Chapter 8
I watchPoppy strut her way to the truck with my fingers curled deep into the pockets of my jeans. I’m helpless to the urge to drop my eyes to her ass and watch it sway with each confident, steady step she takes away from me. My throat tightens, lips drying before I glance at the clear blue sky and inhale deep through my nose.
Instant attraction is a curious prospect, but it’s also the most obvious thing between the two of us. It’s a flame lying dormant in both of our chests, only sparked when we’re within arguing distance of one another. I doubt she’d ever admit it to me, and I’m not inclined to ask, but that doesn’t matter. There’s a slippery slope with a dangerous end waiting for us if we ever acted on such an impulse.
The truck rumbles to life, and I use the distraction to pull my thoughts together. A moment later, and I’m back in the passenger seat, dust tickling my nose and gluing itself to my skin.
Poppy moves with an impressive sense of knowledge and grace as she grips the gear stick in a tight fist and adjusts both of her feet beneath the dash.
She hardly waits for me to buckle myself in before she’s speaking. “Okay, so the first thing I always do when I get in is wiggle the shifter to make sure it’s in neutral. Then, put your left foot on the farthest pedal, which obviously you’ve found since you’ve turned this thing on before. That’s your clutch.”
I nod slightly. “Alright.”
“Once your clutch is in, you’re going to pull the shifter toward yourself and then up toward the dash into first gear,” she explains, moving the shifter in the exact same way. “Then you’re going to slowly let off the clutch while using your other foot to give it a bit of gas. Don’t give it too much, or you’re going to rev it too hard and you won’t move. Too little and you’ll stall.”
My eyes bounce between her hand on the shifter and the movement of her thighs as the truck begins to move. Her thighs strain inside that worn denim in a way that has the cab of the truck feeling too tight. Too hot and muggy, her light perfume doing wonders to stifle the stale smell of dust and dirt.
She doesn’t seem to notice my blatant staring. “Once you’re in gear and moving, it’s just like driving an automatic until you need to go faster. When you want to speed up, you repeat the steps with your clutch and gas, but you’ll move the shifter straight down into second. Most likely, you won’t need to go past first unless you leave the ranch, so for now, you can just work on those steps.”
“How fast can I go in each gear?”
“Oh! Duh. First gear, I’d say don’t go any faster than fifteen. Second, about forty.”
She drives us onto the main gravel road, and I unroll the window, needing air that hasn’t turned hot and sticky. The breeze drifts in, blowing her golden-brown hair wildly around her face. She taps her fingers on the steering wheel in a steady beat, completely unbothered by the hair in her eyes and mouth.If anything, I think she likes the feel of it flying about.
“Do you have any more questions?” she asks.
“Does this thing have a radio?” I pull the question out of my ass. The last thing I want to do is listen to music and be reminded of why I’m here.
“You know, I’m not sure. There has to be CDs or something somewhere in here, though.”
I make no move to look for wherever they’ve been stashed. Instead, I find myself asking another question, unsure of the reason for my loose tongue.
“How long have you known how to drive a manual?”
She doesn’t miss a beat before answering, “My dad taught me manual before he did automatic. He claims it’s a life skill everyone should know. Apparently, there was some truth to that, if my knowledge helped you right now.”
I huff a laugh. “I’ve never needed to know. Not until I got to this place.”
“Well, now you have something to brag about to all of your posh friends when you get back,” she teases. It’s a cautious joke, though. A test of some sort.
Too intrigued by the casual conversation, I force myself to look away from the hint of a dimple in her cheek and stare out the windshield, noticing the wide metal-sided building up ahead. “That’s the shop?”
“Yup. Brody’s truck is already there, so he must be waiting for you.” Her tone drops in temperature, no longer teasing.
I’ve failed the test, it would seem.
We don’t speak the rest of the way to the shop. That frustrates me. Only when the truck comes to a stop and I’m unbuckling my seat belt do I ask, “Will you be bringing the truck back once you finish with your appointment?”
“Yeah, I’ll drop it off here and leave the key in the visor. That work?” she asks, avoiding looking my way. I can’t say that I blame her for that.
“It works.”
I step out of the truck, prepared to shut the door behind me when she speaks again, words rushed, a bit rambled.
“You never asked what I’m doing to my hair today.”
My brows jump. “Were you wanting me to?”
“It would have been the polite thing to do.”
“Okay.” I swallow hard, too curious to put a premature end to the conversation. “What are you doing to your hair today?”
Her sly smirk has my cock hard in an instant. “How about you come find me sometime soon and see for yourself? That is, if you ever decide to let loose a little while you’re here.”
My expression must give away my surprise because that smirk of hers twists into a proud grin a second later. I tighten my grip on the door and shake my head incredulously.
“We’ll see, Poppy.”
“Yeah, I suppose we will. I’ll see you later, Garrison Beckett.”
Then she’s moving the shifter again, and I’m closing the door, cutting the connection between us. I keep my eyes on the truck until it’s a speck of dust in the distance, and then I head into the shop, hard cock and all.
I crinklemy nose at the immediate change of smell inside the shop. Grease and diesel replace the fresh spring air from outside, turning my stomach slightly. I finished off the plate of muffins Eliza sent me back to the guest house with for breakfast, but I desperately need to go to the store. I’m starving, which I’m sure isn’t helping my stomach at all.
A tractor sits at one end of the shop, a semi-truck at the other, with a giant lifting door behind each. There are two walls stocked with various tools and tool boxes, and between the two machines, what appears to be some sort of welding equipment rests.A whole lot of items I have no idea what they are or their purpose.
Low chatter fills the shop among the clatter of a tool hitting the cement floor and the scuffing of shoes. Out of my comfort zone once again, Istiffen my posture and walk toward a familiar head of dark blond hair I catch from beneath the hood of the tractor.
“So, this is what you do when you refuse to come to Calgary to record,” I say, strolling toward Brody.
He doesn’t spare me a look, just continues tinkering beneath the green hood. “Good mornin’, Garrison. It’s a pleasure to see you too.”
“I can’t say that I understand the appeal of what it is here that keeps you tied to this place,” I mutter, taking in the full space as I reach his side.
“You’ve decided that in the past two seconds that you’ve been here?”
“It took me far less than that.”
He pushes back from beneath the hood and grabs a brown rag from the back pocket of his overalls, using it to wipe at his grease-coated fingers. I grimace at the mess left on the fabric.
“I’ll give you that one because you’re my boss, but insult my home or what I do here again and I’ll have you scraping cow shit from the grooves of tractor tires every day for the next fifty-seven days.”
I roll my lips, swallowing a harsh laugh. “Do you have my departure marked on a calendar, Brody?”
“Sure as shit do. In every damn room in my house. My phone too.”
“I’m flattered,” I deadpan.
“I wouldn’t be.” He tucks the rag away and grips the neckline of his T-shirt, using it to wipe the smear of oil from his chin. “Is it safe to assume you’ve never been inside a shop like this before?”
“Yes.”
I can’t say that I’ve ever craved the feeling of grease beneath my nails or the scent of exhaust lingering on my clothes. There were always people to pay to do these things for me. And I’ve surely never been on a ranch before this one. This is the closest I’ve ever been to a tractor. I wasn’t missing much.
Brody nods, searching the shop for something. “Some ground rules, then. First, stay out of the way. Think of this place as my equivalent to one of your board meetings. I’m the boss here. I tell you what to do, and you do it. No questions asked.”
“Last time I checked, you almost always ask questions in my meetings.”
A hint of a smile. “Fair enough. What I mean is that you’re here to work. So, do exactly that. I don’t know what you did to my grandmother to have her demandin’ you be switched here instead of whatever my grandfather had planned for you, but try not to let her down, yeah? She stuck her neck out for you.”
“I never asked her to do that.” It probably only made Wade hate me more despite her good intentions.
“’Course you didn’t. She did it because she sees somethin’ in you. That’s just how we work around here. Stick your back out for me, and I’ll stick mine out for you. Get it?”
My initial reaction is appreciation for that quality. It’s rare where I’m from. My second, however, is caution. Nothing good ever comes from placing that heavy of a trust in someone else’s hands.
“I’ll watch my own back. It will be simpler that way,” I tell him, disliking the feeling in my gut that screams in outrage at the dismissal. Like I’ve spat on a chance for something good.
Brody brushes off the rejection, as if he never truly meant the words in the first place. “Fair enough. You can start with sweeping.”
I keep my expression blank. “Sweeping?”
“You do know how to sweep, right? Or would you prefer to play in a hay pile again?”
“Where’s the broom?” I ask tightly.
“Front of the shop. You won’t miss it. Once you’ve finished, I’ll have something else for you to do.”
“Great.”
Brody grins wickedly. “I think this is the start of an excellent working relationship, Garry.”
“Whatever you say.”
I don’t bother telling him not to call me that before beginning to look for this fucking broom, leaving him standing there watching and judging. He can have the last word this time. I’ll ensure that I have the next once I get him back in the studio.