Chapter 5
Five
It’s called gross pay because it’s disgusting to see what you could’ve made.
—Mable’s secret thoughts
Mable
“Yo!”
I looked up to find Jim there, waving me down. He had one of my leftover chicken biscuits in his hand, and he was trying to hold his pants up as he ran toward me.
“What’s up?” I asked.
It’d been three full days since Brawny had come home, and I couldn’t be happier.
Though I did have to admit, I did have a bit of a broken heart.
I couldn’t explain why, but the moment Meo pulled out of the lot and left three days ago, I hadn’t been the same.
I felt like a piece of my heart had been broken off.
It wasn’t logical.
Yet, I was still feeling it and couldn’t explain why.
“What’s up is that you are late.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m not late.”
“You’re late, because you were supposed to be here to help the jack crew,” he said. “Take the side by side and relieve Jesper before he has to cry, handling the grappler for another hour.”
I sighed. “I hate the grappler.”
“I know. Everyone does. But it’s your turn.”
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.
He downed the bottle of water, smashed it, then twisted the lid back on before shoving it into his coat pocket and zipping it up.
Damn, a man after my own heart.
I just loved it when a man took care of the climate!
There was nothing worse than seeing work crews tossing their empties out everywhere.
I couldn’t fucking stand when they could care less about the environment and treated their work sites like trash pits.
I always took time at the end of the day to clean up everything I could.
My crew didn’t act like assholes. Though, they hadn’t been super good at first. I’d had to teach them, and threaten them with no dessert, until they did what I wanted.
Now they were mostly domesticized, but they still went off track every once in a while.
Once the water break was over, I kept an eye on the man that was busy felling trees like he was born to do it.
We broke for lunch a little after noon, and I picked up the last of the trees and took them to the pile where they’d then be stripped of all their branches and cut into a more manageable size.
Once I was done, I parked the excavator in a shady spot and opened up my lunch.
I was halfway through spreading my mayo on my sandwich—no one liked soggy bread—when there was movement to my right.
I glanced up to find a figure heading my way with his own lunch box.
My breath hitched when he walked right up to me and jerked his head at my track.
I opened the door and said, “I’m sorry, but my ass is bougie. I don’t sit on dirt. Or snow.”
His lips twitched. “What are you having for lunch?”
I showed him my box.
His eyebrows lifted. “That’s impressive. Are you going to eat all that?”
“I ate almost all of my food last night, didn’t I?” I teased.
Honestly, I wasn’t going to eat all my food. I always brought extra in case I got a little snackish toward the end of the day. But I had more than enough to share.
He chuckled and hopped up on the track of the excavator and sat down, his long legs dangling over the side.
He opened his lunchbox and pulled out the most sorry excuse for a sandwich I’d ever seen.
“You really went all out,” I teased.
He grinned. “Gas station has pretty okay sandwiches.”
“Pretty okay?” I snorted. “That’s a glowing review for them. You should definitely post the review and assign it four stars.”
He took a bite of his sandwich and looked out at the sloping countryside in front of us.
“I didn’t know that you worked for Bunyan’s.”
Bunyan’s was actually Paul Bunyan’s Custom Homes. Mr. Bunyan was a great guy who was a huge supporter for military and gold star families.
Once a year, he hosted an event at his estate—seven hundred acres on the side of a mountain, that encompassed part of the river and valley below—and invited twenty gold star families out to hunt, fish, and have a great time at the mountains.
He seriously was one of the best people that I’d ever encountered in my life.
Though, his children were doing their level best to fuck that up.
Paul had two children, Prater and Paul Junior.
They hated each other’s guts, and both ran two arms of the company.
Prater was the brother that ran the sister company that it was obvious that Meo worked for. Paul Junior ran ours. Though, to be completely honest, I liked the atmosphere on our side.
I’d heard that Prater was a bear to work for, and always paid his employees late.
Meanwhile, we got bonuses for every major holiday. We had company-wide parties on the more non-exciting ones. And our retention rate was a hell of a lot higher.
I never saw the same crew more than once when we encountered each other.
“I didn’t know you did, either,” I said. “How’s it on the rich side?”
He snorted. “Can you call it rich when your paycheck is a week late?”
I squeaked. “A week?”
“That’s why we needed your crew. Our crew wasn’t willing to work for no paycheck. In fact, I’m fairly sure the lot of them quit. The only reason I stayed is because I know that Paul Senior will take care of us.”
That hadn’t been what I’d heard earlier…
“But geez, I can’t believe you even have to worry about it. I’m not about the working for free life.” I gestured toward the cab I was sitting in. “If they’re going to give me a non-paid lunch hour, I’m taking it.”
“Agreed.” He chuckled. “You got soup, too?”
I lifted the thermos and took a spoon out of my bag. “Yep. To go with my grilled turkey and cheese.”
“Looks good,” he said, going back to his sorry sandwich with his wilted lettuce.
I took a healthy scoop of soup and then grabbed my sandwich for a dip or two.
Once I started to get full, I reached for my chips and snacked on a few of those before I realized my big breakfast was proving to be too much for me.
“Hey.” I tapped the big man with the toe of my steel-toed boot.
He looked over his shoulder at me.
“I know that it’s weird, since I’ve already been eating it, but do you want my sandwich and soup?”
He held his hand out for it, and I grinned before handing him the thermos and the half sandwich.
He placed the sandwich on top of his lunchbox and took a sip of the soup.
“Damn,” he murmured. “What is this?”
“Hearty potato,” I answered. “The sandwich has only cheese and turkey on it, though. That way you can go for a dip without a lot of conflicting tastes.”
He went for a dip and ate it off the same bite that I’d left behind.
Something inside of me preened at the thought of him not being afraid to eat after me.
I didn’t have cooties, but sometimes it was weird for people to eat after another person they barely knew.
Hell, my ex hadn’t been able to eat after me even after we’d been engaged for half a year.
Hell, he barely kissed me with an open mouth.
I’d always felt kind of weird that we didn’t kiss with an open mouth and tongue, but just thought it was yet another one of his odd tendencies and hadn’t made a big deal about it.
But maybe I should have.
Maybe I should’ve made a big deal about all of the things that bothered me when it came to him.
“Where’d you buy this soup?” he asked.
I scoffed. “I didn’t buy anything. I made it.”
“Really?” He looked at me over his shoulder.
“Really,” I confirmed, staring into those eyes that made me want to take a deep dive into an ice cream sundae full of butterscotch and caramel. “Everything I make is from scratch.”
He turned then. “Are you Able that makes the food for your whole crew?”
I grinned. “Mable. And yes.”
“We’ve heard a lot about you.” He chuckled. “Most of the crew under Prater wants to switch to that crew, because all the guys that switch over to ours talk about you and your breakfasts non-stop.”
“They pay for it, so it’s not like I’m doing it out of the goodness of my heart.”
“Do you like to cook?” he asked.
“I love it,” I admitted as I reached for another chip.
“I sometimes wish I could own a restaurant, but I think that’ll be too much work.
Really, I just love to cook. I want to cook, feed people, and then not have to do any of the extra like hiring workers, payroll, and tax stuff. If that makes any sense.”
“All of the fun, and none of the responsibility.” He nodded. “You willing to cook for the lumberjack crew while you’re with us?”
My lips twitched. “How many of you are there?”
“Ten. Two crews of five.”
“As long as they pay me enough money to buy the supplies and ingredients, I’m all for it,” I offered.
He groaned when he took another bite. “I’d pay you two hundred bucks a week to make me food for breakfast and lunch.”
I snorted. “That’s the dream. Maybe one day.”
“Why not now?”
“No stability?” I shrugged. “This place has great benefits, and I’m sorry, but insurance costs way too damn much when you have to get it independently. At least through the employer they pay some of it.”
“True,” he agreed. “Very true. Insurance costs are through the fuckin’ roof right now. If I didn’t do such a dangerous job, I might skip it, too.”
He finished off the last of the soup and sandwich, then handed everything back to me.
I shoved it into my box, then pulled out dessert.
“What is that?”
I handed him a cookie and said, “If you tell anyone I let you have one, I’ll never cook you food ever again.”
He took the cookie and opened the brown paper, groaning. “Chocolate chip oatmeal with caramel?”
“Butterscotch,” I corrected him. “I was in a butterscotch mood this week.”
He broke off a piece and brought it to his mouth.
The groan that left his lips had me wanting to throw myself at him.
“This has to be the best cookie I’ve ever tasted in my life,” he murmured. “What do you call it?”
“Heathen,” I answered. “It has oatmeal, chocolate chips, butterscotch, and nuts.”
“It’s the best. Seriously. You’re an amazing cook.”
“Thanks.” My cheeks were on fire due to the praise. “I try really hard and it’s always a good feeling to know it’s appreciated.”
“It’s appreciated all right,” he said as I started into my own cookie.
But my belly was too full to take much more than a few small bites.
I handed over the half-eaten cookie next, and he devoured it right along with the previous one.
A horn blared, and we both looked at our watches.
“And we’re back,” he grumbled as he stuffed his trash into his lunch kit and tossed it over his shoulder, hanging onto the strap with a single finger that was dirty and so damn masculine that I wanted to feel it between my hands.
How can a finger turn me on so much? “How much do you want per person?”
“I usually ask for twenty.”
“Done,” he said as he reached into his back pocket for his wallet. “This’ll cover me for the rest of the week. I’ll tell the others.”
I took the cash and watched as he winked at me and walked away.
My heart was freaking pounding.
I looked down at the cash in my hand, and my eyes narrowed as I saw writing on the top twenty-dollar bill.
Wednesday, January 22. 8 pm. 10101 Gum Springs Road. Sawtooth.