An early draft chapter from my novel-in-progress…start from the beginning Chapter 1 is here
A crisp Monday morning in the yard. Rare sunlight lit the dense smoke from the burners; the usual clatter, the usual faces.
Gabriel dropped his bag on the ground, yawned and stretched. He dug around the back of a large metal plate and fetched his tools out of their hiding place, and waited for the team to gather.
Nearly half an hour passed.
No Harry.
Today had felt different, right from the moment he’d opened his eyes, but he determined long ago not to pay attention to feelings that didn’t sit right.
C’mon Harry, man, where are ye?
He glanced over at the heater girl. She shrugged.
Gabriel sat himself down in a spot of sunlight on the ground, eyes closed, face up to the sky.
Nice bit o’ sunshine, though. Maybe get a wee bit o’ a tan, th’day.
“MacLeod!” a voice rose over the din.
Gabriel opened his eyes to see the foreman clambering over the beams towards him—with a young lady in tow.
She couldn’t have been more than a year younger than Gabriel, and her good looks made her stand out immediately.
The foreman shouted ahead, “Okay MacLeod, listen. This here is Isobel. Isobel…” checking his clipboard, “…Sinclair. She’ll be yer new catcher.”
Although it was common to see women working the offices and sometimes working the burners, more and more they were working men’s jobs elsewhere in the yard.
Gabriel was transfixed.
So taken aback, in fact, that he completely forgot about Harry’s whereabouts.
Christ, she’s gorgeous. Would ye look at those green eyes.
The foreman poked Gabriel in the chest, “Did ye hear me, man?”
“What?
“Aye, sorry. Aye,” Gabriel’s heart restarted.
“Show her the ropes,” the foreman shouted, with a long stare at Gabriel. He slowly shook his head, turned, and started back along the walkway.
Fuckin’ gorgeous, so she is.
Gabriel pulled his best smile, and then immediately turned bright red.
Isobel looked down at the heavy leather gloves she’d been given, and slipped her slender hands into them. As she did, a long curl of blond hair slipped free of her headscarf, falling across her cheek. Gabriel instinctively reached up—then caught himself, fighting back the urge to brush it away from her face.
Isobel? Where’d I hear that na—Christ, is this the new lassie Waz wis yappin’ aboot?
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