New Year, New Love Page 7

  Before she could tune back into the conversation, a page came over the PA system.

  Brett sent them a rueful smile. “That’s for me. I guess I’d better pay attention to some other customers.” He softened his smile when he turned it on Sharon. “But, hey, it’s been nice talking to you. And I’m serious about helping you hook up with the right people if you decide to try any of this stuff.”

  Sharon waited until he’d disappeared around the corner, then turned to face Emilee and Christa. “Are you two really interested in trying these things?”

  Emilee flicked her gaze away. “I don’t know.”

  “You’ve got to admit one thing,” Christa said. “This kind of stuff isn’t boring. And neither are the people who do it. Look at Brett—”

  “I don’t want to look at Brett.” Sharon kept her voice low so nobody could overhear her. “I want to know why you’re suddenly so interested in this stuff. Does it have something to do with a boy?”

  Christa looked shocked. “A boy? No.”

  “You’re not trying to impress some guy by jumping out of airplanes?”

  Emilee ticked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Really, Mom—”

  If she wouldn’t confess, Sharon would have to ask. “Do you have a crush on Brett?”

  Emilee’s face paled. “A crush? Me?” She shoved the book Brett had handed her back onto the shelf. “Geez, Mom, that’s sick. He’s old enough to be our father.” She grabbed Christa’s arm and tugged her away. “We’re going to look at the romances.”

  More confused than ever, Sharon rested one arm on a shelf for support and watched them walk away.

  GABE STOOD BACK and admired the pile of old linoleum against the concrete wall. Not bad for a man working alone, if he did say so himself. He could have cheerfully wrung the neck of whoever laid that ugly orange-and-brown floor covering. He’d had a tough time prying it off the concrete. But the room looked a lot better now.

  Even with the trouble he’d had, it had been a productive day. Sharon and the girls had vacated the house shortly after he’d arrived, so there’d been nothing to take his attention off the job. No laughter. No deep brown eyes or softly curling hair. Even better, his dad had left him alone all morning.

  So far, with the sporadic hours his other commitments and Sharon’s work schedule forced him to keep, he’d been running behind. He should have finished this task at least a week ago, but every time he turned around he ran into another snag.

  If it wasn’t his father adding something to his workload, it was something in the construction of the house. If not that, an unexpected inspection or trouble with equipment on one of the other contracts put him behind. And, of course, when Sharon was around, he had trouble concentrating. But if he had more days like this one he might actually finish on schedule.

  Whistling softly to a tune on the radio, he grabbed a broom and began to sweep up the loose dirt and dried glue. Within seconds, a cloud of grit surrounded him and settled in his hair, nose and mouth. At the same time, the phone in his pocket gave off a staccato ring.

  He should have known it was too good to be true. Trying to clear his mouth of the dirt, he answered with a muffled, “Gabe Malone.”

  “Malone Construction?” The man on the other end sounded angry.

  “Yes, what can I do for you?”

  “Myron Ball here.”

  Gabe searched his memory, but he didn’t recognize the name. He propped the broom against a two-by-four and said again, “What can I do for you?”

  “You can tell me when you’re planning to show up. My wife and I have been waiting for you all morning.”

  “I’m sorry. Do we have an appointment?”

  “You’re damn right we do. You were supposed to be here at ten o’clock.”

  Gabe glanced at his watch with dismay. Almost twelve-thirty. It didn’t take a brain surgeon to figure out what had happened. “When you made the appointment, did you speak with my father?”

  “How am I supposed to know?”

  Gabe made a vain effort to keep frustration with his father from coming out in his voice. “I apologize for the mix-up, Mr. Ball. My dad and I must have gotten our wires crossed. Why don’t we make another appointment right now?”

  “Another appointment? You mean you’re not coming today?”

  “I’m in the middle of a job right now, but I can work you in on Monday.” He pulled a notebook from his pocket and found the stub of a pencil in his toolbox. “Why don’t you tell me where you’re located?”

  “I already told the other guy, and he promised to have someone here at ten o’clock sharp.” Mr. Ball’s voice rose a few decibels. “What kind of outfit are you?”

  “A good one,” Gabe assured him, but he didn’t think he’d made much of an impression. Even he could hear the lack of conviction in his voice.

  “You assured me you could add a bedroom onto our house by the end of March. How am I supposed to believe you can do that when you don’t even show up for your first appointment?”

  Gabe tried to keep his mounting irritation in check. “Look, Mr. Ball, it was an honest mistake—”

  Mr. Ball cut him off. “All I want to know is whether or not you can finish the job on time.”

  “I can’t answer that until I take a look at what’s involved. We’ve already got several jobs lined up.”

  “Don’t give me that. You already told me it would be no problem.”

  “Like I said before, Mr. Ball, I wasn’t the one you talked with. And my father—”

  “Your father promised me you could do the job.” Mr. Ball’s voice climbed a notch. “You know, you people came highly recommended to me, but I’m beginning to have second thoughts.”

  “I’ve apologized for the misunderstanding,” he said as patiently as he could. “And I’ll try to get there today. Beyond that…” He left the rest unsaid. Myron could fill in the blanks himself.

  Mr. Ball rattled off a Boulder address and added, “Can you be here by one o’clock?”

  Gabe glanced at his watch. “I’m too far away. How about one-thirty?”

  “One o’clock,” Myron demanded, “or you can forget it.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” Gabe disconnected and stuffed the phone back into his pocket. They didn’t need the contract, but there’d be trouble if he didn’t follow through. Yanking out the phone again, he punched in the office number, let it ring once and hung up again.

  He wouldn’t accomplish anything by talking to his dad. If his dad even remembered making the appointment, he’d also believe he’d told Gabe about it. And that would officially make this mess Gabe’s fault. Unfortunately, that was becoming less and less unusual.

  Out of frustration he slammed his hand against a two-by-four. Pain tore up his arm but it didn’t lessen the horrible sense of futility. He couldn’t leave Sharon with this debris in her basement. She couldn’t even get to the laundry room without stepping over piles of rubbish. He’d just have to send someone else to Boulder before one o’clock.

  Knowing he’d set the match to another powder keg by doing so, he dialed Derry Kennedy’s number and arranged for him to check out the job. But this, he told himself savagely, was the last straw.

  He couldn’t ignore the problem with his dad any longer. He couldn’t stand by and watch the company’s reputation go down the tubes. Malone Construction was known for its excellent work, its reliability and its professionalism, but they couldn’t afford to coast along on a good name alone. His dad’s mistakes were going to cost the firm dearly.

  Gabe was caught in the middle of an impossible situation—hurt his father or put his ability to earn a livelihood and support his daughter in jeopardy. The trouble was, both options left a bad taste in his mouth.

  GABE PACED outside his father’s office, trying to decide how to tell his dad about Myron Ball without offending him. He knew Harold would be angry when he found out Gabe had authorized overtime for Derry yesterday, but he figured he might as well come clean
right away. Putting it off would only make matters worse.

  The sun had already started to set, but he could see his breath forming soft clouds as he walked. Even though he was aware of the cold, his nerves kept him warm.

  Before he could decide exactly what he wanted to say, the office door opened and his dad filled the doorway. “What’s going on out here?” Though Harold still had much of the bulk Gabe remembered from his childhood, he looked old.

  Gabe stopped in his tracks and laughed self-consciously. “Nothing. Just thinking.”

  “Why don’t you think in here? It’s warmer.” Harold stepped aside to give him room to get through the door.

  “Maybe I will.” Gabe closed the distance between them and climbed the stairs, but he had trouble meeting his dad’s gaze as he passed him to get inside.

  Harold led him into the office and sat behind the desk. “So, what’s on your mind?”

  Gabe took his usual chair in front of the desk and cocked an ankle across his knee. “I need to talk to you about a problem I ran into yesterday.”

  “Oh?” Harold pushed aside a stack of files and rested his arms on the desk. “With the Lawrence basement?”

  “No. That’s coming along okay, but I could use some more time on it.” He resisted the urge to skirt the issue and forced himself to plunge in. “I got a call from a man named Myron Ball.” He watched his dad’s face carefully for some sign of recognition. There wasn’t any.

  Harold leaned back in his chair. “Who’s that?”

  “He said he had an appointment with me and he was pretty upset when I didn’t show up.”

  “You forgot?” Harold’s face clouded. “Didn’t you write it down?”

  “I didn’t know about it. I wasn’t the one who talked to him.”

  “So you’re saying I did?”

  “It must have been you, Dad.” Gabe kept his voice gentle as he added, “You and I are the only ones you’ve authorized to schedule appointments.”

  Harold gripped the armrests on his chair and lifted his gaze to the ceiling. The muscles in his jaw worked, his shoulders stiffened and he blinked rapidly—all signs that Gabe had upset him. “I’ve never forgotten an appointment in my life,” he said at last.

  “It could happen to anyone,” Gabe assured him. “We have more contracts on the books than we’ve ever had. And we’re shorthanded…”

  “Whether we’re shorthanded or not, the reputation of this company was built on my good name. We’re known for being reliable and for doing quality work. I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize that.”

  “I know—”

  “If I made an appointment with someone—” Harold cut him off “—you can be sure I told you about it.”

  Gabe had anticipated that argument. “You didn’t tell me, Dad. You might as well know, I had to call Derry in to go over there.”

  “You did what?”

  “It was the only thing I could do. If I hadn’t, we would have lost the contract for sure.”

  Harold’s face reddened. “You’re determined to bankrupt us, aren’t you?”

  “Not at all. But I didn’t come here to argue with you about that. We have to find some way to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

  “Keep better track,” his dad said sharply.

  Gabe ignored that and gestured toward the stacks of files on the desk and file cabinet. “Actually, I think we should hire someone to come in a couple of times a week to help with all this backlog.”

  That was a mistake. Harold shot to his feet and glared down at him. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of my own business.” His voice was taut with anger. “I don’t need someone coming in here and messing up my system.”

  Gabe stood to face him, still hoping he could convince his father to listen to reason. “We wouldn’t hire someone to take over, just to help out. You could teach them your system.”

  “You think this is easy?” Harold waved his hand, a gesture that took in the entire crowded office. “You think just anybody can figure it out?”

  “No, but—”

  “You’re right, ‘no.’ And I’m not going to waste valuable time trying to teach it to someone else. If you spent half as much time doing the work you have lined up as you do trying to change things around here, we wouldn’t have a problem.”

  Gabe kept a firm hand on his rising temper. “You can’t run the business the way you did thirty years ago, Dad. It’s gotten too big.”

  “And who’s responsible for that?” Harold demanded, thumping himself on the chest with his palm.

  “I’m not saying you haven’t done an incredible job up to this point—”

  “Then what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying you’re pushing yourself too hard. You don’t need to do it all yourself anymore. You should be working half the hours you do now.”

  Harold’s face stiffened even more. “I didn’t realize you were so anxious to have me out of the way.”

  “I’m not. I just hate to see you pushing yourself so hard. Dad, you’re almost seventy years old. You and Mom should be relaxing, traveling, enjoying life.”

  “I am enjoying life,” his dad argued, but his tone sounded slightly less chilly. “This is what I enjoy.”

  Some of Gabe’s certainty faded, but he pushed on. “What about Mom? She’s been waiting most of her life for you to slow down a little and spend time with her.”

  “If your mother isn’t complaining,” Harold said, “I don’t know why you are.”

  Gabe didn’t answer right away. With his dad just a few feet away, looking injured beneath the anger, he couldn’t bring himself to voice his deepest concerns aloud. No matter how much he had riding on the company, his father had more. Harold had started the business with very little money and a whole lot of work, and Gabe had no right to force him to give it up—no matter what happened.

  He rubbed his temples with his fingertips and tried to work the tension from his neck. “Forget I said anything. I haven’t been myself lately.”

  Harold’s anger evaporated and concern took its place. “What’s wrong?”

  He had a list to choose from, but he picked the most important. “Just a little problem with Tracy.”

  “Tracy?” The older man dropped into his seat again. “She isn’t sick, is she?”

  “No. Nothing like that.” Briefly, Gabe told him about Helene’s phone call and his own conversation with Tracy. “I’m afraid I’m losing her, Dad. Things haven’t been the same between us since the divorce.”

  “Well, of course they haven’t.” Harold sent him an exasperated look. “You can’t expect them to be, can you?”

  “I suppose not, but—”

  “I’m not saying I think you and Helene should have stayed together. I don’t. Your marriage was rocky for a long time, and everyone around you could see it. But even so, breaking up the family is bound to upset Tracy.”

  “Yes, I know, but—”

  “But you think she should be over it by now?”

  Gabe smiled sheepishly. “Something like that.”

  “She’s a kid, Gabe. Believe me, kids don’t see things the same way adults do.” He sent Gabe a half smile and added, “I ought to know. I have a couple of kids of my own.”

  Gabe laughed softly. “So I’ve heard.”

  His dad seemed to relax a little more. “Give her time, son. And while you’re waiting, make sure she knows you’re still around for her. She’s probably scared to death that you’ll forget about her.”

  “She knows I could never forget about her,” Gabe argued, but honesty forced him to admit that he could have done more than he had to set Tracy’s mind at ease.

  “All I know,” Harold said, leaning back in his chair with a groan, “is that your mother sends her something at least once a month just to make sure she knows we’re still here.”

  That was news to Gabe. His mother had never mentioned it to him. “What kinds of things?”

  His dad shrugged casually. “Cards, usual
ly. Just a note that says we’re still thinking about her. You know the kind I mean.”

  “Yeah,” Gabe said thoughtfully. “I do.”

  “I could ask your mother to pick up a few for you next time she goes to the store.”

  Gabe shook his head quickly. “I think this is something I’d better take care of myself.” He stood and turned toward the door, then looked back at his dad with a grateful smile. “Thanks, Dad.”

  “For what?”

  Gabe didn’t know how to answer that without embarrassing them both, so he just waved a vague hand. “For everything.” But his step was lighter as he left the office, and so was his heart for the first time in days.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  SHARON LEANED BACK in her chair and rubbed her eyes. She’d been grading tests steadily since Emilee and Christa left for school, but she hadn’t made much progress. She couldn’t concentrate with Gabe working downstairs and concern for the girls running constantly through her head.

  The blast of an electric saw sounded from the basement and mingled with the music coming from Gabe’s radio. Even with the poor reception he got in the basement, she could recognize this morning’s choice—country-western. The last time he’d been here, he’d listened to rock. And the time before, oldies. Obviously, he was a man of many moods.

  She picked up her coffee and carried it toward the bay window, thinking about her moody daughters. They’d seemed fine since their trip to the bookstore over the weekend. Neither of them had mentioned Brett again. But Sharon couldn’t relax.

  Raoul stepped in front of her and flopped onto his back so she could scratch his belly. She set aside her coffee and complied. “What’s the matter with those girls of yours?” she asked him.

  He ignored her and rolled over so she could scratch one side.

  “I’m serious, Raoul. I’m worried about them.”

  He blinked up at her, let out a muffled murff, and rolled onto his other side.

  “Fine. Don’t tell me, then.” She finished scratching the cat and moved to stand by the window. Raoul wound himself through her legs and stared up at her. Murff. “Well, something’s wrong,” she insisted.