“No ma’am, I’m sure our definitions are the same. And yes I would still have picked you up. I would have put on my fancy flannel though, just to show off a bit,” he said giving her a cheeky grin.
“You are what we would call ‘too much’ Mr. Rochon,” she said laughing at his playful grin.
“Well, I bet that is probably true. Your chariot awaits, sugar,” he said with a flourish, swinging open the passenger side door and giving a small bow.
Climbing into the massive vehicle, Sophie took a moment once the door was closed to refocus. Wyatt Rochon was a tornado of cuteness and flirtiness. She’d have to keep an eye on him.
Hopping into the cab, Wyatt started the engine and pulled out into the lane. They drove quietly for a while, Sophie soaking in the lights twinkling in the soft blue of the twilight. The sun had set, but the spring sky was clear and the light was holding on for as long as it could.
Wyatt was a chatterbox, talking about the forest, their company, and trees. Always about the trees, his family was trees it seemed. They farmed them, logged and milled them. For generations, they had been managing their forests and were very proud of their work. He tried asking Sophie questions about herself, but she was too tired to offer much. Finally, his voice faded into the distance as she fell asleep against the cool glass of the window.
Chapter 4
“Ms. Carlton, hey sugar cookie, it’s time to wake up.”
The low baritone of Wyatt Rochon was tugging at her consciousness. Peeling her eyes open, Sophia looked around to get her bearings.
“Call me Sophie,” she managed with a mumble as she peered out into the darkness surrounding them. A few faint lights glinted off long rectangle shaped buildings, highlighting the entrances, bugs buzzing around the incandescent glow.
“Anything you want sugar, hop on out, I’ll grab your bags,” Wyatt offered, jumping out of the cab.
Climbing out of the truck, the scent of trees overwhelmed her. It was like pine needles, sap, dirt, and sawdust all mingling together in an aroma that actually played across her tongue. It made her think of sage and rosemary coating a roast chicken. Her brain working up a comparison to understand the complex smells she was surrounded by.
“How long was I asleep,” she managed to ask, realizing they were in the city and it was just dusk when she nodded off.
“Just shy of three hours, sugar,” he replied pulling her suitcases out of the truck.
Sophie raised her eyebrow in a manner which she hoped showed her ire at his continued use of that nickname.
“Fine, Ms. Sophie,” he acquiesced.
“Sorry I crashed out on you. I slept the whole plane ride, you would think I was more than done sleeping today. Must be the jet lag,” she offered.
“Well, I’ve never left the Pacific Northwest so I don’t know much about jet lag myself.”
“You’ve never traveled,” she asked.
“Nope, my family likes to stay close to home. The forest has been our home for generations. From Northern Oregon up through Canada is where we like to hunker down. We go where the trees are,” he said with a prideful smile.
“So what do you do once you’ve cut all the trees down? Just move to a new patch?”
“No ma’am, once we are done harvesting we come back through and replant. Two trees for every one we harvest. All we need then is time to wait for our timber to grow and be logged again. No need to keep looking for new forests,” he replied.
“Wow, I didn’t know that. That’s very progressive and smart. You will always have your base resource to keep your business running,” she offered with a smile.
Wyatt gave her a nod back. Picking up her two heaviest suitcases without even straining he walked her to the far end of the lot they had parked in. The rectangle buildings formed a U shape around the parking area. They passed one that had a clear hand painted sign that said, ‘Office’ on it, another one that said ‘Lav’ and the next two that said ‘Bunk’. The final building they came up to said ‘Mess’ above the door.
Turning to Wyatt, Sophie asked, “Mess?”
“Short for Mess Hall, old army term. Don’t take offense, it’s not intended that way,” he said laughing.
“I’m too exhausted to take offense, Wyatt,” she replied pulling open the door.
Walking in, she saw small four person tables lining the walls. Down the middle were long steamer trays, the type you would see set up at a buffet. Well, at least she wasn’t expected to be a short order cook for fifty men at once. Buffet style she could handle.
Halfway through the building was a swinging door that led into a fair sized industrial kitchen. The appliances were used but looked fairly clean. And they were all jumbo sized. She’d imagined she wasn’t going to be cooking for a bunch of skinny minnies.