by Marin Thomas
He nodded his thanks.
“Not much of a talker, are you?” Her smile didn’t quite camouflage the note of disappointment in her voice.
If he’d quit caring what people thought of him years ago, why did her observation twist his gut into a knot? He shrugged.
She crossed the room to the chart on the wall.
“I post the next week’s schedule by noon on Friday.” She tapped a long pink fingernail against his name. “I marked you for a cleanout this week.”
“Cleanout?”
“Compare it to spring-cleaning.”
Spring-cleaning sounded like a woman’s job.
His face must have shown his confusion because she smiled at him as if he were a dense child. “The home is off Fish Pond Road and we’ve been asked to gut it. The owner died and his children live in Florida.”
“The family isn’t handling the estate?”
“Mr. Kline was estranged from his family. His children want us to haul everything to the dump. I’ve already sorted through his belongings and donated what was useful to local charities.”
“What’s left to get rid of?”
“Several pieces of furniture. Then the carpet, the cupboards, the light fixtures, toilets, sinks, tub, linoleum flooring, and in this case, the front porch has to be torn off the house and hauled away.”
Spring-cleaning my… More of a demolition project. “So the house is going to be demolished?”
“Oh, no. A couple made an offer under the condition the place is ready for remodeling at closing.” As if she’d finally run out of oxygen from talking nonstop for the past twenty-five minutes, Anna sucked in a noisy breath of air. “I believe I’ve covered everything.”
And then some.
“Any questions, Ryan?”
“Who’s the other Parnell brother?”
“Harold. He died of colon cancer two years ago.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Ryan mumbled.
“He handled the financial end of the business, and since his death Bobby’s struggled with some cash-flow problems, but things will smooth out.”
Meaning what—the business was in monetary trouble? What did he care? He’d be gone in three months.
“Any questions?” she asked.
“Payday?”
“Fridays.” Her smile faltered—a first since they’d begun the tour. “May I ask you a question?”
A sliver of dread poked Ryan between the shoulder blades. “Sure.”
Her blue eyes turned icy. “What’s an uptown man such as yourself doing working for a trash company?”
WHEN RYAN JONES didn’t immediately respond, Anna congratulated her instincts for being correct. The moment she’d clasped his hand and gazed into his eyes—probing brown eyes—she’d been certain he didn’t hail from a neighborhood in Queens. As a matter of fact, she couldn’t detect any of the five boroughs’ accents in his speech, convincing her that there was much more to the new employee than met the eye.
“I’m taking a sabbatical from my other job,” he offered.
“Sabbatical meaning…you’ve been sent here to fulfill a community-service sentence?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “DUI? Drug possession?” Not long ago she’d read a magazine article about white-collar employees often getting slapped with community service for breaking the law, while blue-collar workers ended up in jail for the same offense.
Ryan’s mouth dropped open, affording Anna a glimpse of perfectly even white teeth—no fillings in his lower molars. She considered herself a good judge of character and decided his slack-jawed expression was genuine.
“I’ve never been arrested for anything in my life,” he insisted.
Maybe she’d gone overboard with the drinking and drug accusations, but one could never be too careful. She took her job seriously and considered her coworkers family—she’d been looking out for their best interests. And truthfully, she didn’t understand why Bobby had hired another employee when the company had trouble meeting payroll.
Nothing about Ryan Jones made sense. A person had a right to privacy, but honestly, the man needed to relax and loosen up. If not, his standoffishness might prevent him from being accepted by the other men. Maybe she should suggest a few pointers on friendliness—
Right then a buzzer sounded. “The crew’s here.” She slipped past Ryan, catching a whiff of cologne. Expensive. Not dime-store stuff. He smelled of sophisticated, refined male. In all her thirty-two years she’d never met a man who piqued her interest more than Ryan. “C’mon. I’ll introduce you to everyone.”
After she pressed a button on the garage wall, the heavy door rose, revealing five pairs of work boots, then five sets of jean-clad legs, five metal lunch boxes, five broad shoulders and, finally, five heads, four wearing baseball caps, the other bald as a bowling ball.
“Morning, guys,” she greeted.
A chorus of “mornin’” bounced off the cement walls.
“Ryan Jones,” she began, then indicated each man as she said his name. “Antonio Moretti.”
“Tony,” he corrected, stepping forward to shake Ryan’s hand. “Only Anna gets away with calling me Antonio.”
“Patrick Felch,” she continued.
“Pat will do.”
Ryan nodded. “Nice to meet you.”
“Joe Smith and Eryk Gorski.”
“Good morning.” Ryan shook their hands.
Eryk shoved a copy of the daily newspaper under his arm and studied Ryan through narrowed eyes. “You look familiar.”
When Ryan didn’t comment, Anna continued. “And Leon Bauer.”
Leon waved, then skimmed his palm over his bald head. A habit the dear man hadn’t been able to break since the last few strands of hair had fallen out five years ago.
“I’ve given the new guy a tour of the station, assigned him a locker and explained the schedule. He’s all yours now.” The hint of uncertainty in Ryan’s eyes tempted Anna to hang out in the garage a few more minutes, but work waited on her desk. “I’ll check in with you later,” she promised with an encouraging smile.
By the end of the week she’d find out everything about Ryan Jones—even if she had to use a chisel and a mallet to break through his stony facade.
Chapter Two
Tense as a cornered rabbit, Ryan shifted from one size-twelve foot to the other as five pairs of eyes studied him. He didn’t appreciate the attention. And he didn’t approve of his grandfather’s motives—no matter how sincere.
“Jones, you’ll be with Eryk and me,” the bald man, Leon, announced, then headed to the break room, the others trailing behind.
Except Eryk. He continued to study Ryan. “I swear I’ve seen you before.”
Maybe the other man had come across the newspaper photo of Ryan after 9/11. “I don’t live around here.”
After a thoughtful nod, Eryk walked off, leaving Ryan alone in the garage. He held his breath until the break-room door closed, then a powerful rush of air burst from his lungs, leaving him dizzy and shaky. He’d given presentations to a convention room full of peers and had never been this nervous.
Those were the times you enjoyed being the center of attention.
The lukewarm welcome from his coworkers convinced Ryan he needed a new game plan to endure the next three months. Something along the lines of…mind his own business, don’t ask personal questions and where the company secretary–slash–boss lady was concerned…don’t, under any circumstances begin a conversation. Aloofness was the key to survival.
“Have you ever worked construction?” Eryk asked, appearing out of nowhere.
“No.” Ryan was wondering how to keep his guard up when a man wearing twenty-pound construction boots walked across a concrete floor without making a sound.
“Demolition?”
“Some.” Ryan’s one experience with destruction had been the night he’d torn apart his bedroom. By the time his anger, hurt and frustration had been exhausted, nothing salvageable remained—save for the memories of
9/11. Those were indestructible.
The break-room door banged against the brick wall. “Let’s go.” The furrows bracketing Leon’s mouth deepened.
“Don’t mind him,” Eryk whispered. “He hasn’t gotten a decent night’s sleep in over a month since his daughter and son-in-law moved in with him.”
Great. Apparently, Girl Friday wasn’t the sole motormouth in the place. Leon slid onto the driver’s seat of the empty dump truck. Ryan hustled to the storage cupboard and grabbed a pair of work gloves. Eryk stood by the passenger door, motioning for Ryan to hop in first.
“Anna said she was able to donate most of the furniture to nonprofit groups, so we might get away with one haul to the dump before we rip out the flooring and fixtures,” Leon commented as the truck edged out of the bay and into the street.
“Good,” Eryk grouched. “I’m dead tired after this weekend.”
“Babysitting does that to you.” Leon chuckled, jabbing Ryan’s side with a bony elbow.
“I can’t believe my sister-in-law talked my brother into having four kids. The brats ambush us when they come over.”
Ryan refrained from adding to the exchange. He never engaged in guy-banter with his employees. Personal lives remained personal—in and out of the office.
“Your sister-in-law’s a pretty woman. I doubt she was doing any talking in the bedroom.” Another elbow landed against Ryan’s side.
“Pretty or not, her kids are holy terrors,” Eryk complained.
“So now they’re her kids and not your brother’s?”
“Hell, yes. She stays at home and raises them while my brother busts his ass to put food on the table.” The truck stopped at a light. Eryk unrolled the window, hacked up a wad of phlegm and spit it at the pavement. “You got any kids, Jones?”
“No.” Ryan fought off a pang of sadness at the memory of almost being a father. At least his siblings were making their grandfather happy in that department. His younger brother, Aaron, and his wife, Jennifer, were expecting their first child around Christmas. His elder brother, Nelson, had inherited a teenage son when he’d married his wife, Ellen.
“Count yourself lucky.” Eryk interrupted Ryan’s thoughts. “One weekend a month, Pam and I watch the nieces and nephews. We began six years ago when they were two, five, seven and ten.” He snorted. “Hell, it was easy back then. Now the sixteen-year-old has a mouth meaner than a hooker’s. Can’t drag the thirteen-year-old away from his video games. The eleven-year-old’s favorite expression is make me. And the eight-year-old—shoot, she’s the best one in the bunch. Give her a box of Froot Loops and she’s a happy camper.”
The truck rolled into the intersection. “Then tell ’em you’ve had enough,” Leon insisted.
“A couple of times Pam and I almost stopped babysitting,” Eryk added.
“Why didn’t you?” Damn. Ryan hadn’t meant to voice the question.
“Guilt. My sister-in-law almost died during 9/11. That day changed my brother. Changed all of us.”
Changed didn’t begin to describe Ryan’s transformation after the attack.
“Once a month, they go off alone somewhere,” Eryk went on. “My brother’s afraid each weekend might be the last he and his wife have together.”
9/11 had forever changed thousands of peoples’ lives. Many, like Ryan’s, for worse, and some, like Eryk’s sister-in-law’s and brother’s, for the better.
Leon slammed on the brakes when a car cut in front of them. “Anna says going off for a weekend is romantic.”
“The woman insists peanut butter and jelly is romantic,” Eryk grumbled.
“You’re a good uncle. God will reward you in heaven.”
Ryan used to believe in heaven, but after 9/11 he doubted he’d ever see the pearly gates.
“Good uncle, my ass. I put up with the hooligans because Pam wears her French-maid costume to bed Sunday night after the brats leave.”
The bawdy comment startled Ryan but didn’t stop Leon from adding, “My Helga wouldn’t be caught dead in one of those sex getups. She locked me out of the bedroom for a month when I brought her a pink thong from Victoria’s Secret for Valentine’s Day. Accused me of being a pervert. Shoot, I’m old, but I ain’t dead. I’m fond of her big ol’ butt cheeks.”
“What do your ladies wear, Jones?” Eryk asked.
Eyes trained on the dashboard, Ryan grunted, “I’m divorced.” He had no desire to chat about women, sexy lingerie or butt cheeks.
Silence ensued. About time. After the next traffic light Leon turned on Fish Pond Road. Many of the homes were old and decrepit, but a few houses had been renovated, and one property had been demolished for new construction. Leon stopped the truck in the middle of the block, shifted into Reverse and backed into the driveway of a ramshackle two-story brick bungalow.
A rusted chain-link fence surrounded both the front and side yards. Apparently, the home had died along with the owner. Weeds had choked out the grass, and the bushes barely clung to life, refusing to shed their crusty brown leaves. Even the ceramic angel, with a broken wing and arms raised skyward, begged to be rescued from her desolate resting place.
As they piled out of the truck, Eryk cautioned, “Watch the porch steps. The second one’s rotted.”
Leon studied the damaged step. “We’ll have to slide the heavier pieces off the end.”
The inside of the house fared worse than the outside. Ryan gagged on the putrid air—a combination of mold, rodent droppings and cat feces.
“Jones, you take the second floor. Toss what you can onto the lawn. Eryk, clear out the garage. I’ll be in the basement.”
Pop. Creak. Snap. Ryan gingerly navigated the stairs to the second floor. When he reached the landing, an object—big and black—dived at his head, and he ducked, losing his balance. The trip down the stairs lasted half as long as the climb up. Ryan bounced to a stop at the front door, shoulder throbbing and elbow on fire.
“What the hell happened?” Leon rushed into the room and gaped. “Stair give out?”
“Tripped.” Damned if Ryan would admit a bat had scared the crap out of him. He accepted a hand up and swallowed a moan of pain.
“Maybe you’d better break out a window upstairs and drop the stuff into the yard,” Leon suggested, then returned to the basement.
Two hours later, drenched in sweat and arms burning with exertion, Ryan wanted to quit. A half hour on the treadmill and a twenty-minute workout on the Bowflex machine three times a week hadn’t prepared him for pulling up carpet, dismantling light fixtures and shoving mattresses through windows. Adding to his misery was the fact that he couldn’t get Anna’s face—her big nose, her blue eyes, her strong jaw—out of his ever-loving mind.
Wishing he’d thought to bring along a bottle of water, he rested his hands on his knees and sucked in large gulps of air. After a minute, the pinched feeling eased in his lungs and he returned to the first floor.
Time crawled as he joined Eryk in the garage and carried load after load to the front yard. Hefting an old car tire onto his shoulder, he wondered whether the old man would call a halt to this life lesson if Ryan collapsed from physical exhaustion. There was always a possibility…. He heaved a second tire onto his other shoulder and staggered along the driveway.
“BOSS SHOW UP?” Leon took a seat at the table in the break room. After the men called it quits, Leon stole a cup of coffee and a few minutes of tranquillity before heading home to a houseful of extended relatives.
Anna placed the creamer from the fridge next to Leon’s elbow. “Bobby came in at noon, stayed an hour, then claimed he had a personal matter to attend to and left.” She allowed Leon one minute of peace and quiet, then demanded, “Well?”
“Well, what?”
How did Helga put up with the man? Climbing all 102 floors of the Empire State Building would be less taxing than extracting information from Leon. “Ryan. Did he say where he lives?”
Ignoring the question, Leon winced. “I’ve got the knees of an eighty-
year-old.”
Guilt pricked Anna for badgering the poor man when he was obviously worn out. She fetched two ice packs from the freezer. While Leon adjusted the packs over his knees, Anna’s thoughts drifted to Ryan.
The new employee had been on her mind all afternoon. Leon, Eryk and Ryan had returned to the station for lunch, but she’d been tied up on the phone with the company’s CPA and hadn’t had the opportunity to ask the anyone how things were going.
She blamed her preoccupation with Ryan, not because he was a new employee, but that he was handsome and exciting in a mysterious way. Of course, she didn’t believe for a minute anything would develop between them, but a girl could dream, couldn’t she?
Dreams don’t come true. Life had taught her that lesson more than once.
Ignoring the voice in her head, Anna badgered, “C’mon, Leon, Ryan must have said something about himself.”
“He’s not much of a talker.”
“You mean Ryan was unsociable? Rude?”
“No. Just quiet.”
“He doesn’t appreciate us, does he?”
“Leave him be, Anna. If he don’t want to fit in around here, he don’t have to.”
“But I wanted—”
“Everyone to get along.” Slurp. “Always watching out for the strays, aren’t you?” Leon shoved his chair back, but Anna pressed her hand against his shoulder.
“Keep the ice on your knees.” She grabbed the coffeepot and topped off his cup, then added a dollop of nonfat dairy creamer.
“A man can’t even enjoy a coffee with real cream,” he complained.
After Leon was diagnosed with high cholesterol a year ago, Leon’s wife had enlisted Anna’s aid in monitoring her husband’s fat intake at work. “Helga would have my head if I let you have real cream.”
“Helga should pick on someone her own size.” Leon grinned and Anna laughed. Two inches shorter than Anna, his wife weighed in at a whopping one hundred eighty. And Leon was hopelessly in love with every one of those pounds. Sometimes Anna wondered if she’d ever find a man who’d love her to distraction the way Leon loved Helga.
