Make You Mine, page 8
He mustered all the professionalism he could. “I’m going to ask you to please forgive me for that lapse in judgment. Can you? Because Walker Construction needs you, and I don’t want my moment of inappropriate behavior to keep you from accepting this position.” He sighed, then said the words he knew he must say to keep her, but oh, how he hated saying them. “It won’t happen again. I promise.”
She walked slowly to the desk, watching him warily, indecision clear on her face. After a few seconds of staring at him, she finally said, “Good. I want this position, Mr. Walker, and I know I can do a great job for your company, but I can’t be worried about . . . about you.” She blushed, the first sign that she wasn’t completely self-assured.
He had to respect the gumption it took for her to speak to her potential boss about his unsuitable conduct. Construction was mostly a man’s world; he knew it and so did she. In some companies, she’d be taking a chance that the boss saw her words as a challenge. For him, they were exactly the opposite. He’d accept her stance because Walker needed her more than he did.
“You don’t have to worry.” He nodded at the chair across from him. “Won’t you have a seat and talk to me about me what you expect from Walker Construction?”
Chapter Eight
Maddie sat in her truck, staring out at the sheets of rain, her elbow resting on the steering wheel and her chin cupped in her palm. Indiana April showers had been more like monsoons for nearly a week, and the crew at the spec houses had stopped framing. Lumber sat in piles, getting soaked and muddy because the tarps she’d laid over them so carefully a few days earlier had blown off and were flapping in the wind and rain. That meant the boxes of nails between them were also getting wet, dammit.
She’d been on the job for nearly three weeks and it had rained—poured, actually—for at least half that time. The crew up at the theater was nearly done, with only a few final touches needed. Thank heaven she’d been able to get her dad and Jane’s clubhouse under roof before the rain started, so she’d added a couple of guys to the crew already working inside up at River Run. Everyone else was in Vevay, doing tear-out on the kitchens and bathrooms in the retirement village project that Jack had crowed about nabbing at Monday’s board meeting, so all the workers had something to do. She hadn’t had to lay anyone off. Yet.
She pulled out her iPad and checked again, verifying for her own peace of mind that she’d divvied up the work to the best advantage. The two spec homes seemed beset by issues, beginning with the concrete garage floors becoming pockmarked from an unexpected gully-washer of storm that happened right after they were poured. She knew the surface was weakened by the rain and could start to flake eventually—maybe years later, maybe only months. Nevertheless, the floors were compromised.
They should’ve waited to pour the garage floors until after they’d gotten the house framed and under roof, but the decision to do all the concrete work in one go had been made by her predecessor and was the first fiasco Maddie had to deal with on the day she started as Walker Construction’s new crew supervisor. She’d discussed the mess at length at the board meeting on Monday, and they finally all agreed that they should tear out the floors and start over—an unexpected expense to an already over-budget project. Everything had to be perfect, though, if they were going to convince the Japanese investors to let Walker Custom Homes build their village. The houses would be lovely after they were finally built. Right now, though, the whole scene was a wet and muddy mess.
With a sigh, she yanked the hood of her rain jacket up over her hair and reached down to the floorboard of the seat next to her for her wellies—the polka-dot rubber boots that she’d found at Cinderella’s Closet, the vintage/new clothing store in town. They fit her size ten feet to a T and were exactly what she needed on these rainy days when she didn’t want to soak her good steel-toed leather construction boots. The wellies she could simply rinse off with the hose on the side of Mac’s garage, then leave them on her landing to dry in the sun, if the sun ever turned up again. She was beginning to wonder if she needed to start construction on an ark.
Opening the truck door, she turned sideways, slipped into the rubber boots, and tucked her jeans down into them. The ground past the stone driveway was so full of water that a mallard and his mate swam contentedly in the pond the rain had created. She gave them a salute as she walked cautiously past, hoping her boots wouldn’t get mired in the mud.
The rain beat on her back while she tried to catch the blue tarp whipping madly in the wind. So focused was she on getting the lumber covered back up that she didn’t realize she wasn’t alone until a pair of hands grabbed the other end of the tarp.
“Here, hang on now,” a voice called over the sound of the rain and wind, and when she looked up, there was Jack, clad in office casual khakis and a salmon-colored button-down with only a lightweight windbreaker protecting him from the chilly rain. His shoes, which at some point were probably very expensive Italian loafers, were covered in mud that had splashed all over his pants’ legs.
Maddie didn’t say anything, merely allowing him to help her re-cover the piles of lumber, retying the tarp at each end, while he lay across the center to hold it in place. Job done, she pointed to the small construction trailer at the end of the gravel drive. He nodded and headed that way while she detoured past her truck to grab her keys, her thermos of coffee, and her iPad. The door to the trailer wasn’t locked, as it turned out—something that Maddie made a mental note to discuss with the workers at the next crew meeting. Jack had already let himself in, having toed off his filthy shoes and left them on the makeshift plywood pad below the step into the trailer.
He was wiping his face and hair with paper towels when she shut the door behind her, stopping to pull off her wellies and set them in the boot tray she’d added to the sparse furnishings in the squat trailer. “Nice boots.” His disarmingly handsome boyish grin and his blond hair, all messy and damp, sent a shiver through her that had nothing to do with the weather. “Are polka dots the latest in trendy construction-site wear?”
She tugged off her jacket, opened the door a crack, and shook it out as best she could, despite common sense telling her that shaking rain off a jacket in the rain was an exercise in futility. It was something to do while her equilibrium was restored. No need for Jack Walker to see how he affected her. Didn’t matter, anyway. They were employer and employee and would never be anything more. “They are for me.” She reached for the thermos she’d set on the desk by the door and poured some of the hot brew into the cap. It would be churlish not to share, so she held up the thermal jug. “There should be cups in that cupboard by your head if you’d like some coffee.”
“I’d appreciate some, thanks.” He found an insulated paper cup and helped himself while she busied her hands and mind behind the battered desk, firing up her iPad to check schedules again.
“The electrical is supposed to be started on Wednesday of next week.” She held up the iPad. “But if there are no walls framed up, that’s not going to happen.”
“Is Walt McDade doing the electrical?”
“Yes.” She tapped the screen and brought up McDade Electric’s email address. “I think I’d better give him a heads-up and try to get him rescheduled. What do you think?”
With a quick glance at his dirty legs, he sat carefully on the edge of a chair across the desk from her—the exact opposite of their positions on the day she accepted his offer. What was it about the seat behind a desk that made one feel in control? Was it a power seat or was it the barrier of the desk? The question flitted through her mind, not stopping to take hold as she switched to the weather program to see when the rain was due to let up.
Jack sipped his coffee before replying. “Your call. You’re the super.” It was a remarkably deferential response from him, and she couldn’t help glancing up to see if he was serious. His expression said he was.
“Okay.” She scanned the forecast. “Looks like the rain will be done by Saturday morning, but I don’t have overtime in my budget. Since we got as far as subfloor on house one, on Monday, I’ll put a crew on framing that place and set another crew to getting the sill plates and floor joists and subfloor on house two. If Walt can fit us into his schedule in ten days or two weeks, we should be okay. Then he can wire up house one, and by the time he’s done, house two will be framed and ready for him. The plumbers can go in right behind him.”
“Who do you have lined up?” Jack started to set one ankle on his knee, but stopped himself and put his feet back on the linoleum floor. “Dammit. I’m going to get mud all over me.”
Maddie checked her iPad. “Well, drains and stubs are in the basement already, as you saw, and the septic is in. The well people should be here sometime next week. But Susan and Tom Taylor are doing all the interior piping and HVAC. Anna recommended them.”
“Great. The Taylors are the best.” He leaned forward and set his cup on the edge of the desk. “These two specs have septics and wells, but if we end up getting the contract to build the houses up on the old farm, we’ll have to talk to them about doing a water treatment plant on site.”
“I understood the land they’ve bought has access to the city sewer and water.” Maddie swiped the screen, looking for the information on the Japanese company’s land purchases.
“The parcel east of town where they want their executive homes built does, but the one farther north for the workers’ housing only has access to city water, not the city sewer.”
“Oh, I see. Sorry.” Maddie sighed.
“No need to apologize. You’re still in the learning curve, Madeline.” His voice was quiet, caressing her name almost reverently.
Bewildered by his tone, she glanced up and caught him regarding her with a look so full of hunger that it took her breath away. Quickly, she refocused on her iPad. It was genuinely the face of man bedazzled. The same look of longing she’d seen right before he’d kissed her on the steps in the rain. What the actual hell? When she raised her eyes again, his expression was neutral as he reached for his coffee and took another sip. She gave herself a mental shake. Cool your imagination, Mads, and for God’s sake, stop remembering that damn kiss.
She cleared her throat. “Um, will the rain postpone the Redbud Festival? I didn’t see any canopies down on the River Walk when I drove up here this morning.”
Jack chuckled, a low, sexy sound deep in his throat. “Nothing stops the Redbud Festival. This town is festival nuts. I promise you, the canopies will start going up this afternoon, rain or shine.” He gave her a little wink. Or did he? Was that really a wink, or was he merely blinking something out of his eye? “I think the rain will stop by three.”
He’d no more than gotten the words out than the sound of the rain diminished on the metal roof of the trailer, and seconds later, a ray of sunshine came through the window opposite them and turned his blond hair all shades of gold.
Maddie nodded her head toward the sunshine. “That’s quite a gift you have there, Mr. Weatherman. You speak and . . . voila! The rain stops and the sun comes out.”
He tossed her a cocky smile. “That’s just one of my many vast and varied talents.”
Is he flirting with me? He is! He’s flirting.
But the next second, a dull-red blush rose from his collar into his cheeks, and he pushed his chair back and stood. “I gotta go.” As he reached for the cup he’d set back on her desk, he bumped it, and the dregs of his coffee slithered out across the desktop. She grabbed her iPad and a pile of papers and blueprints, catching them up before the stream got too far under the ancient desk blotter.
“Dammit,” he muttered and strode to the sink for a handful of paper towels. “Sorry. Lame move.” He blotted the liquid up, clearly way more embarrassed than necessary.
“No worry.” She lifted the blotter up, folded it in half, and dropped it in the trash basket next to the desk. “That’s a goner.” She took the crumpled towels from him, and their fingers touched. His hand was shaking and his fingers lingered before he released the soggy mess and allowed her to finish wiping up what had seeped under the blotter.
To ease the tension that had suddenly enveloped the tiny space, she asked, “Are you going to the festival?”
He stared at her, appearing bewildered by the question, but then blinked. “I’m pouring wine at Conor and Sean Flaherty’s booth tomorrow night.”
“Ah.” She didn’t know what else to say and the atmosphere had become so strained, she just wanted him to go.
“Are you planning on going?”
“Yeah. Cam asked me to go tomorrow night.”
“You’re going with Cam?”
She nodded.
His blue eyes darkened and a frown furrowed his brow. “What about—?” He stopped and strode to the door. “Have fun.” His sneering tone belied the words. He was pissed. Why?
She crossed her arms over her breasts. “Do you have a problem with me going with Cam?”
By that time, he had the door open and was down on the plywood trying to get his wet socks into his mud-covered shoes. “Nope,” he replied shortly.
“If you do, say so.” She sure as hell wasn’t going to let this pass.
He gave her a frustrated glance as he struggled with his shoes. “You do whatever you want. Just wondering what happened to your no-dating-within-the-company policy.”
What the hell was he talking about? “When did I ever say that?”
His brows knit and his expression grew even more exasperated. “Forget it.”
She strode to the door and glared down at him. “No. What did you mean by that?”
He released an angry breath before finally getting into his shoes. “You told me in no uncertain terms the day you signed on. No fraternizing.”
Oh, hell’s bells. He was totally misremembering that day—his own apology for stepping out of line by kissing her for no apparent reason and her caveat that they keep their relationship strictly professional. Theirs, not hers with anyone else who worked for Walker Construction. She certainly didn’t owe him any explanations about accepting Cam’s invitation to the festival or the fact that it included Annabelle and Joe and his latest girlfriend. They were meeting at the town hall and going as a group to the festival, but Jack had relinquished any right to that information with his snippy attitude.
With a quirked brow, she simply said, “Cam’s not my boss, is he?”
If looks could kill, she’d be laid out on the floor of the trailer. He didn’t reply, simply marched away. It gave her no small satisfaction that halfway to his truck, his foot got stuck and he had to stop, stand on one leg like a heron, and yank his shoe out of the mud. She didn’t laugh out loud as he hopped the rest of the way to the gravel drive. After all, circumspection required some deference to the fact that he was the man who signed her paycheck, but she had to bite the inside of her lip to keep from cracking up.
She glanced up at the clearing skies. Forget Jack Walker. She needed to contact Walt McDade and reschedule the electric, then get a crew out there to start framing house one. The unexpected change in the weather bought her an extra day and a half to get things moving.
*
“You asked Madeline Ross to the festival?” Jack couldn’t keep the resentment out of his voice as he shoved open the door to the garage behind Cam’s home on Second Street, a few blocks from his own condo at the Box Factory. His cousin had taken over his parents’ brick house when they’d moved to Arizona last year and had immediately turned the large two-car detached garage into a woodworking shop.
“Dude, what happened to you?” Cam held up one palm as Jack started through the door. “No, don’t come another step. You’ll get my floor all muddy.”
Jack stopped at the threshold, which was probably a good thing because he was struggling with the impulse to take Cam by the shirtfront and shake him ’til his teeth jingled. A totally unreasonable urge given that he had no claim on Madeline Ross’s time and attention. Instead, he took a breath. “She told me you’re taking her to the festival tomorrow night. Why?”
Cam stopped sanding and turned from the cupboard he’d been working on—it was cherry, and the sweet, rich scent of the wood assaulted Jack’s nostrils. “Because she’s new in town?” Cam’s voice rose, turning the explanation into a question.
“Oh.” Jack didn’t know what else to say without sounding like a complete idiot. He wasn’t even sure anymore why he drove like a bat out of hell to Cam’s place to confront him. He’d simply jumped in his truck and started driving, irrational anger making him push the accelerator practically to the floor.
“What’s your deal?” Cam wandered closer, examining Jack’s appearance with a quirked brow. “Fall into a mud puddle?”
“Nothing. Just . . . nothing.” Jack leaned against the doorjamb, suddenly feeling exhausted and foolish and grubby. “I was out at the spec homes site. It’s a muddy mess.”
“The sun’s out. Weather app says it’s going to shine for a few days, so things will dry out.” Cam stepped past him to the sidewalk that led to his oversized Cape Cod cottage. “Has Maddie got anyone working out there right now?”
“Maddie?” Jack turned to face his cousin. “You call her Maddie?”
“We all call her Maddie. You’re the only one who doesn’t.” Cam assumed a prissy expression that Jack was sure had never once crossed his own face. “You’re all Ms. Ross and Madeline. What’s that about?”
“She’s probably going to get a crew out there this afternoon since the weather cleared,” Jack responded to the first question. He pointedly ignored the second. He didn’t even know anymore why he was here at Cam’s, except that he was furious, imagining him with Maddie at the festival. All the way down the hill into town, he had images of her dancing cheek to cheek with Cam on the makeshift dance floor that was the hub of any event on the River Walk. His tall, brawny cousin’s hands on her waist, Maddie’s arms around his neck, her auburn hair blowing up against Cam’s face . . . He couldn’t stand it.
