A Promise to Cherish (10 page)

By the time all the employees of Brown & Brown had begun their work day, Lee Walker felt as if she were in the amphitheater of the United Nations Building! She realized that nobody here would notice a feather in her hair, although Rachael did comment on how stylish it was.

Brown & Brown was a pleasant change from Thorpe Construction. Though Lee didn’t have her own office as she’d had previously, she didn’t mind a bit. Among the entire office crew there was a noticeable camaraderie that made up for the lack of privacy. And the atmosphere was so harmonious, the decor so tasteful, that Lee felt almost childishly eager to do well, learn fast, and prove her abilities so she could feel justified in taking over the desk and the orange tree.

At coffee break the copy room became a gathering spot. It contained not only copying and duplicator machines, but also a refrigerator, microwave oven, and coffee percolator that was kept constantly replenished by Rachael, who seemed to be the office staff’s cheerful “ladybug.” Everyone seemed to like her.

The day began with a short session at which Sam Brown, Frank Schultz, and Rachael discussed helping Lee learn her way around the place. After Lee had filled out the usual new-employee forms, Frank explained the general bidding procedure, psychology, and ratio of profit on which they worked.

Sam was gone at noon, and Lee ate her sack lunch by the fountain, feeling totally refreshed when she returned. She saw Sam again late in the afternoon when he came in briefly, dusty leather workboots and khaki-colored jeans attesting to his having been out in the field. When Frank Schultz began cleaning off his desk top at the end of the afternoon, Lee couldn’t believe it was going on five o’clock already. The day had raced by so fast it seemed as if she’d just walked in the door!

The following morning she, Sam, and Frank worked together on a small bid. Immediately Lee saw that changes here were discussed sensibly before being made. No last minute surprises were sprung unless it was by mutual agreement. They talked together about upcoming jobs listed in
The Construction Bulletin
and decided which ones Lee should order plans for. Sam asked if Frank would have time the following day to take Lee out and show her around the jobs in progress so she could get a handle on the equipment the company owned, and also give her a complete inventory of it so she knew exactly what work capacity they could handle.

The third day, she and Frank drove in a company pickup, from jobsite to jobsite. At each, Lee was introduced to crew members and foremen alike.

Walking into the skeleton of a two-story steel-frame building, Lee was surprised to see Sam Brown, in hardhat and workboots, waving hello. He picked his way across pipes and fittings, removing a pair of soiled leather workgloves as he came.

“Got troubles, boss?” Frank inquired.

“Naw, nothing Duke can’t handle.” Sam smiled over his shoulder as Lee heard Duke in the background, his voice like the roar of a bull elephant, telling some laborer to jack that son of a bitch up and see she didn’t bust again or his ass’d be higher than the goddam water table! Lee was laughing as Sam turned back to her. The rough language of construction superintendents was nothing new to her.

“Everything going okay so far, Lee?” Sam’s question was simple and inconsequential, nothing at all to make her heart jump. Maybe it was the ordinary way he’d called her Lee, or the way he lifted his hardhat off the back of his head and mopped his forehead with a sleeve that sent her pulse racing.

“Not a single complaint,” she answered. “We’ve been to all the jobsites but one. I’m getting a good idea of how much equipment the company has, but I can see there’s not much in the way of heavy stuff.”

“We’ve leased most of the heavy stuff up till now and we’ll continue to do that until we’re sure we want to stay in the sewer and water work,” Sam explained.

“A couple of the jobs we discussed yesterday would require a nine-eighty front-end loader and I haven’t seen one yet.”

“I know. We don’t own one. The biggest we’ve got is a nine-fifty. That’s why I wanted you to make the rounds with Frank. I’ve got some decisions to make about buying new equipment, and I want you in on them.” There was something elemental about him standing in the hot sun with a dusty boot on a section of pipe, settling the hardhat back on his head, then tugging back on the filthy leather gloves. His rolled-up sleeves exposed arms tanned to a cinnamon hue with hair bleached almost red by the sun. A bead of sweat trickled from under the hardhat along his temple, and Lee looked away.

In the background a machine started up, and Sam shouted to be heard above the noise. “Frank, could you run out to the Independence City Hall and pick up a set of plans for that Little Blue River job?”

“Sure, Sam. We’ll be over that direction anyway.”

“Good. Lee and I will run out and take a look at it Friday morning.” At the mention of her name, she turned back to the trickle of sweat, but it had become no less irresistible, collecting dust as it moved downward. It drew her eyes as if it were whitewater on the Colorado River rather than a single droplet flowing along a man’s hairline.

She pulled her eyes away again, hoping Sam hadn’t noticed the direction of her gaze. At first she thought he hadn’t, but in the end she wasn’t sure, for as Frank pulled the pickup away from the bumpy construction site, Lee looked back over her shoulder to discover Sam standing where they’d left him, his feet planted firmly apart, his eyes following them.

 

 

O
N Thursday, just before Lee left for the day, Sam stopped by her desk. “It’s been a helluva busy week. Sorry I haven’t been around much.”

Lee’s elbows were propped on the desk top as she leaned over a long jobsheet. Turning, she almost bumped against Sam’s thigh, he’d been standing so close. She tipped her chair back to look up at him.

“Frank has taken good care of me. The week’s been great.”

Sam crossed his arms, leaned against the edge of her desk, and stretched his legs out in front of him. “Good, glad to hear it. Listen, would you mind wearing something . . .” For a moment his eyes fell to her bare knee where her skirt was hitched up slightly.

“Well, put on some slacks tomorrow, okay? We’ll probably be walking through some rough stuff when we go out to look at that job.”

“Sure, whatever you say.”

“Have you got any boots?” Now his eyes drifted down her calves to the sling-back high heels on her feet.

“Aha. Got just the thing.”

“Good. Bring ’em along. We’ll be going out first thing in the morning, and the dew can be heavy.”

“Anything else?”

“Yeah.” For the first time he glanced up to give a quick survey of the room, but several desks were already empty, and nobody who remained paid them any attention. His gaze returned to Lee. “Have you been bringing those sack lunches like you said?”

“Every day. The fountain is delightful with cheese on rye.”

“Could you make enough for two tomorrow?” His eyes softened as he smiled down at her.

“Of course. What’s the occasion?”

“No occasion. We might end up someplace out in the boonies at lunchtime, so if you’ll bring the food, I’ll bring us some cola in a cooler.”

“Friday is bologna and pickle day.”

“Sweet or dill?”

“Dill.”

“Sold.” He stood up. “See you here at eight.”

T
HE following morning dawned murky and muggy after a night of intermittent thundershowers. Low, gray clouds hid the sunrise, and the thick, sultry air seemed cloyingly sticky.

She dressed in blue jeans, tennis shoes, and a casual cotton knit pullover of navy and white stripes with a sailor collar and a ribbed waist, and took along a pair of rubber, lace-up duck hunting boots, a can of mosquito spray, and a brown paper bag containing three bologna sandwiches, potato chips, pickles, and some chocolate chip cookies.

She and Sam set out right after he returned from his morning rounds of all the jobs. He stopped at Rachael’s desk to advise her where they’d be. “If you need us, give a call on the radio.”

“Right, boss.”

“We’ll take my truck,” Sam informed Lee as they crossed the parking lot toward a sleek pickup identifiable by its standard company color—a rich, metallic brown with the logo B & B in white on its doors. Sam looked down at Lee’s feet.

“Didn’t you bring any boots?”

“They’re in my car. Be right back.” She was only too happy to move away from Sam Brown, for her eyes, too, had meandered down the length of his strong legs, and the sight of them was altogether too compelling. What was it about him? Whenever she was close to him her thoughts strayed to his masculinity, ever since that first night in Denver when she’d found his magazine.

He’d backed the pickup around and was waiting when she turned from the Pinto with full hands. This time her eyes were arrested by the sight of his long, bronzed arm in its white rolled-up sleeve as he stretched across the truck seat to push the door open for her.
Shape up, Lee Walker, and think business!
Dragging her thoughts back to safer footing, she clambered up onto the high seat beside him and dumped her collection on the floor.

A roll of plans, his workgloves and hardhat lay between them, and with a murmured apology, Sam scooped them closer to his hip to make more room for her.

“It’s okay,” Lee assured him, flashing him a quick smile.

But it wasn’t okay. There was something too close about the relatively confining space of the single seat. And—dammit!—did Sam Brown’s vehicles always have to smell like him? It was his world, this masculine domain of hardhats, laced-up leather boots, and pickups with column shifts.

“I’ll drive, you navigate,” Sam ordered as they started out. Almost gratefully, Lee opened the wide set of plans and studied the map. But even so, she found herself too aware of the tan arm with its relaxed wrist that shifted gears, the hand vibrating on the stick. Covertly she watched the tightening of muscles beneath the left leg of his blue jeans as he raised it to press in the clutch. He was a runner, she remembered, and supposed those muscles were hard and well toned. The denim fit his leg like a rind fits an orange.

Suddenly she realized they were sitting still and raised her eyes from Sam’s leg to find he’d been watching her. For how long? She felt herself turning as red as the light that had stopped them as he smiled lazily.

“I see you brought the bologna sandwiches.” His face was stunningly dark against the open collar of his white shirt, and it did foolish things to the pit of her stomach.

“As ordered. Where’s the Coke?” she managed to ask in a surprisingly normal voice.

He gestured with a shoulder and a lift of his chin. “In the back.” His lazy eyes made her feel lightheaded, but just then the light changed and they rolled forward. Sam’s gaze moved away from her, and she returned to navigating.

“Exit on Two ninety-one south,” she ordered.

“Two ninety-one south,” he repeated. Then there was only the high whine of the wheels on the blacktop and the shuddering jiggle rising up through the seat beneath Lee as they rode silently. She watched the riffling of his shirtsleeves in the wind from the opened window, then studied the view beyond her own, striving to feel at ease in his presence.

Suddenly Rachael’s voice crackled across the radio. “Base to unit one. Come in, Sam.”

From the corner of her eye, Lee watched him pluck the mike from the dash. His index finger curled around the call button and the mike almost touched his lips. “Unit one, Sam here. Go ahead, Rachael.”

“I’ve got a long-distance call from Denver. It’s Tom Weatherall returning your call, so I thought you’d want to know.”

“It’s nothing important, just an inquiry I made about an equipment auction that’s coming up. Tell him I’ll get back to him on Monday.”

“Right, boss . . . base clear.”

“Thanks, Rachael. Unit one clear.”

The white shirtsleeve strained diagonally across Sam’s upper arm as he replaced the mike, and Lee turned her eyes resolutely away, again resisting the urge to study him. But to her chagrin, she found she need not look to remember. He was dressed in blue jeans, white shirt, and leather boots—no different from what a thousand laboring men wore every day. Yet he looked better than a thousand men, the basic no-nonsense work clothes lending him a magnetic sex appeal totally different from the dress slacks and sport coat he’d worn the first few times she’d seen him.

They turned off 291 at her directions and took increasingly smaller roads until they came to a gravel road that led out into the country. “I think this is it.” Lee pointed to an abandoned farm off to their right.

The pickup swerved to the side of the road to idle again while Sam hooked his left elbow over the steering wheel, rested his right hand along the back of the seat, and peered out her window. She was served up a tantalizing whiff of his aftershave as his knuckles passed before her face and he pointed.