Love Me Reckless (Love Me Dangerous #2)

Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

SAWYER

When I finally crawl into my makeshift bed on the floor that night, even though I’m exhausted, sleep doesn’t come. Zach stopped by on his way back from dropping Sofie at Western, and we ended up making dinner for Carson and Brody and telling stories late into the night. I didn’t get a chance to talk to Zach about my problem, or how to fix it.

Kirilee mentioned something about the ski pass benefit that night in the hot tub, but I honestly didn’t give it much thought.

My plan to keep my head down and work hard just got a little bit more complicated, because now I need to learn a skill that no doubt takes years of practice in a very short period of time. And even more tricky is there’s no snow yet, so I can’t even start.

My first day as a Finn River Ranch mechanic starts at 6:00 at the uniform shop run by two little old ladies who finish each other’s sentences. After taking my measurements, they disappear into the recesses of the shop. When they return, their arms are piled high with items.

I get three madras plaid shirts, two pairs of black work pants, a set of thick leather work gloves, a hard hat, and black insulated one-piece coverall plus a black winter work jacket and insulated snow boots.

After ferrying everything to my locker, I change into the madras shirt and black work pants, then carry the hard hat and the gloves to the machine shop in time for the morning huddle.

Inside the giant space, it smells like grease mixed with detergent thanks to the neighboring linen service department emitting perfumed exhaust from the industrial dryers. It is ten times tidier than the damp and dank train yard shop I left behind in Alaska.

The boss, a ruddy-cheeked man with graying hair named Robin McTavish, gathers us closer. “First off, let’s all welcome Sawyer Reed,” he announces in his Scottish lilt.

The dozen other mechanics clap and whistle.

Fighting the flush of heat rising up my neck, I give a little wave.

“He comes to us with loads of experience with diesel engines, and we’re blessed to have him. He’s apprenticing this week, so I expect you to be generous with your time and knowledge to get him up to speed. We still have plenty to do before the season starts.”

Our current task is a visual check of all the moving parts on each tower. There are two lifts and one gondola, with a total of forty-five towers and six terminals. Before the ski season can open, the resort has to pass a series of strict state safety assessments, and the reps will be here in two weeks.

I’m paired with Carson. We load up one of the Finn River Ranch work trucks with tools, safety gear, and spare parts, and drive up the service road under the lift.

“McTavish seems like a good guy,” I say.

Carson parks the truck below tower four. “Yeah. He’ll get hot though. Just wait until it’s blowing forty miles an hour and we’re out here banging ice off the sheaves to get the lifts open in time.”

I want to ask if people actually ski in weather like that, but I’m staying quiet until I learn more about this crazy sport.

We suit up in full body harnesses, hard hats, and gloves, and I follow Carson up the ladder. The metal rungs vibrate and hum as we go, but it’s soon lost to the steady breeze. It’s ten degrees cooler up here, but fuck, the view.

Carson clips his harness to the safety cable, jolting me back to the tower.

“You get used to it,” he says. He clips my carabiner to the safety line, then nods at the sweeping vista of jagged mountains and spires, the endless forests, the tiny buildings of the village, and the glittering surface of the lake down in the valley.

“Fuck, I hope not,” I say.

By the end of our ten-hour shift, my brain feels ready to burst from soaking up so much information, and I know I’ve only scratched the surface. Thanks to the cool, dry breeze, I’m parched, and like a moron, I forgot about sunscreen, so my arms and back of my neck are tender to the touch. But I’m liking my new job. It’s challenging, and diverse. Way more fun than coaxing a busted locomotive back to life inside a drafty shop day in and day out.

I’m leaving the locker room with Carson and a few other mechanics, my spare uniform clothes tucked under my arm, when we come face to face with a security guard blocking the path leading down to the employee parking area.

“What’s going on?” Carson asks.

The guard points us down the slope. “Private party on the patio. You’ll need to access the employee lot from the west end.”

“Uh, okay,” Carson says.

Curious, I peer past the guard, but most of the patio is hidden behind the front of the lodge. I remember it from the day with Zach: the Adirondack chairs clustered around handsome fire pits, the colorful outdoor blankets, the attentive waitstaff, and sweeping views.

We follow the others down the grassy slope to the road. “Must be someone important,” Carson says. “‘Cause this whole place is private.”

I glance back at the lodge. We’re lower now, but the angle to the patio is better. What I see stops me in my tracks. Standing in the sunshine in a yellow dress, her strawberry-blonde hair flowing down her back, is Kirilee St. Claire. And next to her, in a dark suit, is douche date. They are flanked by photographers and a small gathering of people. One of them fusses with Kirilee’s dress, and another dusts something on douche date’s face. Several people in the party laugh at something, the murmur carried on the wind.

“Yo, Sawyer,” Carson says, snapping me back to the road we’re crossing.

I hurry to catch up.

“My girlfriend Tara works in the dining room,” Carson says, sliding on his shades. “You want me to find out who it is?”

“I know who it is,” I say, then regret my sharp tone.

Carson’s expression is shaded behind his sunglasses, but he arches an eyebrow.

“It’s Kirilee St. Claire.”

“How the fuck do you know that?”

“Zach’s fiancée Sofie is her best friend,” I say. “We’ve hung out a few times.”

“Ah,” Carson says. We descend the stairs to a path shaded by tall pines. I look back, but the entourage is gone from the patio.

“What’s the big to-do? She gettin’ married?” he asks, glancing back at the patio.

“Yeah, actually. In a couple of months.” Saying this out loud is like chewing razor blades.

“Hell, I was kidding. Isn’t she kind of young to be getting married?” Carson asks.

“Her family is in a hurry, apparently.”

“Shotgun wedding?” Carson’s eyebrows arch up.

My gut takes a dive. I can’t stand the thought of douche date touching Kirilee, let alone getting close enough to her to make a baby. “No. At least not that I’m aware of.”

“Then what’s the rush?”

We descend another set of stairs to a parking area, which exits the ranch on a service road separate from the main gate so the members don’t have to encounter employee commuter traffic.

“Her family wants it that way, I guess.”

“And she’s onboard with that?” Carson unlocks his truck, and we climb in.

“Not exactly.” My phone rings, and I slip it from my back pocket. I frown at the phone screen. It’s Kirilee.

“Hey,” I say as Carson starts the engine and backs out of the parking slot.

“Hey,” she says in a huff, like she’s out of breath. “It’s your first day today, right?”

How does she know this? “Yep.”

“How’d it go?”

“Great.” I have a lot to learn, but knowing I won’t get bored is extremely satisfying.

“That’s good to hear,” she says.

“Did I just see you on the patio?” I crack my window while Carson cruises to the exit.

“Yes. Photo shoot for our wedding planner at the ranch.”

“Your family uses you as a marketing asset?”

“Why wouldn’t they?” In the background, I hear a soft ding . Like from an elevator. “You’re still good for November sixth and seventh, right? With your work schedule and everything?”

I’ve already checked. “We’re still on.” I roll my window all the way down because it’s suddenly too hot in here.

Carson slows at the gate, and the guard gives us a quick once-over before letting us through.

“Whew. Okay, bye,” Kirilee says.

I drop the phone into my lap and stare out the window, the breeze cooling my face.

“You two sound awfully chummy,” Carson says, shooting me a sly look.

“I’m helping her with something.” I wish it was helping her ditch douche date, but would her family just find a replacement?

Carson nods. “Be careful, man. Her dad could exile you to a distant planet.”

“Right,” I say and force a full breath into my lungs.

We get our first snowfall that Friday, which gives me a taste of winter in Finn River. Climbing the towers in my new insulated jacket and sturdy winter boots takes longer. My hands get cold if I stand around too long. The icy wind blowing down the slopes seems to find every open crevice in my jacket. Though the rising sun melts the clouds by ten o’clock, and by lunchtime the snow is gone too, it’s a reminder that in just over a month, the ski area will be open.

And I still have no idea how I’m going to fix my problem. I bought a pair of cheap used skis and boots from a garage sale I stumbled onto on my way home from the grocery store a few days ago, so I at least have the equipment.

I’m heading home after an extra-long shift thanks to high winds that kept the helicopter grounded until late when just inside my neighborhood, I see a gray-haired woman engaged in a heated conversation with someone I recognize thanks to the long hair swept into a high ponytail. On the grassy section of the sidewalk between Kirilee and the woman rests a colorful wooden box on a 4x4 post and a shovel.

I pull my truck over.

“You can’t just hijack people’s front walkways,” the gray-haired woman says, her face tense.

“But I have a permit from the city,” Kirilee says. “I can show it to you.”

“Everything okay here?” I ask as Kirilee turns. Her green eyes are wide with an expression that pleads HELP ME.

“No, it is not,” the woman snaps from behind her, jamming her fists to her hips. “I come home from work to find this monstrosity taking over my yard.”

Monstrosity? I give Kirilee a wink and say to the woman, “No problem, we’ll build it somewhere else.”

I refocus on Kirilee. “Would you be willing to move a few blocks?”

She’s upset and flustered, but she huffs a full breath and nods. “As long as people use it.”

“Have a good day,” I tell the woman, who scowls.

I glance around for Kirilee’s car. There’s a black BMW SUV parked on the other side of the driveway with the hatch still open.

I pick up the little library mounted on the post. Kirilee follows my lead and grabs the shovel, the giant diamond on her ring finger flashing like a beacon in the fading light. I focus on setting the little library in the back of her car, but seeing that ring is like a punch to the gut. In my mind, Carson’s warning starts playing on repeat.

“Follow me, okay?” I tell Kirilee.

She gives me a curious glance, then flicks her gaze at the grumpy woman walking back up her driveway, muttering to herself. “Okay.”

I jump in my truck and wait for Kirilee to pull in behind me. At my house two blocks over, I park on the curb, and Kirilee parks across the street.

“One sec,” I say to her after she’s parked, then dash inside, but the house is empty. My roommates’ cars are parked in the driveway, so I know they’re home. I step out on the back deck and spot them at the same time I hear their muted conversation from the far side of the yard. They’re bouldering on the artificial climbing wall Brody built, the colorful plastic holds bolted to the back of the garage like blobs of colorful bubble gum against the gray wood.

“You guys cool if we get one of those little library boxes in front of our house?”

“Sure,” Carson says from above me.

“What kind of books?” Brody asks, perched on a tiny hold a few feet off the ground.

“I’m sure she’d take requests,” I say.

“She?” Carson glances over his shoulder.

“No kissing books,” Brody says with a shake of his head. “My sisters would heckle me until the end of time.”

“What if a cute girl shows up looking for a romance book?” Carson says in a strained voice as he reaches for a hold just out of range. “Could be worth some heckling.”

I leave them to it and hurry back outside. Kirilee is standing with her back to her driver’s door, her arms crossed and her gaze fixed on the ground.

“I didn’t even think to ask that woman,” she says. “I just assumed?—”

I tilt my head so I can catch her eye. “Just ‘cause she got grumpy doesn’t mean your idea isn’t great.”

She gives me a soft smile. “How do you always know the right thing to say?”

I give her a wink. “Just reading your cues, princess.”

She rolls her eyes, but they’re brighter than they were a second ago. “Is this where you live?” She gazes up at the house.

“Yep.”

“It’s nice.”

“It’s missing something, though,” I say with a grin.

She arches an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

I reach for her hand and tug her to the back of her car. “A homemade little library full of extra steamy kissing books.”