Page 26 of Her Cadillac Cowboy
“I think he’s part of a gang that’s been vandalizing Carson’s for a long time. I had to protect Carson’s property and my family’s interests.”
“And who protects Carson’s if something happens to you? Donny?”
“No, Donny can’t, and nobody else will. But if the vandalism and petty theft goes unchecked, Carson’s won’t need protecting. We’ll be out of business.”
“There must be better ways to do that job than chasing after thugs in high heels and a skirt.”
“I’m working on those. I’m on my way to a meeting with my staff now. And if you’re so concerned, you could do something too.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Lighting.”
He looked at her quizzically. “Lightning?”
“No, l-i-g-h-t-ing, as in street lighting. Half of that alley is on the property you leased. I’m going to need your permission to put up lights there. And because Carson’s is financially strapped at the moment, Springboard’s offer to fund part of the lighting would be greatly appreciated.”
“Have Gene send the paperwork over to the warehouse today. I’ll review it, and we can finalize things over dinner tomorrow.”
Sara paused just outside the showroom doors. He dropped her hand finally. With the other, she pulled at her earlobe and shifted her feet. “I can’t go out with you. If I had any choice, I wouldn’t even do business with you.”
A thin, impatient line replaced the smile on his face. “Why?”
She glanced back at the Caddy, a dark, malevolent splotch on the day and her memory. “I’m surprised you have to ask. You’ve known why for ten years.”
Josh followed her glance. “The Caddy? That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?”
“Holding a ten-year grudge over anything, let alone a car, is ridiculous in my book.”
“It’s not the car but what the car represents.” She started to open the showroom door.
He grabbed her arm. “All that car represents is Uncle Sampson’s last will and testament.”
She looked coldly at the hand on her upper arm. “You’re wrong. That car stands for everything shallow and callous about the McKinley name.”
His hand dropped away. “I’m sorry you feel that way. I guess you’re right about our relationship. For the time being, we’d best keep things on a firmly professional footing.” He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets and headed toward the Caddy. “I’ll expect those papers from Gene before five.”
Sara turned her back on both car and man and entered the dealership. If she lived to be a thousand, she’d never understand Josh McKinley. In the space of five minutes he’d gone from angry to protective to laughing to coldly enigmatic.
Whatever woman he ended up with, she was glad it wouldn’t be her. The poor woman would land in a loony bin or die of confusion within a month.Thank heaven I have a business to run, and don’t have to spend my days mooning over the likes of him.
???
The strategy meeting had run longer than she expected. At least the end was near, and she’d won the support of the department heads on most issues.
Gene Reynard’s tall bulk rested in the chair at the opposite end of the table. Beneath his thinning, black hair, his face wore a placid expression that belied a sharp legal mind. He’d been their corporate attorney since the day Gloria Carson had disappeared, leaving the pink slip to the Cadillac Orleans in Sampson McKinley’s hands.
Sara shifted her gaze to the office manager. Miss Eloise Beadle’s buttoned up collar and cuffs echoed her work methods — supremely organized but inflexible. She possessed an uncanny ability to acquire the most obscure office supplies at the cheapest price. She’d started as a secretary when Carson’s opened and rose to office manager before retiring a year ago. The company hadn’t found a suitable replacement in all that time, and Donny had persuaded her to come back after Dad’s heart attack. Gossip around the dealership was that Beadle carried the torch for someone in management. Sarah couldn’t see it. The woman’s only passion was Carson’s Cars. Beadle guarded her territory like the proverbial hawk.
Mike Fellows, the head of sales, had been on board almost as long as the other two. He was a small man, in mind as well as body. He should have been eager to push advertising and promotions to the limit. Instead, the man did the bare minimum to meet his job requirements and nothing else.
George Crayman, the service and supplies manager, nodded over his coffee. Sara remembered sneaking into his office as a child. Pin-up calendars and centerfolds had papered the walls. His knowledge of service methods and requirements were as outdated as his attitude toward women.
As Sara watched, he emitted a wheeze. Could she fire a corporate tradition for falling asleep at a meeting? If Steve Chavez showed promise in the body and prep shop, he might be a candidate for the service manager’s job. But for now, Crayman’s sleepy chauvinism was easier to deal with than breaking in a new man. Besides, Carson’s had more immediate staffing needs.
The empty chair next to Mike should have been filled by a public relations/marketing expert. A Dallas firm hired the last one away almost two years ago. He’d left without giving notice. Sara didn’t know why her father hadn’t replaced the man. Especially with the Mega Motors deal hanging fire.
