Pacific Northwest Werebears - Complete (11 page)

Pulling into the camp, Wyatt saw his crew already hard at work. He hired good men that he could trust. His foremen didn’t need to be micromanaged. They knew they had a job to get done and they did it. Most had families to feed or were single and saving for a rainy day. Either way they worked hard for their money.

Wyatt strode up to Jake and gave him a slap on the back. “How’s things, Jake?”

“The usual boss, road will be done by Friday, we’ll be able to start moving equipment down Monday morning. Heard we got a pencil pusher coming in to check on the north ridge,” he said, giving Wyatt an annoyed expression.

“Heard that did ya?”

“Yup, Cage called to give us the heads up in case he showed before you. I was thinking boss, I’m gonna be awful busy getting this road finished…”

“Don’t go getting your panties in a twist, Jake. I’m handling this one,” Wyatt said with a chuckle. Seems there wasn’t a man on this mountain that wanted to deal with paperwork.

Sighing, Wyatt ran his hand through his dark trimmed hair. Looking down at his boots, he figured there was nothing for it. He had work to do and the trees weren’t going to log themselves.

A few hours later, Wyatt called a break for the crew as they all grabbed a seat or a stump and relaxed for a few. Tipping his head back to take a slug of ice water from his thermos, he heard a car coming down the road. Aiming his sunglasses down the path, he saw a nondescript silver SUV coming down the new road, kicking up dust.

Great, just what he needed.

Capping his thermos, he stood up and gave Jake a knowing look. Turning, he faced the car and crossed his arms over his chest, his aviator glasses hiding his angry eyes.

The car pulled to a stop and the door swung open, Wyatt had to keep his mouth closed as out stepped a short, round in all the right places, redhead with a large metal clipboard. Her hair was braided down her back and little curls were trying to escape their confines. She was dressed in a black polo shirt with the letters D.N.R. stamped over the pocket which was slightly stretched due to the proportions of her breasts. She was wearing seriously tight fitting jeans that hugged her most generous hips.

If Wyatt wasn’t already ramped up he would have appreciated that this woman was just his type. Curvy, luscious and probably fiery based on her hair. Instead, his eyes locked onto her sunglass covered ones and waited.

As soon as the woman closed the door, she strode to the front and surveyed the group of men all staring at her.

A breeze blew through and the scent of lilacs and sugar, coated Wyatt’s tongue. He swallowed around the taste and closed his eyes to appreciate the bouquet. Damn she smelled delicious, his bear thought so too, and by the stiffening of his cock, it seemed man, beast and manhood were all on the same page.

“Is there a Mr. Rochon here,” the little spitfire asked.

Pulling Wyatt out of his stupor and realizing he didn’t want to be standing in front of his crew sporting a hard on, cleared his throat, “Who’s asking?”

“Jinger McCann, Department of Natural Resources Wild Fire Analyst. I was told that there would be a Mr. Rochon here to escort me to the previous cut to review for violations.”

“First, ma’am, there are no violations on a Rochon job. Second, you haven’t even been to the clearing, so for you to assume there are violations is getting a bit ahead of yourself don’t you think?

“I’m here to make sure that regulations are followed, sir. Wildfires are no laughing matter, they are pure destruction and can wreak havoc on the ecosystem not to mention the toll in human lives. And I don’t appreciate your attitude. Now, if you would kindly let Mr. Rochon know I’m here, I can be on my way,” Jinger said in a huff.

Jinger knew she was being a little snippy, but she always felt like she needed to be on the defensive with loggers. They were usually big and gruff and they intimidated the hell out of her. The big one in front of her was a case in point. He had to be six foot four, big muscled arms and shoulders stretching a plaid shirt. He was wearing worn and dirty jeans that fit him like a glove and big steel toe work boots that added at least another inch to his formidable frame.

His dark hair was cut short and he was tan probably from spending so much time out of doors. Yup, he was a big man. A man like him almost made a chunky girl like her feel normal size. She really just wanted to find the man in charge and get the review over with. She liked the desk part of her job more than the traipsing through the forest part. She loved hiking and camping but surveying clear cutting sites always made her a little sad.

She knew from growing up in the area that it was necessary. There was no other way to harvest trees efficiently. She saw the re-grown forests as she drove the long stretches of road for her job. Raw spaces, freshly harvested, then a patch with tiny seedlings dotting the hillsides. A few years would pass and it would look like a huge Christmas tree farm. And more years would pass and you would never know the land had been stripped bare.

But the site of so many living things cut down always pulled at her heartstrings a little. She was a softy that way.

Jinger noticed that the big man hadn’t answered her, he was just staring at her and occasionally sniffing. That was weird.

She watched as he dropped his hands to his hips and kicked at the dirt before raising his head.

“Fine, let’s go.”

“Excuse me? Go where,” she sputtered.

“I’m Wyatt Rochon and I need to get back to work. So let’s go, I’m driving.”

Jinger stared in astonishment as he turned on his heel slammed the tailgate of his truck up and walked to the driver’s side door. Climbing in, he started the engine and rolled down the passenger window.

“You coming, Red,” he asked, his gaze looking more annoyed than before.

Jinger wanted to scream, she hated being called Red. More than anything she hated that nickname. Plus it was just her dumb luck that this hunk of a man was the one she needed to spend the next few hours with.

Fine, she could do this, she thought. She was a professional darn it!

Looking at the men still watching her, the one closest to her gave her a shoulder shrug and turned back to the others. Jinger figured they weren’t going to be any help to her, so she walked to the passenger side of the idling truck and ripped it open.

Before climbing in, she wanted to get one thing straight.

“Mr. Rochon, you ever call me Red again and I’ll site you for the most vague and expensive fine I can think up. We clear?” She tossed her own hands onto her hips.

A slow smile spread across Wyatt’s face. Nothing he liked more than a woman with some attitude. “You bet, Mrs. McCann.”

“That’s Miss, or you can just call me Jinger,” she said coolly and climbed into the truck. It smelled of sawdust and diesel. Not a wholly unpleasant combo, it made her think of rugged men. Like the one sitting awfully close to her now.

Shifting the truck into reverse, Wyatt backed up and peeled out a little too showy for Jinger’s taste. She swore she could hear the other men laughing.

As they tore down the dirt road, Jinger hit the button to roll the window up to keep the dust out. She didn’t know what to say, so she twiddled her thumbs and waited for him to start talking.

“You’re right,” Wyatt said out of the blue

“I am? About what Mr. Rochon?”

“First it’s Wyatt, second there is no way you are a ‘Red’. Red’s are abrasive, pushy even. You are trying to come off that way, but deep down you are just too sweet to pull it off.”

“Well, I’m glad you won’t be calling me that awful name. Not that you are correct about any of the rest of it,” she sniffed, looking out the window.

“Oh, I’m right. So sweet and gooey on the inside you have to put on a hard shell to handle the rougher side of dealing with loggers and the like. Yup, just enough spice, kinda like a gingersnap. Oh, I like that, gingersnap, is that with a G or a J?”

“It’s Jinger with a J, thank you very much. I really don’t think nicknames are appropriate. Now will you be so kind to go over what you have done to the land since you finished harvesting?” She tried to sound professional, but her voice wavered a bit.

Wyatt Rochon was too good-looking for his own good and him teasing her was out of her usual coping skills. She grew up with two sisters and no brothers. Her parents were quiet, reserved semi-hippies. Mom was a naturopath who taught at the local community college. Dad was a wildlife biologist. Her sisters hightailed it out Washington as soon as they managed to secure a place in an out of state school. One lives in Oregon and the other moved to Kentucky of all places.

Jinger stayed home, went to school at the University of Washington and never even thought of leaving. She dated a bit, but she usually found quiet bookish types that didn’t challenge her carefully prepared life. Jinger always thought she was waiting for something, biding her time. She just didn’t know what for, so she kept to herself and waited.

Now she wished she had an older brother growing up that teased her, so she would have some kind of defenses built up. Wyatt was charming, and she really wanted to get mad at him for being so forward, but the girly side of her was giggling. Damn traitor.

She heard Wyatt chuckle, “Whatever you say, gingersnap.”

Wyatt went on to tell her their process for clearing brush, culled logs that didn’t make the grade and their plans for a controlled burn to get rid of some of the debris. All in all, it sounded like they had everything under control. Jinger nodded and took notes while he spoke.

“Is there a reason the DNR is checking up on us? I mean, we’ve never had any issues before. We always do our best to follow all the regulations to make sure we don’t create any hazardous situations,” Wyatt said.

“Well, to be honest, Mr. Rochon, we did have an anonymous complaint stating your cut was left unfinished and that it created a viable fire risk.”

“Anonymous, huh?” Wyatt growled. His hand gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. His bear was pissed and he could feel his fingernails itching to claw out.

“It’s not uncommon for reports like this to come in. We have to review everyone, we can’t risk there being an issue we miss,” she explained.

“That, I understand, but we’ve had a run of bad luck lately and I’m thinking this is not a coincidence that you got a complaint.”

“What kind of bad luck?”

“Equipment tampering mostly, but my brother’s fiancée was injured a few weeks ago and we believe it was sabotage,” Wyatt responded angrily. “It’s one thing to mess with equipment that delays our work, but it’s another crime entirely to hurt my people.”

“Is your brother’s fiancée alright?”

“Yes, she recovered. It wasn’t something any of us want repeated. I know you are just doing your job, Jinger, but this is just another in a long line of pains in my ass right now.”

“Well, I will make this as painless as possible, Mr. Rochon. Then I will be out of your hair and a distant memory,” Jinger promised.

“What if I don’t want you to rush off?”

“Why would you want me to stay? Most people like to see the backs of government flunkies,” Jinger said with a little laugh.

“I didn’t say I didn’t want to see your backside, gingersnap, I’m just saying there is no need for you to rush off afterward. Maybe we could grab a bite to eat? My soon to be sister-in-law is a mean cook.”

Jinger couldn’t believe it, he was hitting on her! Wasn’t he? Again her lack of social skills was rearing its ugly head, she thought.

“Um, that’s very nice of you to offer, but I really have to get back to the office and file my report.”

Wyatt turned his shaded eyes to her, “Not your type huh?”

“What? No, that’s not it, I, uh, just want to keep this professional,” she stammered. Dang, he was flirting.

“Huh, professional,” Wyatt said with a grin, turning back to the road.

Jinger fidgeted in her seat, praying this day was already over with so she could curl up on her couch with a bucket of Skittles and forget about it.

Turning down another dirt road, Jinger could see the clear cut up ahead. Good, work she knew about.

Spending less than an hour observing the cut, Jinger decreed that the area was up to code. Underbrush had been stacked in large piles ready for burns. There were fire breaks cut around the perimeter of the area. Not a thing looked wrong. Unusual for someone to be willing to file a complaint if there was a serious safety concern.

“Your site is cleared, Mr. Rochon,” Jinger said turning and giving him his copy of the inspection report.

“Wyatt, please.” He took the paper and folded it before tucking it into his shirt pocket.

“If you wouldn’t mind driving me back to my car, I can get out of your hair…Wyatt.”

Sighing and swinging his glasses towards her he nodded and turned back to the car. As they trudged through the uneven ground, a number of times he steadied her by grabbing her elbow or offering a hand over a large log. She graciously accepted each time and the moment their skin touched, Wyatt felt tingles of electricity course over his palms.

He wondered if she was The One, but his dad and Cage said it was a bolt of lightning hitting. The whole world stopped and finally made sense when you met your mate. Sure she smelled amazing, her body was rocking, and he loved the touch of her skin. But he wouldn’t call that a thunderbolt.

Maybe Cage was wrong, dating is a fun way to pass the time. You get company, someone to spend time with and hopefully some mutually satisfying sex. Was that enough, he wondered.