You Can Leave Your Hard Hat On

by Stephanie Bond

  “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. “Teague Brownlee?”

  “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.”

  Her mouth tightened. So the man rarely worked and spent most of his time playing pool—at a place called Brass Balls, no less. “Okay, thank you, Mr. Langtry, for the information. I hope you’re feeling better soon.”

  “Good luck, Miss Stone. I know how much is riding on this excavation.”

  He clicked off, and Price said, “So… What did this Brownlee guy do that you had to fire him?”

  She closed her eyes. “I fell into a ditch and he caught me.”

  “And?”

  “And then…he dropped me…in the mud.”

  Price gasped. “Oh, that’s…not funny, Samantha, I swear I’m not laughing. But if it was an accident…”

  “He did it on purpose.”

  “Why?” he sputtered.

  “To embarrass me in front of the workers.”

  “Because you’re a woman?”

  She sighed. “Yes. And because we have…history.”

  He squealed with delight. “Do tell.”

  She rolled her eyes. “It’s not worth telling. We went to high school together, we…went out…once…it didn’t work out.”

  “Oh, the drama! Is he gorgeous? You gotta love a man with a hard hat.”

  She massaged her temple. “I’m hanging up now.”

  “Of course, so you can go to Brass Balls. Sounds like a fun place. Want me to meet you there?”

  “No, thanks,” she said quickly. “But I appreciate you finding Langtry for me.”

  “Want me to send him a get-well bouquet?”

  “That would be a nice gesture,” she agreed.

  “See you tomorrow,” Price said. “And good luck with your old boyfriend.”

  Sam opened her mouth to correct him, but the dial tone sounded in her ear. She banged down the phone in frustration. This was shaping up to be a really lousy day.

  And since she now had to find Teague and beg him to come back to the job site, it seemed likely to get worse.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “NUMBER FIVE IN THE SIDE POCKET.” Teague pulled back his right arm, then punched the cue stick forward to send the cue ball spinning into the five ball. The five ball went straight but hit the pocket hard and bounced back, to the delight of his playing partner, Griggs.

  “Teague, man, I might actually beat you tonight. What’s up?”

  Teague walked over to where he’d set his beer, thoroughly pissed off that he couldn’t get Samantha Stone out of his mind after their impromptu reunion today. “Nothing.” He tilted up his longneck.

  “It’s that woman, isn’t it?” Griggs pressed, then made his shot with little effort. “The one you dropped in the mud.”

  He and Griggs both still wore their work clothes—dirty jeans and shirts, mud-caked lace-up work boots that bore no resemblance to the trendy versions that so many people wore these days trying to look hip.

  “No,” Teague lied.

  “Sure it is,” Griggs said cheerfully, then sunk another ball. “Why’d you do it? I’ve never seen you be disrespectful to a woman on the job.”

  Teague’s mouth tightened. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Griggs whistled low. “Man, she sure was a looker, wasn’t she?”

  He frowned. “I didn’t notice.”

  “What, are you flippin’ blind? The woman was stacked like a—”

  “Just play, would you?” Teague took another swallow of beer, hoping it would banish the sour taste in his mouth. He had thought that humiliating Samantha Stone would give him a feeling of vindication for the way she’d treated him when they were younger, but it had left him feeling strangely unfulfilled. Dropping the woman in the mud when she damned well deserved it didn’t begin to make up for the way she had cut him to the core.

  “Speak of the devil,” Griggs said with a laugh, leaning on his cue stick and nodding toward the door.

  Teague turned his head and suddenly had trouble swallowing his mouthful of beer. Samantha Stone walked into the bar, overdressed and looking considerably cleaner than the last time he’d seen her. His heart beat a tattoo against his chest—he’d never seen her in here before. Chances were, her appearance wasn’t a coincidence.

  As he watched, she leaned toward the bar, giving the customers who were looking—and many were—a nice view of her curvy behind while she said something to the bartender. The bartender nodded, then pointed toward the pool tables and, more specifically, toward Teague.

  “Oh, shit,” he murmured.

  “She’s coming over here,” Griggs said, then elbowed him hard. “She must be looking for you.”

  Teague frowned. “Shut up and take your turn.”

  But Griggs was right—Samantha had spotted him and had made a beeline in his direction.

  He took another draw from his bottle, his mind racing with reasons why she’d hunted him down. To apologize for breaking his stupid heart all those years ago? To tell him that she was wrong for making him feel like he was important for a few illicit hours, only to slam him back into his place the next morning?

  She walked up to him and seemed to hesitate, then her chest rose with an inhale. “Hi.”

  He studied her glittering blue eyes and acknowledged her with a nod.

  She looked around awkwardly. “I, um, was told I could find you here.”

  He shrugged. “I’m here more often than not, I suppose.”

  She shifted in her designer shoes, looking hopelessly out of place in her elegantly draped slacks and filmy blouse next to the more casual clothing of everyone else in the bar. Her silky blond hair was pulled back in a low ponytail and he suddenly longed to see it swinging free.

  “I was hoping we could talk,” she said, her voice stronger.

  He lifted his beer for a drink, buying time. “About what?”

  She glanced at Griggs, who was studying them intently, then back. “Could we speak in private?”

  Teague straightened, intrigued, then nodded and led her over to an empty table. A waitress came by and he ordered another beer, Samantha ordered a glass of wine.

  When the waitress left, Samantha clasped her hands on the table in front of her. “I’m going to get straight to the point, Teague. I’d
like for you to come back to the job site.”

  He raised his eyebrows, keenly disappointed that the reason she had sought him out had to do with business. “Why?”

  She squirmed in her chair. “Because the site foreman, Mr. Langtry, is in the hospital and won’t be able to fulfill his duties.” She wet her lips. “He recommended that I ask you to take his place.”

  Teague was silent, distracted by the fullness of her mouth…. She had given him great pleasure with that mouth. And her left ring finger was empty—was she single? Had she ever been married? There had been women in his bed since Samantha, of course, some who had hinted at rings and weddings, but his heart had never been swayed.

  “It’s a tricky excavation,” she continued, all business. “The site is narrow and steep, and I need someone who can implement my design for the retaining walls. According to Langtry, you’re that person.”

  He studied her in silence until the waitress returned with their drinks. So now she needed him. Satisfaction infused his chest. “Why do you think I’d be interested in taking the job?”

  She sipped from her wineglass and shook her head. “I don’t, especially after the note we…ended things on…today.”

  And thirteen years ago.

  “But,” she rushed on, “I hope that you’ll consider it. It will be a chance to work with some innovative materials and techniques.”

  “Your innovative materials and techniques.”

  “Yes,” she conceded. “And the site has to be ready in thirty days, rain or shine.”

  He pursed his mouth. “Why the tight time frame?”

  She hesitated, taking another drink from her glass. “To be frank, the board of directors isn’t convinced that the building I’ve proposed will work on the site, but they agreed to give me thirty days to prove my foundation design.”

  The wheels began to turn in his head. “So if you don’t have the site excavated within thirty days, what happens?”

  “I lose the project.”

  Even without the intensity in her eyes, he would have known how important the project was to her. During the night they’d spent together when they were teenagers, she had talked about little else than becoming a famous architect, erecting buildings that would impress her father. At the time, she had seemed desperate to get her old man’s attention—he wondered if that was still the case.

  “This is awkward,” she said, splaying her hands, “but if you take the job, Teague, you and I will be working closely together. That doesn’t bother me, but if you think it would bother you—”

  “It wouldn’t,” he cut in. Was she so arrogant that she thought he was still hung up on her? Good grief, the woman was full of herself.

  “Good,” she said curtly. “So do you think it sounds like something you could do?”

  “Could do?” he asked. “Sure.”

  She pushed the end of her ponytail behind her shoulder and Teague conceded that Griggs was right—she was a looker, all right. And the fact that he knew the passion that lay beneath her prim clothes and polished veneer had his sex pressing against his zipper.

  “But would you, Teague? Are you willing to take the job?”

  Willing to work side by side every day after being denied access to her when they were young? The thought of being close to her in a capacity where she would be seeking his advice left him almost breathless. It could be a way to explore his fantasies and prove to her what might have been if only she had given him a chance back when it would’ve mattered. In a way, he supposed he was as eager for her approval as she was for her father’s approval.

  She cleared her throat. “I’ll pay you well.”

  At her words, an unpleasant knot lodged in his chest—she’d pay him well. That was all he was to her—a laborer. A means to an end. But as he digested the finality of her words, an idea slid into his brain.

  If ever there was a chance to put Samantha Stone in her place, to rob her of something meaningful, this was it. He could take the job and keep his crews busy while pacing everything so that they narrowly missed the deadline. The crew would then scatter and move on to more permanent job sites, where they’d rather be anyway. It was a win-win situation…for everyone but Samantha. She would get the comeuppance that she deserved, and he’d make sure that she knew he had planned it that way.

  “I’ll take the job,” he agreed, hardening his jaw.

  Her shoulders eased in relief and she smiled, an unexpected development that left him momentarily flustered as her face and eyes lit up. She thrust her hand forward, over the table, toward him. He stared at her manicured hand a few seconds before clasping it in his own hand, which was callused from wielding a shovel. Her skin was soft and cool, and her fingers squeezed his in a way that made his body clench with anticipation.

  I’ll pay you well. Her words resounded in his head and would, he decided, become his mantra to steel himself from falling for her again. This time he was in control. Teague squared his shoulders and gave her hand a firm squeeze in return. Yes, Samantha, you will pay.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  SAMANTHA WALKED TOWARD the 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 people were 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,” he said 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 follow my plans. 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.