“This ain’t no place for a fucking girl. What the fuck were you thinking?”
“I’ve got experience, sir. I know my way around any engine. It’s just the size of the parts that differ. Here are my papers.”
Silence.
Oh, to be a fly on that wall.
* * *
Casey
I kind of knew this would be messy, but I didn’t expect a total refusal to accept me.
Max Bailey, the heavyset manager on site, with beady eyes, a too-large red nose, wild blond hair with streaks of dirt, and smelling as if he’s rolled in oil, is quiet as he reads the documents I shoved under his nose. I’ve dropped my bags where I stand and slung my jacket and sweater over the back of a chair. He hasn’t offered me a seat, so I stand, forcing my hands not to fiddle. He almost exploded when I introduced myself and the air between us crackles with tension. I glance at the walls where maps and charts are pinned up, hanging a little askew. Nothing in here seems clean, but that’s fine. I’m not used to clean workplaces. Road dirt, dust, the sound of loud engines, the sharp stench of gasoline, that’s been my life since as long as I can remember.
He finally shoves the papers toward me and looks up, studying me. “You’re too small.”
“I’m stronger than I look.”
“You couldn’t carry an engine block to a truck even. There are cracks in the one in that crane out there. It needs fixing.”
I scoff. “No one can. That’s what lifters are for. You’ve got those, right?”
“You still gotta fit it in place.”
“You got the spare part at least?”
His lips tighten. “In one of the tents. I expect my men to carry their own weight around here.”
“Let me prove myself.”
He glances at the calendar that hangs next to his head. It’s decorated with a brunette Playboy bunny in nothing but white lace panties, spreading her thighs wide as she looks into the camera with a seductive look on her face.
“Next flight out is in six days. You’ve got until then.”
I straighten, my heart rate picking up. “Got it. You won’t want to put me on that flight, I promise.”
“If you’re not keeping up with our expected standards, I’ll null that contract.”
“Just point me to where to put my bags. And I’ll need work clothes, and equipment.”
Max looks me over and winces. “Oh, fuck,” he mutters.
“What?”
“You’re a girl.”
I shake my head in confusion. I feel like we have covered that already.
“My men share trailers. Four in each.”
Oh. I think of the brute that drove me here. “I’m one of the good guys.” Fuck. The thought never crossed my mind. “I-I can share. I don’t wanna be a burden.”
“That’s out of the question. I don’t wanna get sued for some sexual harassment. This fucking Me Too and all that crap.”
Wow. What a dick. “I’m used to working with guys. It’s no problem.” I hold my breath, hoping I’m not persuading him. I’m so not honest right now, I just don’t want to seem high maintenance. I really, really don’t want to live with three other guys in one of those little trailers we passed on our way here. Not with these guys, if Cole is any indication to what they’re like.
He gestures impatiently. “Leave your bags here for now. I’ll fix your gear. Day shift’s over anyway. The cantina opens in a few minutes. Get yourself some dinner. I’ll make a formal presentation, and you can hang there until I’ve moved some people around. Gimme a couple of hours.”
Max looks as if he’s been chewing on a lemon. He is not a happy camper, and I’ve second-guessed my decision to go here a hundred times over by now, but I’ll pull through. I’ve always been stubborn. Papa taught me not to be a quitter.
My dad, Leroy Keagan, came from Jamaica in his teens with nothing but a dime in his pocket. All he had was his natural talent for anything cars and when he was discovered, he was discovered big time and got in with a giant racing team, driving for them until an accident left him with a concussion that makes him dizzy to this day. He was so bad off initially, I remember it well even though I was only eight at the time, that he was bedridden for months and there was talk of him getting a disability leave. That’s when he got up and fought his way back to the tracks. He couldn’t drive, but he knew engines and within a year he had built a mechanic business primarily around race cars, but expanding it into a garage for any and all vehicles.
I’ve worked with Dad my whole life. Full time since I got out of high school. I know this shit, and I know I won’t let Track Line Corp down.
“Right, cantina?” I gesture toward the door.
“I’ll show you. It’s on the other side of the tents. Between here and the housing trailers.” He pushes open the door and steps out, gesturing for me to follow. I snatch my jacket and pull it on, making sure to zip up this time.
“Hey! I need to make a phone call.”
Max looks at the clock. “Now?”
“One minute.”
He nods to the desk, to a landline. “One minute.”
I call home. Dad answers. “Casey! I’ve been so—”
I cut him off, throwing glances at Max. “I’m here. I’m okay. We’re in a hurry and I’ll call back as soon as I can, all right? Love you.” Then I hang up, my gut twisting. It struck Dad harder than anyone that I was moving. I don’t know how to make that right.
While I’ve been in the office, darkness has fallen completely. “That was a quick sunset.” Blindingly bright spotlights illuminate the path and the chill seems even harsher. White fog comes out of our mouths with every breath.
“It’s the clouds. There’s snow on the way. Everything you see will have disappeared in a few hours.”
“Doesn’t that make it hard to work?” I have to half-run next to him to keep up the pace as he strides along the road.
“Work here is hard. Period. Some of the guys will get up earlier and start clearing it.”
“When does the shift start?”
“You start at seven. Breaks are at nine, twelve, and three. Fifteen minutes, forty-five, then fifteen. You get off at five, shower, eat, sleep. That’s life here. There’ll be no special treatment for you.”
“Not a problem,” I say, panting. I swear he’s walking faster than necessary just to push me. “Only one shift?”
“No. Three. But only day for you. You’ll always be on call, though, anything happens that needs immediate attention.”
“Of course.”
We come to a halt outside a trailer that looks just like all the others—blue wood panels, the paint worn and torn by the climate, and small windows covered with bars. There’s a murmur of voices from inside, slamming and scraping. Tension rises in me as Max pulls the door open and impatiently gestures for me to come. It turns out it’s not one trailer, but at least three that have been interconnected. It’s full of tables and chairs, at the far end a cafeteria-like counter with food canteens. The space is half-filled with people and a sharp stench of locker room, combined with the musty scent of food, greets me. At first, no one takes notice, then group after group goes silent, eyes darting between me and Max. From the far back comes the first hoot. Someone whistles, a murmur grows.
“Guys,” says Max, his grave voice booming across the room, making everyone quiet down, “this is our new mechanic, Keagan. Bean,” he points at a man in the front, “you show her the ropes tomorrow, first thing. Breakfast and lunches are here, coffee breaks at wherever you’re working. No time to go anywhere else so plan ahead. Grab yourself a plate and slap some food on it. It’s good food, meaty. Lots of calories.” He gives me a once-over. Well, I know I’m thin, but I’ve got the muscles needed even though I don’t look it.
“Thanks,” I grit out. Max disappears out the door, and as it slams closed I feel like I’m a sheep left with a pack of wolves. I begin to unzip my jacket, but when I peek around me, taking in the leery gazes, I decide I’ll be b
etter off sweating through dinner. As I walk toward the counter, I nod at the men I pass and mumble hi and hello. I get the occasional ‘hi’ back. Some stare at me with a dumbfounded look, some avoid my gaze, and a few openly appraise my body, undressing me with their eyes.
Why did I do this again?
Right. Alex.
I take a tray and begin to slap meat stew on a plate. There are potatoes. No salad. The murmur behind my back keeps rising. I have half a mind to take a chance and go find a seat by an already occupied table, but when loose sentences begin to reach me, I change my mind.
“She’d look good impaled on my cock.”
“Chick’s gonna run home crying tomorrow.”
“Bean, you got your work cut out for you.”
“Mech, my ass. She fuck Max to get the gig?”
I turn, and everybody goes silent as I aim for a table at the far side, where no one else sits. The air is tense, and the comments start coming again as I begin to eat. The food is probably good, but it takes like sawdust in my mouth and every chew seems to grows, getting increasingly difficult to swallow. I’m not scared, but I’m incredibly uneasy.
I look up as the door slams open and a cold draft charges in through the doorway. Cole. His gaze sweeps over the room as the door slams shut behind him, his eyes landing on me for a moment, lingering. It’s as if he’s surrounded by a dark cloud. Brushing off a few flakes of snow, he shrugs out of his jacket, hangs it on a hook by the entrance and strides toward the canteens. I bow my head, busying myself with my food, trying to shut out the comments, the questions, and the outright hostility, but I can’t help stealing glances at the man who drove me here. When he turns and looks at me again, I think for a moment he’ll come up to me, but his lips curl and then he aims for another table. Slapping the hands of the guys, he sits and starts shoving food into his mouth. I turn a little, pretending that I don’t hear, that I don’t see, that I’m not here, all the while I feel as if my back burns from the curious gazes. Most of all it burns from knowing Cole is there. His words cut deeper than these other guys’ for some reason. Maybe because he seemed like someone who could be nice, but he chose not to, and I keep wondering where this loathing comes from. Is it really only because I’m a female mechanic? It feels as if it ran deeper than that.
“Think she’ll take us all?”
“You’re my kinda guy. One by one?”
“Same time. One large cum fest.”
A loud slam makes everyone quiet in an instant. I almost jump through the roof and spin around to see what happened. Cole stands, his palms on the table, his face twisted in rage. He takes everyone in, his gaze slowly moving across the cantina. He doesn’t pay me any extra attention this time. Grabbing his tray in one hand as he stands, he then shoves it in the rack, grabs his jacket, and storms out.
My heart is in my throat and all I want to do is run after him and demand answers, but to which questions? I don’t know him, he doesn’t know me, and I have no right to pry. I just feel like he defended me right there, wordlessly, his authority over these men obvious, and I want to know more, I want to know why.
One by one, they trickle out. I remain. Max told me to wait here, so I do. A couple of the guys carry the heavy canteens out through a back door. I wonder who cooks. Do they have people assigned for that, hired cooks?
Finally I’m alone.
I’ve waited two hours when Max eventually returns, his face closed off, but his gestures jerky and angry. He drops my luggage before me. “Got you a place. C’mon.”
The falling snow has made the road look untouched, pristine, as if no one has walked here for eons. Everything is dead silent; not even our feet make any sounds as we trudge on. My bags are heavy, but I refuse to show my exhaustion.
Stopping before one of the trailers, he throws out his arm. “This here. Key.” He holds up a keychain with a couple of keys attached to it and I take it. “Other key is for the equipment over at the site. Bean’ll show you tomorrow after breakfast.”
“Thanks. Hey, I’m sorry for the misunderstanding.”
Max tightens his lips. “Have a good night.” Spinning on his heel, he disappears around the corner. I look around me at the silent little makeshift village. There’s only a few feet between every trailer. Insulated pipes and electrical wires run between them. A lonely spotlight illuminates the area, casting harsh shadows. Almost every window I see is still lit. It’s only nine in the evening, but I bet it’s time for bed for most. I stand a little longer. If I listen closely, it isn’t as quiet as I first thought. From afar comes a faint rhythmic clanking noise. The work goes on, night and day, the pipe plowing through the holy land, the ancient Native American ground.
Chapter Four
Casey
A giant eagle lands before me, spreading its wings, inviting me to sit on its back. It feels so real, but I know it’s a dream. I climb up, and in the next instant we soar. It’s winter, and it should be cold, but I’m comfortably warm. Below me the construction site grows smaller, until I can’t see it anymore.
Remember the lands, it says, the voice coming from nowhere, everywhere. Remember where you came from. Honor the dead. Fight for the living.
We’re on the ground again. On a mountain. Dark has turned into blinding light. Before me the eagle turns into a chief, his skin brown and leathery, his head crowned with the feathers of the eagle, his eyes my own.
I wake with a jerk, tangled in the sheets. Eerie images from the dream flicker through my mind, quickly escaping me, like trying to hold water in your fist. Grabbing my phone, I look at the time and groan. I still have a couple of hours before I need to get up. Sleep was bliss. Now everything comes rushing back. I sit up and a book falls off the bed. I must have fallen asleep while reading it. It’s the only book I brought with me. The pipeline runs through holy land, Native American land, and I bought a book about the tribe who lived here. It’s not my grandmother’s tribe, but I still want to know. It’s not the only reason I came here, but I know next to nothing about the old ways, about my ancestors on my mother’s side, and I wanted to walk this earth, to feel the wings of history, to take the last chance to see it before it’s destroyed forever. There were violent protests when this project started a couple of years back, but since then they’ve been silenced. People have been bought, relocated. I only know what I saw in the news, and I lived my own hell right about that time.
I could have chosen one of a hundred other places to go to, but this job had a pull on me that I couldn’t resist.
Picking up the book, I put it on the bedside table and get up to make myself a cup of tea. There are a few bags in a cupboard and I figure I can use them. I’ll buy my own supplies when I get the chance.
The trailer smells of dust, gasoline, and old socks, and it’s not clean. At least I found a set of clean sheets. I chose one of the narrow beds in one of two small rooms. In the middle of the trailer is a tiny kitchen and a bathroom, and on the far end the other small room with a sofa bed and a bed. It only has a curtain that serves as a door. I can’t believe they put four people in each of these and I’m mortified with the thought that my appearance here forced them to move.
An increasing murmur outside makes me dart to a window. A plow rakes through the thick layer of snow. I realize they must be doing this on routine. It probably snows here a lot. I’m not used to snow. The only water that falls from the sky in Florida are heavy torrents of rain, often hitting from the side in the strong winds.
I pull a finger along the narrow windowsill as I make my way to the couch with a cup of tea in my hand. My fingertip comes back dark gray, dusty. I have to find some rags, a vacuum cleaner, make this place livable. I intend to stay for a while. At the very least the four months I signed up for, probably longer. I’ll check back with the ones at home, see what Alex is up to, if he asks for me. Curling up on the couch, glancing at my cell phone, I realize again that there’s no connection out here. I sigh. I’ll have to ask Max, and I already know it’s going to become em
barrassing. My parents will want to know how things are going. Like... nightly. That I’m all right.
Picking up the book, I flip through the pages until I find the dog ear. I trace the image of a chief, much like the one I dreamt of.
Everything is off when I work through my morning routines. Trepidation grows in me as breakfast hour approaches. Will it be the same shit as last night? Or did Cole make enough of an impression? Have they gotten used to the thought that there’ll be a woman on site? I can only pray.
* * *
Cole
I fell asleep with her innocent face etched on my mind. I wake up to the memories of her soft voice, her dark eyes and full lips, and I’m rocking a fucking hard-on. I came here to get away from women, from my alcohol and sex addiction. I didn’t sign up for suddenly having a dead sexy, delectable little creature at an arm’s length. I just can’t seem to get a fucking break.
We’re four men sharing the trailer. I get up the earliest, always, to get some time alone, to make sure there’s still hot water. The rough murmur from the plows penetrates the silence and makes everything vibrate. In one trailer a window is lit, everything else is still dead out there.
Jerking off as I shower helps some, but this time I can’t imagine some anonymous woman with no face, all ass and tits. All I see is the mouthy little mechanic as I come hard, clenching my teeth so that I won’t groan out loud and wake up the other guys.
She’s got to go. It’s as simple as that. Her life here will be hell on earth, and she’ll want to run sooner rather than later. I sure as fuck don’t want her around. I’m fucked up enough as it is. Working here, numbing my mind by exhausting myself has given me a temporary respite from the darkness, and this is my place. I don’t know what she’s running from, because she sure as hell is, and I don’t care. She can run somewhere else.
Against my will, I look for her at breakfast. She’s already sitting at a table when I enter, a half-eaten bread bun on her tray, stuffing her mouth with scrambled eggs and bacon at an impressive speed. She stops when I approach, her fork hovering between the plate and her mouth, but she doesn’t look up. It’s as if she senses me. I scoff and turn, gathering food on my plates, all the while my back burns as if she’s staring holes in my clothes. My cock stirs again and I curse inwardly, stomping off to the other side of the room, putting everyone between us. Her questions in the truck yesterday, her glossed-over eyes, her feeble attempts at being friendly between her snarkiness, it all plays on repeat and somewhere deep inside my conscience gnaws at me for being a dick. Then again, she’s better off if I am, because she needs to go.
Commanding Casey Page 3
