“What do you have to do?”
“C-clear the r-r-road. Then p-plow someone’s d-driveway and h-haul off a t-t-tree that’s c-come down.”
“So it’s a job,” Quentin said.
Mac hesitated. “N-n-not quite.”
“That’s part of what you want to tell me?” Quentin understood.
Mac nodded.
“Okay, I’ll come with you, then.”
Mac’s eyes widened in surprise. Then a smile broke out on his face. “Th-thank you. I’d l-love that.”
“Okay, so I’ll dress warm. Anything else I need to know?”
“B-b-bring your gun.”
Bring his gun? What the ever-loving fuck was going on? Mac looked at him as if he expected Quentin to either freak out or pack his bags and leave. He’d reached his quota of overreactions for today, so he decided to bite back his response. “Okay.”
Mac’s relief showed him his answer meant a lot to him.
“Do we bring Lucy?” Quentin asked.
Mac shook his head. “N-n-never. She g-guards the house.”
The man had multiple guns, a dog that needed to guard his house, and a property that was completely fenced off with some serious quality fences and locks. What the hell was Mac involved in? It started to look really bad, and yet Quentin couldn’t shake the feeling that Mac wasn’t the bad guy here. Despite how he’d seen people react to him and talk about him, his gut said Mac was on the right side of the law here. Still, he was curious as fuck about what was going on.
They both bundled up, and Mac packed some things from the kitchen into a backpack. They made their way to the garage, where Mac’s truck was parked. Mac opened it and started the engine. “S-s-sit inside t-to stay w-warm. I g-g-gotta grab some e-equipment.”
Quentin nodded and got into the car. Mac came back, hauling a chain saw and a large toolbox that he put in the back. He walked back out again, then returned with some chains and big bungee cords he threw into the back of the truck as well.
Mac only needed to clear the first bit of driveway manually so he could back out and turn, and then he was able to use the yellow snowplow attached to the front of his truck. With an ease that showed years of practice, Mac cleared the driveway to his house, then the road that connected the street his property was on to the main route.
“Are there any other houses on this road?”
“N-no. The r-road circles around f-from route 189. There’s a p-p-property n-next to m-mine, but it’s b-been abandoned for years.”
“Is that why you have to remove the snow yourself?”
Mac shrugged. “They’d p-probably d-do it eventually, b-b-but I can’t wait for that. I always d-d-do it myself.”
The sky was bright blue, making it painfully clear how much snow had fallen—literally, since Quentin’s head hurt from the reflection of the snow. That had to be why Mac was wearing dark sunglasses that shielded his eyes.
“There’s an extra p-pair of sung-g-glasses in the g-glove compartment.”
Thank fuck for that. Quentin put them on and let out a sigh of relief. Much better.
The snow was both beautiful and intimidating as fuck. If he was staying in this area, he’d really need to learn how to handle storms like this because apparently, they were par for the course.
The main road had already been cleared—sort of. A thin layer of snow that looked slippery as hell still covered it, but Mac’s big truck had no issue with it. Quentin thought of his sweet, old Corolla and shuddered at the thought of having to drive that on a road like this. Even with his new tires, he’d have slipped off the icy road in no time. This was four-wheel-drive country, obviously.
“We’re h-here,” Mac said. He turned into the driveway of a red farmhouse, several buildings visible from the road. Mac set the snowplow down and started clearing the driveway. It took him a few times going back and forth to remove all the snow, which formed two impressive walls along the driveway now.
When they drove closer to the house, Quentin spotted the tree that had come down. He had no idea what type of tree it was—or had been, more accurately—but it was huge, and it now lay sprawled on the ground, half of it on the roof of a side building painted in that same charming red.
“What was in that shed?” he asked Mac.
Mac sighed. “G-g-garage. His t-truck is in there and p-p-probably his t-t-tractor and some other e-e-equipment.”
“That’s why you had to clear the driveway,” Quentin said, “because he’s basically snowed in.”
Mac parked the truck close to the half-collapsed structure. “Q-q-quentin, b-be careful. W—w-willis, he’s n-not a nice m-m-man. He’s b-bitter. Don’t l-let him g-g-get to you.”
Before Quentin could say anything, a dog started barking, and the front door of the house opened. The man walking outside was in his sixties, Quentin estimated, wearing rugged jeans and boots and a similar winter jacket, beanie, and gloves as Mac was sporting. Maybe everyone bought them at the same store?
The look the man sent Mac was anything but friendly. It was the same thinly veiled disgust Quentin had seen on that receptionist’s face. Then the man faced Quentin, and surprise registered all over his face. “Who the hell are you?”
Quentin bit back his initial biting response and stuck out his hand. He’d try it with honey first. See if that would appease the man. He could always add a dose of vinegar and nastiness later. “I’m Quentin, and it’s so nice to meet you. I’m a friend of Mac’s.”
As he had counted on, the man had taken his hand out of reflex, but as soon as Quentin has declared himself a friend of Mac’s, he dropped it like a hot coal with a distinctly impolite grunt. Okay, then. Mac had not been lying about the bitter part, but he omitted the rude-as-fuck aspect.
“You need to remove that tree,” Willis snapped at Mac.
“How m-m-much?”
Quentin didn’t understand the question, but Willis did because his eyes narrowed. “Fifty.”
Mac huffed. “T-t-two h-hundred.”
“That’s way too much for a job like this. You’re as greedy as your old man.”
“T-t-two h-h-hundred. And if it t-t-takes me m-m-more than t-t-two h-hours, it’s g-gonna be m-more.”
“It’s a fucking rip-off, and you know it, but it’s not like I can do anything, since my truck is in there. Get the fuck to it, then.”
With those charming exit words, Willis stalked back into the house, slamming the front door shut. One look at Mac’s face dispelled Quentin of the notion of asking for clarification. That would come later, he assumed. For now, they had a job to do.
It took them three hours to take down the tree, Quentin following Mac’s instructions to the letter. The man knew what he was doing, and he himself ranked below amateur on shit like this. So he did as he was told, holding branches up so Mac could cut them off, hauling smaller parts off to the side, and handing Mac whatever he was asking for. He also took pictures with Mac’s phone every few minutes at Mac’s request, though he had no idea why Mac had asked for those.
Mac was careful, making sure every part he sawed off was tied down to something and wouldn’t come down on the garage—or on them. They both wore hard hats over their beanies, plus protective glasses. Quentin was sweating his ass off, and his muscles were already aching after the first half hour, but he dug deep and kept going.