by Tess Oliver
He looked sideways at me. “A giant like you? You were meant to be out here with the loggers, not wearing some apron in a restaurant kitchen. Whatever happened with that place anyhow? Last time I was in, poor Rita was basically running the place by herself, and she was struggling at that.”
“Yeah, Russell’s next of kin seem to be taking their time getting it on the market. In the meantime, it’s losing customers.”
“Ain’t too many places like it around. It’ll be a damn shame if it goes under.”
“Yep. Well, I know Dugar is waiting for me to join him, so let’s get this done.”
Mattson glanced up at the final tree. “This is it,” he said confidently.
“It’s leaning pretty heavy,” I noted, but he’d used his earplugs all day to only hear what he wanted to hear, and my comment about the severe lean of the tree didn’t get past the filter.
He motioned me back and I readily moved out of the way. I watched as he made the first cut, and it seemed to be at just the right place and position. But halfway through the back cut, through the din of the saw and the machinery above on the landing, I heard the tree moan in protest. It was a cracking sound deep within the trunk that I’d heard once before when a tree, with too much of a lean, had kicked back over the stump toward the faller.
Mattson continued to grind away on the back cut, again only hearing what he wanted to hear. My body tensed with adrenaline, and it reacted before my brain had even told it to move. Mattson’s saw shut down as it jammed, and I lunged forward and grabbed him out of the way just as the massive log jumped back over its stump. As I yanked him clear, his chainsaw flung back, and the nonmoving blade left a row of teeth marks in my forearm. My shirt was ripped and blood trickled down my wrist and into my new gloves, but Mattson was still alive.
We stood and stared open-mouthed at the cut bottom of the tree. The old man would have been under it. Some of the men standing up on the yard had seen the incident, and they all stared down at the two of us. Mattson chuckled nervously, a strange but common reaction after narrowly escaping a grisly death.
“Looks like they need you to set chokers. You should get that arm taped up first,” he said confidently. Then without another word, he swung his chainsaw over his shoulder pad and walked away.
On a job site, near fatal mishaps were quickly put in the past. They weren’t something you wanted to dwell on when there was logging to finish.
Dugar waved me over, but I lifted my arm to show him the ripped and blood stained shirt.
I trudged uphill toward the landing to get some first aid on my cuts. The steep terrain had required that the logs be yarded by suspending them from a cable to be carried up to the landing. From there, the log stacker sorted them and loaded them onto the truck.
The ground beneath my calk boots trembled with the vibration of the massive machinery above and the weight of logs being moved into place. The long shadow of a log being hoisted to the landing fluttered across the hillside. A guy from the rigging crew raced in to remove a hung up choker, and as he worked, a log from the bottom of the pile gave way and rolled down the hill. “Runaway!” someone from above yelled.
I was still a good fifty yards away from the log as it rolled and then smacked into two smaller trees that still lined the corridor, the space where trees were being hauled through to get to the landing. The impact brought down one of the smaller trees, and as its bottom snapped, it headed straight down the hill toward me. I jumped clear and rolled down the embankment a good fifteen feet, grunting in pain as I seemed to land on every jutting rock in my path. With some effort, I pushed to my feet and was greeted with a round of applause from above. I flicked off the debris I’d collected on my descent and stared up at the landing. The bleeding had stopped, and somehow my quest for first aid had become more trouble than it was worth. It was time to help Dugar set chokers.
With any luck, the planet would set itself straight on its axel soon, or maybe I just needed to get the hell out of the woods.
chapter 4
Summer
Fortunately, I’d worn a dress, albeit a rather short, casual one, for the lunch with Mom. I had no time to stop home to change, and if I had, I was sure Logan would ask questions about where I was going. At the moment, I didn’t want to say anything about my exclusive meeting with Tately. If it was bad news, it seemed I was going to have to break it to the guys myself. I’d gone over a dozen scenarios in my head of what the meeting might be about, and all paths kept leading back to Tately Records withdrawing their offer.
I was bracing myself for the blow, but halfway up the brick path to the glistening steel and glass building, I realized that I could live with the rejection. It had happened more than once, and sometimes, it seemed I was happy enough just singing at small venues where the crowds were always super supportive, kindly appreciative and quite drunk. People soaked to their eyeballs in booze tended to be less critical. Throughout the past three years, Logan, Dale, Layton and I had managed to build up a respectable fan base for our home spun band. It was a feat we were all proud of, and while the recording contract had really sweetened the pot, I was sure we could all still be happy with the status quo.
A blast of cold air hit me as the glass doors slid open. The interior designer had gone overboard with the industrial motif, rendering the inside little more than a collection of steel gray walls, gleaming metal adornments and strange paintings that pushed the eyes away rather than drawing them in. I’d been in the building several times, and each time it felt as inhospitable as the last. Just like the overpriced restaurant I’d just left, it was a place that was trying too hard to be bold.
Music drifted around the reception area, and Tanya, the receptionist, looked up from behind the circular counter. She was even colder than the furnishings. She leaned her head and glanced around the complimentary bottles of imported sparkling water and tray of chocolates that lined one side of the reception counter. As usual, her makeup looked overdone and slightly ridiculous as her blue eyes glared at me from beneath fake lashes. Somewhere amidst the few times that the guys and I had been inside the building, she’d grown fond of Logan. And she’d just as quickly formed an aversion to me. I’d done nothing to warrant the prompt disapproval, but my girl’s intuition told me it had something to do with Logan always holding my hand whenever we walked in.
“Mr. Tately is waiting for you,” she said in a most non-receptionist style tone.
I hurried to the elevator as it opened. A man in a stark black business suit held the door for me and made a point of staring down at my legs as I sidled past him. He stepped out and the doors shut. The inside was lined with mirrors. I hastily combed my fingers through my light blonde hair, but it did little to help tame the layers. I glanced down. Had my dress always been this short? I yanked at the hem, but that, too, did little to help.
Ken Tately was a man in his mid forties trying desperately to hang on to his long gone twenties. But it was hard not to be drawn in by his magnetic, dynamic personality and his intense green gaze. His expensive suit was so immaculate, it nearly took on a life of its own as he stood from behind his magnificent mahogany desk. The desk appeared to be an expensive antique, and I could only imagine the distasteful look he’d gotten from the interior designers when he’d brought in the massive, old desk, disrupting the entire sleek modern landscape of the building.
Tately had been nothing but kind to all of us, and especially me, but there was always something in his manner that made me think there were some kinky fetishes in his background. A rich man with everything, including a black book filled with the phone numbers of top models and movie stars, probably wasn’t satisfied with ordinary, everyday sex. Or at least that was what my silly imagination told me. I was such a newbie to this rich and famous world that it all felt cold and foreign to me.
“Summer, glad you came.” He motioned for me to come closer. The marble floors of his office stretched on forever. The vast room contained only two dark blue leather chairs and h
is gargantuan desk. The gunmetal gray doors along one side of the room hid a bar and entertainment system, which he’d shown us on the first day we’d been invited to his office. Dale and Logan’s mouths had hung open like a couple of goobers as he showed them the gaming system hidden behind one of the doors.
I sat in one of the leather chairs, and he leaned against the front of his desk. His gaze dropped to my bare legs. I pulled discretely at the hem of my dress again. It seemed to amuse him.
“There’s been a change of plans,” he said, only lifting his brazen gaze from my legs halfway through the sentence. Here it was, the end of the beginning.
“We still want you, but we need you to sing with a different band. I’ve already discussed this with your agent, and he is in complete agreement. The musicians that you work with right now will only hold back your career.”
A nervous laugh escaped me. “That’s impossible. We’ve been on stage together for three years, and we have a good following.”
He stared at me for an uncomfortable moment and then pushed up from his desk. “I need a drink. Would you like something?”
“No, thank you.” This was a blow I hadn’t prepared myself for. Dale, Layton, Logan and I had never worked without each other. I considered them close friends.
He used a remote to open one of the doors, because apparently doorknobs took too much time and effort. The bar rolled out and he stepped up to it and picked up a glass. He held it up and looked back at me. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure, thank you.” The ridiculous size of the office made it too difficult to hold a conversation across the room without having to talk loudly, so I stood and walked over to the bar. “Look, with the right material and instruments, those guys are some of the best musicians in town.”
He poured himself yellow liquid from a bottle that looked as if it had cost more than my car, which sadly wasn’t saying much since I drove a piece of crap. He put the bottle down and took a long, slow sip before placing his glass on the ebony granite countertop of the bar. “Look, Summer, I know you have formed an attachment of sorts with Logan—”
“We’ve been dating for three years. I think we’re past the fling stage.”
“Well,” his voice thickened, and he seemed to be losing patience, “a guy like Logan is going to have groupies swarming his bed, so you two won’t last past the first concert.”
“So save myself the heartbreak and dump him now, is that what you’re saying? I’m done here.” I turned to leave, but he grabbed hold of my arm. It wasn’t just a ‘wait a minute’ hold. I was sure I wasn’t imagining the threat behind the way his fingers wrapped around me. I swallowed hard. My throat had gone dry with anger and apprehension.
In just seconds, he had me between his body and the hard stone edge of the bar. “Summer, don’t be stupid.” He reached up his fingers and brushed them along my cheek. My jaw clenched tightly. “With your looks and that voice—” He leaned his body close to mine, and I shuddered as his erection brushed my thigh. “That voice can reach right into a man’s soul. Don’t you see? I can make you a star. You will be at the top of every music chart.”
“As long as I sleep with you,” I spat the words out, and he flinched, but only for a second. His fingers tightened around my arm, and he tucked his leg between my thighs.
“It will definitely help your climb to the top.”
I leaned closer as if I might kiss him. “No, thank you,” I said. “Please let go of me, and I’ll walk out of here and pretend none of this ever happened. In fact, I will erase this entire fucking place from my mind the second I step back out onto the sidewalk.” I spoke confidently, but inside, my heart was breaking. I had to consciously hold back the tears and the trembling.
For a brief, terrifying moment, I thought he might force himself upon me, but being a man of fortune and with a well known name, it was probably not a risk worth taking. He released my arm, and I slipped past him.
“Your career is over,” he barked. “You’re done, and so is that rag tag band of imbeciles you call musicians.”
I stopped and looked back at him. “And how does that make you feel, Mr. Tately? How does it feel knowing that I’d rather walk out on a seven figure contract and all my dreams than sleep with you?” I walked out the door and held my breath as I waited for the elevator. It was taking too long. I slammed through the stairwell door. I raced down the stairs and onto the main floor.
Tanya, the bitch, smiled as she noticed my distress. I hurried past her and then stopped. I turned around and her fake lashes fluttered with surprise as I marched back to the counter. I picked up the pompous silver plate of wrapped chocolates, opened my purse and dumped them inside. Tanya’s heavily glossed lips twisted in annoyance. I picked up one of the expensive waters, untwisted the cap and took several gulps before slamming it down on the counter in front of her. Then I picked up two more bottles and shoved them in my purse.
“That water is imported from France, and those chocolates—”
I lifted the water and pointed to the ‘bottled in the U.S.A’ label on the back. “This is good ole American water, probably right from the tap with a pretty French label. But here, you keep this one.” I tipped the open bottle onto her paperwork and walked out of the building.
chapter 5
Summer
It had been one of those bizarre drives home where I was suddenly on my street, and I had no fucking idea how I’d gotten there. And to keep within the theme of my day from the bowels of Hades, my car, which Dale had always teased was the car pictured beneath the word jalopy in the dictionary, sputtered to a dead stop three blocks from the house. I smacked the dashboard, and then apologized to the car after realizing that it had been a lack of gasoline and not the usual engine problem that had caused it to run out of steam. In my distress, I hadn’t thought to stop at the station to fill up.
I leaned back against the seat, snagging the delicate fabric of my dress on the ripped vinyl. I needed to take a few minutes to figure out how to tell Logan about the horrible end to our dreams. It wasn’t going to be easy.
My neighbor, Mrs. Baker, and her tiny dog, who owned a better wardrobe than me, strolled past. She glanced over at the car and then leaned down to the window. “Everything all right, Summer?”
“Yes, thank you. I forgot to fill the gas tank.”
She laughed and looked back at the small house Logan and I rented from her son. “Then it must be your lucky day. Whenever I run out of gas, I’m in some god-awful location, like on the freeway. Have a good day.” She walked on at the insistent barking of her dog.
“Yep, it’s my lucky day,” I muttered to myself.
It seemed that once again my physics teacher and his lecture about equal opposing forces had been spot on. Mr. Dayton, who’d instilled in me a newfound love of physical science, which was due more to his long black hair and penetrating blue gaze than to any silly rules that Newton had devised, had taught us about the equal opposing forces. It seemed to constantly apply to my life. The offer from Tately Records had been the most fantastic thing to happen to me since winning the sixth grade spelling bee, and then, I’d only received a plastic trophy and a ribbon. I thought briefly about the college degree I would have earned already if I hadn’t quit in my sophomore year to follow my singing dreams. The Tately contract had meant earning an awesome living doing what I loved to do most— writing and singing songs. But once the initial elation over the offer had waned some, I’d kept reminding myself that whenever something great happened, there was almost always shit to follow. It was one of the reasons this latest letdown had not been as devastating as it should have been. I’d been prepared for the opposite force.
My phone rang. I was almost afraid to look at it. I was sure I wouldn’t hear from Tately again, but Mom was, no doubt, waiting for me to call. I looked at the screen. It was Clark.
“Hello.”
The second his voice came through the phone, tears welled up in my eyes.
“Summer, let’
s meet and talk about this. I think Tately’s right. You’ll do better on your own.”
“No use in talking about it, Clark. I’m not going to leave the guys out in the cold. And Tately is a fucking weasel. I’m never going near him again.”
“Why? What happened? He told me you just stormed out after he made you the offer.”
“I did, but I think he might not have mentioned what the offer was, and it had nothing to do with my singing.”
“Shit, he is a weasel. There will be other offers, Summer. I’ve got some calls out, so don’t despair. We’ll get you up on stage.”
“Maybe,” I said with about as much enthusiasm as the non-committal word required.
“There’s my other line now. Keep your chin up, and I’ll call you later.” I hung up and suddenly felt wracked with guilt. Clark had been working so hard to land us a contract, and it had all gone to hell in one quick, horrid meeting with Tately.
I steeled myself for the task in front of me. The house was quiet as I approached the front door. Normally at this time, Logan would be practicing songs or watching television. His car was in the driveway, so he was definitely home.
I unlocked the front door and walked into an empty front room. Hurried footsteps pounded the hall floor. Logan walked out in just a pair of unbuttoned jeans and bare feet. He combed his brown hair back with his fingers. His gaze shot to the front window.
“I didn’t hear you pull up,” he said, slightly out of breath.
“I ran out of gas down the street.” I looked pointedly at his lack of attire. Logan was one of those ridiculously beautiful men who looked just as good dressed down as dressed up, and without a shirt, he was nothing short of spectacular. “Were you taking a nap?”
It took him longer than necessary to process my simple question. He glanced back at the hallway as if he expected the bedroom to have followed him. “Yeah, I fell asleep. I guess I should have been practicing.” He looked at me, and instantly, my throat tightened and tears streamed down my cheeks. “What’s wrong?”
