Blair
“There are three levels to Gnarly Pines,” Wes explains, leading me down the wide and windy gravel driveway.
There’s a healthy distance between us. Not because I don’t trust him, which I don’t, but because there’s something magnetic about Wes. Unlike Ledger, who has a naturally gruff exterior, Wes is much more mellow and kind. It would be easy to like him andthat’swhat scares me. I don’t typically click well or instantly with others, but with Wes I am. It’s new and uncomfortable.
I hadn’t gotten a good look at Wes last night, but when I walked into the kitchen and spotted him this morning, I knew he was going to be a problem. Well, it’s either him or my libido. I’m not quite sure which it is exactly just yet. What is it with me and older men? Honestly though, who could resist Wes?
His skin is a deep, rich brown, darker than mine by a few shades. He keeps his salt and pepper speckled goatee short and tight against his face. That hair brackets soft, full but not overly feminine, lips but doesn’t cover the way his cheekbones popwhen he smiles. Crows’ feet, less defined than Ledger’s, tease the corner of his eyes and… those eyes.
Wow.
Wes has these unusual pale blue eyes that lock onto you, making you feel like you’re the only thing he cares about. They are a stark contrast to his dark skin but pair nicely with the grays in his short hair at his temples. He’s tall, probably around six-feet, five inches with broad shoulders and thick, muscular arms which are now covered by the sleeves of a yellow and white flannel jacket.
Good lord, this man isfine.
Like, drop to your knees and bark like a good girl kind of fine.
Thisis why I’ve put some distance between us.
“There are nearly two hundred acres that span across the property,” Wes continues, unaware of where my thoughts have shifted.
I blink rapidly, trying to dispel the inappropriate thoughts drifting through my head.
The house falls behind us as we round the bend and end up on a leveled piece of the property. There’s a large three-car garage to my left, and on the other side of the drive is a massive pole barn. In the small parking lots in front of each structure are a few white construction trucks with the Gnarly Pines logo plastered along their sides.
“This is Zone Three,” Wes says. “The garage is Building A, and that over there is Building B. This is where we keep the big trucks and machinery. Building A, the one with the three garage doors, is where anything goes that needs fixing.”
As Wes talks, two garage doors open at Building A. A guy with dark hair ducks out of one, not waiting for it to open the entire way. As he heads for one of the trucks parked in front of the building, Wes whistles—catching his attention. The guy pauses and looks over in our direction.
“Rhett, come here!” He waves the guy over.
The man changes course and trudges over to us. He doesn’t so much as glance at me as he approaches. Instead, he focuses on pulling out a bandana from his back pocket to wipe the grime from his hands. When he finally comes to a stop in front of us, he nods to Wes before finally sparing me a glance. His dark brown eyes barely caress my face before they return to the man beside me.
“Rhett, meet your new housemate. Rhett, Blair. Blair, this is Rhett Wells—the Head Mechanic here at Gnarly Pines. He makes sure the trucks and machinery are all running at tip-top shape for us.”
Rhett’s a pale individual. His complexion is emphasized by his dark brown hair that’s parted naturally down the middle and hangs around his face. It's long, just enough to tuck behind his ears if he felt inclined to do so. His face is narrow—with pronounced cheekbones, hollow cheeks, and a square-ish chin. He’s over six feet, on the skinnier side but maybe there’s more than meets the eye beneath that mechanic’s jumpsuit. There's a barbell in his left eyebrow, and he has two hoops on either side of his bottom lip.
Rhett looks more like the lead singer of a punk rock band than someone who works at a lumber yard. He’s hauntingly attractive, though the darkness in his eyes seeming to reach inward as much as outward.
Rhett’s face tightens even as he spares me a curt nod. “Hey.”
“Hi,” I reply and offer him my hand, knowing it’s polite. Rhett glances down at my hand then away from me entirely.
“I don’t want to get you dirty,” he mutters. As I drop my hand away, he says to Wes, “A gasket for the water pump went bad in one of the trucks. It’s nothing too serious. It’ll be up and running by the afternoon.”
Wes nods. “Good, we have a job tomorrow and we need it running. I’ll leave you to it. Tonight we’re grilling out, so don’t wander too far after work, ‘kay?”
Rhett grunts an affirmative before taking off, not even bothering to say goodbye. He simply turns and stalks away. Wesley starts walking and I quickly follow.
“Don’t mind Rhett,” Wes mutters, his voice low despite being out of earshot. “He’s pretty stand-offish. But he’s a good guy. His heart is in the right place and he’s loyal to us.”
“There’s nothing to mind,” I reply with a shrug of one shoulder. “I won’t be staying long enough to bother him.”
Wes shoots me a look but before he can try to object, I change subjects. “What do you mean by ‘us’? I mean, I get you’re referring to yourself and Ledger, but is he not just an employee here at Gnarly Pines who happens to live with you or is there something else? I feel like more is implied by how you said it.”
His mouth curls into a short-lived smile before it disappears. Wes gives my question some thought as we walk down the winding gravel driveway.
After a few minutes, he says, “Look, I won’t sugarcoat it—everyone that lives under that roof back there comes with baggage. We’re not innocent men by any means but we’re good-ish.” He chuckles as he shakes his head but quickly turns somber.
