Page 12 of You Can Leave Your Hard Hat On
CHAPTER FIVE
SAMANTHA WALKED TOWARDthe job site, trying to calm her jumpy nerves and smothering a yawn behind her hand. She wished she could blame her previous night’s sleeplessness on her anxiety over the Carlyle project, but she acknowledged that knowing she would see Teague again today was what had her on edge.
She’d left the bar last night as soon as he’d agreed to take the project, telling herself that she didn’t want to give him the chance to change his mind. In reality, she had wanted to avoid the awkward “So what have you been doing since high school?” talk. The less she knew about Teague’s personal life, the better. When he’d clasped her hand in his to seal their agreement, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d just made a deal with the devil, but she was willing to do whatever was necessary to get the project off the ground. Working side by side for thirty days with a man who so thoroughly confounded her would be challenging, but she’d walk on hot coals for thirty days if she had to.
It was midmorning, and the site already showed signs of improvement and organization—knots of peoplewere working together in various areas of the narrow site, although she noted that the channel Teague had been digging yesterday had not been filled in as she’d instructed. Irritation blipped through her chest. Her eyes immediately went to Teague, tall and broad in the center of the site as he directed the driver of an earth mover where to dig. Her pulse quickened at the mere sight of him in Levi’s and a pale-blue T-shirt, already sweat-stained beneath a climbing Texas sun. She tamped down her reaction—considering their history, it was natural that she experience some physical confusion where Teague was concerned.
Next to him, his chocolate Lab sat obediently, watching his master’s every move. When Teague turned and caught Sam’s eye, she felt the intensity of his gaze on her like an X-ray, as if he could see through her chino slacks and blue button-up shirt. She had dressed more appropriately today, with heavy-treaded shoes and her hair pulled back into a ponytail.
As she walked across the site, she was aware that a murmur followed her, with the workers remembering what she looked like doused in mud and probably theorizing what might have gone on between yesterday and this morning for Teague not only to be rehired, but now to be running the site.
“Good morning,” she said as she walked up. The Lab walked over and sniffed her hand, then licked her cheerfully. She scratched his ears, smiling at his eager welcome.
“Mornin’,” Teague said briefly. “Down, Dixon,” hesaid to the dog, then nodded toward the man standing next to him and to site plans unrolled on top of a pallet of cinder block. “Griggs and I were just going over some changes to the site plans.”
Samantha’s defenses rose like a wall. “Changes? There will be no changes—we don’t have time.”
Teague’s head snapped back and his mouth tightened. “Your retaining walls are in the wrong place.” He tapped the plans. “You have a wall here and here. But for this grade and for this type of soil, you need one here, here, and here.”
She glanced at the map. “You mean where you were digging yesterday?”
He nodded.
Sam shook her head. “There isn’t room with the utilities right of way.”
“They would be smaller than the two larger ones you proposed, and more effective.”
“But with my design for the retainer walls,” Sam said, her ire rising, “two is all we need.”
Teague pursed his mouth. “You asked me to run this site.”
“That’s right,” Sam said, biting off the words. “But I expect you to followmyplans. Is that clear?” She’d spoken more vehemently than she’d meant to, but she couldn’t have him questioning her design—and authority—on the first day. His eyes narrowed beneath the brim of his hard hat.
Next to them, the man that Teague had referred to as Griggs shifted uncomfortably.
“Clear as glass,” Teague finally said, his words weighted.
“Okay,” she murmured, trying not to flinch under his cool stare. “Perhaps now would be a good time to review the plans in more detail. When I explain the design, perhaps you’ll see my point.”
“Perhaps,” he said, although he looked doubtful.
“Griggs,” she said, looking at the other man, “would you see to it that the channel over there is filled in?”
Griggs hesitated, then looked at Teague.
Teague’s mouth twitched. “You heard the boss lady.”
Griggs nodded and walked away. Samantha looked at Teague. “I’m not the ‘boss lady,’ I’m the architect.”
“Okay,” Teague conceded in an infuriatingly aloof tone.
Samantha set her jaw. “About the retaining walls—”
“I have to go to city hall to file some paperwork,” Teague cut in. “Why don’t you ride along and tell me about these special walls of yours?” Instead of waiting for an answer, he whistled and strode toward his truck.
Sam frowned and followed him, wondering if the whistle was meant for her or the dog and hating that she had to trot to keep up with his long stride. When she reached the passenger-side door, she hesitated, nervous about being in such close confines with Teague. But since he didn’t seem to be bothered by the idea, she yanked open the door and climbed inside.
From the driver’s side, Dixon bounded up into thespace in the middle. Teague swung inside, set his hard hat on the dashboard and started the vehicle, seemingly oblivious to his passenger. Sam fastened her seatbelt and took advantage of the opportunity to study him, like she used to in biology class. His dark hair was shorter than he used to wear it and shot through with silver. His strong profile was much the same, except leaner, his cheekbones sharper, with a few lines around his eyes. She had the overwhelming urge to ask about his life, about what experiences had put those lines on his face, but resisted.
