Jacked (Men on a Mission Book 2) Page 3

  I find myself scanning for photos of…well, Jack with women. A wife or girlfriend or even, anything that shows a hint of the player lifestyle.

  Any guy who looks like Jack can pick and choose, no doubt about that.

  But there’s no photos of him with any girlfriend-types that I can see from this position.

  Giving in to being nosy, I lean way over to see if there’s any more photos.

  One last one is propped against the bottom of the small lamp that sits on his desk. It’s a recent photo. In that one, he’s alone with the older woman who must be his mom. He has his arm around her protectively as she leans towards him.

  “Okay,” Jack says, turning around. “There’s nothing in the inter-office mail.”

  Quickly, I lean back, but, too late. He catches me being nosy.

  “Checking out my photos, huh?”

  “Uh…yeah. Heh. Those are your parents?”

  “Yep. And the guy with the handlebar mustache in that old photo? That’s my great-great-grandfather.”

  “Is that you and your brother in that fishing photo?”

  “Yes, that’s my little brother, Todd.”

  “I see the resemblance. Is he your only sibling?”

  “He was, yes. That one of the two of us on the big saw there is the last one of us together. He was killed later that year.”

  “He was killed? He looks so young! Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that!”

  “Thank you. Yeah, he was only thirty. A widow-maker got him.” Seeing my confused look, he says, “A falling branch. Sometimes, even when you get out of the path of the trunk, a branch can still get you.” He looks at the photo for a moment. “My father was killed a few years prior, so, it’s just me and my mom now.”

  “Oh, that’s terrible! I’m so sorry Jack!” Gosh! Poor guy! My heart hurts just to think of it.

  He nods his thanks again. “It’s been very hard on my mother.”

  I have no idea what to say except, “And you, no doubt.”

  “Oh, for sure. But, that’s the chance you take. Logging’s very dangerous work, even as mechanized as its become.”

  “Why do you still do it?”

  “That’s the same question my mother asks,” he says quietly. “I do it because it’s what I know. Besides, I do other things now besides run a skidder or a chainsaw all day.” He gives a short, humorless laugh. “Like paperwork and playing phone tag with corporate.”

  “At least you’re safer this way.”

  “Don’t get me wrong, I still get my hands dirty. But now….I think a lot more about what it would do to my mother if …you know.”

  And now I feel kind of bad, sitting here with this man who’s lost so much, and all I can do is wonder whether he has a girlfriend.

  “You look too young to be a foreman.”

  “So I’m told. I’m thirty-five, youngest foreman at CTC. But, I’ve been in the biz since I was a teenager. I know it inside out.”

  “I have admit, I don’t know anything about it,” I say. “I took this job for the money, to be honest. I didn’t read up on it or ask too many questions.”

  “Most people have no reason to know about it.” He crosses his hands, then steeples his long, supple fingers. His hands are in constant, fascinating motion. “Some people despise loggers because they think we’re all just greedy fuckers clear-cutting without regard for the land or the environment.”

  “Maybe that’s because there’s a lot of stereotypes around it,” I offer. Feeling a bit sheepish, I say, “I…may have thought the same thing, myself.”

  “Ah, don’t worry about it,” he says, softly.

  “To be fair, that’s how logging’s portrayed, somewhat, in the culture,” I continue. “Movies, books, cartoons, right? Greedy land barons or corporations and, um, strong but not-too-smart lumber jacks.”

  “Land barons,” he laughs. “We call them landowners but the richer ones might be more like barons.” He chuckles again. “Not too many of those around anymore. A few.”

  “I know one,” I tell him.

  “Me, too,” he agrees, matter-of-factly. “But foresters themselves? They’re just working men. People use wood and wood products without understanding what needs to be done to get it. More loggers die on the job in Canada and the US than any other profession.” His face is very serious now.

  “Any other profession? What about construction workers? Or, fishermen? Remember those reality shows following commercial fishing vessels?”

  “Commercial fishing is the next most dangerous job, yes. But loggers have more than double the rate of fishing fatalities.”

  “More than double?”

  “Yep.” He picks up his phone. “Alright, I better call HQ now and see what’s up with your situation, Miss Molly Malone.”

  He makes the call on his cell phone. I listen as he explains the situation, then falls silent, waiting. After a short pause, he says, “Oh, she’s on the new list?” He listens. “No, she said Malone.” He looks questioningly at me, to which I nod. “Yeah, Molly Malone.” Another pause, then he gives me a very strange look. “No, I don’t have anything, that’s why I’m…alright. Can you send it now, please? Oh, you did? Thank you.” He hangs up and looks at me curiously.

  “What?”

  “They didn’t know about you until yesterday, but they’ve got you in the system this morning. She said she sent it over a few minutes ago.”

  “Like I said, it was a last-minute thing.”

  He taps a key on his computer and the screen comes back to life. Clicking on an icon, he opens it and scrolls down. I can see from where I am that there’s a new item in his list of messages. He double-clicks on it and reads the opened document.

  “So can I officially start work now?”

  “Just a sec,” he says. He leans back in the chair and rubs his hands over his face. Then, with a few clicks of his mouse, the printer whirs into life, prints something, and spits the paper out. He picks it up, looks at it, and then leans forward and drops it into my lap, looking at me oddly.

  “You up to something here, Molly Malone? Or should I say, Molly Becker?”

  Chapter Four

  Molly

  Scanning the list, I see it right away. The only female name out of all these men: Molly Becker.

  Becker, however, is not my name.

  “Jack, my name is Malone. Not Becker. This is an error.”

  Blinking at me, he says, “Well that’d be an unusual mistake to make, Molly.” He takes a deep breath and lets it out again. “Just tell me the truth. Are you related to Claude Becker?”

  “Ugh. No.”

  I’d planned to keep this to myself, but so much for that now, I guess.

  He tilts his head and narrows his eyes.

  “Okay…well, yes, but only by marriage. The truth is, he’s my step-father. However, my name is Malone, not Becker.” Now it’s my turn to scrub my hands over my face. “Look, I don’t want special treatment or problems. I just want the money for this gig and then, I’m outta here.”

  He tilts his head, scrutinizing me.

  “Please don’t look at me like that. I didn’t ask for my mom to marry him.”

  “I can’t help but wonder why they think you’re a Becker at HQ. Did he adopt you?”

  “No. I was seventeen when they got married. Three years ago. My mother wanted him to adopt both of us—me and my little brother—but I refused.”

  “Alright. This is really strange, but, what do I know.” He shrugs. “I just work here.”

  “Claude got me this job, it’s true. But that’s where the special treatment ends. And I don’t want anyone to know about my relationship to him.”

  “That’s smart of you. Claude and the owner of Cooper Timber Company are buddies. Rich men’s kids, rich men’s cronies, you know? People don’t tend to like that kind of thing.”

  “I know. I wouldn’t even have let him do me this much of a favor, but I really need the money. I…we don’t see eye to eye, okay? He got me this j
ob to please my mom and get me out of his hair. You won’t tell anyone, will you? ”

  “Your relationship to Claude will definitely be our secret.” He runs his hand over his hair. “But something doesn’t add up here Molly. Why wouldn’t he just give you the money? The twenty-five grand you’ll make for the season is nothing to him.”

  Sighing, I say, “It’s complicated. There’d always be strings, or I’d have to pay it back, or…or my mother might feel more obligated to him than she already does.”

  He nods. “He who controls the gold, makes the rules.” He looks at the employee roster again. “Hey, this is good. Travis is still on the roster. He didn’t get bumped in favor of you, which would have ruffled some feathers for sure.”

  “Oh, I’m glad to hear that. I wouldn’t feel right about it, either.”

  “That’s good to know.” Smile. “So, from what you’ve said, I take it that you’re twenty now?”

  “Yes. Just turned.”

  He shakes his head. “You should be in college. Daughters of rich men usually go to college and party all summer, not work like a dog in a lumber camp.”

  “Don’t you think I’d rather be doing that? But I need the money. The pay’s so good here, way better than anything else I could get right now.”

  “I’m curious. Did you graduate high school?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mind if I ask, what you’ve been doing since then?”

  “Working. I’m a waitress. I’ve been saving every penny I can but the hours I’m getting are sporadic. It’s not enough.”

  “Hmm. Well, these seasonal jobs pay well, but we work hard for it. It’s not for everyone.” He starts to say something, then stops, purses his lips, thinking. Then: “Okay, I gotta ask. Why isn’t he paying to put you through school?”

  “Because I won’t do what he says. I’d have to take what he wants me to take. And then, work for him. Strings! Always with the strings. No thanks! I don’t want to be a geologist or work for him.”

  “Geology? That seems oddly specific.”

  “I know, right?”

  He smiles. “What do you want to do?”

  “Early Childhood Education or anything to do with kids. I want to be a wife and mother someday, but, Claude doesn’t care what I want.”

  I don’t want to drag anyone into my drama, but the truth is, I’m scared.

  I feel alone with my problems. Especially since everyone thinks I shouldn’t have any problems because of Claude’s money.

  Yet, here’s Jack listening to me, asking questions, his strong legs stretched out in front of him, regarding me kindly.

  Picking at a piece of fluff on the couch, I decide to go for it. “He’s a nasty person. Talks to me and my brother like we’re shit. Never in front of my mom, of course. Two-faced. And what he pays for, he controls. Just like you said. That’s what money is for, to him. Control. Power. Ego. He’d always be interfering. I can’t stand that, or him, anymore. That’s the truth.”

  “Have you told your mother he’s nasty to you and your brother?”

  “We tried, at first. She thought it was an adjustment thing. We…me and my brother resisted moving. Made it harder for her, I think. It tore her up so we just…you know. Tried to deal. Look, I know you have no reason to believe me. But…why would I say it if it wasn’t true? Claude Becker is a selfish prick.”

  Jack’s quiet for a moment. “I believe you. No one I know likes Claude Becker.”

  “Thank you!” I let out a sigh of relief. “Well… except my mother. She loves him. And he does love her. A lot. He takes care of her. But his way of taking care of her involves controlling her, too. Every little thing has to be his way.”

  “Hmm. Sounds like he’s got a major case of insecurity.”

  I hadn’t thought of it like that. Claude always seems so powerful to me.

  “All I know is, when they met, it was a relief for her not to be alone anymore. She raised us by herself, pretty much. On her nursing salary. Twelve-hour shifts, sometimes.”

  “Oh? I know how that is. My mother was a nurse, too. A home-care nurse. She put in long hours, as well.”

  “Then you can understand why she was happy to stop working so hard. Claude’s…problems…his control issues are getting to her, too, and I don’t think she’ll put up with it forever, but…” I trail off, shrugging.

  “Mind if I ask, what happened to your dad?”

  “He left not long after my brother was born. Mikey’s almost eighteen now. So, she was a single mother for a long time.”

  “Sorry to hear that.” We’re silent for a moment. Then, “It’s not my business, but, I wonder, what will you do with your money, Molly Mallone?”

  “Get back to Toronto. Make a home for me and my brother, for when he turns eighteen and comes home from school.”

  Frowning slightly, he nods. “Fair enough. Okay, so we do have to fix this paperwork so you can officially be here, get put on payroll and arrange get your pay auto-deposited as well. I’d better call HQ back.”

  “I’m sorry about all this confusion.”

  “No worries, shit happens.” He gives me a smile. “By the way, didn’t they ask for I.D. at the interview?”

  “I didn’t have an interview. Claude talked to someone I guess, then he told my mother, to tell me, to report for work. But, here…” I retrieve my wallet from my purse and pull my driver’s license out. “There, see? Malone. Maybe you can take a photo of it and send it to HQ as proof, if they need it.”

  He takes my license and looks at it, then back at me, a grin curling his lips. “Yeesh. And I thought my driver’s license photo was bad.”

  “I…what?” I sputter, but his playful smile and the way he’s looking at me tell me what he’s doing.

  And it makes me laugh and flush with pleasure at the same time. It’s an old game. Boys only tease girls that they like. If I get huffy about it, that’ll tell him something about me.

  He’s testing me.

  And I guess I pass, because he drops me a wink, eyes gleaming, and looks at me warmly. “Yeah, I’m kidding, of course.” He smiles again and his eyes…oh the way those eyes are looking at me! “I’m just trying to lighten the mood. Is this address correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Alright, I’ll call them now.”

  “Thank you.”

  “No problem-o.”

  He makes the call and once again, explains the situation. After a bunch of back-and-forth, he ends the call with a sigh.

  “You were right, it was just a mistake. The email they got came from the top. Goldstein, the owner of CTC. He gave them the wrong name. Becker and Goldstein are buddies but I doubt they discuss details of their relationships on the golf course.” He gives a soft snort.

  “Okay, well, good. See? Everything all resolved now?”

  “No, because you didn’t go through the hiring process.” With his phone, he takes a photo of my drivers license and hands it back to me. “There are forms to fill out, for payroll and Worker’s comp and company insurance, all that shit. You’ll have to be put on group employee insurance before you can start work. They’re so freaked out about liability they don’t even want you to wait on site.”

  “Where am I supposed to go?”

  He flaps his hand as if to say, screw ‘em.“Nowhere. You can stay here, they don’t need to know every little thing.”

  In the distance, the sound of a large approaching vehicle becomes audible. Jack pauses to listen. “That’ll be Norm with the skidder,” he says. “I should run down there and check in with that once they get it into the yard. You hungry?”

  “Yes.”

  “Me too. Alright, so, HQ’s gonna email me all the forms. You can fill them out online, sign them electronically, and they’ll accept a photo of your license as proof of your identity. Cool? We can go eat once we get the paperwork submitted.”

  “Thank you, Jack. I really appreciate everything you’re doing for me.” I give him a big smile and get rewarded with
one of his, in return.

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later, we’re still waiting for the email from HQ.

  The noise of the big machine has drawn steadily closer. It’s down in the main camp below, from the sounds of it. Jack listens as the motor revs, then winds down, revs, then winds down. “Norm’s testing it,” he tells me.

  We’re just chatting about work and life and getting to know each other. I find I’m really enjoying spending time with Jack.

  He tells me about the fishing photo from his childhood, talks about his Dad, and a bit about the history of logging in Canada. I notice he stays away from the subject of his brother and I’m not about to ask.

  The way he talks, and holds himself, and interjects humor into his conversation. It’s just…sexy. Very appealing.

  Very hot.

  He’s patient with my many questions and interested in my opinions.

  I’m more and more impressed and attracted to him.

  He checks his watch. “What is taking them so long? How hard is it to email some forms?”

  “This is a pain in the ass for you,” I observe.

  “Nah. The site isn’t running full-out yet, so I still have time to spare. I’m just getting hungry,” he laughs. Pause, regarding me with that slight tilt to his head. “And I’m glad to have time to spare for you, Molly.”

  “Thank you Jack. I’m glad too.” Our eyes meet, and there’s that strange feeling again. It’s so intense, it’s almost uncomfortable.

  To distract myself, I pick up my thermos mug and knock back the last of my coffee. It’s cold now, but amazingly enough, still pretty good.

  I hold up the empty mug. “Is your sink hooked up to a water source?”

  “Yes, this is the cabin that has a dug well. Me and some of the boys dug it ourselves.” He shrugs his shoulders and pretends to wince. “That was last year but I swear, it still hurts.”

  “Is the water drinkable?”

  “Weeeelll…I haven’t had it officially tested,” he says, eyes twinkling, “but it’s probably okay.”

  “Probably?”

  He laughs. “Well, if you wanna give it a try…the toilet’s handy, at least.”

  “Um. I think I’ll pass, thanks.” I get up and go to the sink to rinse the mug.