Page 8 of You Can Leave Your Hard Hat On
Sam sighed and shook her head. It was silly to conjure up fantasies of what might have been—they each had chosen their own path. Such a shame that the man was digging ditches for a living…although wasn’t it exactly what she’d expected him to do with his life?
Her cell phone rang, breaking into her nostalgic musings. She connected the call. “Hello?”
“Samantha, hey, it’s Price. I found your foreman, Mr. Langtry.”
She smiled in relief. “Great.”
“Um, not really. He’s in Central Hospital with mono.”
“Mono?”
“Yeah, says he’s going to be out of commission for at least six weeks.”
Her shoulders fell and worst-case scenarios ballooned in her mind—missing the excavation deadline, having the project yanked, embarrassing her firm, facing her father.
“But don’t panic,” Price added quickly. “I have him on the line and he says he can recommend a replacement.”
“Okay, put him on.”
The phone clicked and a scratchy voice said, “Hello?”
“Mr. Langtry?”
“Yeah, it’s me,” he said, sounding horrible. “Hello, Miss Stone. I guess your secretary told you I was going to be laid up for a while.”
“I’m an executive assistant,” Price broke in.
“Yes,” Sam said. “I’m sorry to hear about your illness, Mr. Langtry.”
“I know I’m leaving you high and dry on your job, Miss Stone.”
“Price said you could recommend a replacement.”
“Sure can. Name’s Brownlee.”
She swallowed hard and reached for a table to lean against. “TeagueBrownlee?”
“You know him?”
She winced. “Yes. I fired him today.”
Langtry laughed. “You don’t say?”
“Well, actually, he quit.”
“You two have a run-in at the site?”
“Something like that.”
He laughed again, obviously amused. “Well, I have to be honest with you, Miss Stone—the crew was already unhappy working on a job that they saw as short-term. If you don’t have a foreman on the job tomorrow, the crew leaders are liable to take their men to another job. They all like Teague—they’ll stay for him. This is a tricky site, and he’s the smartest man I know when it comes to excavation.”
She bit back a curse. “Surely there must be someone else.”
“Not someone who’s available on a day’s notice. Teague only works when he wants to.”
She rolled her eyes at that bit of information, then sighed. “Will you call and talk to him?”
“If he has a phone, I don’t know the number. Anytime I want to talk to Teague, I go to the billiards joint on West Avenue called Brass Balls. He’s usually hanging out there.”
