Jumping from the truck's cab was like jumping into an open barbecue pit. Heat blasted her face, sucked the air from her lungs. She blinked against the irritating haze, scrunched her nose at the acrid scent—both strong enough to sting her throat from miles away.
Gale force gusts whipped her hair, plastered her white cotton top to her torso. She dug an elastic tie from her bag and wound her hair into a knot, shoved her sunglasses tight against her head, and pocketed her keys. And that was when she saw him.
A laptop on the hood of a fancy pickup, a clipboard in his hand, a pair of dark green fatigues hugging an ass she dropped her tinted shades to see better. The black T-shirt stretched to accommodate his shoulders and his biceps drew another long appreciative and admittedly lustful look, as did his strong jaw and cheekbones, the buzz cut of his dark blond hair.
He lifted his head in answer to another volunteer's call, shouting and pointing toward the break of trees along the dry
creek bed behind the barn. He knew what he was doing. the crew of volunteers following his orders without question.
His gadgetry put him as the man in charge, as did the respect given him by the others. But his eyes and a good part of his brow were hidden by a pair of wraparound Oakleys reflecting the high floating clouds, and leaving her with a single question.
Who was he?