“You seem to think this is a suggestion. It’s not. I’ll text you the address you are to meet him at and any pertinent information. Have him show you around his territory.”
“His territory? Excuse me for asking, but what does that mean? He’s a townie.”
“Not anymore.”
Danielle viciously fought the urge to strangle the phone. She gritted her teeth so hard, her jaw hurt, then tried again. “Mr. Reynolds, I’ve been very excited about joining in on this research for you, but this wasn’t part of the job description.”
“Are you backing out?”
“No. Maybe.” She flopped back on the bed in a star-like shape. “Can I have until Monday, my original start-date, to decide on whether to continue with your request? Denison and I have history. The relationship is complicated, and I hadn’t expected to spend any substantial amount of time with him.”
Another long, irritated sigh blasted across the phone speaker. “That would be fine.”
“One last thing,” she rushed out before he hung up. “Does Denison work for you?”
“No. Not directly.”
“Then how do you know he’ll help me?”
“Because, Ms. Clayton, I have a feeling you can be very compelling when you want to be.”
The line went dead, and she glared at the screen until it went blank.
A screech of pure frustration rattled her throat, and she stared at the low ceiling above her. She’d have to pull out of the job, and the trip would be wasted because there was no way in hades she was signing up for hours, days, and possibly weeks in the woods with Denison-the-man-ho-Beck.
Chapter Three
Denison was dog tired. The kind of exhausted that seeped into his bones and made him want to sleep for a full twenty-four hour block of time. He’d focused on work today to keep his mind off Danielle. He’d spent half the night awake, wondering if he’d dreamed her at Sammy’s, but from the concerned look on his brother’s face this morning, she’d definitely been there.
Brighton worried too damned much. He waffled between finding amusement in Denison’s love live—or lack thereof—to fretting like a mother hen that Danielle was going to break him in half again. Well, she wasn’t. Denison wasn’t going to let her get that close. He’d even protected himself by calling up to Sammy’s and cancelling his gig next weekend, so there was no chance of seeing her in town since he wouldn’t be there. Sure, he and the boys were headed up to the Lumberjack Wars competition the newly opened sawmill in Saratoga had organized, but it was off in the woods and miles away from a risk of running into her.
His Bronco lurched side to side as he maneuvered around a pair of potholes so deep he could probably spit in them and hit magma. Last week’s rains had washed out the roads worse than they usually were. He was caked in dirt and sweat, and his muscles twitched from the exertion of working every daylight hour with his crew, trying to keep on top of lumber deadlines so they could give themselves enough time to take a day off tomorrow and escort the girls, Brooke and Skyler, to their first lumberjack competition.
Drew was laid out like a corpse in the back seat, snoring softly with his yellow hardhat draped over his face, and Brighton stared out the window in the passenger’s seat as Denison followed Kellen’s white lifted pickup truck down the rugged terrain back toward Asheland Mobile Park. Home was situated in the valley between this mountain and the next. Through the tinted window ahead, he could make out Kellen and his mate, Skyler, as they tipped their heads together for a kiss.
Denison dragged his gaze back to the dirt road disappearing under the nose of his Bronco. Their affection had never bothered him before, but it was different now with all his emotions stirred up by Danielle’s unexpected arrival in town. He gripped the wheel and clenched his teeth. There she was again, clouding his mind with memories of those sexy lips and how good they’d tasted when he’d been lucky enough to have her.
He turned the radio dial to the only radio station out here that got reception, and an old rock-n-roll classic blared through the speakers. Brighton tossed him the fiftieth worried look for the day, and Denison considered booting him from the Bronco and making his ass walk the rest of the way home. Pitying looks made his bear want to kill things.
By the time he pulled through the back gate behind the other trucks, Brighton had wisely decided to ignore him and keep his attention out the window.
“Drew, wake up,” he muttered as he pulled in front of his trailer. “We’re home.”
Denison didn’t wait for the others to get out of his ride. It wasn’t like he needed to lock his doors around here, so he took his porch steps two-by-two and left them to get out as slowly as they wanted.