Everywhere and Every Way(23)

Caleb cursed, then looked at Morgan. He wasn't a monster, but damned if  he wouldn't be screwed by a loss of a whole day's work. "It's okay,  Cal," Morgan said. She addressed his men. "If y'all don't feel well,  please go home and rest up. We'll work something out."         

     



 

Knowing it cost her a lot to say that, he turned to his team. "What'd you wash them down with?" he asked.

Yep. They all shared a guilty look. "Some tequila," Frank finally said.

Caleb gave them a hard look.

Sam spoke up. "Come on, guys, we can do this. Sorry, boss."

They slowly trudged in, each of them taking various spots and beginning  to work. With every bang of the hammer, it looked as if they wanted to  shriek in horror. Caleb shook his head. "That never happens on my watch.  They must've been celebrating something."

"It's not the first time I've seen it happen," she said. Her eyes  glinted with amusement. "I've celebrated with them, and they usually  recover fine. You have a good team."

Pride rushed in. "Thanks. They've been with me a long time, and other  than an occasional screwup, they're solid guys. Talented. And in this  business, a lot more dependable than other teams I've been with."

The words were floating like a cartoon bubble out of his lips when it happened.

Above the screech of guitars and hammers, a familiar retching noise cut  through the air. Tools clattered to the floor, and groans of disgust  peppered his ears.

Oh. No.

Frank vomited all over the floor. Clutching his stomach, he rolled  himself back and forth in an effort to stop, but it only made it worse.  Seconds later, Sam followed, his retching sounding like a baby monster  who'd eaten an animal that disagreed with him. Jason hurried down the  ladder, backing up from the two men with his hands in front.

"Ah, stop it! I'm a sympathetic vomiter!" Jason shouted.

Morgan took a step back, and Caleb watched in horror as the short story  from Stand by Me, one of his favorite King tales, came to life-the  disgusting scene about a pie-eating contest gone horribly wrong.

"Help!" Jason bent over and let loose. Then it was game on.

Mike turned the color of avocado and puked from the top of the ladder,  and the last two guys surrendered. The sound of retching and groaning  and male misery rose to a crescendo, and all Caleb could do was watch  the nightmare unfold.

Finally a terrible silence descended.

The song ended and the boom box clicked off.

Caleb turned from the horrific scene and sighed. "All of you. Get the hell out of here."

One by one, the men left, heads hung in misery. He stood for a while,  thinking about the long, terrible day stretching ahead. Then she spoke.

"Well, I guess it's just you and me. Let's get to work."


Morgan quickly switched gears and walked back to her car. Popping the  trunk, she took out her hard hat and work boots, setting her mind to the  task at hand. Sure, they'd still be a bit delayed, but if they worked  all day with few breaks, they might be able to make up some time. She  donned her boots and hat and stood.

When she looked up, Cal was staring at her.

It was hard not to laugh at his expression. He was a dynamic, puzzling  man who consistently surprised her. If he said something crappy, he  apologized and looked directly into her eyes. And meant it. He gave her  respect on the job and always made sure she was treated like a business  partner, listening to every suggestion and not openly pacifying her like  so many other crews before him. He worked harder than anyone on his  team and seemed to give every part of his life to the job. And the man  was so sexy, it was as if a fire burned below on a constant basis. One  she desperately wanted to slake.

The image of pleasuring herself to the thought of his kiss brought a  flush to her cheeks. She'd been cool and distant in the past two weeks,  giving him a clear indication she needed to reset their relationship  back to work only. He took her lead with grace, but sometimes she'd  catch him studying her with a banked fire in his eyes. Her body  practically wept with the need for him to make good, but so far she'd  been able to keep herself tightly under control.

Right now, hip cocked, dust in his hair, jeans riding low on his hips,  and the symbol of construction hotness-the tool belt-wrapped tight  around his waist, he was stripperworthy. His damp T-shirt clung to his  chest from good old-fashioned sweat, outlining the mass of carved  muscles. Looking from his corded arms and bunched biceps to the sexy  stubble clinging to his jaw and smoky charcoal eyes burning into hers,  she was, simply, toast.

She did her usual, though. Fought her dampening girly parts with the  fierceness of a woman on the edge. And, of course, kept her defenses  firmly up. Morgan made sure to present him with the person he believed  she was. A woman who read Austen, had every part of her life ruthlessly  organized, and never missed a beat. Yes, skinny-dipping and kissing him  in the moonlight had given him a hint of what was beneath, but she'd  built back his original impression of the woman he thought she was. A  woman he could never be interested in for a delicious, sexy, naked  tumble. Because she knew one tumble would lead to another, and the last  thing they needed was a personal relationship mucking up a perfectly  good business one.         

     



 

On that rule, they both agreed.

Morgan dropped her clipboard into the backseat and marched over to him. "Why are you staring at me like I've turned into E.T.?"

He jerked a thumb toward her feet. "How the hell did you get pink work boots?"

She wrinkled her nose and gave a humph. "I can get rare Italian tapestry  from Rome if a client wants it. Pink work boots are easy. And why do  you suddenly care what color my boots are? You've seen them before.  We're wasting time. Tell me what you want me to concentrate on. Roof?"

Irritation bristled from his frame. "Even your hard hat is pink."

"Yep. My hat and boots both meet the standard requirements to be on the  job. My mother instilled one hard lesson: a woman can do any job yet  still look her best. Now, come on, Charming. Time is ticking. Where do  you want me?"

He blinked. Muttered something under his breath. Morgan wished he wasn't so damn adorable when he was pissy.

"You sure you're not gonna fall off a ladder and sue me?" he drawled.

Morgan grinned. "I happen to love heights. Much better than doing trim.  Also love banging the crap out of something and imagining the nail to be  . . . someone else."

He laughed out loud at that one. Her heart squeezed a bit from the sound, and she wished she could hear it again. And again.

"Okay, princess, take a quick look at those plans, grab a hammer, and get your ass up over there."

She wrinkled her nose at the foul smell. "First I'm hosing everything down. Thank God I didn't get the oysters this week."

She caught his eye roll, but it was done with exaggerated patience. She  hooked up the hose and washed down the site until it was to her  satisfaction, then got her ass on the ladder.

They worked in silence other than old-school Van Halen blaring from the  speakers. The sun beat with brutal waves down on her body, but she was  Charleston born and bred, and nothing burned hotter than a Southern  summer. She slipped into contractor mode, not having to worry about  anything but the materials in front of her, and got into a steady  rhythm. She hauled the lumber over her shoulder and climbed the ladder,  making steady progress as morning drifted to afternoon.

Until her stomach growl beat out the solo guitar thrumming the airwaves.

Cal wiped the sweat off his brow and hit the STOP button on the boom box. "I heard that. Let's take ten minutes to eat."

She nodded, climbed down, and grabbed another bottle of water from the cooler. "I didn't bring anything."

"I'll split my sandwich with you. You like ham?"

"I'd weep if you offered me just a saltine right now."

"Ham it is." They collapsed onto two cinder blocks and tore in. The hero  was full of good, unhealthy stuff like cheese, mayo, and pickles, and  she tried not to moan in ecstasy as her tummy got filled. She washed it  down with Coke-not Diet-and eyed the bag of chips. Crap. Her personal  Kryptonite. Most women fell to their knees for chocolate, but she  worshipped every chip she'd ever eaten. Her idea of heaven was being  locked in the Lay's factory. She tried to distract herself. "Your  website says Pierce Brothers has been a family-owned company for  decades. Was it passed down through your father?"

"No, it was actually from my mother. It was originally built by my  great-great-great-grandfather. They all had boys to pass the company  down to until my mom kind of put things in a tailspin." A brief smile  tugged at his lips. "She was the only girl."

"Uh-oh. Did they try to arrange a marriage or something?"

"Nope, she learned the business from the ground up. When she met and  married my father, there were no conditions. She could have kept the  company in her own name-Wingate Custom Builders-but decided to sign it  over to my father when I was born. Changed the name to Pierce Brothers.  Must've sensed there'd be another boy on the way."