Page 13 of A Package Deal

“Pearl?” I asked, finally finding my tongue.

My new subcontractor took a step forward and I swore the house shook. “Yes. But I go by Pip, not a stupid oyster hemorrhoid.”

I blinked, thinking maybe I’d heard her wrong. Her German accent was quite thick. When she merely stared back at me and Warrick’s chuckle rippled through the silence, I quickly held out my hand.

“I’m Em. Thanks so much for your help. Coffee before we get started?” I gestured over my shoulder to the kitchen.

Pip, her face devoid of makeup and set in a hard grimace that looked like it just might be her natural resting face, shook her head. Not one hair dared to slip out of the bun.

“You go. I will load the toilet into zee dumpster to warm up.”

She marched out of the house, the thick white soles of her tennis shoes somehow making more noise than my steel-toed boots. I watched her go, wondering who, exactly, I’d just hired. I was used to being the female ballbuster on jobs, but I had a feeling I’d just been upstaged.

“She seems fun,” Warrick said dryly, making Georgia laugh, not because she understood the joke, but because everything Warrick said made her giggle.

Shoulders slumping, I follow Pip outside. I had my pride to thank for missing out on coffee. A subcontractor couldn’t work harder than me. I wouldn’t allow it. Pip tossed the toilet into the newly delivered dumpster I’d rented like she frequently competed in strong women competitions. She belched and turned to the bathroom vanity.

“Here. I’ll take the other end,” I offered, stepping into place.

Pip shrugged. “If you want.”

I picked up my side and gritted my teeth when my back barked at me from all the sanding. “I want.”

We got the rest of the bathroom demo into the dumpster and then attacked the second bathroom. Not only could Pip swing a sledgehammer like a professional lumberjack on steroids, she liked to sing bawdy drinking songs while she did it. Some in English, some in German. I mostly stayed out of her way and made sure the kitchen was ready for us to take out the cabinets. Warrick would be without a working kitchen for a few days, so I made sure to set up my six-foot table in the middle of the spacious room so he could at least have a space for a coffee pot or to make a sandwich.

A squeal from outside got my attention midafternoon. I came rushing out the door with my heart in my throat to find my daughter cackling, nearly doubled over with laughter. Warrick was inside the pen with Bessie, Georgia safely two feet away from the fence line on the outside. He was sitting on the bucket again, talking to the large farm animal like he just might sweet-talk her into letting him milk her. His fancy jeans were covered in dirt, with one particularly gruesome patch of soft brown substance on his knee that I didn’t want to ask about.

“It’s the pants. She can’t trust a city slicker,” I drawled, forgetting for just a moment about all the pressures hitting me from every angle.

Warrick’s head snapped up and that was his first mistake. Bessie took advantage of the moment and hip-checked her girthy body against Warrick’s distracted one. The poor guy went flying back off the bucket, landing in the mud with a grunted curse. Georgia gasped and lunged forward to press her face against the fence.

“You okay, Wa-wy?”

I rolled my lips in to keep from laughing. He was clearly fine. The creative curses streaming from his lips told me so.

“I’m just great, Peaches,” he finally answered, picking himself off the ground while trying to minimize the mud distribution.

My smile froze. “Peaches?” Warrick had given my daughter a nickname? Hearing it did something funny to my stomach, and I wasn’t sure if I liked it or hated it.

Warrick shrugged, limping out of the pen and shutting the gate before Bessie got any other destructive ideas. Georgia danced around his feet, wanting to get close but not close enough to get any of that mud on her.

“Fucking förster,” Pip muttered from behind me, lumbering past me and down the steps. I didn’t want to ask what that meant.

Warrick quickly stepped aside, wincing at the quick movement while Georgia just stared up at the woman in awe. Pip opened the pen and went right up to Bessie’s snout, the two locked in some kind of who-has-the-biggest-balls staring competition. Pointing out neither of them actually had a set wasn’t something I felt safe doing at the moment however. Bessie finally let out a soft moo and shifted back in the direction of the bucket. Pip nodded her approval and sat, milking the cow until she filled the bucket. Georgia watched the whole thing with rapt attention.

Warrick cursed again, slow and quiet.

I turned to Warrick. “Well, I guess she showed you, huh, Dick?”

Fire danced in his eyes, but only a single eyebrow lifted. “Dick?”

I shrugged, every bad mood the last few days had brought me converging into this moment. I didn’t know why, but Warrick felt like a safe place to let my temper roar. He shouldn’t have though. He was a client.

“You seem to like nicknames and calling you Rick just seemed unimaginative. Dick has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

“I take it to zee refrigerator, yeah?” Pip stated, moving past us with the full bucket like it weighed nothing. I watched her go, amazed at how much she’d gotten done today. She was worth a whole crew of Bobs and Smellys.

“I’m only hiring women from now on. German if at all possible.”

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