunch. They all take a seat on some of the stacked logs, pulling out sandwiches and drinks. Before they can unwrap their food or pop the top on a cold beer, I stop them. It is time to foster some team building.
“Come on, fellas, let’s go to town. Lunch at Rusty Nail. My treat.”
They watch me for a moment, gauging if I mean it or not. I guess I have been a hard ass the past few weeks. I am trying to be a good leader, set a good example, but I don’t want my guys to hate me. We have a hard job, and they bust their butts, even if they joke around too much or take a few too many breaks every now and again.
“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Gavin grins, tucking his lunch back in its bag with a flourish.
Chuckling, I head for my truck and wait for them to join me. I crank the air and turn up some old George Strait, the guys singing along as we head down the mountain. It has been a long season even if we’re just halfway through it. We’ve got a lot of work coming, thanks to our partnership with some buddies in True Ridge, who transport most of our logging materials.
It’s been a mutually beneficial relationship since they partnered with some builders in Crystal Cove and Harmony Hollow. These builders have spent tons of money and effort rebuilding both towns and expanding them. It is good to see some deep pockets giving back to small towns in need.
“Afternoon boys,” Tre, the bartender, calls as we step into the dim light of the small pub.
“Hells bells, it’s Ms. Tre,” Gavin calls, going right up to the counter to flirt the way he often does.
“No time for you today, handsome,” Tre taunts him, nodding at another figure tucked behind the bar. “Training my new bartender. Guess I can show her how to tell you boys to behave, huh?”
Chuckling, I gather my guys up to lead them to our usual corner table. As we pass the bar, I take notice of the other woman back there with Tre. I almost push the guys out of my way once I see her. Because she is the prettiest little thing I have ever seen.
Aiming bright blue eyes at me, she smiles and nods her head. Just a simple greeting, nothing more, nothing less. But it is more than a hello. Because our gazes lock, the room becomes quiet, the smell of beer and stale peanuts fading. I cannot look away from her pretty eyes. And when I do, I regret it almost immediately.
Because my eyes slide over her curvy figure in a wildly improper stare. I can’t help it. In a white dress that tucks beneath her full breasts and flares over wide hips, she is a vision. The dress is dotted with strawberries, and I wonder if that is what she will taste like. I divert my gaze before she can see my filthy thoughts.
I am not good with women. I’ve been with just one woman before. The same girl from the time I was fourteen until she broke my heart with a Dear John letter while I was overseas. I never tried to find another woman after that heartache. Last time I tried flirting with a lady, my buddy Asher threatened me within an inch of my life. Men in Driftwood tend to be a bit... barbaric about their women.
“Oh, she’s cute,” Gavin calls as we sit down, smiling at the new bartender. “What’s your name, honey?”
“If you think I am shouting my name across a bar at a strange man who looks as if he needs a good cleaning, you got me wrong, fella.”
I laugh. For the first time in a long time, I truly laugh. Gavin’s face falls as he ducks his head, wiping at some of the dirt on his face. He looks as if he could use a good wash. Tre’s laugh echoes through the bar as she tells Gavin to behave or go without food or drink.
“Yes, please behave,” I tell him, even though he would never hurt a fly, let alone a sweet young bartender. “Stop making us look bad.”
The others laugh and I chuckle when Gavin’s face flushes. Before I can say more, the new girl slides up to our table. I am hyper aware of her. How she smells—like mint and vanilla. It is comforting. Leaning her hip against the table, she cocks her head, inviting us to order.
“Hello there, Scout...” Abel calls after squinting at her bright pink nametag. I don’t much like how he is looking at her and he seems to notice. “I will have a Modelo and some fried chicken.”
