A Heart Speaks - Large Print

by LaVyrle Spencer

  Ah, Brown, the things you do inside me.

  He held her lightly, only the tips of her breasts brushing his shirt while she rested her hands on his biceps. Sam’s tongue stroked and coaxed, and Lee’s answered, her fingertips slipped up beneath the ribbing of his short knit sleeves in an unconscious invasion of his firm, hidden skin. The kiss was unhurried, almost lazy, a sweet lingual blandishment while they leaned a little apart and began to rock indolently from side to side. It was an aperitif of a kiss, designed to whet the appetite for more. But when it ended—slowly, lingeringly—they refrained from partaking further.

  Sam lifted his head to tease softly, “That’s better than Swenson’s ice cream.”

  Lee smiled and leaned back against the circle of his hands. “Mmm . . . and it won’t give you a stomachache, either.”

  He smiled impishly and settled his hips more firmly against hers. “Oh no?”

  But she knew it wasn’t his stomach that ached. She could feel what ached, pressed hard and inviting against her pedal pushers.

  So she was surprised when a moment later she found herself pushed gently away and turned toward her car by the Honorable Sam Brown, who was proving increasingly honorable indeed.

  Chapter EIGHT

  EARLY Monday morning, plans got under way for bidding the Little Blue River job. Again Lee noted the difference between the way things were done at Brown & Brown and at Thorpe Construction. Not only was there an ongoing sense of cooperation where she worked now, but there was also a thoroughness that surprised her.

  Accurate records of soil workability were kept for all major jobs. Lee met the drill truck on site Monday afternoon to take soil samples directly from the steel auger. These were weighed, dried, and run through a series of nested copper sieves. The amounts of material retained on each of the variously gauged screens were weighed carefully and recorded on a gradation chart. Lee and Sam worked side by side sieving and recording the data. They compared their findings with those of former jobs under similar soil conditions and used the results to estimate the cost of such variables as dewatering and sheeting to prevent cave-ins.

  They sat in the coffee room, Frank perched on the edge of a counter, Sam seated with his legs crossed and heels propped up on an empty chair. The sense of belonging Lee felt in her new job encouraged her to take full part in the decision making. To her surprise her personal relationship with Sam hardly entered into their business dealings.

  “Do you mind using Tri-State Drilling for dewatering ?” Sam asked. His elbows were pointed at the ceiling and his fingers were clasped behind his neck as he leaned back comfortably.

  “I was thinking of asking Griffin Wellpoint for a quote,” Lee replied. “I’ve had good luck in dealing with them in the past.” She held her breath. It was the first time she’d directly opposed the wishes of either Sam or Frank.

  Sam only shrugged. “Great. We’ve had good luck with Tri-State, too, so either one is fine.”

  Lee ordered quotes from Griffin for dewatering, along with those from another subcontractor for installing pilings through the swampy area, which had proved to be mostly peat. She asked landscape contractors for quotes on sodding, seeding, mulching, and fertilizing. As the days passed and she waited for these quotes, the calculator on her desk whirred constantly.

  She computed labor costs for pipe installation per foot, according to depth and soil conditions. Material costs were broken down into unit prices—and in the case of pipe, per-foot prices—and these extended out into lump sums.

  As the week wore on and the day of the bid letting drew nearer, suppliers sent quotes on pipes, valves, manhole castings, and hydrants. Throughout the week the tension seemed to grow as bid day—Friday—approached. As usual, quotes from subcontractors came in late, holding up progress to some degree and lending a sense of uncertainty to the work on the bid.

  Late Thursday, Sam stopped by Lee’s desk and asked, “Have all those quotes come in from the subs yet?”

  “Still waiting on one from Greenway. You know how it is.”

  He chuckled, but the sound seemed tense for Sam, who was usually relaxed and easygoing. “Yeah, I know how it is.”

  “You want this job badly, don’t you?”

  His eyes met Lee’s and for the first time that week seemed to convey thoughts beyond soil evaluations and price per linear foot. “I’ve got a rather personal stake in this one. Don’t you?”

  Thoughts of the orchard in all its seductive glory came back. “Yes, I do.”

  He gazed down at her for a moment longer, then seemed to drag himself from his reverie to scratch the side of his neck and glance at the pale green job sheets draped across her desk. “Anyway, we could use this job since the Denver one doesn’t get rolling till spring. There’d be time enough to get this one finished before winter.”

  Friday morning brought the usual eleventh-hour craziness Lee had come to expect in estimating. Somehow the spirit of competition never seemed to surface in suppliers until just before bid time. Within two hours of the deadline Lee received a call from the pipe supplier who was lowering his quote by twelve thousand dollars. Immediately subtotals and totals had to be changed on the official proposal form. Since the call came at 11:30 with bid time set for 2:00, Lee skipped lunch to change the figures, then run another calculator check of the math.

  Sam came in at 12:45 to find her at her desk, her fingers flying over the machine, her bare feet curled up on the caster guards of her desk chair. “How’s it going?” he asked.

  She scarcely looked up. “What time is it?”

  “Quarter to one.”

  “Will you double-check the addition on these sheets?”

  “Sure.” She extended the sheets without even turning her eyes his way. “Didn’t you have lunch?”

  She did glance up then, for about a half second. “No. American Pipe called and lowered their bid by twelve thousand dollars.”

  Sam sat down hastily at a nearby desk and his fingers, too, started flying over a calculator. “Why didn’t you say something?”

  She paused, looked up, and smiled at his dark head. “I’m too tense to eat anyway.”

  He pushed the total button, the machine clicked into silence, and Sam smiled across at Lee. “Relax, Cherokee, it’s just a damn job.”

  But it wasn’t, and they both knew it. It was their job. Their first joint effort, and something inside of Lee said they just had to win it! Still, she appreciated Sam’s effort to put her at ease, and her smile said as much before they both set to work again.

  Fifteen minutes later the changes were all entered in ink on the official bid proposal, and Sam leaned over Lee’s desk to initial each one and put his signature beside the company seal impressed on the final sheet. His shoulder was almost touching her jaw as he bent to scratch his name on the paper. During the week, she’d had little trouble controlling personal feelings that intruded during business hours, but now, as he stood close and she watched his dark hands moving on the white paper, she was drawn to him by their singularity of purpose. He dropped the pen, straightened, and smiled down at her feet.

  “You can put your shoes back on now. It’s done.”

  She grinned sheepishly. “Takes the pressure off the head.”

  “Maybe off yours, but not off mine.” He gave her feet an appreciative grin just as a group of draftsmen returned from lunch. “Well, I’m holding you up, huh?” It was one o’clock, and she still had to drive clear across the city to the Independence City Hall.

  She drew in a deep breath, raked a hand through her hair, and gave Sam a shaky smile. “Well, here goes.”

  Brown & Brown’s new estimator gathered up her papers, slipped the bid into a large gold envelope, licked it, pressed it shut, and lifted her eyes to find that her boss had been watching her every move.

  “Good luck, Cherokee,” he said softly.

  “Thanks, Your Honor,” she returned. Then she slipped on her shoes, picked up her purse, and left the office.

  BROWN
& Brown took the Little Blue River job for $750,000, only $7,900 below the next highest bidder. When the last bid was read and the announcement made, Lee felt adrenaline swoop into her bloodstream in a giddy swoosh. She rose to her feet to accept handshakes, and her knees felt wobbly and weak. Her palms had been sweating throughout the opening of the envelopes, but now they itched to get to a telephone and call the office.

  She suffered through what seemed like hours of felicitations before finally escaping to the pay phone in the hall.

  Rachael’s perky voice answered, “Brown & Brown.”

  “Rachael, we got it!” Lee announced without prelude.

  “Lee! That’s wonderful!”

  “Isn’t it, though?” Lee bubbled. “I’m ecstatic . . . and a little shaky.”

  Rachael laughed. “That part never changes, honey.”

  A little chuckle released the last of her nervousness, then Lee requested, “Put Sam on, will you, Rachael?”

  She listened to the silence on the line for a brief moment, basking in a deep sense of satisfaction as she waited for his voice. When it came, it sounded full of smiles.

  “Nice going, Cherokee.”

  “Hallelujah, we did it, Brown!”

  He laughed. “Feels good, huh?”

  “Does it ever.”

  “Just how good?”

  Understanding his cryptic question, she replied, “Only seventy-nine hundred dollars good . . . that’s how good.”

  “You mean that’s all you left!”

  “Yes!”

  At his laugh of satisfaction, Lee pictured the smile carving grooves into his cheeks and the pale laugh lines disappearing about his eyes.

  “Who came in second?”

  “Just a minute, I’ll read you the list.”

  She relayed the remainder of the bids, then Sam asked, “You’re coming back to the office, aren’t you? We’ve got to celebrate your first victory.”

  “I’ll be there in an hour or so.”

  “Good, see you then.”

  In the business of estimating, the days of defeat far outnumbered those of victory. On winning days, a special elation seeped into everyone, creating a spirit of camaraderie and good humor. Coming back into the office to find that everyone in the house had already heard the good news, Lee stopped to accept congratulations and share lighthearted jokes with her coworkers. But one was foremost in her mind.

  Sam was beaming as he strode across the blue carpet dressed in casual gray slacks and a pale blue dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow. Lord, she’d never been as proud as she was then, facing Sam Brown. Her smile was infectious as he extended his wide hand and clasped hers, squeezing hard, shaking it just once, and holding it only a fraction of a second longer than necessary.

  “Congratulations, Lee.”

  “Thank you, Sam.” She wished she could lay her other hand over his and tell him how much she’d appreciated his faith in her during the past week, and what a true pleasure it had been preparing the bid in the congenial atmosphere of his office, among his cooperative employees and—of course—with him. But his hand slipped away, and the group of men continued chattering. Rachael, Nelda, and Ron Chen joined the group, and to Lee it felt like Christmas Eve.

  Some people were already clearing off their tables, others still standing around shooting the breeze, when Rachael pulled herself away from a drafting table and turned toward the front. “Well, hi, Mary, how are you?”

  A darkly tanned woman of about sixty had entered the office and was moving familiarly toward the cluster of men and women. Most of them greeted her by name and exchanged anecdotal greetings. Obviously they all knew her. She was dressed in a classy looking summer suit with brown and white spectator pumps and a matching purse. She exuded an air of quiet confidence.

  “I understand congratulations are in order around here,” she commented as she approached.

  To Lee’s amazement, Sam broke away from the others and greeted the woman with a light kiss on the cheek.

  “Hi, Mother. You out slumming?” he teased.

  “I heard the news. Thought it was time I met your new estimator.”

  “She’s right here.” Sam looped an arm around his mother’s shoulder and directed her toward Lee, who stood stock still with amazement.

  “Mother, this is Lee Walker—Lee, my mother, Mary Brown.” He had placed his hands on his mother’s shoulders, and his dark, amused eyes twinkled down at Lee as color rose to her cheeks. Like a robot she extended her hand, which was clasped in very dark, coppery fingers with wide knuckles and several flashy diamonds.

  “I’m happy to meet you, Mrs. Brown,” Lee managed, unable to keep her eyes from fleeing back to Sam, who stood as before, with his hands on his mother’s shoulders, an undisguised look of merriment crinkling the corners of his eyes.

  “So you’ve won your first bid for Brown and Brown,” the woman noted in a friendly fashion as she studied Lee from a face with wide, high cheekbones and a blunt, broad nose. Her hair was graying now, but was unmistakably coal black underneath the lighter strands.

  “I . . . uh . . . yes, but not alone. Frank and . . . and your son worked with me on it.”

  “Sam wanted it quite badly. He mentioned it several times this week. Well, congratulations.” She smiled, then added, “And welcome to the company.”

  As Sam’s hands fell from her shoulders, he grinned disarmingly at Lee, then turned to watch his mother visit with others before joining her. Just then the phone rang. One of the draftsmen picked it up.

  “It’s for you, Lee.”

  It was a salesman asking if she’d go out for a drink or dinner—standard procedure after winning a bid. The salesmen were always eager to write up orders. Lee was standing with her back to the room when she suddenly became aware that Sam had slipped quietly up behind her. She turned, glancing at him over her shoulder as she spoke into the receiver. “This afternoon ?” She paused for the salesman’s reply, then asked, “What time?” With the phone pressed to her ear, Lee watched Sam Brown reach for a pad and pencil and followed his movements as he wrote, “You owe me dinner . . .” He turned it her way and pierced her with a meaningful look as she tried valiantly to concentrate on what the voice on the phone was saying. Sam’s hand moved again, adding, “. . . tonight.” He punctuated the message with an exclamation point.

  Lee turned her back on both Sam Brown and his message, stammering, “Ah . . . I’m sorry, Paul, what were you saying?” A quick glance over her shoulder told her that Sam had moved away again. “I’m sorry, Paul. Maybe we can make it Monday for lunch. I’m busy tonight.”

  They made arrangements to meet then, and by the time Lee hung up, the office was starting to empty. She looked around for Sam’s mother, but found she had gone. Sam himself was coming toward Lee. She crossed her arms loosely over her chest and leaned against the desk as she watched him approach.

  “Well, you’ve surprised me again, Your Honor.” Lee smiled.

  “Have I now?” His grin was utterly charming.

  “You know perfectly well that you have. Your mother is more Indian than I am.”

  “Ah, you’re very perceptive,” he teased.

  “Where is she?” Lee scanned the office again.

  Sam shrugged, then smirked. “Probably gone home to clean the teepee.”

  A picture of his “teepee” flashed before Lee’s mind, and she couldn’t help laughing. “Sam Brown, you’re impossible. Why didn’t you tell me before this?”

  “And let you stop thinking I hired you so I could become a minority contractor? I’ve had too much fun laughing about it to myself.”

  “At my expense?”

  “It didn’t cost you anything, did it?”

  “Except my unflappable cool. I think you could’ve driven a front-end loader in my mouth when I got a look at her and realized she was your mother.”

  He smiled, but changed the subject abruptly. “What about that dinner?”

  She cocked an eyebrow at him. “I
take it you’re holding me to my promise that I go out with you when I became low bidder.”

  “Exactly.”

  “And I am low bidder?”

  “Yes you are.”

  “And I do keep my promises?”

  His smile broadened. “I’ll pick you up at your place at seven. Wear something dressy.” He turned away, changed his mind, and returned momentarily to add, “And sexy.” Then he left for good.

  LEE chose white again—this time a sleek, lithe crepe de chine dress that slipped over her hips like water—not tight, not loose, but willowy. It was a simple cylinder, cinched by elastic above her breasts and at the waist, leaving her shoulders and upper chest bare, the perfect foil for a heavy turquoise and silver pendant shaped like a peyote bird that dropped onto her chest from a silvery chain. She touched it and looked at her reflection in the mirror, remembering Sam Brown’s mother. How like him not to tell her the truth, then let her find it out as she had. She smiled, then hurried to insert tiny droplets of dangling turquoise in her ears. On her feet went the briefest straps of white leather and high, high heels. She tricked her hair into a froth of sassy curls, their disheveled control confined only by a fine white headband that crossed her temples and disappeared amid the bouncy tangle on her head.

  Just then the doorbell rang. Without thinking, Lee snatched the framed picture of her sons from the dresser top and stuffed it into a drawer. On her way out she took a moment to close the door to the second bedroom. Downstairs she paused and pressed a hand against her churning stomach, then took a deep breath and went to greet Sam Brown.