XVIII
Jasmine stood on a tree stump and watched as a crew of contractors rode roughly into the job site. Several dirt-smeared pickup trucks led the way, followed by bulldozers that threw up splotches of mud. Almost suddenly, the air filled with tough, stifling exhaust, and grinding and roaring and humming and accelerating from all the machinery.
She choked on the thick brown clouds and the fumes stung her eyes. Wiping her eyes, she saw a red pickup truck swerve to a stop.
A man in a denim shirt and jeans jumped out. He had short, cropped red hair and blue eyes that reminded Jasmine of the sky. He was well-built, with a look of wildness on his face like the younger men in college she’d known that were never cut out for school, but for the roads and the great outdoors. He reached into the
