by Irene Hannon
Had she taken on too much? With life just settling down for her and Jarrod, was it wise to throw in a new complication? Should she have turned down the offer?
She slung her purse over her shoulder and gripped her briefcase. She’d already been putting in extra hours thanks to the short-staffed situation, so that was nothing new. And she and Jarrod were coping, despite last Friday’s glitch with that unpleasant Scott Walsh. Plus, it wasn’t as if she’d have to start from scratch on the exhibit. She could build on whatever Sarah had already worked up. By next year, after a full twelve months in the job, she’d be ready to tackle the project on her own. She had the skills. The enthusiasm. The confidence of her boss.
There was no reason to worry.
* * *
Twenty-four hours later, Cindy pulled into the parking lot at the Orchid to pick up take-out dinners, set the brake, rested her forehead on the wheel—and fought back another wave of panic. They’d been crashing over her steadily since nine o’clock this morning, when she’d discovered Sarah hadn’t even begun to work on the display proposal yet.
What had she gotten herself into?
She wanted to be angry, but how could she be after Sarah had admitted her husband had been fighting depression for months? That she’d been on edge for weeks while he advanced from one round of interviews to another for his new job? That her doctor had prescribed an antianxiety drug to help her cope? Worry could short-circuit thinking processes, derail sleep and wreak havoc in a life. Cindy suspected it was a huge challenge for Sarah just to get through each day without falling apart. She could empathize.
Been there, done that.
But the display proposal was due in three weeks, and none of the preliminary ideas in the thin folder Sarah had handed her were strong enough to pursue.
She swung open her car door and slowly filled her lungs with the spruce-scented air. Exhaled. Repeated the exercise as she stood. In. Out. In. Out. The calming technique had never failed her.
Until tonight.
Short of backing out of the job she’d accepted twenty-four hours ago, she was locked into much longer hours than she’d anticipated. There was no recourse if she wanted to come up with a blockbuster exhibit—and that meant she wouldn’t be around as much for Jarrod.
Nerves frayed, she slammed the door. Why were the good things in life so often double-edged swords?
Genevieve spotted her the minute she stepped through the door beneath the gaudy purple-flowered sign, her usual sunny smile in place. “I’ll have your dinners right out. That was a smart idea to call ahead.” The older woman cocked her head as she scrutinized Cindy’s face. “Tough day?”
“I’ve had better.”
The older woman tut-tutted. “I’ll throw in a couple of brownies on the house. They might help sweeten things up.”
Cindy managed to coax her lips into the semblance of a smile. “Thanks.”
“My pleasure.” Genevieve waved toward the handful of chairs lined up against a wall in the foyer. “Have a seat. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
A man in jeans and a cotton shirt, his hair more pepper than salt, smiled as Cindy approached, then picked up his hard hat from the one vacant chair. “Popular place.”
“Always.” She sat beside him.
“Worth the wait, though. The sisters sure know how to cook. I’ll be sorry to see this job end, even if the commute is a bear.”
She eyed the hat. “You’re working on the inn, right?”
“Good guess.” He grinned and held out his hand. “Win Griffith. I’m the project manager for Mattson Properties.”
She returned his firm grip. “Cindy Peterson. You must work with Scott Walsh.”
“Every day. Are you two acquainted?”
“We met Friday.” Her blood pressure spiked at the thought of her encounter with the rude construction company owner.
The man beside her pursed his lips. “I’m not picking up positive vibes. Was there a problem?”
“Let’s just say politeness isn’t his forte.”
He frowned. “What happened?”
“He caught my eleven-year-old son on the construction site after hours. Twice. I’m not excusing Jarrod’s behavior, and the matter has been addressed, but I didn’t appreciate being accosted in a public place about the issue.”
The twin furrows on the man’s brow deepened. “I’m very sorry that happened. Mr. Mattson has made it clear he wants to have a positive relationship with the town and its residents. That directive has been passed on to all the contractors.”
Suddenly Cindy regretted her heated words. She had a feeling Scott was going to hear about her complaint—and she hadn’t intended to get him in trouble. If she hadn’t been stressed by her own job situation tonight, she’d have thought before speaking.
Time to backtrack.
“He might have had a long day. That happens.” She summoned up a smile. “And I’m glad he’s diligent about keeping kids off the site. I’m sure the last thing Mattson Properties wants is an accident.”
“True. But that doesn’t excuse rudeness.”
“Here you go, Win. Enjoy that meat loaf.” Genevieve hustled over, handed him a take-out carton and leaned closer, dropping her voice. “I added an extra piece, too. After being out in the fresh air all day, I’m sure you’ve worked up a big appetite.”
“You and Lillian are going to spoil me.” Win rose and grinned at the white-haired woman.
She waved his comment aside. “We like to keep our friends happy.”
“So do we.” Win included Cindy in his response, strengthening her suspicion that Scott Walsh was in for a talking-to. “Good night, ladies.” With a dip of his head, he walked toward the door.
“Such a nice man.” Genevieve sighed as he exited, then smoothed out her ruffled apron. “I’ll have your dinners out next, Cindy.”
“No hurry.” Cindy crossed her legs. Resettled her purse in her lap. Tried to focus on her challenge at work as Genevieve disappeared into the kitchen.
But thoughts of a man with red hair kept distracting her. Scott Walsh hadn’t struck her as the kind of guy who put up with a lot of grief. Or who was used to getting his hand slapped.
Come tomorrow, though, she was pretty certain he was in for a healthy dose of both—thanks to her.
And given his over-the-top reaction to Jarrod’s transgression, that temper of his was about to get another workout.
* * *
The muscles in Scott’s shoulders tightened, and his fingers clenched around the edge of the hard hat in his hand as he stared at his boss across the desk in the cramped construction trailer. “She complained about me?”
“Not without some prompting. She made a comment that raised a red flag and I pressed her.” Win leaned back in his chair, his posture relaxed, his tone conversational.
But he wasn’t relaxed. Scott had been working with the man for three months. When Win had a serious matter to discuss he was calm, rational—and brutally honest. If someone messed up, he told them straight out. There was no pointing fingers, no ranting. He just laid out the facts, listened to the other side and ended the conversation with an admonition to do better.
Scott had admired his style and tried to emulate it. But he’d failed big-time on Friday night—and Jarrod’s mother had made certain his boss knew all about it.
Thanks a lot, lady.
“You want to tell me your version?”
At Win’s prompt, Scott counted to five, wishing he had time to get to ten. “I don’t have much to add. Like she said, the kid trespassed—twice. I ran into them at the Orchid, and I told her to keep him off the site.”
“She’s still upset about your...conversation.”
An image of weary blue eyes flashed across Scott’s mind, and a twinge of guilt tugged at his conscience as he thought about the encounter that had been more confrontation than conversation. “I guess I could have been more diplomatic.”
Win let a few beats of silence pass, showing Scott he concur
red with that assessment.
The man leaned forward and folded his hands on his desk. “Mattson wants any problems handled with kid gloves. There was a lot of opposition from town residents to this development in the beginning, and he doesn’t want to incur any more enmity.”
Scott knew that. He’d met with Louis Mattson when the developer had been reviewing construction company bids for Inn at The Point, and once hired, Mattson had given him the skinny on the town’s resistance and told him there was also a PR component to the job. He wanted to keep Starfish Bay residents happy, not tick them off.
“I’m sorry.” He had to dredge up the words. Apologizing had never been his strength—as Gram often reminded him.
“I don’t want kids on the site, either, of course. And I want this job finished with a clean safety record. But let’s see if we can deal with these kinds of problems in a less in-your-face way, okay?”
“Okay.” Heat rose on his neck. “It won’t happen again.”
“I’m sure it won’t. And if you get the chance, see if you can make things right with Cindy Peterson.”
Looked like he’d be eating crow after all. “I’ll do my best.”
“Good enough. Now let’s get back to work.”
As Scott rose, his cell phone began to vibrate. He waited until he was outside to check caller ID, giving his temper a few seconds to cool.
Once in the sunlight, he glanced down.
Devon.
He fisted one hand on his hip. This was her second call in the past twenty-four hours, and he’d let it roll to voice mail last night. Might as well deal with this latest appeal for emergency funds while he was still hot under the collar and less likely to cave.
Pressing the talk button, he walked toward the edge of the headland, where a fine mist rose from waves crashing against the rocks below. “Good morning.”
“It’s noon here.” He heard her stifle a yawn. “But it feels like morning.”
“Late night?”
“Some of us got free tickets to a new play and we went out for pizza afterward. I decided to sleep in for... What’s that noise? Are you at Gram’s?”
Scott had grown so used to the barking seals that he’d tuned them out. “No. I’m on the job site. We have a seal colony on the rocks below us.” One of his excavator operators gestured him over, and he walked toward the man. “I’ve got to run. Did you have a specific reason for calling?” Like he didn’t know.
“Uh...yeah.” She gave him the same story she’d relayed to Gram about being up for a new part and having less time for her waitress job. “So I was hoping you could spare a few bucks to tide me over.”
It was her usual breezy request. More assumption than appeal. He’d heard it a hundred times. In the past, he’d just forked over whatever amount she needed. Like Gram and Gramp, he’d been so grateful she’d been spared in the car accident that had taken the lives of their parents that he’d spoiled her rotten through the years. As a result, she’d come to believe cosseting was her due.
But for some reason today her attitude rankled him. Maybe he should follow Gram’s example. Tell her to take some responsibility for her life. Everyone else handled their own problems. Even Cindy Peterson. He might not be happy about her complaint to his boss, but when she’d told him at the Orchid on Friday night she’d make sure her son didn’t trespass again, he knew she’d meant it. Although her negligence had caused the problem to begin with, she took responsibility for fixing things. Devon could learn a lesson or two from her.
“Sorry, sis. Not this time.”
Dead silence stretched between them.
He waited her out.
“I only need a few bucks.”
“What’s a few?”
“Two hundred. I’m short for my portion of the rent.”
“Why don’t you pick up some extra waitressing hours?”
“I told you why.” There was an edge to her voice now.
Scott stopped a few feet from the excavator, held up one finger to the operator and angled away, his own temper flaring. “I have a lot of expenses, too. Seaside Gardens costs a fortune. In fact, I wouldn’t mind some help with those bills. Maybe you ought to think about getting a real job so you could contribute toward Gram’s care.”
“Man. Did you get up on the wrong side of the bed or what?” Irritation nipped at her words.
“Life isn’t a picnic out here, Devon.”
“Yeah? Well, it isn’t here either. This business is cutthroat. But I’m on the verge of making it big with this new play, and I’m not going to blow my chance. Keep your money. I can always go to a homeless shelter if I can’t come up with my share of the rent.” The line went dead.
A muscle clenched in Scott’s jaw as he jammed the phone back into the holster on his belt. Not even nine o’clock yet, and he was already down two strikes.
As he turned toward the crew awaiting his instructions, Devon’s parting shot echoed in his mind. A homeless shelter. Like she’d ever follow through on that threat. What a dumb ploy.
But even dumber than that, he knew he’d end up wiring his sister the money before the day was over.
Just in case.
* * *
“Mom...it’s that man from The Point!”
At her son’s urgent tug on her sleeve, Cindy stopped reading the label on the can she’d pulled from the shelf at the Mercantile and looked toward the front door, where the jingling bell was announcing a new arrival.
Her gaze collided with Scott Walsh’s.
She stifled a groan. The last thing she needed after her crazy busy Wednesday was another encounter with the ill-tempered construction company owner. And judging by the sudden narrowing of his eyes, he wasn’t thrilled to see her either.
Or maybe he was mad all over again because his boss had passed on her complaint.
She quashed a sudden twinge of regret. She had more important things to worry about than Scott Walsh’s ego.
Intending to ignore him, she turned her back and addressed her son, who remained fixated on his nemesis. “It’s not polite to stare, Jarrod. Why don’t you go pick out an ice cream bar from the freezer for dessert?”
“He’s coming over here.” Her son relayed the news in a panicked whisper as he edged closer.
Cindy’s pulse took a leap, and she tightened her grip on the can.
“Excuse me.” The familiar deep baritone resonated in her ears. At least his tone was cordial rather than angry. A hopeful change.
Clutching the can, Cindy rotated toward him.
She’d known he was tall the night he’d towered over their table at the Orchid, but his full height registered now as he stood across from her. At five-seven she wasn’t short, but he had to top six feet by an inch or two at minimum.
“I’d like to apologize for my rudeness last Friday and introduce myself. Scott Walsh.” The hint of a smile that seemed forced pulled at his lips as he extended his hand.
He was hating this. Cindy could read it in his eyes and the taut stretch of his mouth. This was not a man who liked to apologize. Yet he was doing it anyway. That earned him a few points.
After transferring the can to her left hand, she took his fingers in a firm grip. “Cindy Peterson. And my son, Jarrod.” When the youngster resisted her attempt to tug him out from behind her, she gave up. “I’m sorry if my conversation with your boss caused any problems. I’d had a long, stressful day and said more than I should have. My mouth sometimes gets away from me.”
Her candor appeared to take him off guard, but surprise quickly morphed to amusement that put an appealing spark in his dark green irises. “As you may have guessed from this red hair and my comments on Friday, I can empathize with that. Shall we call it even?”
“Let’s.”
Her purse slipped from her shoulder as Jarrod eased out a fraction, and when she grabbed for it she dropped the can. Scott bent to retrieve it, scanning the label on the all-purpose bug spray before handing it back.
“Insect problem?�
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“Ants in the kitchen.” She wrinkled her nose. “There was a whole parade of them last night. I have no idea where they came from.”
“They can be insidious. I had the same problem in my grandmother’s house last month.” He checked out the shelves behind her, then reached past her shoulder and snagged a different can. “I used this. Worked like a charm.”
“Sold.” She twisted around to replace the other can and took the one he offered. His fingers were long and lean, she noted, as they brushed hers. And the calluses on his palm told her he wasn’t the kind of boss who directed from the sidelines. An odd flutter skittered along her nerve endings, and she eased away, hugging the can to her chest. “Thanks for the advice.”
“Thanks for the understanding.” He tipped his head sideways to get a better look at her son. “Bye, Jarrod.”
It took a prod with her elbow to elicit a mumbled reply from her son.
With a lift of his hand, he disappeared around the end of the aisle.
Jarrod stayed close while she finished her shopping, but by the time she approached the high, old-fashioned counter at the seventy-five-year-old store that was one of her favorite town landmarks, Scott was gone.
The owner’s daughter greeted her as she approached, waving a small white bakery bag. “From Scott.” Lindsey tapped the plastic dome beside the cash register, where her homemade cookies were always displayed. “Chocolate chip today. He said to enjoy them for dessert.” She grinned, her brown eyes twinkling. “Looks like you two have made a new friend.”
“More like a peace offering.” Nevertheless, Cindy had to admit it was a nice gesture. “We had a little...run-in with him last week.”
“With Scott?” Lindsey raised an eyebrow as she rang up and bagged Cindy’s purchases. “I’ve only heard good things about him.”
The bell over the door jingled, and Lindsey leaned sideways to check out the new arrival. A tall, mid-thirties, sandy-haired man dressed in a National Park Service uniform entered. “Hi, Clint. That garden edger you ordered is in. Give me a minute to finish up here and I’ll get it from the back.”
“No hurry. I need a few other things anyway.” The man brushed the dust off his slacks as he strolled over to the counter, exchanging a greeting with Cindy and Jarrod as he inspected the dome. “Save me a couple of cookies, okay?”
