“Agreed, but he sure built a nice porch.”
Jenna sighed, enjoying the smells, the reddening sunset and the nostalgic sound of peeper frogs and their promise of summer. Wally was right. Her dad had done one good thing. He’d found the most beautiful spot in the entire county.
Wally’s arm moved and a white envelope dropped on her lap. “Unfortunately things are going to change a bit,” he said, his words muffled with pepperoni. “That’s the last of those.”
She opened the envelope and flipped through the bills. Two hundred and twenty dollars. Em would be thrilled. “What do you mean, the last?”
“The new owner is tough, a stickler for rules. And the sale went through much quicker than expected.” Wally burped, and Jenna inched away from the overpowering smell of pepperoni and beer. “He’s going to be a pain in the ass,” Wally went on. “Even clamping down on the construction crew. Staff will have to walk the line.”
She shoved the bills back in the envelope, quickly crunching numbers. After sending Em’s money, there’d be sixty dollars to last until the end of the month. It’d be tight. “I always walk the line,” she said, tucking the envelope into her back pocket.
Wally chuckled. “But sometimes it’s the wrong side.”
“Can’t help it. Bad blood and all.” She tried to speak lightly, didn’t want to reveal how his words hurt, but the fact was undeniable. The Murphy family was trash.
“Jenna,” Wally said quickly. “What I meant is we can no longer look after every sick animal that knocks on our door. These people want to see a profit.” He took a thoughtful sip of beer. “Should be plenty of work though. The Burkes have a lot of contacts. They’re in the process of negotiating contracts with major race stables so eventually we’ll receive quality horses. Unfortunately Three Brooks will be closed to the public.”
“What?” Jenna blinked in dismay. “What about the locals? If a horse is hurt, you mean we can’t help?”
“Not anymore.” Wally blew out a resigned sigh. “Derek wants to offer pricey rehab to an elite clientele, along with top staff and expanded facilities. He’ll be explaining all this in a staff meeting tomorrow.”
“Who’s Derek?”
“Derek Burke, their cleanup guy. He’s moving into the big house…taking over for a while.”
Jenna stiffened, straining to see Wally’s expression through the gloom. “The Three Brooks mansion? But you’ll stay in the apartment at the Center? You’re still the manager?”
“Far as I know.” Wally ripped a slice of pepperoni into three ragged pieces, his voice gruff. “But frankly it would have been better if the Canadians hung on to ownership. They didn’t come down much. Never interfered.”
Jenna squeezed her hands, her heart aching for Wally. He loved the town, the people, the horses. To her knowledge, he’d never turned down a fundraiser or any sponsorship request. But paying clients were few, and business had slowed to a trickle. It was a miracle he hadn’t laid anyone off. For his sake, she hoped the new boss would be easy to work with…and didn’t know much about massage.
She swallowed and glanced over her shoulder, resolving to stay up late and study another chapter in the library book. All her knowledge had been learned from her mom or by experimentation, and her massage technique was rather unorthodox. Maybe the new guy wouldn’t approve.
Maybe there’d even be a test. Her stomach churned at the thought. She always felt stupid when people talked about college and university and degrees. Street smart, book dumb, her father had always said, usually with an approving wink.
“Thanks for the heads-up,” she murmured, scrambling to her feet and scooping the empty bottles off the table.
Wally rose with a rueful smile. “You know I’ll always look after the Murphy family. Long as they let me.”
She waited until the lights of his truck disappeared then crossed the road and whistled for Peanut. He ambled from the dark and poked his muzzle into her hand, whiskers tickling as he snuffled for the tiny piece of carrot.
“Time for bed, mister.” She guided him by his forelock to the kennels. Luckily he was small. Years ago, they’d raised foxhounds and the old mesh kennel was perfect for a tiny pony.
Perfect for her father too. He’d been too lazy to build a shelter or paddock, or perhaps he’d been in jail at the time. Memories blurred. She did remember her mother selling eggs and puppies, desperately trying to raise money for her horse-crazy daughters. Now it seemed natural to keep Peanut in a dog kennel and compensate by giving him the run of Three Brooks’ vast acreage.
“Sleep tight, little buddy,” she whispered. He pressed his head against her stomach and blew out a long sigh, his version of a goodnight kiss. She latched the gate and trudged through the dark toward the illuminated porch.
Beer always made her drowsy and she settled at the kitchen table, yawning as she flipped open the thick book: Massage and Chiropractic for Equines. Everyone assumed she had a college diploma. Wally had desperately wanted an effective horse masseuse on staff so had quietly fudged her resume, and everyone had been happy.
Besides, she did help horses. Clients were always pleased when their animals walked away much improved. Peanut was a great testimonial, still very limber for a senior citizen. She’d been massaging him for years so she must be doing something right.
Still, it was best to be prepared.
She propped the heavy book on the table. Her sister was probably studying too, and the notion that they were doing the same thing was rather comforting. Hopefully, Em wasn’t missing home too much and could concentrate on her courses, especially since her high school marks hadn’t been great, and Jenna was no longer around to help.
Fluttering moths distracted her, bumping loudly against the porch light, and she forced her attention back to the page. So much of this massage stuff was common sense, so simplistic her mind wandered. She needed to fertilize the vegetable garden, check on a lame donkey and she’d intended to ask Wally if the scowling man with the hint of a smile had landed a job.
She yawned twice, closed the book in defeat and crawled into bed with an equine heat pack tucked against her shoulder.
The sound of a vehicle woke her sometime during the night, but she was too tired to check the clock. She fell back to sleep, vaguely curious as to why the maintenance people were working so late.
Chapter Three
Derek Burke strode into the meeting room and scanned the group of silent, anxious faces. He didn’t have to check his notes—thirty-seven employees, including a manager, grooms, handlers, exercise riders, and technicians—plus one masseuse. It was the masseuse who intrigued him.
She’d been stealing and his first impulse had been to hand her a pink slip. Yet she’d bristled when he’d criticized the manager and he admired loyalty. It was going to be a tough transition and unwise to alienate employees at this early stage. Most of the staff lived in the district, an area plagued with high unemployment. Some unpopular policy changes had already been implemented and it seemed likely he’d have to replace the affable manager.
He glanced sideways at Wally Turner and his disdain churned. Staff might like Wally but the man didn’t even have enough initiative to keep the aisles clean. The accountants had also reported disturbing discrepancies and Three Brooks, operating at thirty percent capacity, should have achieved a healthier cash flow. There definitely needed to be an accounting, and he was prepared to cut and slash.
But first, soothe the masses.
Wally introduced him to a cautious scattering of applause. He studied the faces, memorizing the truculent who might cause trouble, and outlined the new goals and policies of the Center. “There will be no immediate layoffs,” he said. “In fact, all employee credentials will be reviewed and salaries adjusted to industry standards.”
The Burke public relations people had advised that his expression was much too grim so he concluded his speech with a tight smile. A big-busted lady near the front returned an inviting smile but his scowl was quick and
automatic, and she averted her head.
And then they were finished. More applause, louder this time and clearly spiked with relief. Plenty of time now to weed out the poor performers, the hapless, the liars.
He lifted a hand, raising his voice so as to be heard over the buzzing crowd. “One final item. I’d like Jenna Murphy to meet me in my office.” He deliberately refrained from saying ‘please.’ He had nothing but scorn for the Canadians and the permissive corporate culture they’d fostered.
“What do you want with Jenna?” Wally asked, his voice taut with an emotion Derek couldn’t define.
“Pardon?” He scowled to show his displeasure and Wally dipped his head, nervously shuffling papers. Lazy and a coward as well, Derek decided, notching another tick in Wally’s debit column.
Employees stepped aside as he strode toward his new office but he didn’t look sideways. He was rather impatient to interview Ms. Murphy and actually surprised he hadn’t spotted her regal head in the crowd. Perhaps she was shorter than he’d initially thought.
He left the door open, gratified to see the office was much cleaner than yesterday. Wally had been slow to vacate despite the Burke directive he was coming, and obviously the man had hoped the sale would flounder.
He yanked open the filing cabinet and flipped through the employee files. Jenna Murphy. The file was thin. Not even a resume. A copy of an insurance application, barely legible: Jenna Lynn Murphy, twenty-six, local address, one sister, parents deceased, unremarkable health, five-foot-nine inches, one hundred and twenty-two pounds, blond hair, blue eyes. Single.
Ah, so she was single.
He pushed the drawer shut, glanced impatiently at his watch, then crossed the room and checked the aisle. That too was much cleaner than yesterday, with stable hands knocking down cobwebs and sweeping furiously.
The outer door slammed and Jenna sauntered in, walking with a graceful sway of her hips, the proud tilt of her head unmistakable. She stopped to greet a groom pushing a wheelbarrow then continued down the aisle. Paused when she spotted him, and a delighted smile lit her face. God, it had been a long time since anyone smiled at him like that.
“Good morning,” she called. “I’m glad you got the job!”
He scowled but she didn’t stop smiling and actually seemed genuinely happy to see him. An unusual reaction and his impatience seeped away. “Are you always this late?” he asked mildly.
“Not always, but a lot. Depends on my massage schedule.” She gave an unrepentant smile. Stuck her head past him and checked the office. When she saw it was empty, she immediately backed away. “Better get out of there,” she said, tugging at his arm. “Wally doesn’t like people in his office. It wouldn’t be smart to piss him off, not on your first day.”
“So,” she added, once she’d herded him to the middle of the aisle, “will you be working with the inventory or the cleanup? I can give you a quick tour if you want. Introduce you to everyone.”
He paused, not usually at a loss for words, but her openness was refreshing. As the heavy for the Burke operations, employees either feared or disliked him. Not a problem, just the way it was. Still, this couldn’t go on.
“I had a tour last month, Jenna.” He crossed his arms. “My name’s Derek Burke.”
A flash of dismay then her expression shuttered, and she stepped back. “A pity. I liked you better with the hard hat.”
“Come in. Shut the door.” He pivoted and walked back into his office.
She followed but neglected to close the door. “What have you done with Wally?” she asked.
“He’s moved into the receiving office at the other end of the barn.”
Her shoulders relaxed as though that was the extent of her worries, and he frowned at the door, irritated she hadn’t followed his simple order. “Maybe you should be worrying about your own job,” he added.
“Maybe, but not yet.” She tilted her head, eyeing him with sharp intelligence. “If Wally’s still here the rest of us are probably safe, at least for a while.”
She was absolutely correct but in spite of his desire to keep staff intact, theft was cause for dismissal. He leaned back in his chair, studying her over steepled fingers, waiting for a fidget. It didn’t take long, fifteen seconds.
She crossed the room and picked up one of his framed degrees. “Wow, you’re a smart guy.”
“Put that down.”
“Why do you have it here then?” she asked.
“Certainly not for employees to handle.” He tilted his head and waited, realizing she wasn’t going to confess or beg. Obviously the job didn’t matter. Rather a pity. She’d shown him a simple kindness yesterday, and he’d already decided to let her stay.
“I’m still an employee then?” She replaced the frame and swung around, her shoulders relaxing, and he realized then he’d made a mistake. The job mattered to her; it mattered very much.
Good. It was always easier to control staff if he understood their motivations. “Of course, you’re still an employee,” he said. “At this stage, you’re my closest friend in Stillwater.”
Her mouth curved with irrepressible humor. “Kind of like your number one employee?”
“Let’s not push it,” he said, trying not to smile back. “And I don’t want to see you lugging any more company supplies to your car.”
“Oh, you won’t see that again, Burke. Promise.”
She flashed him a jaunty wave. He stupidly waved back, and she was gone before he could tell her not to call him Burke.
***
The next ten interviews were tedious and much more routine, ranging from a stammering receptionist to a brown-nosing groom. Derek turned his chair, glancing out the window at the construction site, watching as wood was expertly planed. Yesterday they’d been resizing planks, and he itched to get his hands on a power saw.
“Three Brooks is very important to me, Mr. Burke. I’m hoping to make head groom in five years.”
Derek nodded, adding another doodle on his yellow pad.
“I’ve been working here for three years and always intended to take courses on animal husbandry. There’s a college close by—”
“Yes, yes. That’s excellent.” Derek waved a hand in dismissal. “Your salary will raise ten percent when you complete a diploma. That will be all.”
The man—pointless to remember all their names—rose and rushed away with a bounce in his step. Derek stretched his legs and exhaled. Clearly high unemployment in the area would make changes palatable and also help keep the most qualified staff. Tiresome though. Everyone had been nodding and bending over backwards, telling him anything they thought he wanted to hear, everyone but Jenna.
He swiveled his chair toward the big window, checking the parking lot for her car. There it was, jammed right beside his Audi, along with Fords, Fiats and a couple other rust buckets. That motley mix was definitely not good for Three Brooks’ image. If he were to establish this as an elite facility, it had to look the part. He scrawled a notation on his pad, then rose from his chair and stalked down the aisle. It was time to see his new staff in action.
The hyperbaric oxygen chamber, in his opinion the most valuable technology at Three Brooks, was his first stop.
When he walked into the room, the technician sitting by the blinking control panel slammed down her mug and jerked upright in the chair. “Good afternoon, Mr. Burke.”
Behind her, a horse’s flicking ears were visible through the porthole window of the oxygen chamber. “Good morning,” he said. “How many minutes is your average session?”
“Sixty.”
“And you never leave the controls? You’re always watching the horse?”
“Absolutely.” The technician’s head bobbed. “This is a pressurized environment. Someone always has to watch the monitors.”
His eyes narrowed on the steam rising from her mug. “You never leave? Not even to grab a coffee?”
Her gaze darted downward. She flushed but didn’t speak.
“We
ll?” he asked.
She withered under his flat tone. “Maybe just to grab a coffee, but it’s only for a second—”
“When a horse is in the chamber, you do not leave. Ever. This is a flammable environment. If you need a break, call on the phone for a technician to replace you. I assume we have other trained staff members?”
“Yes, sir.”
He nodded in dismissal and pushed through the end door, watching as two handlers held a bay gelding on a treadmill. Water bubbled against the transparent sides, swirling around the horse’s legs.
The digital display showed one minute remaining.
“How many times has this horse had hydrotherapy?” he asked.
“At least five times, sir,” the shorter handler said, frantically scanning his chart. “It’s noted here somewhere.”
“So you would assume he’ll be quiet and not scramble out, possibly injuring himself or his handlers?”
“Yes, I’d definitely assume that. But horses are always unpredictable, sir.”
“Exactly. Which is why you should have a chain over his nose.”
“Of course. We were just…hurrying. Sorry, sir.”
Derek nodded and stepped back. The second man grabbed a chain and looped it over the gelding’s nose. Clearly this animal wasn’t going to cause any problems. However, the Center’s future patients would be fresh off the track and powered up from racing. He’d wait a few weeks before treating any top class horses. Let the staff practice on cheaper, more expendable animals.
He pushed through the swinging door and into the solarium. A chestnut mare stood under the infrared lights, head lowered, hind leg tilted, clearly enjoying her light treatment.
A slim brunette nodded but didn’t meet his gaze. “Good afternoon. I’m Anna,” she mumbled.
“I’m Mr. Burke.” He stepped closer. “If you have owners or trainers checking on their horse, what would you tell them about this treatment?”
“That infrared stimulates circulation and helps skin issues or dermatitis. That it promotes their general well-being.”
Thoroughbreds and Trailer Trash Page 2
