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.”
Chapter 3
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.