by Inez Kelley
“What are you doing?”
He never expected her to laugh. And he didn’t expect that laugh to be like rich red wine, full bodied and robust. The sound captured him so completely, he nearly missed the empty bag she tossed at him.
“Mountain Specialty Spices?”
“That’s me.” She tied each bag with a short length of cording. “All-natural, organic spice packs, alternative allergen-free mixes and optional recipes. Things are growing so fast, I want to hire an assistant and expand my inventory. That’s where you come in. You buy trees and I have over a hundred acres of trees doing nothing but standing.”
Standing he could do. Maybe bend her over that island and...
His jaw clenched. He was not going to lust after the woman who owned everything he’d lost. It seemed almost sacrilegious. “Then hopefully we can do some business.”
He thumbed open his clipboard top and took out the standard brochures along with the surveyor’s map. The County Assessor’s map unfolded with a loud crinkle. Kayla Edwards owned the mountainside and most of a small valley. He’d roamed those woods for years, building forts, playing hide-and-seek, chopping firewood. His eyes flicked to the ownership dates.
Damn it, she was the one.
When it was up for sale four years ago, he’d swallowed his pride, cashed out his 401K, pooled his savings and placed a bid on this property. The out-of-state bank’s asking price had been outrageous, but the land had sat unoccupied for so long, he’d thought for sure his offer would be accepted. But someone else topped him. He’d raised his offer but was countered twice more until finally he was tapped. He couldn’t afford to bid any higher so he’d walked away.
Kayla Edwards had outbid him for his own family’s land.
Paper rustled as he leafed through various forms. She’d bought it but ignored it for three years. It was only in the past sixteen months that she’d torn down the old place and applied for building permits and business licensing.
“Tell me how this works.” Kayla’s voice shattered his concentration and he looked up to find one tawny eyebrow quirked in question.
First, we get naked. Then I start at your ankles and lick my way up...
Jesus, what was he doing? Sweat popped along his upper lip. Nothing seemed real. He was staggering from being here. His mind tried to slam the square peg of now into the round hole of the past. In defense, his brain must have latched on to the roundness of her breasts and the sway of her hair, pumping a numbing flood of hormones into his blood. All he could think of was sex.
“I changed my mind. Can I have that lemonade now?”
She opened the fridge and he gave his libido a swift smack. She was a potential client and she owned his family legacy, two major reasons to keep his distance. His gaze drifted over her butt once more. Damn, she was pretty. His balls took over his brain, tossing out excuses. Looking never hurt anyone. Even picturing that ass bare and bouncing on his lap was okay as long as he didn’t act on it.
By the time she put a tall ice-filled glass in front of him, he was back to Mr. Professional on the Outside Picturing You Naked on the Inside. Familiar words he’d said a couple hundred times flowed without thought as he explained what he’d be looking for. She washed her hands at the kitchen sink and his focus drifted down. She wore no rings or polish and her nails were cut short. The scrubbing swayed her body and his gaze fell once more to that sprinkling of spice on her breast. It had smeared to a small streak, an arrow that might as well be screaming Your Mouth Goes Here.
Cinnamon? Brown sugar? He had no idea but it was damn fun trying to guess.
He sipped tart lemonade and watched her unobtrusively until she bent down to tie her shoes. Her ass was prime—heart-shaped and filling out every inch of the faded denim. It would fill his hands perfectly.
“Are you ready to start today?”
Lady, you have no idea how ready I am.
Sudden nausea surged from his belly and wilted his semi-erection. He had to walk the land. The land. The lemonade turned rancid and burned his throat. His hand shook as he pulled a business card from the clipboard and laid it on the brochures. “It’s already after noon. I’ll head back to the office and—”
“It’s not that late.” She whirled to a tall cabinet and started stacking the plastic containers.
Panic tightened his belly. He didn’t want to do this. He couldn’t do it. She couldn’t be with him. She couldn’t know this was once his home. Shame ripped the words from his tongue. “You don’t have to cruise with me.”
She stretched high on her toes, shoving one tall container onto the upper shelf, and her shirt pulled tight across her breasts. “You call it a cruise?”
“Yeah, a walk through the land to evaluate the estimated stumpage.”
Kayla frowned over her shoulder. “Stumpage?”
“How many trees will be cut, and an educated guess on what the board footage will be, giving me a current market value price to offer you.” The explanation fell from his lips automatically as his brain screamed that there had to be a way out of this. “Cruising is tedious, boring stuff. And it rained last night. The land’s bound to be muddy.”
The cabinet clicked shut. A shrug lifted her shoulder. “Mud washes off.”
The freshest panic faded beneath a blanket of resignation. Once again, he was powerless on this land. She called the shots. If she wanted to start today and cruise beside him, he had no choice.
You are hereby ordered to quit, vacate and deliver possession of the above stated property to the undersigned on or before October 8th, 1993.
He forced a wooden smile to his mouth. “You’re the boss.”
Once seated in his truck, she directed him back onto the county blacktop and to the property edge, where he pretended he hadn’t helped his father carve the dirt road from the rocky ground. He slowed the truck to a crawl. The ruts were deeper, filled with water, and the road had been extended. Leaf-laden branches arched overhead, filtering the sunlight and whisking away all civilization.
With the mountains jutting into the sky, and the scent of damp foliage thick in the air, the temperature dropped by twenty degrees. Matt glanced at the woman beside him.
She met his eyes and gave him a quick smile. “So now we cruise?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Kayla, please. I’m not old enough to be a ma’am yet.”
He gathered his stuff, tucking odds and ends into his worn tool belt before meeting her at the front end of the truck. Forest fragrances wrapped around him and his body automatically responded, sucking in a deep breath.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m good to go.” Jerking the belt buckle tighter, he prayed he could lose himself in measurements and not see everything around him.
Trees were trees, dirt was dirt and women were women. But these trees and dirt held more meaning for him, and Kayla looked like melted sunshine and sex. He unrolled the orange forester’s tape, wrapped it around a black walnut, then made a note on his graph chart. There were more modern and electronic ways to record his findings, but he needed the old-fashioned way today.
Soon the rhythm of work, nature and repetition erased some of the stiffness from his muscles. Kayla walked beside him, silent and watchful. His graph sheet filled out, and the birds twittered overhead. The earliest leaves had turned, splotches of yellow sprinkled through the greenery, rustling in the soft breeze with woodland whispers.
His aerosol paint can hissed loudly as he marked a tree with an orange fluorescent X.
“Why aren’t you measuring and marking every tree?”
He hung the paint can back on his belt like a six-shooter. “We’ll only take ones of a certain diameter and... Well, there’s a bunch of criteria we need, actually. Species, species mix, growth rate, diameter, stuff like that.”
“I thought
you’d just cut everything down.”
“A hundred years ago, we might have. Nobody clear-cuts any more. It’s not economically sound unless you plan on paving the entire lot. We only harvest mature trees. With proper management and cutting, the forests actually get healthier, and profit continues to grow.”
Her eyes brightened. “You treat the trees like an agricultural crop?”
“Aren’t they?”
“I like that, knowing your company uses ecological sense. I felt so bad for killing the trees for an income source, but knowing you’re actually protecting the forests makes me feel better.”
Something softened on her face and a glow shone from her cheeks. She looked at him as if he were some conservationist knight in recycled armor. His skin tingled with awareness as she leisurely let her gaze slide down his body. A pink tongue flicked to her upper lip and he fought a groan. He turned away, focusing on the job and not the desire to taste that lip for her.
“You said you were from Rhode Island. How’d you end up here? More than half the country doesn’t even think West Virginia’s a state, just the western half of Virginia.”
Kayla shrugged. “They have no idea what they’re missing then. I came for vacation and fell in love with the land. When I ended up with an ulcer, I went back to school and became a nutritionist. I discovered a whole new world in organics and alternative recipes.”
“Like wheat germ and weird grasses?”
Her laugh rolled over him like warm water. “Not always. Just a healthier approach. I mean, I’m not super strict on myself, I like Arby’s roast beef too much. But in my business, I’m very narrow-minded. It’s paying off. I have a few major restaurant clients for my spice packs, and my internet orders for gluten-free cookie and bread mixes are climbing every month.”
“I would’ve figured you’d head to better farming land than Appalachia.”
“The soil nutrient content here is similar to the Fertile Crescent. It’s ideal for herbs, and I have a greenhouse that stretches my season. Besides, as the song says, I heard her calling me home.”
John Denver’s “Country Roads” had all but replaced the state song, so he simply nodded. “Still, must have been hard moving away from your friends and family.”
“Not really.” The path held her attention and her voice grew softer. “I’m good at being alone. My parents are gone. Moving here really was like coming home.”
My home, his heart whispered.
Eyeballing a stand of young pine that was nowhere near ready for harvesting, he angled down a slope. “This is a lot of land for one person.”
She ducked under a low-hanging branch. “I told the real estate agent I wanted a homestead and, well, with the economy bottoming out, I had my choice of places really.”
His throat tightened. He just bet she had. So many of his old neighbors had struggled and clawed, scrimped and prayed. Too many of them lost everything. Why couldn’t she have bought any of their places? “What made you choose this one?”
“It just felt right, you know? I can’t explain it.” She rolled a fringe of pine needles between her fingers, releasing a sharp burst of fragrance. “My dad was military and we moved around a lot. My dream was to have a place forever, one I’d never have to leave. I’ve never had that.”
Understanding shifted something in his gut. He knew that longing too well. Kayla stepped back and her lips curved into a cupid’s bow, gazing up into the treetops. The softness in her look hit deep in his chest. She looked happy, content.
“There used to be a house where my place is. There were grooves in the wooden steps from who knows how many generations climbing up and down. The basement had forgotten toys, old tools and canning jars. There was a swing in one big tree. I wish I could have just renovated the old place but it was too far gone. I hated tearing it down, though. It was like watching the last member of a family pass away.”
Pulling herself straight, she wiped emotions from her face and dusted her hands on her jeans. “What about you? Do you live around here?”
I lived here. He wrapped the tape around another trunk. “I have a house near Seneca Rocks.”
“That’s like, what, an hour away?”
“And a half, depending on the weather.”
Although nowhere near the height of their younger continental brothers, the Rockies, the ancient Appalachian Mountains rose from the valley-hugging Potomac River to the high point in Spruce Knob. Many places had snow as early as October first and lasting until late May. Matt carried a jacket in the truck no matter the season for just that reason.
“So you’re a homeboy?” The tease in her voice removed any insult.
He snapped the tape off the bark and made a note. “West Virginia born and bred.”
Her nostrils flared as she let her gaze wash over his biceps. His heart pounded. God, she was pretty. And she was wordlessly flirting, letting him know the doorway was open to an approach. One he wouldn’t take. He dragged his focus back to a hickory tree. She made it difficult by walking into his line of sight.
“You’re lucky.” Leaning her shoulder on the tree next to him, she tucked her fingers into the front pockets of her jeans. “You’ve never left home?”
“Did for a while. Joined the army right out of high school. Did my tour, caught a shell fragment in the leg, got out and came home. Guess the old saying is true. ‘You can take the boy out of the mountains but not the mountains out of the boy.’”
God bless the GI bill. He’d worked his wounded tail off earning his forestry degree. Something about the mountains, the valleys, the rustic rhythm of nature had calmed him more than the shrink’s drugs. Nothing made a man desperate to live more than the threat of dying. He’d come back determined to forge his own path and make his own home.
Most days he didn’t even think about everything his family had suffered through. There weren’t many physical reminders. The majority of his old schoolmates had left the hills for greener pastures. Even his mother had moved to Florida. But he could never leave these mountains again, not for good anyway. A few weeks visiting family or vacationing at the beach was more than enough.
Kayla waved a hand at the tree. “Tell me what you’re doing.”
“Measuring the DBH.”
“DBH?”
“Diameter, breast high. To make a mathematical estimate on how much board footage is in each tree.”
Sharp white teeth nibbled at her lip. “Uh, you’re like what, six foot something?”
“Six-one.”
“Right. And I’m five-eight. We have different breast height. How does that work?”
His eyes dropped to her bustline and that smear. Her breast height would fit snugly into his chest and would work just fine. He cleared his throat.
“There is a leeway of about twelve to eighteen inches.” He motioned to the hickory. “Just use the center of your chest. A measurement from anywhere in that range normally works.”
A purring sound poured from her throat as she stepped closer. The tips of her breasts grazed his shirtfront. She tilted her head and looked up at him with a playful slant along her lips. “Look at that. You’re right. This range works pretty well.”
She smelled of sharp spices, fresh pine and sun-warmed woman. His stomach clenched with a hunger that had little to do with food. Every masculine instinct he had screamed to drop his head and kiss her, to push her back against that hickory and show her a hardwood of a different variety.
“Lumberjacks are sexy as hell, know that?”
Heat brewed between them. Heat he couldn’t return out of self-preservation.
“I’m not a lumberjack, I’m a forester.”
Her fingers lifted, tracing along his upper arm, and he fought the urge to tighten his biceps. “What’s the difference?”
Matt gritted his teeth. “About a hu
ndred years.”
Kayla moved in. Full breasts pressed into his chest, and her hands dropped to his waist. She circled her hips and his erection leaped. Her tongue touched her lip again. “Hmm, how much does wood grow in a hundred years?”
Lust tightened, drew hard inside him until the only thing he could feel was his dick throbbing in his pants. He wanted her naked and under him, now. His feet moved without thought, forcing her back until her spine hit the hickory, his free hand curling around her hip.
A soft gasp escaped her but her hands flew to his shoulders. Dark pupils wide and shining, Kayla stared, tilting her chin up to offer him her mouth. Her kiss was his for the taking. He lowered his head, his lips a mere fraction of an inch from hers.
“Kayla.” He swallowed his groan. “I can’t.”
Trailing her palms down his chest, she rocked into him. “Why not?”
“I’m working.”
“Work before play, huh?”
“Yeah.” Reluctantly, he pulled away. God, he wanted to play with her, naughty, naked, sweaty adult games that left them both limp and satisfied. Why the fuck did she have to own this side of the mountain? Why couldn’t he have met her in a bar, or at the grocery store, anywhere that didn’t reek of his family’s failures? Why couldn’t she have been eighty-three years old with nipples skimming her navel and more whiskers than him after a three-day weekend? Fate definitely sucked a fat one.
Kayla cocked her hip, then smiled and walked away, calling over her shoulder, “I’m a very patient woman.”
His eyes danced down her back and landed on her ass. Jesus, now the wood in his pants competed with the wood standing tall around him. The desperate thought that he could sneak off and whack out a quick orgasm tempted him. He was a walking hormone and she... Damn, that ass was going to be a feature player in his fantasies for a long time. Starting as soon as he got home.
The forest had grown but the old footpaths were still visible in patches. The trees were older along this side of the mountain, and he measured and marked with experienced determination. His erection faded although Kayla stayed with him, step for step. Luckily, conversation never strayed from current news pieces or movies and books.
