Wood You Dare (Driftwood Peaks #5)

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.”

“Same for me, please. Sorry about that, darling. I am harmless, I promise,” Gavin chimes in, offering her a big, crooked grin.

“Oh, I was not worried,” she shoots back with a wink. “I can handle myself, darling. How about you two? What can I do for you?”

“A sweet tea,” I answer, head down because I cannot look right at her, she is too damn pretty. “With the BLT, please.”

“Someone is a little shy, huh? I approve, handsome.”

Before I manage a response to her flirty tone, she bumps me with her hip. I have a sudden urge to pull her down onto my lap and breathe in that sweet scent. I stare at her as Jonas rattles off his order. They flirt back and forth a little and rage clouds my vision. It makes no sense, but here I sit, seething with jealousy as they smile at one another.

Jonas notices it and tones it down, sitting back from their chat about the best on tap beer. Again, she hits me with her hip, and I fight back that urge to grab her and pull her close. I have never had such a reaction to a woman before. After my little heartbreak, I just assumed my broken heart was going to stay broken. I had gotten used to it. Accepted it. Now here I am, jealous of one of my own guys, one of my friends, and a woman we just met.

It makes no sense, but I can’t change how I am feeling. As she walks away, I watch the hypnotic sway of her hips, the way her thighs just barely show in her little jean shorts. I wonder what sort of panties she has on. If she even has any on. Thinking about her being bare makes my dick ache. What the hell is going on with me?

“Cool it, Sebastian,” Jonas whispers, darting a look towards the bar. “If you want to make a move, be a little less.... growly.”

“What does that mean? Growly ? Also, who said I want to make a move?”

“He means you have a permanent frown, brother,” Abe chimes in, nodding his head at the waitress. “Along with a hefty chip on your shoulder. That girl is not the type to want to tame your moody beast. Be nicer. Smile at the girl. Stop being growly. Also, your eyes said you want to make a move.”

Dismissing them all, I shake my head. I am not looking to make a move. Not on that pretty little thing or anyone else. I have no room for that sort of thing in my life. I work, I go home to my cabin to be alone, read bad mysteries, and snuggle with my dog Biff. No time for a woman or flirting.

The other guys talk about some of the other women in town, who they find worth making a move on. I stop listening before they go too far. I don’t care to talk about women as things to be taken or won. They do not talk badly about these women, in fact quite the opposite. What they talk about is how attractive this woman is or how smart that one is. I ought to be proud of them for not being complete neanderthals, I suppose.

“Here you go, sugar,” Scout hums as she bumps me with her hip again. I am so startled, I nearly grab her this time. My hands tingle with the desire to grasp her hips and pull her down. I flex them beneath the table, trying to rid myself of the desire. It does not work, of course, but I try.

“Thank you, Scout,” I whisper back, ducking my head because I like how her name sounds.

“Welcome, sugar. Can I get you boys anything else now?”

Smiling at me, she puts her hand on my shoulder. I have a crushing desire to bring her hand to my mouth and kiss her fingertips. I flush hot at the wild thoughts I am having today. Tre is a pretty little thing, yet I never flirted with her or felt this way. I guess I have just been alone for too long. A pretty new thing is bound to stir some interest.

“No, thank you, Scout,” I say again, offering her a lopsided smile.

For just a moment, she stares at me, and it feels as if we have an entire conversation without words. I ask where the hell she came from. And she asks me the same. We both wonder what this is, why her hand on my shoulder feels so intimate, why the way she smiles seems just for me.

“Eat up, boys. I will be back to check on you in a few minutes.”

With a squeeze of my shoulder, she offers me that cute half-smile, then turns on her heel. Once more, my eyes drop to her ass, even if it is a bastard thing to do. I cannot help it. Scout has a nice ass and I kind of want to feel it settled on my lap, or cupped in my big, rough hands.

Beneath the table, my dick stirs again and I down my sweet tea as if it will fix things. All that does is bring her back to the table faster. Her hand on my shoulder gives another squeeze and my cock jerks as if under her spell. The other guys watch us as if we were putting on a show for them. Telling them I won’t cover lunch gets them to knock it off.

While we sit there, our drinks stay topped off, we get seconds on fries and chips, and she chit-chats with the guys about Driftwood. I say little to nothing, yet I listen to every single thing she says. I may seem aloof, but I am hanging on to every piece of information she shares with us.

Scout just settled in Driftwood a few weeks ago. Finished college a few years ago then went backpacking all over the world. Came here because some of her friends settled here last summer. Sounded like a cute place. But the most important things I hear? No boyfriend and no prospect of one.

Should it matter? Were the guys right and I want to make a move on this pretty little thing? What do I even know about making a move? I have never made a move before. I just started holding hands with the girl I had a crush on, and we stayed together until she was done with me. Hell, I have no idea how to talk to someone who makes me feel this way.

“Here you go, sugar,” Scout hums as she slides the check towards me. I almost miss it—but I don’t. That same smile is on her pink lips, her eyes watching me as I grab the ticket. Which has her number scrawled across the top of it. Well, hell. It looks as if I don’t need to make a move.

Scout made a move and beat me to it.