Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 96077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 480(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 480(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
I try to push the memory of her sad voice out of my mind as Jeremy puts his truck in park. It’s Sunday evening and those of us who’ll be staying in the bunkhouses are arriving to get the lay of the land so we can hit the ground running tomorrow morning.
I’ve grown up in East Texas—a part of the state known for its logging industry—my whole life and still, pockets of deep forest like this amaze me. Outside the truck’s windshield, pine trees grow as far as the eye can see, soaring so tall and mighty they look like they’ve been here since the dawn of time. Underneath their branches, the forest floor is covered in dense green foliage. Any paths that might have wended their way through the trees while the camp was up and running are gone now, stolen back by nature.
Jeremy opens his door to jump out and I follow suit, grabbing my bag and making sure my hat is in place. We talked about it on the drive and both agreed it’s a good idea for me to continue wearing the hat and clothes he lent me for as long as possible. If everything goes as planned, I’ll find a position that doesn’t require too much brawn, keep my head down, and work. Sure, there’s a good chance the guys will start to notice I’m not one of them, but hopefully by then, I’ll have been a part of the crew long enough that it shouldn’t matter.
We walk past the long row of cars toward a clearing in the woods. Up ahead, an old wooden sign marks the entrance of Pine Wood Camp, but flowering vines have wound their way up the posts, concealing half the painted letters. The rest are dull and faded. Our boots crunching fallen leaves seems like the only sound for miles.
“Kind of creepy,” Jeremy says, throwing me a smile over his shoulder.
I think it’s cool. We’ve only been outside walking a short while and already, I know this place could get into my soul if I let it. The air is crisp and cool. The smell of the trees is nearly overwhelming. Okay, forest, now you’re just showing off. There’s a reason so many cleaning products come with a “pine fresh” scent, but they don’t come close to replicating this. You can’t. There are too many undercurrents: damp earth and wild jasmine and blooming honeysuckle.
Maybe this won’t be so bad, I think just before we come upon the first signs of the old camp and my fleeting optimism flies right out the window. There’s already a ton of guys here, more than I thought would be staying during the week. Apparently, a lot of them agreed driving back and forth was a waste of gas, but that means there’s no way Jeremy and I will have our own bunkhouse. I know it was kind of delusional of me to think that was an option, but it’s the only way I could convince myself to get into his truck back in Oak Dale.
I don’t want to sleep in a room with a dozen guys I’ve never met!
Where will I change?
Where will I shower?!
Jeremy must notice my hesitation based on the fact that I’ve stopped walking forward and am now actively retreating back toward his truck.
He rushes back to wrap an arm around my shoulder and nudges me forward. “C’mon, before you throw in the towel, let’s go check out the room situation and we’ll figure out what to do from there. I swear it won’t be so bad.”
It is so bad.
Since stupid Jeremy had to have dinner with Khloe before we left Oak Dale, we don’t exactly get the cream of the crop when it comes to sleeping quarters. Fortunately, there’s still a bunkhouse with two beds available. Unfortunately, the beds are on opposite sides of the room from one another. When I drop my duffle onto my bed and turn back to look for Jeremy, I can’t even see him there are so many bunk beds in the way.
My only hope is that a very clean, very quiet man will be sleeping above me, but based on the gentleman sitting on the bunk to my right, I’m not sure that will be the case.
He’s currently putting every ounce of energy he has into hocking up a loogie before he spits it into an empty cup he drops on the floor near my feet. I nearly gag. When he’s done, he returns to his activity of choice: sharpening a rather large hunting knife. When he sees me staring, he offers up a sneer that includes what I can only describe as a breathtaking row of teeth. Truly, they are breathtaking in that the stench wafting from his mouth is making it very difficult for me to draw a breath.