by Tina Leonard
The last group was the one she paid attention to most of all. Born into the lap of luxury, she nonetheless had an endless capacity for empathy and could just imagine how it had to feel, facing financial uncertainty each and every morning.
The moment the men saw her approaching, everyone got to their feet, their posture straightening as if they were elementary school students, lining up for the teacher and hoping to pass inspection.
Connie glanced at her wristwatch, half expecting to discover that she had somehow managed to lose an hour getting here.
But she hadn’t.
She was early, just as she’d initially intended. The men were even earlier.
Butterflies suddenly swooped in, clustering around her stomach, pinching her. Connie did her best to ignore them.
Approaching the entrance to Murphy’s, she greeted the hopeful applicants. “Hi, I’m Constance Carmichael. I’ll be conducting the interviews today.” She quickly scanned the line, amazed at how many people had turned up. Finn was to be commended—either him, or Miss Joan, she amended. She had no doubt that the older woman had been quick to pass the word along that there would be jobs available. Still, she thought it judicious to ask, “Are you all here about the construction crew jobs?”
To a man they all answered in the affirmative, the chorus of yeses all but deafening.
Connie nodded, letting the moment sink in. She felt a little overwhelmed but she did her best not to show it.
“Okay, then I guess we’d better get started. Give me five minutes to get things together and then we can begin.”
Hurrying past the long single line, Connie made her way into the saloon.
In contrast to the way it had looked when she’d first seen it, the place was lit up as brightly as any establishment that didn’t require an ambiance for its clientele.
Finn was there along with his older brother, Brett, and another, younger man with blond hair. She took a closer look at the latter and realized that this had to be Liam, the youngest of the Murphy brothers. The family resemblance was hard to miss.
But Finn wasn’t talking to either one of his brothers when she walked in. Instead, he seemed to be deep in conversation with a tall athletic man with straight, thick, blue-black hair, and skin that looked as if it would be right at home beneath the hot rays of the Texas sun.
The other man’s bone structure intrigued her for a moment. It was all angles and planes, and there was almost a regal appearance to it. The man’s most outstanding feature, at least for the moment, was that he was wearing what she took to be a deputy sheriff’s uniform.
Did they expect things to get a little rowdy? she wondered uneasily.
Only one way to find out, Connie decided, braced for anything.
Walking up to Finn and the man he was talking to, she greeted one and introduced herself to the other. “Hi, Finn, I didn’t think you’d be ready so early. I would have been here sooner if I knew,” she told him honestly. Her eyes darted over to the other man. “I’m Constance Carmichael. Is there something wrong, Officer?”
“Deputy,” the man corrected her. “I’m Deputy Sheriff Lone Wolf, but you can call me Joe, and no, there’s nothing wrong.”
Finn joined in. “Joe brought some of his friends from the rez with him when he heard you were hiring.”
“The rez?” she questioned uncertainly.
“That’s short for reservation,” Finn explained. “Everything gets shortened these days.”
Joe had been around long enough to be aware that there were those who still viewed Native Americans differently from others. He’d come to unofficially make sure that there would be no trouble erupting due to any misunderstandings that might flair up.
“You are hiring, right?” Joe asked the young woman.
“Absolutely,” Connie answered with enthusiasm.
She knew what it was like to have a strike against her for no apparent reason other than a preconceived—and false—notion. Contrary to some opinions, her name did not open doors. In some cases, it actually slammed them in her face. Her father was a powerful man, but he was definitely not liked.
“I’m looking for able-bodied men with strong backs who don’t mind working in the hot sun for an honest day’s wage,” she told the deputy, summarizing exactly what her criteria was. Once that was met, everything else could be taught.
“How many men are you going to need?” Finn asked her.
“How many men have you got?” she countered, indicating that the number of positions she was looking to fill was far from small.
Finn grinned. This really was going to be good for the town. “Let’s get started,” he told her.
He gestured to a table he’d set up for her. He and his brothers had temporarily cleared away the others, putting them off to the side for the time being, until the interviews were over for the day.
“Let’s,” she echoed.
Sitting down, Connie beckoned to the first man in line.
* * *
SHE KEPT AT IT, nonstop, until she had seen and talked to every single man in line. She reasoned that if they could stand in line all this time, waiting to talk to her, the least she could do was interview them.
Except for a few who had shown up out of idle curiosity, or had decided after the interview that the work would be too physically taxing, she wound up hiring all the men she interviewed.
Since that number turned out to be higher than she’d initially intended, rather than work a given number of employees full-time, she’d decided to spread the work out, employing all of the men she’d hired on a part-time, as-needed basis. Some, she discovered during the course of the interviews, already had jobs and had approached this position as a way to pick up some extra money, while others were looking to this construction job as a way of feeding their families.
In making her preliminary decisions about the schedule, Connie gave the latter group the most hours while the people in the former group, since they already had some sort of gainful employment, she used accordingly.
In the end, the general schedule Connie ultimately wound up putting together looked a bit complicated, but she was satisfied that she had done the very best job she could and more important to her, had done right by some of the town’s residents.
She also found that her initial instincts involved in selecting Finn were right. Finn had remained with her through the entire ordeal. He’d stood off to the side to give her space, but he always remained close enough to be there if she decided she needed backup for some reason, or to resolve some issue.
While acting as her more or less silent second in command, he’d also gotten to observe her more than holding her own. Finn found himself impressed by the way she did business as well as her underlying sincerity. Any doubts he might have still been entertaining about her were laid to rest by the end of the long session. The woman wasn’t here just to take advantage of the labor or the town.
Right from the first interview, she made no secret of the fact that this hotel was important to her, but so were the people she was hiring. She made a point of telling them that she wanted them to speak up if at any time they were dissatisfied with the work conditions or the treatment they received from a superior.
All in all, he thought that this newcomer in their midst conducted herself better than some far more experienced people that both he and Brett had dealt with at one time or another.
* * *
WHEN THE LAST man had finally filled out a form and given it to Connie, then left the saloon, Finn came up behind her, leaned over and said, “You look like you could use a drink right about now.”
Turning her head, her eyes met his, and she allowed herself a weary smile. That had been grueling, she couldn’t help thinking. Even so, she felt wired—and very pleased with herself.
“Quite possibly more tha
n one.” The one thing that hosting those parties for her father and hanging around with his associates had taught her, other than how to listen and absorb information, was how to hold her liquor.
“That can be arranged,” Finn told her. “I happen to know the bartender in this joint. It’s a pretty well-established fact that he’s a pushover for a pretty woman’s smile.”
God, but she felt stiff, Connie suddenly realized. She’d been sitting so long in one spot, she felt as if she could have very well melded into the chair.
“Do you know where we can find one?” she murmured, rotating her head from side to side. She could almost hear it making strange, creaking noises.
“I’m looking at one,” Finn told her very simply, his eyes on hers.
Connie caught herself raising her chin. It was a purely defensive move on her part. She was waiting for some sort of a disparaging remark to follow because right about now, she felt about as pretty as a dried-up autumn leaf.
“This bartender doesn’t set the bar very high, does he?” she quipped dismissively.
“On the contrary, it’s pretty much an absolute,” he told her.
He realized that she wasn’t being cute or angling for some sort of a bigger compliment. She actually meant what she’d said. She didn’t think of herself as attractive. How was that even possible? he couldn’t help wondering. One glance at her more than established that fact.
“You do have mirrors in your house, don’t you?” he asked. How could she possibly not see just how really gorgeous she was? He would have been willing to bet that a number of the men who had lined up today would have been willing to work for her without any monetary compensation, as long as she was on the job with them every day.
“I don’t need mirrors,” she answered. “I’ve got my father. He does more than an adequate job of keeping me aware of myself.”
He was about to say that, obviously, it was her father who was suffering from some sort of blindness, but Finn never got the chance. Their conversation was abruptly curtailed when one of Miss Joan’s waitresses—Dora—walked into the saloon, clutching a large insulated carrier in both hands.
She went directly to the table where Connie had set up her office. Seeing that it was covered with stacks of papers, she turned toward the bar instead.
“Miss Joan said you need to keep your strength up,” Dora announced, setting the rectangular carrier she’d brought in on the bar.
Unzipping the insulated carrier on three of its sides, Dora extracted what turned out to be a complete three-course meal, along with a container of coffee and a huge slice of coconut cream pie.
The pie was her favorite, Connie thought. Was its inclusion in the meal just a coincidence? Or was this a further example of Miss Joan’s talked-about, unusual abilities? At this point, she really didn’t know what to believe—or what she ultimately felt comfortable believing.
So instead, she pretended as if all this was just commonplace. “This is for me?” she asked, feigning surprise.
“Miss Joan told me not to let anyone else pick at it but you,” Dora told her.
Dora looked at Finn. A rather sharp no trespassing look passed between them because the latter looked rather interested in the pie.
Flashing a smile at the waitress, Finn, along with his brother, brought over one of the tables that had been pushed to the side and set it up beside the other one.
Dora brought all the items from the carrier over to that table.
Connie moved her chair over to the new table and regarded the unusual spread. She wasn’t accustomed to having anyone concern themselves with her welfare. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t have to say anything,” Dora told her, zipping up the carrier and then slinging the straps over her shoulder as if it was nothing more than an oddly shaped shoulder bag. “Miss Joan said for you to consider it her investment in the hotel—and the future.”
Connie was unclear as to the message that was being conveyed. She glanced at Finn. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Finn laughed. “You got me. Half the time we’re not sure exactly what Miss Joan’s saying, only that, somehow, in the long run, that very sharp lady always turns out to be right.”
“I don’t have any great insight in the way people think,” Joe began, joining the circle of people, “but offhand, I’d say that Miss Joan just wants to make sure you don’t waste away. She doesn’t like anyone being as skinny as she is,” the deputy added with a dry laugh. He turned toward Brett. “I’ll be heading back now.” His attention shifted for a moment back to the young woman he had initially come to see this morning. “Thanks for hiring some of my friends.”
“No reason to thank me.” She thought for a moment, then added just before he walked toward the door, “If there’s any thanks to be given, I should be the one to be thanking you for bringing them here today.”
“Then you can thank Finn,” Joe told her. The man he’d just mentioned had temporarily stepped aside to talk to Brett. “He’s the one who told me about this hotel your company’s building.” He nodded, as if agreeing with something he was thinking before he said out loud, “Finn’s a good man.”
Connie had no intentions of disputing that. Her gut instincts had already told her the same the morning she had seen him standing before the ranch house, tool belt dipped provocatively at his hips, causing his jeans to dip with them. It had brought a whole new meaning of fine craftsmanship flashing through her mind.
Out loud, she murmured to Joe, “I’m beginning to see that.”
The problem, however, was that she was also beginning to see a lot more, and that could only have a negative effect on her ultimately getting the job done the way she wanted to.
Chapter Eight
“I’ll take that drink now,” Connie said, slipping onto the bar stool.
Finn seemed somewhat surprised to see her sitting there. The woman had somehow managed to make it from her table to the bar without a single telltale sound to alert him that she was moving in his direction. Glancing around her, he saw Joe just as the latter went out the front door. He couldn’t see the deputy’s face from where he was—not that it would have done any good even if he had. As a rule, Joe’s face was completely unreadable, giving nothing away that he didn’t want to.
“Joe giving you a hard time?” Finn asked her, curious.
It took Connie a second to connect the face with the name. She’d spoken to several “Joes” during the marathon interviewing session today.
“Oh, you mean the deputy?” she finally concluded. “No, he was nice as pie.”
Pouring her a shot of Kentucky bourbon, Finn moved the partially filled glass in front of her. “Not that I didn’t offer you one just a few minutes ago, but why do you suddenly look as if you actually need this drink?” he asked.
She raised the glass, but rather than throw back the drink or sip it, she just studied the amber liquid in it, moving it slowly from side to side.
“So I can talk myself out of the idea that I’m in over my head,” she replied.
He hadn’t expected her to say that. From what he had seen, Connie Carmichael struck him as being equal to anything she tackled. But he’d learned long ago that self-image had a lot to do in making decisions that affected more than just yourself.
“Is that how you feel?” he asked.
She laughed shortly, shaking her head. “You’re not much of a bartender, are you?”
Although, she silently had to admit, Finn Murphy with his lean, sculpted torso, sexy smile and magnetic green eyes, was every woman’s fantasy come to life. She would have to watch her step with him. Really watch her step.
“Come again?” Finn asked.
“Well, isn’t this the part where you tell me that, ‘no, you’re not in over your head. Everything’s going to work out just fine and we�
�ll stand to gain from this experience when it’s all behind us.’” Her tone of voice was only partially sarcastic.
“Don’t see why I should. You seem to have taken care of that part pretty much on your own.”
Connie frowned, still regarding the drink in her hand. “Yeah, except that I don’t believe myself.” And with that, she took a long, savoring sip from her glass. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to focus on the fiery path the alcohol took through her body. He noted that she didn’t toss her drink down, the way people would when they were trying to erase a reaction or memory of a sore point.
“Maybe you should,” he told her. “From where I’m standing, you seem like a very capable person. Notice I said capable, not superhuman,” he pointed out. “If you were shooting for superhuman, I’d say that you had unrealistic expectations. But since you’re not, I’d say that everything was A-okay. Now why don’t you take that drink—” he nodded at it “—go back to your table and have that dinner Miss Joan sent over before it gets cold?” he suggested. “If I don’t miss my guess, Angel made that dinner special, just for you.”
“Angel?” Connie tried to recall if she’d met anyone answering to that name in the last two days. She came up empty.
“Gabe Rodriguez’s wife,” Finn told her. “Miss Joan’s got her working at the diner, and that lady’s got a way with food that’s nothing short of heavenly.” He paused to inhale deeply even though it was literally impossible to catch a whiff of the aroma of the meal. The distance was fairly substantial. “I’d recognize Angel’s fried chicken anywhere.”
He sounded as if he’d enjoy the meal a lot more than she would, Connie thought. Her stomach was badly knotted. As far as she knew, he hadn’t had a chance to eat anything, either, so she beckoned him over before she even sat down at the table again.