Page 22 of Screwed

I frowned, my gaze traveling back to him again as though being propelled by a magnet.

He stood there like an unyielding pillar at the edge of the main boundary line, his tactical boots planted wide in the gravel. Quiet, authoritative, stubborn as a goddamn rock. But each time he adjusted the tripod and the dense knot of muscle in his upper back shifted, I lost more of my grip on common sense and restraint.

This was ridiculous.

I swallowed the rest of the wine in one gulp. Enjoying the view was fine, but I was fast reaching the point where I’d be scaling the wall. I let my head loll back in the chair and closed my eyes. Things were fine. I was fine. This was likely just the beginnings of cabin fever, and I was going a little stir-crazy.

Other than a few trips to the general store, I’d been confined to this cabin and would have to stay here for the foreseeable future. I understood perfectly well why this was necessary and that I didn’t have much of a choice, but still…

I felt the telltale prickle of someone watching me, and when I snapped my head up and opened my eyes. Nate was looking at me. His gaze hovered on mine before he quickly turned back to the task at hand. Frustration gnawed at me. How was it that the man I hadn’t seen in well over a decade somehow knew I was lying about my reason for being here, but still refused to have an open conversation?

“Shit!”

My attention darted to the truck where Deacon yelled out a flurry of curses. A grinding, high-pitched whine shattered the rest of the sounds on the job site. I almost dropped my wine glass, setting it down on the ground next to me as I jumped to my feet just as the rear of the truck loader tilted violently to the left.

Deacon gunned the engine, but it was too late. The heavy rubber tracks churned a brutal slurry of dark water and slick gray clay, burying themselves deeper into a hidden, spring-fed mud pocket near the bank.

With a definitive thud, the four-ton machine bottomed out. Its steel belly pan suctioned firmly into the mire, and the engine gave one last, angry roar before it died.

“Damn it,” Deacon growled, slamming a hand against the steering console before vaulting over the side. He landed ankle-deep in the thick muck without even flinching.

I walked over, trying not to think about how my heart was beating out of my chest. I was just glad he didn’t seem to be hurt, even if the loader was a little worse for wear. “Should I call a tow-truck?”

“Too far out, they’ll charge us a fortune just for the drive up,” Nate said, appearing out of seemingly nowhere as he quickly assessed the damage himself. He turned back resolutely, heading for the Cornerstone trailer with purposeful, wide strides. “We can handle this ourselves. Ethan, grab the logging chain and that long fir deadfall by the woodpile.”

“On it,” Ethan called back, tossing his pry bar onto the porch planks.

I watched, fascinated, as the group dissolved into synchronized action. Nobody argued or hesitated. Deacon stood in the mud, looking at the sink line while Ethan hauled over a massive, dense log to use as a lever beneath the front chassis.

Nate reappeared, a heavy-duty steel chain slung over his bare, sweat-slicked shoulder like a wreath of iron. Damn it, indeed.

“Secure the hatch,” he ordered Deacon, tossing the end of the chain down. “Ethan, get that lever wedged deep under the front cross member. We need maximum displacement.”

I took a step back, trying to get out of their way but still intrigued enough to want to watch how they were planning on freeing the truck. I knew they were all insanely strong. But this was still thousands of pounds, and even with using a lever to break the suction—

“Nate, this thing is heavy as hell. You guys might sprain something if you try lifting it by hand,” I said, my voice tighter than I’d intended.

He didn’t even look up at me as he wrapped the slick iron links around his hands, planting his boots into the solid rock perimeter. “We’ve moved heavier.”

“Get ready!” Ethan yelled, throwing his entire upper body weight onto the top of the log lever. The thick wood groaned under the pressure. His biceps strained with the effort, veins popping out all down his forearms.

“On three!” Nate’s commanding voice echoed across the dead-calm lake. “One… two… three!”

A collective, primal grunt tore from the men. Nate and Deacon hauled backward on the chain, their bare backs flexing in a display of raw power. The ridges of Deacon’s scarred back bunched into hard knots; the disciplined plates of Nate’s chest strained as they fought the dead weight of the machine. Sweat sprayed from their hair as they seemed to throw their entire existence into the pull.

I held my breath, my eyes darting between their powerful bodies and the trapped loader.

With a loud, wet suction pop that echoed off the trees, the mud finally broke its hold. The collective, brute force of the three men dragged the massive steel machine backward out of the hole, its tracks skidding onto the solid, dry gravel. Ethan fell back with a breathless, triumphant laugh, while Deacon casually unhooked the chain, barely even winded. Nate stood tall, his chest heaving, his dark, sweat-brightened eyes locking instantly onto my face.

Standing there, looking at the three towering, dirt-streaked gods who had just moved a mountain through sheer willpower, a cold spike of panic hit my stomach. I wasn’t just dealing with a few local contractors.

Then, adding insult to the most egregious revelation of all time, the corners of Nate’s mouth twitched with the ghost of a smile. “Told you we could get it out.”

I was definitely in way, way, way more trouble than I first thought.

13

Ava