I winced.
I’d forgotten.
Sadly, the “grappler” was the oldest excavator we had with the grappler attached to it. We would pick up the trees with the grappler, and deposit them in a pile or on a truck.
Also unfortunately, the track hoe had the worst freakin’ seat imaginable, and no one wanted to operate it.
It was seriously that bad.
So bad, in fact, that Jim had to set up a ticketing system. Everyone had to operate it, and it was apparently my turn.
“No one told me to get here early,” I grumbled as I got onto the side-by-side, taking my bag of food with me.
I hadn’t had time to cook today, and all of the men were pissy.
I’d just had to hear all of them bitch and complain about them not getting to eat, even though I’d informed them the other day that I wouldn’t be able to get food made for them today.
I had a doctor’s appointment first thing that morning, and hadn’t had time to get both done.
I had time, however, to make my own lunch which had pissed them off.
Which only served to piss me off.
Jim tried to talk to me, but I ignored him as well as the frigid cold and drove to the area they were working.
I didn’t pay attention at first to whom I was walking among—there were a lot of moving parts in a site like this, and I had to look everywhere all at once.
I instead waited for everyone to notice me and make sure that no trees fell on my head, then hauled ass to the grappler.
Jesper looked relieved to see me as he jumped out. “She’s being a bitch today. Sorry.”
Of course “she” was.
“Thanks,” I grumbled as I got inside. “Have a good one.”
Jesper left, and I went to work.
It was only after about an hour of watching men fell trees, and me maneuvering my excavator around picking up trees, that I noticed that one of the men looked somewhat familiar.
He was covered in head-to-toe gear, and standing in six inches of snow.
The man was fully invisible except for his eyes until he shucked his balaclava off to down a bottle of water.
That’s when my breath hitched.
Holy hell.
Meo!
He stood out like a sore thumb now.
He was so much bigger than all the other men, and he was wearing a whole lot less clothes than the rest of them, too.
He had on black tactical work pants that came down over his boots, and still somehow managed to hug every curve the man had. Thick thighs. Perfect ass. Very well-endowed package.
He was wearing a Carhartt jacket that was zipped up to the top, brown leather work gloves, and a black baklava that’d been covering his face until now.
His great hair was plastered to his head with sweat, and I could see small dots of it dotting his cheeks and forehead that were now exposed.
