“You ready to go swimming?”
I felt like I wanted to lie down. My tummy was turning over, I felt hot and dizzy enough to corkscrew into the damp ground. “I guess—that’s why we came, right?”
“That’s right, darlin’. Come here and let me help you.”
I nodded. I wanted help. Paul began by tugging the pink sundress over my head. This freed my breasts. The spaghetti straps wouldn’t hide a bra. He stood back, and I heard a low whistle.
“What? What’s wrong?”
“Not a thing, darlin’. Not a single thing. God, you’re gorgeous!”
“Oh.” I was feeling awkward and more than a little hazardous. “Well, let’s get into the water.”
He caught my arm as I tried to pass by him. “Not so fast. There’s more,” he said and knelt before me.
I felt his fingers inside my panty waist and then there was cool air as he lowered them to the ground. I heard him draw in his breath. I was feeling confused. This wasn’t me. I don’t do these things. I can’t think straight. I could feel a panic building inside me.
“Hey, I changed my mind. I don’t want to swim.”
“Oh, that’s okay. You don’t have to. What’s wrong, darlin’?”
Oh! There was the other endearment he used with me and it made me melt every time. I looked down at my nakedness with a sort of odd detachment. That can’t be me, I told myself. “I’m not feeling very good. Hand me my dress, would you? I’m feeling cold and sort of sick.”
I watched with swimming eyes as Paul picked up my dress and then stood, scooping me into his arms as he rose.
“Hey!”
“Shhh… I’m just taking you into the camper. You can lie down until you feel better. You don’t have to go swimming. Just take a little nap until you’re more yourself, huh?”
It sounded so good, but something was still troubling me. I felt like someone else. I nodded and felt the warmth as he opened the camper door and carried me inside. He settled me onto a bunk that was quite comfortable. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Oops, let me get you a pot or something, but I think you’ll be just fine. Just lie there and close your eyes.”
I did as he told me and didn’t complain when he laid a cool cloth over my eyes.
“Shhh… now then, I’m going to lie here next to you and just stroke your arm. You’ll feel more comfortable, I promise.”
I felt the weight of his body on the mattress next to me. He was warm. It was nice. His finger began stroking my arm and it sent goosebumps down the length of me. Then the fingers moved to stroke my nipples, one at a time. I shivered with delight. I felt my legs being parted and then he was on top of me.
“No!” screamed something sensible that was overcoming the beer and pot. I knew it was wrong. “No, get off me!” I pushed at him.
“Oh, c’mon darlin’. You’re my girl, aren’t you? You want some stranger to be your first? Anyway, you know I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
“Paul, I don’t want to get pregnant. I’m not on the pill or anything.” The beer and pot were having their way with me. I wanted to feel him, but my little girl resistance was screaming at me to stop.
“Don’t worry. It will feel good and I promise, I’ll be safe.” I felt him pull back a little and heard a snap. “See? I put on a condom. No risk and nothing to this. You’ll love it. Just relax and lie there. Shhh…”
There was pain, sharp and sudden as he entered me. I tried to push him off and roll away, but his weight was over me like a cement shroud. He began pumping and it pressed into my tummy. I turned my head to one side and vomited. The sour smell didn’t seem to bother him. If anything, he sped up and then with a groan, stiffened and arched backward. I took advantage of that pause to shove hard and he fell onto the floor, and likely into the vomit. Grabbing my dress, I pushed past him and blindly felt for the door. It finally fell open.
I drew in great gasps of the fresh air. “Take me home!” I screamed as I pulled my sundress over my head.
“What the hell?” he stumbled out of the camper, pulling on his pants. “Stop screaming!”
“Take-me-home!” I screamed again.
“Okay, okay, get into the truck.”
I went around to the passenger side, opened the door and climbed up into the cab, huddling against the door with my eyes closed. “Just drive me home, quickly,” I whispered fiercely through gritted teeth.
“What’s the matter, darlin’? Didn’t it feel good?”
“No, it hurt.”
He chuckled a little. “It’s always like that your first time, but believe me, it gets better and better. It won’t be long before you’ll be pulling at me.”
I considered his words and the realization of what I’d just done sent thuds of horror into my stomach. Paul drove me home and as soon as he turned into the drive, I bolted from the passenger door and ran to the house, leaving Paul sitting in the driveway. Mom and Dad’s window was dark, and the door locked. They evidently thought I was in bed. I dragged the ladder from the side of the shed and climbed up to my own window. I’d left it open to allow cool air and although it took kicking in the screen, I managed to get inside. I was lucky enough to have my own bath. I turned on the hot water and sat in a huddle on the shower floor, letting the water pour over me. I didn’t want to remember anything. All I wanted was sleep.
* * *
Paul called that next day, but I wouldn’t take the call. I needed time to think. I wanted to move to Chicago, to begin a new life, maybe even do some modeling. It had been my dream. Now I was heavily into Paul and I knew the previous night would be the first of many nights if I let it. It would be too easy to give up my dream and maybe even marry Paul and stay in Brookfield. I wasn’t ready to give up so quickly, though. I texted him. “Give me some space—I have to think.”
“Don’t take too long,” he texted back.
That wasn’t what I wanted to hear. I guess I wanted understanding, or maybe even a commitment. Patsy’s words about the trail of broken hearts came back to me. I made up my mind to keep my distance for the time being, so I avoided his calls.
Six weeks later I left the doctor’s office, shaking like a leaf. I tapped Paul’s number in my phone’s missed calls. I’d never opened one.
“Hello?” His voice was a little different than before.
“Paul, it’s Gwen. I’m pregnant.”
There was a long pause. “No, shit?”
“You told me you used a condom.”
Silence again.
“Did you?”
“Don’t remember but doesn’t matter if I did. It obviously didn’t work.”
“What are we going to do?” What did he mean he didn’t remember? How could he not remember something that important?
Another long pause. “Calm down. Calm down now. Look, there’s something important I’ve got to do, but I’ll come by tomorrow or Wednesday and we can talk about options.”
I disconnected without another word, got into my car and like a zombie, drove home and went to bed, pleading a headache. The next day there was no call from Paul, nor the day after that. I tried his cell, but he didn’t pick up. I called Patsy, hoping she’d know where he lived. How could I not even know where he lived? She gave me directions and fifteen minutes later I was on his front porch. I rang the bell. A woman answered, and I saw where Paul got his beautiful brown eyes.
“Is Paul here?” I asked.
“No, dear, he’s not. We’ve just returned from the bus terminal. Paul has joined the Army.”
Chapter 1
Coulter
I listened as Mason Derry, my attorney, read the accusations contained in the complaint filed against me and my company, Stillman Enterprises. I was twirling the platinum and onyx ring on my right hand; a habit when I was concentrating on something important. “So, what does all that mean?” I asked him.
“Well, in simplest terms, you’re being sued for negligence. It is your legal responsibility, as emplo
yer, to protect your employees from an unreasonable risk of harm.”
“I wasn’t even aware anyone had been hurt. Who are we talking about here?”
“His name is James Winkler. He listed his job title as general worker and his duties included sourcing and transferring needed materials from the ground storage up the structure as ordered.”
“What went wrong?” I would be the first to admit that building construction on high-rises was dangerous work and I wanted to take immediate measures to be sure no one else would be hurt.
“He claims to have fallen out of a job site elevator because the gate didn’t lock.”
“How far did he fall?”
Mason scanned the document and looked at me over his reading glasses. “Four feet.”
“You’re kidding, right?” I felt the anger rising inside. The guy was clearly out to ruin my reputation or get a big pay-off because he knew I would protect myself with my money.
“I am not. He sustained a broken ankle.”
“Mason, you know what the guy is trying to do…”
“I know. I’ll answer the complaint and delay it as long as possible.”
“No! No delays. Push it through. Get some people on it on our end and bring in everyone on the site that day. I want depositions from everyone.”
“It won’t be cheap.”
“My reputation isn’t either,” I growled and swiveled the chair so my back was to him. I was done with that conversation.
Mason spoke from the doorway. “You got someone to handle the PR on this?”
“I’ll take care of it myself.”
I gave Mason five minutes to clear the building and then I got out of my chair and walked to the parking garage where my Mercedes was waiting. Shortly thereafter, I was wearing a hard hat on the job site in question. The foreman on shift showed me where the supposed negligence took place. “I want this inspected immediately and if there’s anything wrong, have it fixed. Before you do anything, contact Mason so it doesn’t look like we’re trying to cover anything up. No one uses this elevator until that’s been resolved, got that?” I pointed to it and looked at him hard. “You know anything about this? Were you on shift that day?”
The foreman, Pete Timmer, flushed and I could see he didn’t want to tell me something.
“What is it?” I demanded.
He shook his head. “Nothing, sir, nothing. I’ll take care of it.”
I cocked my head. “Timmer, if I find out that you’ve held something from me, connected to this or not, you’re history, you got that? You’re either a member of my team or not.”
He scuffed one foot into the gravel and wiped his brow. Guilt was written all over him. He looked over his shoulder. I finally caught on.
“Timmer, I’ll be back in my office in fifteen minutes. I want to see you there in thirty. Send everyone home early but don’t dock their pay.” Without another word, I turned and left, tossing my hardhat into the back seat of the Mercedes.
Liz had just brought me a fresh cup of coffee when Timmer was in the outer office, waiting. I motioned through the glass wall for him to come in. “Sit down.”
He was highly uncomfortable, and it had nothing to do with his concrete-caked boots and my Persian carpets. “Mr. Stillman, I got no proof. Just a suspicion. I can’t get fired over this—the wife is about to have our fourth and…”
“You won’t be fired unless you’ve done something worth being fired over. Concealing problems from me could be counted as one of those, by the way.”
He was pale and shuffling his feet beneath the chair.
“Damnit! What is it?”
“Okay, okay,” he held out his hand to calm me down. “See… there are delays on the site every so often. Someone doesn’t count inventory and we have to wait on some material, or they run into a problem on one thing that slows down everything behind it…”
“Go on…” My voice was intentionally stern. This was a union town and I didn’t need their shit on top of everything else.
“Well, the guys get bored and sometimes they sneak off between some piles and shoot dice and pass the bottle. Especially on cold days, you know?”
I sat forward in my chair. “Are you telling me that the workmen are gambling and drinking on the job?”
He winced. “It sounds worse than it is.”
“Oh, really?” I was losing my calm and felt the heat rising into my brain. “Was this guy, this Winkler—was he drinking that day?”
“I honestly don’t know. I wasn’t on until later in the day. McNamara was covering for me; I had a root canal. So, I can’t say that I saw him drinking.”
“Where are they getting the booze?” This was a major OSHA offense and they could shut down my building sites over this kind of thing.
“You know…they bring it with them. A flask, the back pocket inside their overalls.”
“Timmer, are you drinking or gambling on the site?”
“Me? Hell, no. Even if I wanted to, it would be suicide. There’s guys who don’t like me, you know? They’d be the first to rat on me and my job would be done, or I could wind up taking a tumble off a girder. No, I do my drinking on my own time, at home.”
I believed him. It made sense. I had to be careful how I handled this information. With inspectors and lawyers sniffing around, if I made it obvious I was confiscating booze, they’d hang me even higher.
“Now look, Timmer. You get the other supervisors together and I want it circulated, word of mouth to every single person who sets foot on that site in my employ… There will be no more drinking, no more gambling and no drugs or guns. Got that? I want it as clean as a nunnery on that site. Anyone caught will answer to me, and that won’t be pretty.”
I didn’t need to be specific. Most of the guys had heard of my reputation as a hardass and that would be enough. Timmer leapt up from his chair. “Yes, sir, thank you, sir.”
“You’re back in that chair in one week with a progress report, you hear me?” He nodded, and I waved him out.
My private cell buzzed. It was Mason. “What is it?” I answered brusquely.
“Sorry, but the word got out. All your construction permits have been suspended pending an outcome of the hearing.”
“What? All of them? Other sites?”
“I’m on it.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m re-organizing you under one holding company. That separates your other assets. You may have to find some CEOs to sit in your place for a while, but we’ll keep the show running.”
“Just do it.”
I hated getting stabbed in the back. I absolutely hated it.
Chapter 2
Gwen
"Oh, Gwen, you look absolutely awesome in that shade of blouse beneath that suit." Bitsy was sitting on the flowered slipper chair, bouncing Carrie on her lap.
"Honestly? You really think so?"
Bitsy nodded with an exaggerated motion. "Absolutely. Of course, I couldn't pull off that look. I don't have enough meat on my bones. But you? I’d kill for your body."
"Oh, don't be silly. You have your own sweet shape. It's just a matter of learning to dress so that you accentuate your positives and play down the negatives."
"Yeah, but you don't have any negatives as far as I can see," Bitsy pointed out, kissing the top of Carrie's head.
"You think the color is right for me?"
"Oh, don't be silly. It matches your eyes exactly. You chose it on purpose, I know you did." Bitsy's voice was becoming a little strident. She was better at single word responses. When you asked her opinion, it seemed to make her nervous and everything went downhill from there.
"Well, okay, if you say so. This job is really important to me, you know?"
"Of course. It's like your dream job, right? Who wouldn't want to work for Blaze House? It's like the nicest dress shop in town and only caters to women with a ton of money, let me tell you." Bitsy’s envy was obvious in her face.
"Well, you would know
better than I. You've lived here longer. Listen, I'm grateful for you asking your friend to get me an interview. Those modeling classes I took only take you so far, you know? At some point, you have to know someone who knows someone to make use of them." I was trying to make her feel better.
Bitsy bounced Carrie harder, almost to the point for the little one was ready to cry. I could tell Bitsy was worked up. I took Carrie from her and made the pretense of cuddling her, just to get Bitsy to calm down. "Don't mention it. She owed me a couple favors, anyway."
"Will you be okay here with Carrie alone?" I was having second thoughts. This could all fall apart if Bitsy wasn’t up to taking care of my baby.
"Well, I'd better be. If you get this job, no, let me change that—when you get this job. I'm looking after her during the day, so she and I had better get used to one another really quickly." Bitsy took her back from me. Carrie’s little finger when into her mouth and then she reached up and touched the tip of Bitsy's nose.
* * *
Her name was Metallica, obviously the result of poor judgment on her mother’s behalf. I felt awkward even asking for her when I arrived for my interview. I was shown to an ultra-modern office on the second floor of the building. I climbed the crimson carpeted staircase, looking down at the displays and racks of beautiful clothing and equally beautiful women. It was as if I was walking in my own dream. The girl who showed me to Metallica’s office tapped on the door and then stood back and gave me a solemn look. It was as if she were showing me into the den of a lion. The woman at the desk looked up, and I instantly understood.
“Thank you for being prompt,” she said as she stood, towering over me by at least foot. I imagined that her ancestors were those solemn, majestic people who ran for days without stopping across the Serengeti. Her cheekbones were to die for and her slender, aquiline nose gave her one of the most beautiful profiles I thought I’d ever seen. “I am Metallica, and I assume you are Gwen?”
I nodded and held out my hand. “It’s nice to meet you,” I said softly, thoroughly intimidated.
“Please, sit down.” I obliged and took a few brief seconds to breathe in the atmosphere of her office. It suited her perfectly, which made me believe she had probably designed it herself. It was flawless good taste, original concept and could have only existed in a magazine like Architectural Digest. She cleared her throat and had my full attention immediately.
Mine to Protect Page 2
