Page 7 of Treated to a Mountain Man
The challenge in his voice was like sugar at the hard-crack stage—one degree from burning. I repositioned, drove the drill in with more force than necessary, and set the spile perfectly. The sap began to drip neatly into the bucket with a satisfyingpingagainst the metal.
"There," I said triumphantly. "Happy now?"
"One down," he replied, gesturing to the forest around us. "About thirty more to go."
By the tenth tree, I'd found a rhythm, like tempering chocolate—applying just enough heat and cooling at exactly the right moments. By the fifteenth, the old fracture in my lower spine throbbed like a fresh wound, radiating fire down my left leg. The car accident hadn't just taken my old life; it had left me with constant reminders in the form of nerve damage and chronic pain. I straightened quickly when Sawyer glanced my way, forcing my face into neutrality and biting back a wince. He couldn't know how badly I hurt—weakness wasn't an option if I wanted to earn his respect and his syrup.
I bit the inside of my cheek and kept going, focusing on the sharpping-pingof each drop of liquid hitting the metal buckets rather than the pain.
"Thought you'd have quit by now," Sawyer commented as we moved deeper into the grove.
"Sorry to disappoint." I brushed sweaty hair from my forehead, probably smearing more tree juice across my skin.
"Didn't say I was disappointed." His eyes caught mine for a moment. "Just surprised."
"There's a lot about me that might surprise you, Blackwood."
He studied me for a beat too long, and I forced myself not to fidget under his gaze. "I'm starting to see that."
We worked in silence for a while, the repetitive motion becoming meditative despite the stabbing pain that shot through my back every time I bent to hang a bucket. The forest was peaceful, scented with earth and dying leaves, occasionally punctuated by the distant call of a bird or the rustle of a small animal through underbrush.
"So why candy?" Sawyer asked abruptly as we moved to a new section.
The question caught me off guard. "My grandmother taught me. She was from Italy, had a way with confections that seemed like magic when I was a kid." I smiled at the memory of her standing over a copper pot, wooden spoon moving constantly as sugar transformed.
"You close with her?"
"I was." The ache of her loss still lingered. "She died before... before things got complicated in my life. Sometimes I think that was a blessing."
Sawyer gave a slight nod but didn't press. Instead, he reached over and adjusted my grip on the drill. "Like this—you'll get better leverage."
His hand was warm against mine, rough and leathery in ways that spoke of years of physical labor. My skin tingled where he touched, and I quickly pulled away, pulse jumping like caramelizing sugar ready to seize.
"Thanks," I mumbled, suddenly too aware of his proximity.
We finished tapping the trees by mid-morning. My hands were blistering despite the gloves, and every movement sent shards of glass through my lower back. I caught myself holding my breath when the pain spiked, forcing myself to exhale slowly so Sawyer wouldn't notice. The sap sloshed, spilling over my boots and soaking into my jeans. By the time we'd collected the last bucket, I was glazed with the sticky substance from head to toe, exhausted, and fighting the urge to whimper with each step.
"Break time," Sawyer announced, glancing at his watch. "You've earned it."
I slumped onto a stump outside the sugar shack, my legs practically giving out. The cool mountain air felt divine against my overheated skin, and I closed my eyes for a moment, savoring the small reprieve. When I opened them, Sawyer was studying me with a curious expression.
"You okay?"
"Never better," I lied with a quick smile. "Just catching my breath."
"Your hands say otherwise." He nodded toward my palms, where blood had seeped through the gloves.
"It's nothing." I tried to curl my fingers, hiding the evidence, but he was already reaching for my wrists.
"Let me see."
"I'm fine—"
"Stubbornness won't help blisters heal." His tone brooked no argument as he peeled off my gloves.
I flinched as the fabric pulled away from raw skin. Angry red blisters had formed across my palms, some already broken and weeping. Sawyer's expression darkened as he examined the damage.
"Why didn't you say something?"
