by Leigh Riker
Ozzy bid a quick farewell to Brooke and the diner’s patrons and headed out to his new SUV, which, after more than ten years driving around a clunker, he was still getting used to.
The construction site, located on a plot of land just north of the nearby organic farm and eucalyptus grove, had been closed in late March due to an unfortunate accident that sent four of the crew, including the foreman, to the hospital with minor to severe injuries. The ensuing investigation had kept the project shutdown for over a month and revealed the initial materials purchased for the project had been substandard. With lawsuits pending and accusations flying, speculation was running as rampant as water through newly installed pipes. Whether there was enough money in the town’s treasury to absorb the cost of delays was a big topic of debate, a debate Mayor Gil Hamilton seemed determined to avoid having. The person ultimately responsible? Chances were the voters would make that decision come November.
Personally, Ozzy didn’t think they could afford not to complete the project. So much of Butterfly Harbor’s future depended on this new tourist destination, from various businesses to real estate prices. Their small coastal town had finally emerged from its long economic slump and was thriving again. New shops and services were popping up, and a lot of those places had planned their grand openings for the weeks surrounding the sanctuary and education center’s completion. Whatever debt the town needed to take on to get the project finished should be accepted so they could move forward, as far as Ozzy was concerned.
He took the long way around to the site and pulled into the gravel parking area on the other side of what looked like crime-scene tape stretched between and around thick-trunked trees. He heard the rumble of the serious truck heading up the hill as he climbed out of his car. Headlights flashed into view and he held up a hand to signal the driver.
He couldn’t stop grinning. That home on wheels was something to behold—practical with an elegant, streamlined luxury-cabin design. He could imagine how it would look nestled among the eucalyptus trees that outlined most of the area. A supervisor who brought his own house with him was someone who meant business.
The truck’s engine suddenly went silent. Ozzy walked over to greet the driver. “That is a thing of beauty,” he said as the door opened and the driver dropped to the ground in front of him.
Every thought he had disappeared straight out of his head.
Tall, curvy and with sun-streaked blond hair knotted into a messy pile on top of her head, Butterfly Harbor’s latest arrival faced Ozzy with a wide, welcoming smile on her round face. Beneath the barely-there sunlight of the May morning, her skin seemed to glisten in the chilly air. She had light brown eyes, almost amber with flecks of gold that sparkled when she smiled. She wore snug jeans that accentuated everything a man like him enjoyed, sneakers that looked as if they’d been worn into the ground and a snug short-sleeved turquoise T-shirt that displayed a surprisingly round stomach.
The new foreman was a woman?
A pregnant forewoman?
“Didn’t realize there’d be a welcoming committee.” The woman closed the truck door and stepped up to him. “I know I wasn’t expected until next week, but I wanted to get a jump on settling in. I’m Jo Bertoletti. You are not Mayor Hamilton.” She gestured to Ozzy’s T-shirt with the BHFD logo on the front peeking out of his jacket.
“Ah, no, ma’am.” Ozzy shook her offered hand. Her skin felt rough and calloused, proving she was someone who was used to getting her hands dirty. Beneath that observation, a dull buzz shifted through his system. “I’m Ozzy Lakeman. I was in the diner when you drove down Monarch Lane. Just thought I’d come up and be the first to see what was happening here.” His own smile widened as something oddly definitive dinged. “I guess that makes me the welcoming committee.”
“I appreciate that, Ozzy Lakeman of the BHFD.” She beamed at him before her expression shifted into a knowing one. “Judging by the look on your face, I’m betting you weren’t expecting someone...like me.”
“I...uh.” There had to be a way to answer that without sounding like a complete sexist or jerk. “Like you?”
Jo snickered. “Don’t worry, Ozzy. Not the first time I’ve seen that reaction when I arrive on a site. And it’s not because of the little bun I’m baking in here. Bun in the oven. That’s such a weird phrase. Although come to think about it, I have spent my fair share of time waiting for my sourdough starter to develop.”
Ozzy could only nod. His ears were buzzing and his heart did an odd little skip and jolted in a manner he’d never felt anytime he’d swiped right.
“You still in there, Ozzy?” She waved a hand in front of his face. “If you’re trying to cling to political correctness, don’t bother with me. I’ve been living and working on construction sites since before I could walk and long before I got this little one. I’ve heard it all and a lot worse that would make that cute face of yours blush six shades of red.”
“Okay.” At some point he was going to not sound like an idiot, right?
Jo stepped around him and moved toward the yellow tape. “They sent me pictures of the site. Man, when the frame collapsed, it did some damage, didn’t it?” She pointed toward the expansive grove of trees where scarred trunks and barren ground were the only remnants of the originally assembled structure. “We’ve got, what, nearly two months of construction to try to make up in a few weeks to get back on schedule?”
“The mayor is still counting on us opening in late October, early November. In time for monarch season and the butterfly festival.” More like in time for the election, but Ozzy held his tongue on that point.
Jo sighed. “It’s not the best situation I’ve dealt with, but it’s not the worst, either. With the right crew, we’ll get it done.” Hands planted on her hips, she walked the perimeter. “You expecting more problems with the site?”
“No, ma’am.”
“I’m no one’s ma’am. The name’s Jo or boss. Since you aren’t crew, make it Jo.”
“Nice to meet you, Jo.” Something flickered in her eyes, something he couldn’t quite identify, but he hadn’t imagined it. “I was coming off shift when I saw you, or rather, your truck, rumbling through town.”
“From the diner, right.” She nodded. “Okay, firefighter from the diner, I’m glad you’re here. You want to help a pregnant lady hook up a house?” When she faced him, her smile told him she was teasing him. “I’m kidding.” She ripped down the yellow tape and crushed it into a tiny ball. “I’ve been hooking up this trailer for the last three years. I see the sewer line’s right over there, near the construction office. And I can plug it into that generator next to it for backup power.”
“So...you don’t need help?”
“Never have, never will.” She patted his arm and then headed back to her truck. “Stand back, Ozzy. This mama-to-be is making her nest.”
Copyright © 2021 by Anna J. Stewart
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ISBN-13: 9780369714282
A Cowboy’s Homecoming
Copyright © 2021 by Leigh Riker
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical ar
ticles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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