by Gilead, Kate
It’s really too bad, though.
If not for that cell tower intruding on the view, I could be looking at a landscape from two hundred years ago, when settlers first started arriving; their villages, then, towns, then cities, built by the labor of men like me.
Progress. It’s a double-edge sword. We need these towers, and roads, and infrastructure, and building materials. And people need jobs. For all its problems, civilization is a good thing.
But we also need wildlife and nature and beauty. Not to mention, the carbon-oxygen exchange for the planet that all these miles of boreal forest provides.
Time to get dressed, go get coffee and see if breakfast is ready.
* * *
Walking down the dirt road to the main camp, I can already hear Sven’s deep, robust voice floating up from the kitchen. He’s singing Italian opera, at the top of his voice by the sounds of it.
I round the corner of the mess building and spot an unfamiliar car in the dirt parking lot.
But I don’t have time to wonder whose car it is. From within the mess building, Sven’s song comes to an abrupt stop, replaced by the sound of his voice giving a short, startled scream.
Immediately following that comes the high-pitched, startled shriek of a female, followed immediately by a clanging thud.
Followed by Sven cursing.
What the hell?
Hurrying to the screen door, I fling it open, and there’s Sven, our sixty year-old, Croatian ex-patriot camp cook.
His oven-mitt-clad hands are clasped to his chest over his heaving belly. He’s looking wild-eyed down at the floor. “Oi! Look diss mess! You son-a-ma-gun!” His gravelly voice is breathless.
And…there’s the other screamer.
It’s a petite blonde girl, not much taller than five-two or three. Young. Maybe nineteen or twenty.
She looks at me, then back at Sven, then at Calvin, who’s standing in the doorway to the dining area.
Hmm. She’s cute.
Standing a few feet away from Sven, she’s holding a handbag to her chest and wearing a stricken expression.
A mound of blonde hair is tied on top of her head, held in place by who knows what.
Blue eyes, huge and alert, blink under a fringe of that sunshine-colored hair.
Big, firm breasts atop a sturdy waist, below which wide, seductive hips and a booty flare in a shape they used to call child-bearing, back in the day.
I call it, built like a brick sh…
“Jesus! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you.” Her voice is sweet, high-pitched and slightly breathless.
There’s a big puddle of water on the floor by the restaurant-style range, tendrils of steam rising from it. Next to it, an eighty-quart boiling pot lays on its side. A pile of steaming boiled potatoes is scattered beside that.
A quick look at Sven shows he appears to be uninjured. Same with the stacked blonde.
Calvin lets out soft laugh, then leans a shoulder against the doorjamb, crossing one booted foot over the other. He takes a sip from the mug he’s holding.
“Morning,” he says, grinning.
Sven and the girl both turn to look at me. “Jeck,” Sven says, “Look vhat hoppen. Who is diss voomen?”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” I reply.
“She skere me, I trop pot,” Sven says. “Look!”
“Yeah, I see. Well, shit happens,” I say. “You okay, miss?”
She nods, eyeing me nervously, then backs away to stand beside the butcher-block center island.
“Um…can we help you?” I ask. “Are you lost?”
Twisting her hands nervously together now, she says, “Yes. I mean, no, no, I’m not lost. I’m reporting for work. Could…can you call the, uh, manager, and let him know I’m here, please?” Back and forth her eyes go, flitting between us all, as if she’s afraid we’re going to rush her.
“I’m the boss, Miss. What do you mean, you’re reporting for work?”
“Work. I work here. I was hired for the season.”
“You were?”
“Yes.” She looks at me with a tiny frown, they way you look at someone when you think they might be slow in the head.
Cal chuckles, and I can’t help but smile myself.
I look at Calvin. “You know anything about this, Cal?”
“Nope.”
“You don’t…you’re not expecting me?” With one small hand, she pushes the fringe of hair out of her eyes. “My name’s Molly Malone. It was hired only a week ago, so, it was kind of last-minute. But, um, I drove up here from Bracebridge, and…”
She trails off as Calvin, Sven and I all look at each other, expressions baffled.
None of us knows what she’s talking about. “Huh. This is the first we’ve heard,” I say. “Camp personnel are usually hired quite far in advance.”
“Well, I don’t know what to tell you. I’m supposed to be a kitchen assistant and uh, general helper, I guess.”
To the girl, Sven says, ”You gon’ vork vit me?” He scratches his belly absently. “I no vork vit voomen, yooshully. Hah! See vhat hoppen? You snick, you skere me lak dat, I trop pot, you son-a-ma-gun.”
“Snick?” She looks at Sven quizzically, then at me. “Sonahmagum? I don’t understand.”
“Sneak,” I explain. “Not sure about the other word, to be honest. It’s just an expression he has.”
“Yah,” Sven says, reasonably. “Chust expression, dat.”
“Oh. Well, I didn’t sneak, I walked right through the door.” To me, she says, “He didn’t hear me because he was yelling.”
“Oi,” Sven says. “No yelling. Vas sinking hopera.”
Calvin laughs. “Same difference. Oh, Jack? Norm’s gone to bring the skidder up from the south harvesting site. He says it’s been acting up.”
“Okay, thanks.”
“I’ll be back for breakfast, Sven.” He turns and walks out, whistling.
“Vhat’s wrong vit hopera?” Sven asks. He takes a deep breath, and belts out: “Funiculì, funiculàaaaaaa….!”
The girl jumps.
“Sven!” I say. “Knock it off.”
Turning her blue eyes to me again, she flattens her palm on her chest, laughs, and says, “Geez!”
Her smile is fleeting but it turns her look from cute to…something else entirely.
Mmm-mmm. Lovely girl.
“Well, hmm.” I say. “You’re definitely not on the last personnel roster I received, but maybe HQ got behind on paperwork.” To Sven, I say, “I thought your assistant was gonna be Travis, same as last year. I’ll call HQ when the office opens,” I check my watch, “which should be any minute.”
“Yah. Hokay.” He shakes his head. “All dis padaydoes, mek hash prowns for whole veek! Now, gotta t’row out. Beek vaste!”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Yah, yah.” He flaps a hand at me, then takes up a spatula and starts shoveling the still-steaming spuds back into the pot.
“Let me help you,” the girl says, stepping forward.
“No, I geddit,” Sven grumbles.
She blinks at him, frowning. “I…well, I’ll peel the new batch of potatoes, then. It’s not fair that you should have to do it again by yourself.”
Sven looks at her suspiciously, then softens. “Is ‘lectrek peelah beck dere.” He points behind himself with his thumb. “Von’t tek lonk.”
She nods. But the contrite look on her face would melt a heart made of hardwood.
Aww, shit. She…she’s…very cute, actually.
I don’t want to stare, but she’s so easy on the eyes, it’s hard not to.
That sexy shape…that fleeting smile…damn.
“You shouldn’t even be on the worksite, liability-wise,” I tell her. “But I think we can offer you coffee at least, if you’re interested?”
“Yes, please.”
“Alright, come on.” She follows me to the coffee station in the dining room.
“Molly, is it?” I say. She
nods. “My name’s Jack Sawyer.” I hold my hand out.
“Nice to meet you, Jack.” she says. When she takes my hand to shake it, I could swear I can almost feel a…what? Some kind of… sensation.
And not just in my hand, either.
What the…? I’ve only been in the bush a few days, it’s not like I haven’t seen a woman in months or something.
I fill two thermos mugs with the fresh-made, fragrant brew. She adds three heaping teaspoons of sugar and a generous serving of cream to hers.
Smiling, I say, “You like a little coffee with your cream and sugar, huh?”
She looks up at me from under her lashes, eyes twinkling. “Maybe I’m not sweet enough.”
I smile, thinking: You look pretty sweet to me.
Putting the sipping lids onto the two thermoses and tightening them, I say, “So, Molly. I don’t know how the wires got crossed here, but we can’t have people wandering around. Employees all have to be covered by the company group insurance.” I hand her mug back to her. “I’m sorry no one’s expecting you. I’m not even sure what to do with you until we figure this out.”
My mind tries to offer an x-rated idea but I push it away.
“I was told it would all be taken care of,” she says. “I don’t know what went wrong.”
“You better come up to the office with me,” I say. “I’ll call HQ and we’ll get to the bottom of this.”
Also by Kate Gilead
Her Bestie’s Older Brother (Maple Mills Book One)
The Secret Virgin (Maple Mills Book Two)
Bossed (Maple Mills Book Three)
Don’t Baby Me (Maple Mills Book Four)
Motorhead (Maple Mills Book Five)
Her Dad’s Best Friend (Maple Mills Book Six)
Billionaire (Men on a Mission Book One)
Jacked (Men on a Mission Book Two)
Model Dad (Men on a Mission Book Four)
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