She looked up and saw a tall, barrel-chested man walking into the warehouse. He had gray hair and a tanned face and wore a plaid shirt tucked into jeans. He held a folder in one hand.
Sophie scrambled to her feet. “Can I help you?”
“Sophie Lane?”
She nodded.
“Bear Gleason.” He crossed to her and shook her hand.
She was five-five and he was at least eight inches taller. She would guess he was in his midfifties.
“How can I help you, Mr. Gleason?” she asked, hoping he wanted a job and that he had experience she could use.
“Bear, please. I heard you were moving your business to town. CK Industries.”
“That’s right.”
“My wife and I lived in Eastern Washington all our lives. I managed one of the largest fruit storage companies in the country. When we got bought out by an international conglomerate last year, they brought in their own people. Then our daughter turned up pregnant with triplets and my wife wanted to move over here to be close to the new grandkids and help her out.”
Sophie felt a whisper of hope and anticipation. She had a feeling it was the same sense of expectation other women got when they heard about a designer shoe sale. Let them fight over size whatever Jimmy Choo shoes—she just might have found herself a warehouse manager.
“I thought I’d try retiring,” Bear continued. “That lasted two whole months. Truth is, I’m going crazy at home. My daughter is eight months pregnant and on bedrest. My wife is gone all the time and I’m rattling around in our new place like a lost puppy. I’ve done every home project I can think of and my wife swears if I mess with her kitchen, she’ll kill me in my sleep.”
He looked around. “I’m not sure what all you’re buying or selling, but if it needs to be brought in, accounted for and then shipped out to customers, I’m your man.”
He handed her a slim folder. “My résumé and references.”
Yes! Sophie did her best not to break into a happy dance.
“How’d you find out about me renting the warehouse?” she asked.
“In a town this small, it’s all anyone’s been talking about. If I were you, I’d get the date of your job fair circulating real quick. Otherwise, folks are going to be drifting in at all hours.”
“Like you?”
He flashed her a grin. “Exactly like me.” The smile faded. “I heard about the fire. You had insurance, right?”
“Making sure your paycheck is going to clear?”
“I’m sure as hell not working for free.”
“I can respect that.”
She was about to start the interview when an eighteen-wheeler pulled into the parking lot and began backing up toward the loading dock.
Bear looked from the truck to her warehouse. “You don’t even have shelves yet. Or desks. Does anyone work here but you?”
“No, but they will. Better to have product and nowhere to put it than not.”
Bear didn’t look convinced. Still, he moved to the loading dock door and helped guide the truck into place.
It took nearly an hour to get the order moved from the truck to the warehouse. Sophie stopped several times to add to her list of needed supplies. Handcarts, for one. A forklift. Gloves, safety glasses, cones.
When the UPS guy pulled out, Bear stared at the stacked boxes.
“Cat food. Cat litter. Cat toys.” He glared at her. “What is this?”
“What we sell. What did you think was going on here?”
“It’s CK Industries. I didn’t know what it was.”
She grinned. “CK stands for Clandestine Kitty. I started the business when I was in college.”
Bear looked horrified. “You sell cat stuff? You need all this square footage to sell cat stuff?”
“You don’t like cats?”
“Not really. I’m a dog person. Damn. Clandestine Kitty. I never would have guessed that. I hope no one from back home ever finds out I work here.”
“Technically, I haven’t hired you yet.”
“You will. You’re not going to find anyone more qualified. Plus, I’m local now and that helps. If there’s an emergency, I’m six minutes away.”
He looked at the stacks of boxes, then at the warehouse. “Stuff comes in, you repackage it and ship it out to customers. I get it. We’re going to need shelves and a shipping station.”
“I know.”
“I’ll need you to talk me through your current workflow. It’s probably not as efficient as it could be but we’ll start with that and change it as we go. It would help if I could see purchase orders for the last six months to give me an idea of space. We’ve got to get a forklift for sure. I’ll need a computer, a stack of purchase orders and a company credit card to get started.”
“Still not hired.”
He sighed heavily. “Fine. What do you want to know?”
She had his résumé, which would cover the duties he’d performed and what he’d been responsible for. What Sophie was more interested in was who Bear was. She’d been told she was, ah, difficult to work for. Could he handle her?
“Tell me about your best day and your worst day.”
His gaze narrowed. “You’re talking about work stuff, right? Because if you want to discuss my feelings, we are not going to get along at all.”
She laughed. “Bear, I swear to you I will never ask about your feelings and I certainly won’t discuss mine. I just want to know if you’re good at what you do and if you have a problem working for a woman.”
“Do you bring a cat to work?”
Sophie thought about how CK had been a part of her world for nearly eighteen years. How her soft meows and gentle purring were as familiar as Sophie’s own heartbeat. She remembered holding CK at the very end and how she still couldn’t believe her sweet girl was gone.
“No,” she said quietly. “I won’t be bringing a cat to work.”
“Then I don’t care if you’re a woman or a zombie. Let’s have an interview and get this settled. If it seems we’ll suit, then I’ll get going on writing up a proposal on what I’m going to need.”
“I’ve already picked out shelves and tables.”
“Uh-huh. Like I said, I’ll write up a proposal and we can go over it together. I’ll use my home computer until you get the new ones for the warehouse and offices. All right. Worst day. That’s easy. Some jerkwad brought in a bunch of fruit from his mom’s place up north of here. Brought it into the warehouse without stopping to think it might have apple maggots. And it did. Damn fool. Do you know what a couple dozen breeding apple maggots can do to a warehouse full of prime quality crop?”
Something she really didn’t want to think about. “It was bad, huh?”
“Bad doesn’t begin to describe it. We lost millions. I’ve always believed stupid is forever. No idea where that kid is now but he’s sure as hell never working for me.” He thought for a second. “Best day. If you like what you’re doing, then they’re all good days.”
Sophie’s entrepreneurial heart gave a little ping of happiness. “I’m going to read through your résumé and check your references,” she said. “Want to start unloading the boxes?”
He looked at the stacks of merchandise and sighed. “Cats. I never would have guessed cats. Hell of a thing.”
* * *
Heather Sitterly carried two plates across the Blackberry Island Inn dining room. As usual, there was a large breakfast crowd, even on a Monday morning. The customers were a mix of visitors and locals, all here for great food at reasonable prices. The bacon and spring vegetable frittata was moving briskly this morning.
“Here we go,” she said, setting the plates in front of an older couple who had been at the inn all weekend. “Avocado on the side and extra bacon for the gentleman.” She smiled. “Let me refill your coffee cups, then I’ll chec
k back to see how you’re enjoying your breakfast.”
“Thank you, dear,” the woman said. She was probably in her midsixties, with soft-looking gray hair and dark eyes. She looked a lot like Heather’s maternal grandmother, but Heather knew better than to say that. No one appreciated being told they looked like a grandparent.
She smiled before quickly walking to the coffee station. She saw the decaf pot was nearly empty, so started the brewer going before picking up one of the regular pots and heading back toward her tables. She filled a half-dozen cups before returning to the older couple.
“How’s your breakfast so far?” she asked as she poured coffee.
“Excellent as always,” the woman said, glancing at her name tag. “Heather, is it? Are you a local?”
“Born and raised.”
“Are you in college?” the woman’s husband asked.
“I go to community college. There’s one on the mainland, not too far from here.”
“It’s so nice there’s a bridge,” the woman added. “You don’t have to worry about waiting for a ferry.”
“That’s true. The ferries can’t travel when the weather’s bad, but the bridge is always open.”
The older man winked at her. “Ever dream about escaping to somewhere?” he asked, his voice teasing. “A big city?”
Nearly every day. But Heather didn’t say that. These nice people didn’t want to know about her personal trials and how much she longed to be almost anywhere but here.
“Blackberry Island is such a lovely place,” she said instead, then excused herself to attend to her other customers.
Exactly one hour and forty-seven minutes later, Heather’s shift ended. She cashed out, pocketed her tips and picked up the to-go box Helen, the cook at the dining room, always left for her. As requested, Helen had scribbled Amber on the top of the container. At first the cook had written Heather’s name, as she was the one placing and paying for the order. But Amber had complained about that.
“The food is for me. Why is your name on the container? Shouldn’t it be my name?”
Heather had wanted to tell her mother that it didn’t really matter whose name was where. Breakfast was being delivered, free and delicious. Was the name that important? But it wasn’t a fight worth taking on.
Heather set the take-out container in the basket on the front of her bike, then strapped on her helmet. She had a car, but for short trips, it was faster and cheaper to take her bike—not to mention good exercise. As she pedaled toward the house where she’d grown up, she planned out the rest of her day. She would be home by nine fifteen. That gave her nearly two hours to study for finals before she took her mother car-shopping.
Amber had been rear-ended three weeks ago at the island’s only stoplight. Her car had been totaled and Amber had sustained soft tissue injuries that had put her on disability. Heather felt bad about her mother’s pain and hoped she would heal quickly, only there was a tiny part of her—a wretched, mean-spirited, bad part of her—that wondered if Amber had been injured much at all. Because being on disability was a whole lot easier than going to work.
Heather rode the last half mile to the house telling herself not to cast judgment. It was her mother’s life—she shouldn’t get involved. Only being involved had always been her job and therein lay the problem.
She pulled up in front of the old rambler where she lived. The front yard was big, with a nice lawn and wide plant beds. Right now everything looked scraggly after the long winter, but there were already the first green shoots from the daffodils and tulip bulbs poking out of the dark soil. In a week or so the flowers would make their first appearance.
The house itself needed a coat of paint, not to mention an overhaul of the kitchen and bathrooms. But pretty much everything was functional and that was much more important than how things looked.
She locked up her bike on the rear porch and went in the back door.
“It’s me,” she called.
“Heather?” Her mother’s voice was weak. “Is that you?”
“Yes, Mom. Who else would it be?”
“You never know. Someone could break in and slit my throat. It’s happened before.”
“Not to you,” Heather said, going for cheerful because sarcasm never worked and she really needed to get to her studying as soon as possible. “I think we’re all pretty safe on the island.”
“Did you bring me breakfast? I’m in so much pain and I can’t take my pill until I eat.”
“I did.”
Heather popped the frittata onto a plate, then put it in the microwave for a quick heat. She poured coffee before carrying everything into the small, shabby living room where her mother lay on the sofa.
Amber made a feeble attempt to sit up, then squeezed her eyes shut and whimpered. Heather gently helped her raise herself so Heather could put pillows behind her back. Once Amber was comfortable, Heather handed her the plate and left the coffee within reach.
“I need to go study, Mom. I have my last final tomorrow.”
“But we’re still going car-shopping later this morning, aren’t we?”
“Yes, we are.”
Heather thought about the conversation she’d been putting off and knew she’d run out of time. Reluctantly, she sat in the club chair opposite the sofa.
“Mom, the insurance check was nine thousand dollars. You’re talking about wanting to get a late-model SUV. All the ones you’ve shown me are at least twenty thousand, even used. Are you going to take out a loan for the rest?”
Amber, a heavyset, dark-haired woman with brown eyes, put down her plate. “What are you saying?”
Amber was only thirty-eight, but she looked at least forty-five. She’d been pretty when she’d been young, but whatever good looks she’d had seemed to have faded, along with any ambition.
“Just there’s tax and the license fee, so a twenty-thousand-dollar car is going to end up being about twenty-three thousand. That’s a loan for what, fourteen thousand? You might want to put some savings toward the balance to bring down the loan amount.”
Tears filled Amber’s eyes. “Savings? I don’t have any savings. Barely a thousand dollars. I work at that hideous job where they pay me nothing. With all the expenses around here, there’s nothing left over.” Tears spilled down her cheeks. “I don’t know what I’m going to do. It’s not fair. That man hit me and totaled my car, but he gets off easy. I’m the one who’s going to have to pay for his carelessness. I wish they’d thrown him in jail. He deserves that. The police barely gave him a ticket. I doubt they would have if I hadn’t insisted.”
“Mom,” Heather said gently, ignoring the knot in her stomach. “The car?”
Her mother’s lower lip trembled. “I guess there isn’t going to be a car for me. I’ll have to take the bus. It’s only a mile from the bus stop to the house. Once my back heals, I should be able to manage that.”
“You really only have a thousand dollars in savings?”
Amber stared at her. “Would I lie about that?”
Heather was pretty confident she would, but she couldn’t be sure and with Amber’s accounts all online, there was no way to check. As for affording a payment...
Don’t, she told herself. Just don’t even try.
“Do you have any money?” her mother asked, her voice small. “Some you could loan me?”
And there it was. The thing Heather had been avoiding. The question she’d known was coming from the second she’d heard about the accident. Because the financial buck stopped with her. She was only twenty, but she’d been supporting the household since she was sixteen.
She thought about how she’d scrimped and saved hoping to, one day, have enough to finally escape. She wanted to take more than two classes each quarter at the local community college, she wanted to have one good job, not three or four part-time ones. And most of all—pleas
e, God—one day she absolutely did not want to have to be responsible for her mother.
“Loan?” she asked, unable to keep the bitterness out of her tone.
Amber jerked as if she’d been slapped. “Why would you say it like that? I’m your mother. I’ve taken care of you all your life. If I hadn’t gotten pregnant, I could have gone to college and made something of myself. I’m here for you all the time, Heather. You’re lucky to have me.”
Which may or may not be true, but at the end of the day, her mother never paid her back. No matter how many times she’d “borrowed” money.
“How much do you have?” her mother asked.
Heather wanted to lie. She desperately wanted to make up a smaller number so she could keep some of it for her future, but she couldn’t. She didn’t have the lying gene. She’d tried, but she always sounded funny and instantly confessed.
“Six thousand dollars.”
Amber’s eyes lit up. “That’s perfect. I’ll only have to borrow eight thousand. That’s a very doable loan payment.” She waved toward the bedrooms. “Study away, then we’ll go buy me a car. I’m so excited. I hope they still have the blue one. It’s so pretty and has really low miles.”
She wiggled in her seat as if her back pain had suddenly disappeared.
Heather walked to her room, trying not to be angry about the fact that her mother was going to clean out Heather’s savings while leaving her own intact. She’d just opened her computer to review her notes, when her phone rang. She glanced at the screen, then smiled.
“Hey, Sophie,” she said. “How’s it going?”
“Great. I am standing in my new warehouse. It’s not perfect, but I will make it work.”
Sophie, Amber and Kristine were cousins who had grown up together. Amber was a few years older. Heather remembered Sophie and Kristine babysitting her when she’d been little.
“I still can’t believe you leased a warehouse you’ve never seen,” Heather told her.
“I had to grab it while I could. The alternative would have been something on the mainland and I didn’t want that.”
“When did you get here?”
Sisters by Choice Page 3
