Page 21 of Corkscrew You
Perfect timing for a quiet knock on the door.
“Morning.”
It’s Cam. Using up one of his limited daily quotas of words.
I’m so full of weird conflicting emotion, I sound like a crazy person.
“Cam! Hi! Come in!”
He edges an inch further inside.
“This is Nathan Durant,” I say. “The new manager I told you about. Nathan, this is Cam Hollander, maintenance man and cooper extraordinaire.”
Nathan, still trapped behind the desk, reaches across, and Cam leans past me to take his hand.
“Good to meet you,” says Nathan.
He doesn’t seem to be full of any kind of emotion, let alone weird conflicting ones. But that’s possibly because he’s fully focused on Cam. Most men do this when they meet Cam. Might have something to do with the fact he’s six-five and muscled like a Michelangelo statue. And that he carries himself like the former soldier he is, upright and alert. Ready to move in any direction.
Cam’s current choice of direction is out the door again. He only came in because he knew he had to meet Nathan. Having done his duty, that’s his people contact over for the day, he heads back to the shed in which he lives and works.
“Cam, how busy are you?” I ask.
He shrugs. “So-so.”
There’s no point in delaying with Cam or he’ll disappear on you. So I plunge right in.
“How would you feel about building us a tasting room?”
ChapterEight
NATE
So on the plus side, Shelby and I seem to be on a good footing. Luckily, she didn’t seem to feel the same jolt I did when I touched her arm. Which I won’t be doing again.
On the downside, she’s just commissioned Cam, who I’m now calling Survivalist Ken, to construct the new tasting room, without pausing for a second to check with me. We haven’t discussed what the damn thing will look like, or even where it’ll be situated, so how will he know what to build? He looks like the kind of guy who doesn’t much go for a lot of windows. Would prefer, in fact, that the whole place was buried underground, and was eighty percent armoury.
Given the potentially fragile nature of my rapprochement with Shelby, I intend to suck this up. But she and I will have to have a little chat about roles and responsibilities for the future. And I’ll ask how much she’s paying Cam the Commando. I don’t want to find out he’s stockpiling gold as well as ammo.
That’s another task that’s urgent. Getting the books in order. Getting themoutof actual books and into an online accounting system. With properly organized account codes, so we don’t get line items like “Hog care” and “Mom’s herbal stuff,” which could give quite the wrong impression in some quarters.
No time like the present. Shelby’s gone back to work in the house, as this office wasn’t built for two. Or one, for that matter. There’s a phone here that connects to an extension in the kitchen, so I can call her if I have any questions.
Twenty seconds later.
“Has this computer ever been operational?”
“Did you plug it in?”
I’m a Harvard graduate and experienced manager. I’m alsoheinouslyhung-over, so it could be a fair call.
“Everything that should be on is on,” I tell her. “Except the computer screen. That’s still an attractive black.”
“Sounds broken to me. I’m no expert, though.”
“Is there a computer store in Verity?”
“No idea. I’ve never needed one.”
