Page 1 of Hard as Stone
1
POPPY
When I was a kid, I used to sit cross-legged in front of the TV watching shows set in small towns and wishing,praying, that one day I could get away from the stench of the city and live out my small-town dreams. Fresh mountain air. Wildflowers dotting the landscape. Friendly neighbors who actually knew your name and cared about your day. A quaint main street with a diner that served the best pie this side of heaven.
Now here I am, twenty-two years and seventeen days old, living out my small-town dream in all its glory.
Except, instead of frolicking through fields of daisies and gulping in deep breaths of clean air, I’m standing ankle deep in mud—at least I’m hoping it’s mud—and I’m doing my best not to gag over the stench of raw sewage. I’m pretty sure I’ve died and gone to hell. Late summer in Georgia wasn’t made for standing in the middle of a road wearing a fluorescent yellow vest that makes me look like a Peep on steroids. The heat is so intense, Iswear I can hear my skin sizzling. And even though we’re in the small, leafy green town of Stoneheart, there isn’t a sliver of shade in sight. This part of town is kinda run down and broken. No wonder we were called in.
“We found it!” Dad booms from somewhere behind me. “Looks like the main line split right down the middle!”
Thank god. There’s only so much sewage smell my strawberry bubblegum can mask. I’m pretty sure my nose hairs have gone on strike and are threatening to evacuate if conditions don’t improve soon.
So much for those picture-perfect small-town fantasies. The only thing dotting this landscape is potholes, and the only thing quaint is how quaintly disastrous this road repair project is. Our permits to fix up Button Road have mysteriously disappeared twice during this section of the road alone. A fix that should have taken a day to complete has dragged on for an entire week due to all the stopping and starting. Dad says it’s just bureaucracy, but back in the city we never had to deal with a bunch of random guys in suits showing up at every site and telling us to pack up and go in the middle of things because some ‘i’ didn’t get its dot in the right place on some form. The suits make my dad all jumpy, which in turn, makes my brothers jumpy. And me? Well, I’ve spent more time fighting with the old lady at town hall than I’ve spent doing my actual job.
I’m beginning to feel like all of my small-town dreams were media-created lies. I mean, when weareworking, there aren’t even any friendly neighbors coming out and offering us a pitcher of cold, sweet tea to quell the heat. Unless you count the surly groundhog that’s been eyeing me from the roadside all morning as a neighbor. But he doesn’t have any tea…
“No, you dingbat! I told you we need to replace this whole section!”
“And I toldyouwe can patch it with the epoxy mix.Numbnuts.”
Behind me, my brothers, Hugo and Felix, bicker like toddlers fighting over the last cookie. They drive me nuts on a good day. But hey, at least I’ve got my trusty stop sign to keep me out of it, and an entire pack of bubblegum to keep me company. Plus, when the breeze blows the right way, it cools my skin and carries the sewage smell in the other direction. So, I guess it isn’tallbad?
“Maybe if you’d take those noise-canceling headphones off once in a while, you’d hear what’s being said to you!” Hugo’s voice carries over the idling machinery.
I roll my eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t fall out of my head. Sometimes I wonder if they’re really in their late twenties or if they’ve secretly Benjamin Buttoned their way back to childhood.
“Boys!” Dad’s gruff voice cuts through their squabbling. “Quit your yappin’ and get back to work. This sewer line won’t fix itself, and I won’t have you two messing up this contract with your schoolyard antics. We’re patching it today and reassessing next week.”
I can’t help but smile. Dad’s right. Wereallyneed this contract. The government initiative behind it is our golden ticket. Our little family-run business has been scraping by for years, and now we’re finally getting our shot at the big leagues. Who knew fixing up a broken-down town’s pipes could be our ticket to success? I can’t wait to see my bank account actually growing for a change.
Dad catches my eye and points at the road. “Eyes front, Poppy! We can’t afford any fender benders on our watch.”
Giving him a quick salute, I snap my attention back to the empty street, suppressing a chuckle. Leave it to Dad to think a tumbleweed might suddenly turn into a speeding car. But hey, he’s the boss.
Popping a fresh piece of gum in my mouth, I watch a couple of squirrels chasing each other off to the side of the road. They dart back and forth, chattering and nipping at each other’s tails. It reminds me so much of Hugo and Felix that I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing out loud. Same energy, different species.
It’s when I’m debating which squirrel is Hugo and which is Felix that I hear it. The distant rumble of an engine that sounds angrier than my father when someone eats his labeled leftovers from the cooler.
I squint against the sun, and holy mother of motorcycles, what comes into view is enough to make me forget I’m slowly cooking in this heat.
The approaching bike is all sleek chrome and midnight black, but it’s the rider that really catches my eye. He’s built. With arms that look like they could bench press my car. And me. Probably both at the same time.
As he gets closer, I can practically feel the waves of irritation rolling off him. His scowl is so deep I’m worried he’ll sprout fangs and bite my head off for being in his way.
Time to put on my best I’m-not-the-reason-your-day-sucks smile.
Straightening my spine, I take a deep breath and hold up my stop sign. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Scary Hot pulls to a halt, his bike idling like a grizzly snoring. Even with that scowl, he has a face that’s equal parts ‘I model for Harley Davidson’and‘I eat nails for breakfast.’ I’m not sure if I’m scared or turned on. Actually, I’m both.
“Road’s closed, sugar.” I nod to my stop sign before blowing a giant gum bubble. It gets so big that it covers my view of him. All I can see is a giant pink, strawberry smelling ball in front of me. It’s totally awesome. But the moment it pops, it’s just scary-hot-biker-dude glaring at me.
You’d think I just told him Christmas was canceled.
“How long?” The rumble in his voice makes my nipples go hard.
“Oh, you know, just until we finish repairing this itty-bitty pipe that decided to throw a tantrum,” I say, gesturing vaguely at the chaos my crew is dealing with behind me. “Could be an hour, could be a week. Time is relative, right?”
He works his jaw, then rakes a tattooed, ring-laden hand down his thick beard. I can’t see much of his hair under that helmet, but from the color of his beard and the little peeks I’m getting at his neck, I’m going with ashy brown as his coloring. Everything about him screams ‘lick me’ as far as I’m concerned.
