Kendall turned around. “Isn’t that what you used to do?”
Shane shook his head tightly. “That’s not a quick day job, Sunshine.”
Kendall pulled out her phone and looked at the calendar. Eleven days until Thanksgiving. If they pushed it and traveled all day and night and Shane possibly allowed her to drive, they might be able to put in twelve hours a day and make it to New York within three days.
He covered her phone. “You’re scheming.”
She looked up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’ve got that I’m-about-to-blow-up-Shane’s-world smile on your face.”
“No, I’ve got the I’m-about-to-save-our-asses smile on my face.” She stood up.
“Kendall.”
She ignored him and walked down to the table of men. “Hi. I couldn’t help but overhear what you gentlemen were talking about.”
The man had taken off his hat, and it sat on the chair beside him. Salt-and-pepper hair fell around his ears. Freaking Sam Elliott. It was uncanny. He arched a bushy brow. “Ma’am. Just what do you think you could do to help my predicament?”
“It sounds like you need a foreman. A good one who’s used to leading men and making sure they do what they’re supposed to.”
“And I suppose you know how to do that?”
She smiled wide, and Doyle smiled back. “I’ve been known to order a man around a time or two.”
“I just bet.”
She laughed. “But no, not me. My friend Shane Justice has a lot of experience.”
Doyle’s brows lowered over steel-blue eyes. “Justice?”
Kendall nodded. “Years of experience with construction and being a foreman. We’re traveling to New York to relocate—”
His eyes sharpened. “From where?”
She tipped her head. “California.”
Shane stood and laid his hand along her lower back. “Don’t mind Kendall. She has no idea what goes into a project you guys are talking about.”
She elbowed him. “I know a project that has your name on it when I hear one.”
Doyle looked between them. “I need it done within the week, son.”
Shane stiffened next to her. “The week? How far along are you?”
“We’re in the finishing stages. The frame and masonry are done, but I need the inside finished. Carpentry, organization, and whipping the men into shape. My current foreman ran off with my maid last Tuesday.”
“Theresa?” Maude sputtered.
“Yep. I knew that girl was trouble the moment Lucinda hired her. Too pretty for her own good. Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am.”
Kendall shrugged. “Shane’s been telling me the same thing all week.”
Shane’s fingers curled around her hip. “I’m looking for quick work. We had a little trouble with my truck and blew through our traveling money. Kendall was right about the relocating.” His chin lifted. “I’m starting over in New York but haven’t gotten myself established.”
“You aren’t Larry Justice’s boy, are you?”
Kendall started. Just how far a reach did Lawrence have?
Shane’s spine stiffened. “I am.”
“What are you doing out here? Justice Construction has most of the West Coast sewn up.”
“Things have changed.”
Doyle grunted. “I’ve heard of your father’s company.”
Maude snorted inelegantly. “Doyle here owns most of this part of Utah. He’s heard of just about everyone.”
“I know Bob Welsey.”
Shane’s jaw lost its granite stiffness. “Small world.”
Kendall looked up at him, then to Doyle. “I’m pretty sure I’m missing something here, but I bet I just heard an ironclad reference in there.”
Shane glanced down at her. His fingers skimmed the slice of skin between her shirt and khakis, then rested on her hip again. “Welsey is one of those clients Kain bought.”
Doyle’s brow lifted. “Oh?”
“My father passed away. Kainoa Construction has taken over most of his clients thanks to a buyout.”
Doyle’s face cleared. “I see. I’m truly sorry to hear that, son. I’ve heard nothing but good things about Larry Justice and his workhorse of a son.”
Shane inclined his head. “I’ve got some property in New York and want a change of pace.”
She clenched her jaw. They had property in New York.
Doyle nodded. “I understand how that is. That’s how I started my ranch. Wanted out from under my daddy’s thumb in Montana. If you can give me seven days and whip those boys into shape, I’ll get you two to New York. You get it done sooner, we can talk a bonus.”
Shane tugged her ponytail. “Can you be away that long?”
“I’ll check in with Mom and Bells. As long as we get there by Thanksgiving.”
“I’ll get you there,” Shane said quietly.
Doyle stood up and held out his hand. “Finish your lunch, and I’ll show you the cow pie you just stepped in, Shane.”
Kendall shook his hand. “I had a good feeling when you walked in the door, Mr. Doyle.”
“You can call me Will. Kendall, was it?”
She nodded. “Kendall Proctor. You can call me your guardian angel.”
Will laughed. “With all that pretty angel hair, I can’t call you anything else, now, can I?”
She grinned up at Shane. His calm green eyes were steady, and a new strain pulled at the corners. She slid her hand into his and gripped. “We’ll see you after lunch.” She tugged Shane after her. “This is a good thing. Stop looking like I kicked your puppy.”
Shane gave her a tight smile. “Depends how deep those cow pies are, Sunshine.”
They sat down, and Maude dropped off their food. “Handy little story there, missy.”
Kendall looked up at their waitress. “There’s no story. We are traveling to New York, and we are short on cash.”
“Will Doyle is good people. I don’t want to hear that you screwed him over, you hear?”
Kendall picked up a potato chip from the center of her plate. “Shane’s the best thing that will ever happen to William Doyle.” She popped the chip into her mouth. She was sure of it.
Chapter Eleven
“What do you think?”
“Where are the men now?”
“Lunch break at the mess hall down the road. Meals will be included as well as a room for you and your traveling companion up at the house.”
Shane slapped sawdust off his jeans and looked around. Six thousand square feet of stables. Well, what would be stables after he was done. Doyle hadn’t been exaggerating when he said it was almost complete. That was a good thing. Most men in his situation would have lied through their teeth to get a new foreman to finish the job. The stable had a mix of new- and old-world flavors with the exposed beams and steel-framed girders that were prepped for drywall. Insulation had been done already, and it was just a matter of finalizing the project.
The tips of his fingers tingled with the need to do and create. He knew the building side of things. Code violations and masonry practices varied from state to state, but that was easy enough to verify. He had a sixth sense about space. He knew exactly what a job needed and how much time to devote to it. It was this side of him that his old man relied on to get a job done.
Lawrence Justice was a big-picture guy. He’d known how to sell, how to buy, and how to place the right people into the right jobs. But he never understood the magic of a space. He knew a building would bring in revenue, but he didn’t care about the end product. Only the happy customer and a check in the bank mattered to his father.
Which was why they worked so well together. Shane didn’t give two shits about glad-handing clients. He couldn’t stand dealing with the schmoozing and the dinners and the parties. And as much as Larry had dealt with that portion of Justice Construction, Shane had still had to make an appearance every once in a while.
Where he was truly happy was finding t
he magic in a hunk of wood. Whether it was a bookcase, a chair, a table, or a built-in unit—that was where he shone. Most of the time a client didn’t know what they really wanted. And he was tired of pouring all his energy into the soul-sucking business side.
That was only one of a million reasons why he’d gravitated to carpentry. Renovations and the feel of wood under his hands made sense. It was where he belonged.
But he’d put his foreman’s hat on one last time to get them to New York. To find a way to take care of Kendall.
“Do you think this is something you can take on?”
Shane turned to Doyle. “How many men do I have at my disposal?”
“Forty.”
“Christ, and they’re not further along?”
Doyle smiled. “I had a feeling about you.”
Shane leveled his eyes at the older man. “You fell under Kendall’s spell. Most men do.”
“Well, there is that. She’s a dangerous one, son.”
Shane blew out a tired breath. “You don’t know the half of it.”
Doyle hooked his thumb behind his buckle. “I’m sorry to hear about your father, but that’s the reason I’m hiring you. Justice has a good reputation, even out here. Your Kendall is the pushy sort who gets things moving, but I have a feeling you’re the one who actually gets them done.”
That was his claim to fame in the company. His father found the jobs, and Shane got them done. Under budget, above code, and within schedule. “I don’t make friends on the job. Being friendly makes them think they can pal around with me. And all I want from them is good, clean work and fast work.”
“Good. Jefferson, the foreman who left, he wanted to be everyone’s friend, and look at the mess I’ve got to deal with.”
The bite of rough-cut wood under Shane’s palm made him itch to work. He hadn’t had wood or a tool in his hand for weeks. “If you can approve overtime and maybe a bonus for the men to spring them into action, I’ll have you done in under a week.”
Doyle tipped back his hat. “And you think that will get them moving?”
“If you’re not lying about a hardworking crew, we’ll be golden. I’d say five days.”
“Five?”
Shane nodded. “Ten-hour shifts, forty-five-minute lunch, and a handful of ten-minute breaks, and I’ll get this done. If I see slackers, I need to know that I’ve got the final say about whether they stay or go.”
Doyle’s mustache twitched up a fraction of an inch. “I can’t wait to see you in action, son.”
Shane did a slow turn at the center of the stable. The main area had a twenty-foot ceiling and the frame outs for a loft and a grooming area. “This is a really big room for just housing horses. What exactly do you do?”
“We’re a stud farm as well as a thoroughbred training center.”
“Racing?”
“No, just really good horseflesh for ranches, show horses, and professional riders.”
Shane nodded. The larger-than-normal space made sense. Especially if they did breeding on-site.
“Let me show you the rest.”
Shane followed Doyle through to the main room. Stalls were set up, and a stack of doors lay against the back wall. A small office was off the front, and a crude desk on sawhorses held blueprints as well as a computer. Filing cabinets lined the naked drywall.
“This is the foreman’s office?”
Doyle nodded. “All you should need is in the files and on the blueprints. The cabinets have all the breeding files for the horses, so leave those alone.”
Shane looked down at the blueprints, then peeled back the first two pages. He’d study them and figure out what needed to be completed. “Who’s been the acting foreman?”
“Dell Murphy.”
“Am I going to have trouble?”
“Doubtful. He’s a damn good supervisor, but he likes the working more than the behind the scenes.”
Shane understood that part all too well. But for a week’s worth of headache, he’d get Kendall and himself to New York and finally get to start over. “We haven’t exactly talked money.”
“No. I wanted you to see the state of affairs before we did.”
Shane straightened his shoulders and faced Doyle. “If your boys are as good as you seem to think they are and everyone’s willing to work, then I think I’ll be pulling your ass out of the fire.”
Doyle took off his hat, pushed back his hair, and set his hat back on with a low tilt to the brim. “You’re a smart man, and I’ve got eighteen mares coming in for insemination in ten days’ time. Lucky for me I’ve got enough money to match my demands.”
Shane inclined his head. “That’s good to hear.” Doyle named a figure, and Shane had to physically stuff down his surprise. For five days of work—seven on the outside. “You’ve got yourself a foreman.”
“Excellent.” Doyle stretched out his hand.
Shane shook it. He heard murmurings in the barn. “No time like the present to get acquainted.”
“Let’s go get this done, then.”
Shane followed him out. On the way through, he counted fourteen lounging man-boys who were barely out of high school as well as a handful of people honestly working. A few lifers were doing enough to get by, and a man in his early forties was surrounded by a circle of men who were obviously getting direction for the rest of the afternoon.
As Doyle walked behind him, men straightened up and suddenly looked busy. But it was all for show. Just how many times did one square foot of the floor need to be swept? Shane stood in the doorway, warm sun and a cool breeze at his back. The space was already phenomenal.
He ran his hand over the smooth, soft white oak frame. An eleven-foot door with heavy wrought-iron hinges and studs gleamed with a clear coat of varnish. The oak was solid and stately and fit the overall feel of William Doyle. Hay and cement dust motes swirled in the sunlight. With work and effort, the stables would be amazing.
Shane eased back against the doorjamb, cataloging the three dozen men gathered around. He memorized faces and would eventually put names to them, but a trio of men in their thirties put up a red flag. Strong backs, knowledge in their eyes, and bellies gone slightly soft with beer and laziness.
They would be the ones to watch.
Doyle crossed his arms and waited until Dell Murphy noticed him.
Murphy turned when his audience stopped being entertained. He pulled his battered ball cap off, and the middle-aged man’s harried smile made Shane’s shoulders relax. The man wasn’t power hungry. He was doing the best he could. “Just getting the men set up for the afternoon, boss.”
“That’s why I’m here. You’ve been doing great, Murph, but I’ve got a seasoned foreman in from California who’s going to help us out.”
Murphy’s shoulders straightened. “I’ve got it under control.”
“I handed you a raw deal, and you did a great job, but I’ve got a stable full of mares coming in next week. I need this done.” Doyle turned to Shane. “This is Shane Justice. I want you to work with him to get the men scheduled. We’ve got some long days ahead, and I’m willing to pay overtime if you boys are willing.”
The murmur through the crowd along with nods ironed out the rest of the knots in his back. Money talked, and Doyle was going to back up his claim.
Shane dropped his arms to his sides and walked up beside Doyle. “I’m not your pal, I don’t like excuses, and I’m well aware that you’ll hate me by week’s end. But if you give me five days, I’ll give you enough overtime in your paycheck to make it worth it. Buy your girlfriend something pretty, have a round on me at the local bar, I don’t care what you do—but do it after we’re done here. I don’t want hungover idiots shuffling in ten minutes, fifteen minutes, or an hour late. Be here to work, and Doyle will pay you handsomely. Anyone not willing to do the work, let me know now.”
There was a light grumble, and one of the trio spoke up. Color Shane shocked. He was tall and slightly more athletic than his entourage, but he was
still soft. “Who are you to come in and take over?”
Doyle opened his mouth, but Shane held up a hand. “For the next week, I’m your boss. Don’t like it? I’ll be happy to give your overtime to men hungrier and willing to work harder than you.”
“You don’t know anything about me, buddy.”
“I know your type. Those two with you probably do twice as much work as you do.”
The dark-haired man beside him found his boots fascinating, and the shorter man with a shaved head stared at Shane with glittering eyes. Oh yeah, trouble right there. Shane inwardly sighed.
He dismissed the man and turned to Murphy. “How about we go into the office and talk? I’m sure you’ll get me up to speed.”
Doyle clapped his hands. “All right. That’s what I like. Thanks for your help, everyone.”
Shane just hoped the handful of troublemakers he’d seen could control themselves until he got the hell out of there.
* * * *
Shane pushed through the afternoon. The initial complaints from the men had died down quickly. As he’d thought, most of them were hard workers, but they needed direction. With clear goals in mind, they were able to focus and get their jobs done.
The incentive of overtime didn’t hurt either. He hitched his tool belt on and followed his nose to the fresh-cut pine they were using to frame out the stalls. He nodded to Murphy, and they both fell into an easy rhythm of cutting and nailing. The afternoon passed, and the shadows deepened before he lifted his head.
Rhythm lost, he looked up to see what had caused a commotion. He should have known. Kendall walked through the barn, her sunny hair scraped back in a high tail that twitched with her bouncy walk. She was a beautiful woman, and while unconscious of it most of the time, a room full of men would make any woman strut her stuff. Kendall was no different. He moved into the hallway between the stalls and crossed his arms.
A grin split her face wide with crinkles and lightly bronzed skin and enough bawdy bravado that he wanted to lift her up against the nearest wall and taste her sunshine. The number of men who were probably thinking the same thing tightened his fists under his arms.
Suspended Page 17
