This house looked warm, lived in.
The scent of apples and cinnamon wafted from somewhere and Brad’s stomach grumbled. He hadn’t eaten anything since the milkshake from the night before. Mr. Ortega shot him a glance. “Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Water?”
He ignored the way his stomach gnawed at his backbone and shook his head. “No, sir. I’m fine. Thank you.”
“Are you sure? I was going to grab myself a cup of coffee.”
“No, seriously, I’m good.”
They came to a room with double doors leading to a large office space. At first glance, the place looked cluttered. Order existed in the chaos, though. Stacks of folders, rolls of blueprints and plans, and more framed pictures filled the shelves. Photos hung on every available space on the walls. Each frame showcased a beaming child or a family group shot.
His father’s office had a single painting on the wall. No piles of papers, no photos. He looked away. No reason to think about it now. He needed to focus on grabbing this fresh start.
“Why don’t you go on in? I’ll be right back.”
While Mr. Ortega left to get his coffee, Brad wandered around the room, looking at pictures. One showed a much younger Mr. Ortega with a pretty, dark-eyed woman and two glossy-haired toddlers. It was a posed family portrait with everyone in coordinating tones of red or black against a forest-green background. Probably a Christmas photo.
Another picture showed the same family a few years later. Two girls, one about six and another about four, stood in front of Mr. Ortega, their hair curled into corkscrews. He wasn’t real good at figuring out the ages of little kids, but if Brad had to guess, the boy standing beside his mother was within a year of the youngest girl. A baby with tons of fuzzy black hair sticking out in Albert Einstein fashion and the biggest toothless grin Brad had ever seen sat on his mother’s lap.
The next picture showed a Little League photo of a boy in a blue uniform with a bat at his shoulder. Brad leaned closer. There was something about that picture, about that smile.
The smell of freshly brewed coffee hit the room with Mr. Ortega’s return. And the aroma of apples and cinnamon intensified, making Brad’s mouth water. Mr. Ortega carried a small tray with a cup of coffee, a glass of orange juice and two monster muffins. He set the tray down on the desk.
“Have a seat,” Mr. Ortega said, gesturing to a chair facing the desk as he walked around to the other side.
Brad sat, straight-backed, and folded his hands in his lap.
Mr. Ortega dragged the wheeled leather office chair around the corner of the desk until they could sit without the barrier of the desk between them. He settled into the seat and rested one ankle across his knee. He pulled the tray closer. “I brought you some juice and a muffin. Now I won’t be rude if I eat in front of you. My wife makes the best pastries, and her muffins are irresistible. Go ahead, eat.”
Yeah, irresistible was the right word. Brad grabbed the small plate with a muffin on it and tore a piece off the top. If there was a food nirvana, he’d found it. “Wow.” He took another bite. “This is amazing. Please thank your wife for me.”
“She cooks more than any one family, even a big family like ours, can eat. If we hire you on, you’ll find we have goodies at the worksite all the time.”
Brad carefully brushed crumbs from his fingers onto the little plate. “Thank you for agreeing to see me, Mr. Ortega.”
Mr. Ortega lifted his cup and swallowed down a bite of his own muffin. Then he set it on the corner of his desk. “Please, call me Hector. We’re not too formal around here. Doug—Mr. Cavanaugh—had a lot of great things to say about you, and I take his recommendations seriously.”
After his parents dumped him at military school to “straighten” him out, Mr. Cavanaugh had been one of the few instructors at Norton Academy who hadn’t been a complete bastard. Thanks to him, Brad had discovered a talent for woodworking, construction and design. Those skills, and Mr. Cavanaugh’s mentorship, were what had led him to Northfield, Minnesota, Carleton College and Mr. Ortega.
“Mr. Cavanaugh’s a good guy. He thought you would be able to use some extra help for the summer.” Brad willed himself to not pop his knuckles.
“He is a good guy. We spent a lot of time together after Katrina rebuilding houses. Since I know his abilities, and his integrity, I don’t doubt you have the skills you’d need to work with my teams. Today I’d like to get a feel for you and how you’d interact with my group.”
What did that mean? “Okay.”
“First, you should know I have a few hard-and-fast rules. I’m generally a pretty laid-back person, but breaking any of these rules will result in immediate termination. I have a strict no-call, no-show, no-job policy. If you don’t show up and I don’t get a call, you can consider yourself fired. Worksites can be dangerous. Any action endangering yourself or anyone else is grounds for termination. I have a diverse crew—there are people of color, homosexuals and women on my teams. Any derogatory or inflammatory comments won’t be tolerated. I can’t enforce what people think, but no one should be confronted with prejudice at work.” Mr. Ortega held Brad’s gaze. “Do you foresee any problems with these rules?”
Sounded like common sense. “No, sir.”
Mr. Ortega smiled. “I didn’t think so.” He lifted his coffee and took another sip. When he set his cup down, he continued. “Now that we’ve got that out of the way, tell me a little bit about yourself.”
That was, by far, the worst thing someone could ask. Brad never knew what to say. Did they want personal, biographical information? Skills and qualifications as related to the job? His hobbies and political affiliation? He took a drink of juice while he tried to figure out what to say.
“Ah, I graduated from Norton Academy and I’m starting Carleton in the fall. Which is why I came to Minnesota.”
Mr. Ortega nodded. “Are you originally from Georgia?”
“No, just the last two years.”
“And before that?”
“St. Louis.” Even the name of the city made his stomach clench.
“Is your family still there?”
If St. Louis was Brad’s personal hell, his family members were the demons guarding the gates. “Yeah, but we’re not close.” He prayed Mr. Ortega would leave it there.
Mr. Ortega’s expression was calm, but there was something in his gaze that made Brad feel like the older man could see right through his short answers and into the emotions beneath them.
“My son goes to Carleton. It’s a good school. Have you decided on a major yet?”
“I’m leaning toward Architecture right now.”
“What other interests do you have?”
“I sometimes—” He broke off when a thunder of footsteps echoed above his head. The nature of the sound changed as someone crossed the room and then stomped down what sounded like a set of stairs.
“I can’t believe you!” a loud voice hollered from the end of the hall. “You owe me a hundred and ten dollars!”
“Ha! Not a chance.”
A guy in jeans and a white T-shirt flashed past the double doors of Mr. Ortega’s office, only to reappear a moment later. A second body barreled into the first. They crashed onto the floor, a white-and-blue bundle of denim clutched in the second one’s hand.
Mr. Ortega surged to his feet and swung open the door. “Boys!” he snapped, glaring down at the tangle of arms and legs. “What’s going on? I’m in the middle of an interview here. You’re too old to be acting like such—” he paused, searching for the right word, “—Escuincles!”
The taller of the two guys pushed himself up and brandished the jeans. “Look at this! Look!” The denim in his hand shook, but the yellowish-white splotches were clearly visible in the dark fabric.
The other guy rolled to his feet. His smile, which
had been smug as he listened to his brother’s ranting, widened in welcome when he looked up. “Brad?”
Oh, shit.
It was Danny.
Chapter Four
Coincidence was one thing, but this had to be some sort of cosmic joke. He should have seen it, shouldn’t he? The photos and Mr. Ortega’s smile. If he’d paid attention, he could have prepared himself. Instead the shock of it scrambled his brains.
“Hey.” It was the only word he could force out.
“You know each other?” Mr. Ortega glanced between Brad and Danny.
Brad stared at Danny. What would he say? Had Danny told his dad about meeting the gay guy at the truck stop last night? God, it would make Brad sound like some kind of pervert trolling for tricks. Wait. Danny had asked him out and Brad had shot him down. Was he pissed?
“We ran into each other last night,” Danny said casually, his smile displaying the overlapping teeth.
He searched Danny’s face, waiting. He desperately needed this job.
Danny ducked as Ray tried to smack him with the bleached jeans. Brad took a moment to pull himself together. Maybe if he got the job, he and Danny could talk later about what had happened. Maybe he could convince Danny to keep quiet about the details.
Mr. Ortega rubbed the bridge of nose and sighed. “Do I want to know what’s going on?”
“Nope.” Danny smiled. “I think it’s safer all the way around if you don’t.”
“He bleached my jeans!” Ray apparently didn’t share his brother’s sensibilities.
Mr. Ortega shook his head and looked at Danny, who shrugged. “He deserved it.”
“Excellent,” Mr. Ortega said, standing up a half an hour later. “I feel good about this. I’ve got some paperwork you’ll need to fill out, and then we’re set. When do you want to start?”
The tension that had tightened Brad’s body for the last few days relaxed. He’d gotten the job. “I can start whenever you need me to. I could start today if you wanted.” It wasn’t like he had anything else planned. Spending the rest of the afternoon in his truck didn’t appeal to him at all.
Mr. Ortega seemed pleased with his enthusiasm. “I don’t have anyone to work with you today, and we don’t work on Sundays unless we’re behind schedule. Monday will be soon enough. I think for the first couple of days, until you get a feel for the town, you should come here in the morning. You can go to the worksite with either me or Daniel—who, I take it, you know?” he said, gesturing to the door where the two guys had collided.
Mr. Ortega paused to take a sip of his coffee. “He’s working with me this summer too. As I said, he’s also a student at Carleton. Just finished his first year. He can help you get acquainted with the town and the campus so you’ll have a head start when the fall semester begins.”
Brad nodded, trying hard to rein in the new stampede of worries. He hadn’t had time to come to terms with Danny being related to his new boss, and now Danny worked for the company too? Ride with Danny? See him every day? How was that supposed to work? If Danny was pissed at him for the night before, it would make things awkward as hell.
What if Danny wasn’t angry? If he still wanted to get together? Hooking up with the boss’s son was an epically bad idea, and Brad couldn’t afford to screw up his life yet again. He needed to get his shit together and make enough money to live through the summer until his scholarships processed.
Mr. Ortega rifled through a couple of files on his desk and came up with some forms. He handed them, an old metal clipboard and, after digging through a drawer, a black pen to Brad.
“The first form is a basic questionnaire for the personnel file and then the W2. Gotta get the taxes worked out. The second page is a list of safety equipment you’ll need—safety glasses, steel-toed boots and a few other things. The last is a breakdown of expectations, pay rate and schedule, and company mission statement.”
“Great.” Brad glanced through the stack of papers in his hand and tried to line them up on the clipboard. His heart sank when he read the list of safety equipment. There was no way he’d be able to afford all of this, not without tapping into his trust fund, which absolutely wasn’t happening. Even the money couldn’t make him face his family again.
Mr. Ortega handed him a blue note card. “You’ll need to get a physical and we do random, mandatory drug testing. Go to the clinic here and you can get it taken care of first thing Monday.”
Brad looked at the card, his mind still focused on the safety equipment. “Uh, Mr. Ortega—”
“Please, I told you, call me Hector,” Mr. Ortega interrupted.
Licking his lips, Brad continued, “Hector. Ah, I don’t think I’ll be able to afford most of the safety equipment.” Or any of it. “Is there work I could do until the first paycheck? Something not requiring the safety equipment? Filing or office work? I’ll be sure to get everything after the first check.”
Mr. Ortega considered him for a moment. Brad held his breath, hoping he hadn’t ruined things. Finally Mr. Ortega nodded, as though he’d come to a decision. “Tell you what,” he said. “I’ll provide the safety glasses, hard hat and gloves. We can deduct the cost from your pay over the course of several weeks. What size shoe do you wear?”
“Eleven.”
“Perfect. My son-in-law is also an eleven. He doesn’t work much on-site anymore. He handles more of the marketing and business aspects of the company. You can wear his boots until you are able to get your own. I’ll have him bring them by tomorrow so they’ll be here when you stop by on Monday.”
Was this guy for real? The whole thing was too good to be true. Brad had learned a long time ago to look for the shit-storm hiding behind any silver lining. “If you’re sure.”
With a dismissive wave, Mr. Ortega said, “Absolutely. Frankie won’t mind at all.”
“Thank you. I really appreciate it. You have no idea.”
He patted Brad’s shoulder. “We’ve all been there.”
Brad pulled out the forms and began filling in the blank fields. Almost right away he ran into a roadblock. Why were things so freaking complicated? “Mr. Ortega?” He glanced up to where his new boss was clipping a blueprint onto a slanted display table.
At his arched brow, Brad said, “I mean, Hector. I have another question.”
“Shoot,” the older man said.
“Can I fill in the address portion later? I haven’t found a place to stay yet. I was going to head to the campus this afternoon and look for a sublet for the summer.”
Mr. Ortega stroked his chin.
Brad’s guts twisted. Mr. Ortega was going to reconsider hiring him. He hadn’t even been part of the team for five minutes and already he was causing more trouble than he was worth.
“We have a small efficiency apartment above the garage.”
“Oh, I couldn’t—”
“Sure you could. We usually have a summer worker staying there. And it’s not a handout. You’d have to pay rent, but it’s a lot cheaper than anything you’ll find near campus. Two hundred bucks a month. The place is pretty basic. It’s got a bathroom, a dorm-sized fridge and a microwave. It doesn’t have a stove, but if you need to cook something, you can come down to the main house and let my wife Anna know.”
It was perfect. The fear of too-good-to-be-true offers almost had him saying no, but the alternative—sleeping in his truck for the next week or two until he had enough money to try to get something less cramped—kept his mouth closed.
Sucking in a breath, Brad thrust his hand out to Mr. Ortega. “If you’re sure, that’d be great. I really appreciate it.”
“Good!” Mr. Ortega shook Brad’s hand then stepped forward and threw his arm across Brad’s shoulders. “Let’s go take a look at the place. Make sure you don’t need anything.”
And that, it seemed, was that.
They’d only made it a few feet when the phone at Mr. Ortega’s belt rang. He pulled it free of its holster and glanced at the display. “I’ve got to take this.” Tapping the screen he answered the call. “Hey, Pat, give me a second, okay?” After muting his phone he bellowed, “Danny!”
Brad jumped.
Danny yelled “Yeah?” from another part of the house.
Does this family have any other volume?
“Come here!”
A moment later, Danny jogged into the hall, a muffin wrapped in a paper towel held in one hand. “What’s up?” He looked between his father and Brad.
“I’ve got to take this call. Brad’s going to be staying in the garage apartment for the summer. Can you take him up and make sure everything is there? Help him haul in any stuff he has too, would you?” Without waiting to make sure Danny agreed, Mr. Ortega turned and headed back to his office, already talking into the phone.
Brad braced himself before turning his attention to Danny.
The guy leaned against the wall, nibbling at the muffin. “I didn’t think I’d see you again. Let alone here, of all places.”
As though it hadn’t nearly sent him into a panic attack, Brad shrugged. “Strange coincidence.”
“Or fate.” Danny pushed himself away from the wall and indicated they should continue on.
Before they’d gotten far, a squealing toddler dashed into the hall, a tan-and-white terrier at her heels. She careened into Brad’s legs and wrapped her chubby arms around his knees. She craned her neck to look up at him. She said something in a language he suspected was supposed to be English, but it could have been Romulan. Or maybe Elvish. He held his hands away from his body to keep from accidentally touching her and jerked his eyes to Danny for some kind of clue as to how he was supposed to react.
“My niece, Veronica. She wants you to protect her from Pepé.” Danny pulled the girl away from Brad and settled her on his own hip. She leaned away from him and held her arms out to Brad.
Nobody’s Hero Page 3