Chapter 3
3
Braden
“ H ere we are!” Grace says in a bright tone, gesturing to what looks to be a shanty with a small garden off to one side, and a greenhouse on the other. Both structures are relatively small, and I squint a bit. “This is where we raise our crops.”
I nod slowly.
“Okay, so this isn’t an industrial operation.”
“Of course not,” Grace snaps. “I’m just one person, so there’s no way I could do that much on my own. Again, we’re just a small family farm, and we supply locals mostly. I doubt we even export our stuff to other states.”
I nod, still surveying the scene. The greenhouse looks to be in poor condition, with raggedy plastic walls and a hole in the roof. The shanty is even worse. It’s run down and saggy, with a small porch that’s missing a step. The windows look brand new, like they were put in recently, but it’s a stark contract to the rotting wood of the walls, and the shingles falling off the roof.
I pause for a moment.
“Have you fireproofed this place?” I rumble.
Grace perks up, her eyes bright, and she looks beautiful with her blonde ponytail bouncing and a smile on her lips.
“Yes, after the Tahoe Fire, my brother and dad came by and did a huge retrofit. They put in the new fire-safe windows, and replaced some of the shingles on my roof with new ones. Everything’s Class A rated now.”
I nod slowly, studying the design.
“Okay, but wood shake roofs generally aren’t fire-proof on their own. You have a shake roof, not a shingle one, Grace. Shingles are typically machine-sawn, with cuts varying from being along the grain and against the grain. Meanwhile, shakes are hand-split, ensuring that one of its sides is always along the grain. Shakes are generally more wind and water resistant, but when it comes to fire, the shakes need to be treated with retardant just like any wood-based roof covering. Are the new ones treated? How about the old ones?”
Grace looks confused but then pushes out her bottom lip.
“I’m sure all the shakes are treated,” she says quickly. “My brother and dad know what they’re doing. They’re pros at this.”
I nod, still surveying the roof which shows obvious patches of new work. Still, I shake my head.
“Yeah, but to be Class A, shakes generally need to be installed with special sheathing to increase their fire resistance in addition to being fire-treated. That shit is done by specialists, and not home handymen. Did your family hire professionals to take care of this?”
Grace’s bottom lip juts out even more.
“No, because my brother and dad are plenty handy themselves. They’ve always taken care of all our home repairs, and they’re good with cars too. My dad has always changed his own oil, and my brother practically built his hot rod from scraps from the junk yard! I’m sure it’s fine.”
I nod again, but inside I’m disgusted because what man would let his daughter live in such a shit place that’s obviously not fireproof? Besides, I don’t care how good these dudes are with their hands. Fire-readiness is a big deal in our part of the world, and it’s best done by professionals. Pros have the tools, knowledge, and experience to make sure people stay safe. This is obviously a shoddy install, given the misaligned shingles and patchy exterior.
I survey the windows then. They look like eyes in a haunted house, with their metal lined frames and thick, dual panes.
“Okay, so the windows are new.”
Grace nods happily, her ponytail bouncing again.
“Yeah, my dad took out the old ones and put in double-paned ones that are resistant to fire. Of course, windows can’t stop a fire altogether because glass doesn’t do that, but the double panes provide protection against wind-blown embers, and help with energy conversation and insulation too. It’s toasty in my cabin during winter,” she brags. “So hot that sometimes I walk around naked!”
I have a brief vision of the young woman prancing around nude in her small house, her big breasts bouncing and a sweet smile on her face. Her bottom is round and full, and fuck, but she’d look amazing on all fours, waiving that sweet puss at me.
But I have to stop because Grace obviously isn’t a temptress trying to lure an unsuspecting man into her home. Instead, she’s living like a church mouse, with probably only the most basic of amenities at her disposal. My guess is that she’s got one tiny bathroom inside, connected to a sump pump to handle sewage. Her water probably comes out of the faucet in a dribble, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s heating water over a stove for her baths.
Fuck . Who lives like this? Who treats their daughter like an impoverished Cinderella, letting her reside halfway up a remote mountain by herself? This shanty fucking sucks, and there’s no way I’d let my daughter spend one night in these shitty digs.
Plus, the curvy girl looks poor. Don’t get me wrong because she’s a vision of good health with shiny, bouncy blonde hair, clear skin, and a plush pink pout. But the woman is dressed in what most people would consider rags. Her sweater’s patched at the elbows, and I see how her jeans are frayed at the hem. Her hair smells good, but it’s that homemade shit that women make with their own hands when they don’t have access to fancy salon treatments. Plus, her shoes are scruffy, beat-down sneakers with a hole in the toe. Is this for real? Do I have a young woman stricken by poverty living next door to my multi-million dollar lodge?
Fortunately, the lodge isn’t that close geographically, and it’s nowhere near completion either. Hell, Grace might not even be aware of it, and in that moment, I make a choice to keep mum. I don’t want her to know that there’s a billionaire next door with every resource at my disposal. I don’t want her to suspect that while she might be doing her dishes by hand in cold water, I plan on hiring a full staff to oversee my home. I don’t want her to know that I have no need to grow my own vegetables to eat, and that I haven’t tinkered with the engine of a car in twenty years. There are mechanics to take care of that shit, and my house manager makes sure it gets done.
Instead, I take a deep breath and put a smile on my face.
“Cool, cool. So the greenhouse is where you grow the weed right? Is that the extent of your operations? It looks pretty small scale.”
Grace appears conflicted for a moment, and I wonder if she’s going to lie because there’s no way she could grow more than twenty or thirty plants in the small space. That’s certainly not enough for any kind of retail operation, but then, she shakes her head and leads me to walk about a hundred feet to the right. The cabin and greenhouse overlook a small clearing which slopes slightly downwards, and that’s when I see it. There are what appear to be a couple acres of plant growth, shaggy and green beneath the afternoon sunlight.
“We do grow some cannabis in the greenhouse, but we also grow outdoors,” Grace explains, gesturing with one arm. “Most folks in this area do. We have access to free sunshine and temperate weather, so why not? Northern California is known for conditions hospitable to cultivating cannabis.”
That’s true because Northern California, especially Humboldt County, is famed for its mild climate and rich, loamy soil.
“And how many cultivars do you produce?” I ask thoughtfully, rubbing my square jaw. Honestly, this is still a tiny operation, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she said only one or two.
But Grace brightens.
“We’re working with five or six. Okay, maybe only three or four, but I like to play around with my plants and experiment. You know how the industry is these days. Most pot is purchased by regular users, and the thing with MJ is that people build up tolerance. So they want stuff that’s super-potent, and I’m working on developing a strain that’s especially strong just to satisfy market demands.”
“I see,” I comment in a low voice. “None of that low potency shit.”
“No, I’m afraid not,” Grace says with a shrug. “It just doesn’t sell as well. In fact, I know some folks have started growing their own plants in small apartments with grow lights because they can’t actually buy low potency stuff. But yeah, most customers are daily users, so our stuff is pretty strong.”
“And growing outdoors must help build potency too,” I muse.
“It does,” Grace agrees. “Natural sunlight helps cannabis plants produce more terpenes, which are the aromatic compounds that give weed its unique scent and flavor. Outdoor cannabis plants typically have a richer and more complex terpene profile than their indoor counterparts, although I have to say the plants from my greenhouse are incredibly aromatic and flavorful nonetheless. But terpenes don’t just make for a richer aroma. They also make the weed more potent by enhancing its psychoactive effects.”
I nod because Grace is young and obviously something fucked up is going on with her family. But she’s no dummy when it comes to her job, and I respect her for that. It can’t be easy to fend for yourself halfway up a mountain with no guidance and little input. I’m about to make an offhand remark, but then the curvy girl turns to me with an inquisitive look.
“So do you still think we’re trespassing on your property? You’re new here, right? I haven’t seen you around these parts before, and I grew up in Fairview. How are you so familiar with where our land stops, and yours begins?”
I think on my feet, my mind whirling. Again, I don’t want to give away that I’m a billionaire building a massive compound a couple miles from where we’re standing. I don’t want Grace to realize that I had my property scoped within an inch of its life, even before I purchased it. I also don’t want her to know that I have the County Assessor on speed dial, as well as the Mayor of Fairview, and even the Governor of California himself. If I want this patch of land to be mine, then it will be.
But there’s no reason to bring down the hammer because the curvy girl is young, innocent, and still na?ve in certain ways. It would be cruel joke to alert her to the realities of gentrification, not to mention the encroachment of a billionaire who can take whatever he wants. Don’t get me wrong because Grace is also incredibly astute, and has demonstrated an ability to manage a cash crop on her own, which entails deep understanding of seasonal weather patterns, soil productivity, and plant life cycles. But still, something in my gut makes me pause because I don’t want to pop her bubble. There’s an endearing quality about the young woman, and I’m not ready to aim and fire quite yet.
You’re going soft , the voice in my head snorts. What the fuck, Rockwell? You’ve always had a ruthless, take-no-prisoners approach to life, so what’s up with the soft landing? You don’t even know this woman.
I don’t, but as I glance at Grace again, I can’t help but be charmed by her playful smile and whimsical ways. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that she’s absolutely stunning too. Her raggedy clothes and patched-up shoes can’t hide the glowing goddess within, complete with big Double D breasts and a young, virginal pussy.
Suddenly, I make a decision. I want that pussy . I want entrance into that tight channel in order to see whether she’s untouched. Fuck, even the thought inflames me, and I have visions of Grace with her thighs spread, cupping her enormous tits as she takes my cock for the first time. Will she moan with pain, as the sensation morphs into pleasure? Will she spread her legs wider while crying out my name with joy? Will she bleed, her first blood leaving a tell-tale red smear on my throbbing cock? Fuck yeah. I have to know.
But snaring a wild animal is always tricky and it takes patience. A hunter needs to stalk for a while, before going in for the kill. So I smile like nothing’s amiss even as a plan forms in my head.
“I think you’re fine. You’re likely on your own side of the property line,” I drawl. “Of course, I don’t know exactly, but I inherited the land from my grandparents,” I lie through my teeth. “Grams, Gramps and me hiked through the forest during my childhood summers, and I don’t recall ever coming this far. You’re probably fine.”
Grace bounces on her toes with excitement before sticking her tongue out at me.
“See?” she burbles. “I always knew we were on the right side. My dad and brother know what they’re doing,” she adds with a wink. “Trust me, Jim and Robbie are good at their jobs. They’re law-abiding citizens and would never knowingly trespass on another man’s land. Besides, we’ve been in Fairview forever, so someone would tell us if we were in the wrong.”
Internally, I shake my head because Jimbo and Robbie are fucking douchebags. I don’t need to meet them to know because who the fuck asks their daughter to grow weed by herself on the slope of a hill? But I merely smile again.
“I’m sure you’re right. Mad props to your family. I think I just got confused by the landscape because I haven’t been here in years. Plus, the forest has changed,” I shrug. “The massive fire burned everything to the ground, so some of the markers I was expecting to see are no longer present.”
Grace nods, her blonde ponytail bouncing.
“Oh, you mean like x’s on trees, and stuff like that?” she asks with a frown. “Yeah, those would be gone. I mean, the trees were incinerated, and everything is new growth now.”
“Yeah, I remember some x’s on trees, but also there was a white rock, as well as some oddly shaped vegetation. But the obviously, anything organic was incinerated, although the rock should still be around,” I frown, pretending to think. “I wonder where it went.” This is all lies. I’m literally making shit up as I go, but Grace is none for the wiser.
“The rock’s probably covered in ash,” she says in a quiet tone. “The fire was devastating, and there was a layer of soot on everything, and I mean everything , after it passed. You weren’t here when it happened, were you?” she asks, giving me a worried glance.
“No, I wasn’t,” I respond. “I was on a job, and besides, I haven’t been back for ages. My grandparents actually died a couple years ago and left me this place in their will, but I didn’t have time to come around because I was traveling. I’m a lumberjack,” I say casually. “I’ve never worked in the El Dorado, but we do get called to work with rangers in national parks sometimes. They want to manage overgrowth, and that often goes hand in hand with controlled burns to reduce the risk of future wildfire. So there’s a lot of work for us lumberjacks out there.”
Grace’s eyes are wide.
“There must be even more recently because of climate change,” she murmurs. “Everyone wants to take precautions because the drought leaves plants and trees dried out, so they’re even more flammable than before.”
“Exactly,” I nod. “That’s why I’m a journeyman lumberjack. There’s no need to tie myself to one employer anymore. We’re in such high demand that I can pick my gigs, and work as much or as little as I want. It’s a good life,” I shrug with a grin at Grace. “But right now, I’m on a breather. My grandparents’ cabin is right up the slope. It’s not fancy but you’re welcome to visit if you want, seeing that we’re neighbors and all.”
Grace practically lights up, her beautiful features aglow.
“I’d like that,” she murmurs. “I’m alone a lot. My brother and dad work downtown because we have a small dispensary, so they’re busy at the store. I only grow the plants, and then I hand them off for manufacture and retail. As well as wholesale,” she adds, her brow wrinkling. “I think they’re getting into that, but they want me to increase yields first. I don’t know. The business is more complicated than I realized, so I just stick with the plants part. I have a green thumb,” she explains with a sweet smile. “Always have, since I was old enough to hold a watering pot.”
My heart leaps and then drops as I take in the young woman, and I wonder what the fuck is going on. After all, I’ve only known Grace for twenty minutes, tops. She could be a criminal, and even more, it’s likely that her brother and dad are up to some bizarre shit because how could they treat a woman in their family like this?
But still, I have to keep my cool. You’re here to fuck her, and nothing else , the voice in my head snarks. Why are you worried about what her family does? They’re obviously trash who survive living on the margins of society.
I shake my head, but the voice is right. What’s happened to the ruthless billionaire formerly known as Braden Rockwell? The one who’s retreated to the wilds of Tahoe in order to escape his deepest, darkest urges? I literally suffer from sadistic fantasies featuring nubile young women, their sweetest spots moist and glistening as they pant and moan.
So I maintain a cool facade because little does Grace realize, but I’m luring her into a trap.
“Come visit sometime,” I say in a casual voice. “Do you like sweet tea?”
Grace perks up, her blue eyes lively.
“I love sweet tea,” she giggles. “Everyone thinks I’m so weird because they’re health nuts around these parts, and anything with sugar is immediately labeled “bad” and even “toxic.” But I adore sweet tea and make it for myself whenever I get a chance. I’m even growing some camellia sinensis in my garden, but that didn’t turn out so great this summer,” she says in a rueful tone. “I guess I don’t always have a green thumb.”
I wink.
“No worries, my sweet tea is made with tea bags,” I growl with a grin. “I’m not growing the stuff, I just know how to brew it. Come by tomorrow around three?” I ask.
Grace smiles at me, so gorgeous that my heart starts pounding again. What the fuck? I’m a man who leaves women crying and desperate in my wake. So why the hell do I care whether she’s excited to visit? It’s unlike my usual dark, dangerous self.
But I push the feeling from my chest as she nods.
“I’d love to visit, Braden,” Grace says shyly before turning to leave with a small wave. “Thank you for inviting me. See you tomorrow.”
Then, I watch as the curvy girl walks back to her house, her big bottom swaying with every step. Damn, she’s gorgeous and my cock jerks in my pants involuntarily, the veins already beginning to bulge.
Still, I have to get a hold on my emotions because I have every intention of fucking her ... even if she doesn’t know it yet.