Construction Beauty Queen (3 page)

“Are you offering me accommodations?”

He crossed his arms over his chest. He didn’t want her staying in this trailer—no one should have to live in these conditions. But even if he didn’t have an impressionable niece under his roof, he couldn’t make the mistake of pretending he had anything to offer someone like her. She must have options. Girls like her always did. She just needed to use them.

“That’s what I thought.” She pushed open the screen and walked out of the trailer.

Matt followed, wishing he could crack a joke about being careful not to run over any mice as she drove off. But he’d pushed her away just as he’d intended, and he worried his comment would come across as purposely rude.

He pulled the flimsy screen door tight behind him and shoved the front door out of the walkway into the tiny patch of overgrown weeds that passed for the trailer’s yard. He looked up, prepared to send her off with a friendly wave.

But instead of backing out of the driveway, Veronica was tugging her designer suitcase from her trunk.

He ran over and grabbed the expensive luggage with one hand, lifting it onto the gravel next to the car. “Why are you driving this piece of junk anyway?”

“It’s my car now.” She put her hand next to his on the suitcase.

Heat traveled up his arm, but he ignored it. “You had a different car—a nice one—before this.” It wasn’t a question. A girl like her shouldn’t be caught dead riding in this car, let alone driving it without roadside assistance on standby.

She moved her hand away, straightened, and looked him in the eye. “Yes, I had a nice car and a nice house. I’m very aware that I traded down quite a few notches below my comfort level. But that doesn’t make me a snob. It doesn’t mean I won’t be a good construction worker.”

“It doesn’t mean you
will
be a good construction worker, either,” he pointed out.

Her lips compressed into a determined line. “I’m not a fluffy airhead who runs screaming from a little refrigerator odor. I’m going to work beside you for the full thirty days. If that means making you miserable because you’re in the middle of what I have to do to make a future for myself, I’m sorry. But I can’t change my life to make you happy. I’m doing what I need to make my
own
life.”

Kimberly had told him the same thing when she’d left. She hadn’t cared if she broke his heart and made his life miserable. No way was she staying in this dinky town to help him pick up the pieces of his brother’s life and raise his orphaned niece. She had a life to live, and no one was getting in her way.

At least this time Matt knew exactly the type of woman he was dealing with. And his heart would be completely safe.

Chapter Two

Veronica clutched the two dull silver keys in her hand. One was to a car so ancient it belonged in a trash heap or a museum. The other was for a door that was sprawled over a third of her lawn. Yes, she’d given up her fun convertible and suite in her parents’ house to get them. But more importantly, she’d gotten them through her own efforts and contacts.

For the first time in her twenty-seven years, she was living completely alone, not in the halfway independence of college dorms or sorority houses. She’d taken her first steps toward creating her own life, and she’d made significant progress for the first day. Unfortunately, if she wanted to make it to day two, she needed to scour and sanitize the trailer until she could sit, lie on, and touch the furnishings.

The common-sense approach would be to call a maid service. But she was without her credit, debit, ATM cards, or checking account. Her cash was meager and needed to be rationed carefully if she had any hope of making it through her first construction paycheck.

She’d have to clean the place. Which meant she needed disinfecting wipes and bleach—things the convenience store clerk would likely hide behind the counter while he plied her with toxic food. That was his loss, then.

She turned the key in her car and listened to the engine grind and sputter. She didn’t have a clue what she’d do if the car didn’t start, but thankfully it eventually came to life—just as her cell phone rang from inside her purse. “Hello?”

“Darling, I’ve been so worried about you. You never called to tell me you made the trip safely. Has your grandfather been horrible?”

She deserved this for not checking the display before she answered. “Hello, Mother. Sorry I didn’t call when I got down here. I assumed when you said I was cut out of your life, you meant it.”

“Well, yes, I did. We still do.” She didn’t sound certain. “Your father and I are very disappointed with your choices lately. But to not call and tell us you arrived safely caused us unnecessary worry. We tried to track you down through your Porsche. You can imagine our shock when we found out you sold your graduation present.”

Veronica pinched the bridge of her nose. “I didn’t want a graduation present. I wanted my résumé to be taken seriously.”

“Don’t get in a snit. You’ve been raised to be a wonderful society wife.”

Mother had to understand this was much more than a snit. This was her standing up for what she wanted for her future. “I got my business degree so I could take over the family company, which I would have been groomed for my whole life if I’d been a son. When Dad wouldn’t give me a job because I
only
had a bachelor’s degree, I went back and got my MBA at my
own
expense. Now he won’t hire me and he’s warned everyone in the trade association not to, either, because I have too much education and no work experience to go with it. I’ve been begging for work experience since I was eighteen.”

“Darling, do we have to rehash this argument?”

She sighed and put the car in gear. “No, we don’t, Mother.” It wouldn’t do her any good. Her parents refused to listen. They only considered what they thought was best for her and what they thought she wanted, no matter how many times she tried to explain differently.

“Good, I’m so glad it’s settled. Trevor will be over the moon. His assistant tells me he’s heartsick for you to come home and marry him. We have a VIP table at the Help the Less Fortunate fund-raiser tomorrow. It’s the perfect place to announce your engagement.”

“I’m not coming home, Mother, and I’m not marrying Trevor.” She pulled the phone away from her ear and deliberately clicked it off. The only thing Trevor Tyler Cunningham IV was heartsick about was losing his chance to get his hands on her father’s company. He couldn’t have cared less about her being part of the package deal.

She rattled her way through town until she located the tiny strip of storefronts that she’d driven by when she’d followed Matt earlier. An elderly couple still sat in the exact same spot in front of the grocery store. They gaped at her as she stepped out of the car.

“Good afternoon,” she called, determined to do her part to promote small-town friendliness, as well as not let the call from her mother ruin her mood.

The man squinted at her. He had a thin white mustache and thinner white hair and was wearing red plaid pants with a green striped shirt. “You must be the prodigal granddaughter everyone’s talking about.”

Prodigal
made it sound as if she’d run away and returned; it sounded accusatory. She couldn’t even imagine what interest they would have in someone they’d never met and had no connection to. “Must have been a short conversation. I haven’t been here long enough to give anyone anything to say.”

“That’s not what I hear,” he retorted.

The woman was wearing a dress printed with giant orange and fuchsia flowers, her gray hair pulled back in a tight bun. She elbowed him. “That’s enough, Wilbur. Give the girl time to get her bearings before you lay into her.”

“Give her time to destroy all our plans to improve this town, you mean. Well, I’m not giving up my dream of starting a food pantry and community closet.” He pushed his palms on his red plaid knees, stood shakily, and shuffled away.

“I’m not here to destroy anything, especially a food pantry,” Veronica told the woman, baffled and hurt by the accusations. “I love charity work. If there’s something I can do to help out, please tell me.”

The woman glanced at the man walking away, and then back to Veronica. “I’ll talk to him. He’s not going to roll over easily, but then again, neither should you.” She stood and followed the old man down the sidewalk.

Veronica swallowed her question of what she might have to fight for as the couple disappeared into the Laundromat. She already knew the answer was everything. She’d spent too much of her life giving other people what they wanted, and now she needed to do something for herself.

She stepped purposefully into the grocery store and loaded her cart with cleaning supplies, bypassing the food. There was no point in trying to stock her cabinets or refrigerator; anything inside them wasn’t making its way into her mouth. She wasn’t sure if the refrigerator was salvageable, regardless of how much she sanitized it.

She set her bottles and sponges on the checkout belt. The cashier, whose name tag said “Becca”, glared at her. “The credit card machine’s broken, and we don’t take out-of-town checks.”

“That’s all right. I have cash.” Veronica forced a smile. This woman knew exactly who she was. Her reputation was preceding her, and it definitely wasn’t a good thing.

Becca lifted the first item off the conveyor. “Mayor Wilbur and Agatha Hollister sit on that bench all day. Nobody’s ever driven them away before. Whatever you said must have been downright rude and awful.”

Good grief, the
mayor
was out to get her. Was it possible that Trevor’s connections extended this far across the state? “I certainly didn’t mean to be. If I gave them a bad impression, I’ll talk to them and try to correct it.”

Becca’s fingers paused over the register keys. “Do us all a favor—don’t. Leave our residents alone. Leave Ron’s plans alone. And for goodness sake, let Matt run his company without babysitting you while he’s doing it.”

Veronica clenched her purse strap as frustration coursed through her. Women had powerful careers across the country, including at her father’s company. Yet, wherever she attempted to start hers, she was patted on the head and shuffled to the corporate equivalent of the daycare room.

The cashier jabbed her finger on the register keypad. “You owe forty-two twenty-five.”

The final dollar amount took Veronica’s mind off her never-ending career battle. Cleaning supplies added up quickly. She was going to have to watch her budget. She took a fifty from her wallet and handed it to the clerk.

Becca gave her a long look before she took the bill. She turned it over in her hand and held it to the light. Then she picked up the intercom microphone next to the register. “Manager to the front to verify possible fraudulent currency.”

“Fraudulent?” Veronica glanced around for a fraudster lurking in the corner.

“It’s got goofy colors on it,” she drawled. “I can’t let you city people try to pass off your fake currency on us unsuspecting small-town folks.”

Veronica had never heard anything so ridiculous. She was a step away from being accused of a federal offense. Were her father and Trevor trying to frame her in order to convince her to come home, or was the town simply out to get her? “A bank employee handed it to me this morning. It’s been in my possession ever since.”

The manager walked over, glanced at the empty bench outside, and exchanged a meaningful look with Becca. Then he took the crisp bill and examined it more thoroughly. Veronica shifted her feet. More employees, along with customers, gathered around the register, each taking their turn to handle and inspect the money.

People filtered in through the front door to add to the crowd. She’d left fifty-dollar bills as tips before; now there was a line to look at one. A man in a sport coat and tie and another man in a police uniform worked their way to the front of the crowd. Veronica stared at the uniformed officer and then back at the store manager.

“You called the
cops
? This is absurd.” Her instinct was to open her cell phone and call her lawyer, but the lawyer was a friend of her father’s and therefore off-limits.

“It’s colorful. Money in this country’s supposed to be green,” Becca rationalized, her eyes round and innocent.

The cop smirked.

“We don’t get many fifties here.” The store manager managed to keep a straight face as he passed the bill to the balding man in the suit. “We want to be extra-cautious. We were fortunate that our bank president was available to stop in for a look.”

“You called the president of the bank?” Veronica couldn’t believe it. If the mayor or Matt had paid with a fifty, she bet no one would have batted an eye.

The banker took his spectacles out of the inside breast pocket of his suit coat and perched them on his nose as he inspected the bill. When he was done, he removed his glasses, folded them with agonizing slowness, and placed them back in his pocket. He smoothed his tie and handed the bill to the manager. “Unfortunately, it’s legitimate. It has all the security features embedded. Fifties are now made with multiple colors, just like the newer twenties, tens, and fives.”

All of which have been around for years now
, Veronica resisted pointing out. She would accept their apology graciously. Perhaps someone in the crowd would become her first friend in town.

“Better safe than sorry,” the manager muttered. “Thanks for trying, Becca.”

There was a murmur of agreement as the gathering slowly dispersed. Veronica continued to stand at the register, her neck aching from holding her head so straight. As far as she could tell, her father and Trevor weren’t behind this. Which meant she was hated just because Ron had dared to invite her here.

Well, the witch hunt wasn’t going to drive her away. She had too much at stake to leave because of someone else’s opinion. Ron hadn’t exactly welcomed her into his house, but he’d shown his willingness to give her a chance by lining up a job for her. Everyone else could at least give her the benefit of the doubt that her currency was genuine.

“You’re done,” Becca said. “You proved your point. You paid. You can go.”

“I have seven seventy-five in change coming.” She wouldn’t be humiliated into leaving without it—she’d done nothing wrong. She wouldn’t let these people treat her like a criminal. She definitely wasn’t
that
kind of person.

Dollar bills clutched in her hand, she marched back outside and settled into her ancient green tank. She turned the key, checked the mirrors to back up, and discovered the flashing lights of a squad car blocking her in.

Tears pressed against her eyelids. She blinked them back as she rolled down her window for the approaching officer with the name badge “Connor O’Malley,” the same man who’d been inside watching the checkout drama with amusement only minutes ago. “What is the problem, sir?”

“This vehicle has a broken taillight. License, registration, and insurance, please.”

“What?” She was sure when she’d bought it this morning all the lights and signals had been in working order.

“Yep. And since you were going to drive away and leave the broken pieces on the ground, I’ll have to write you up for littering, as well.” Officer O’Malley was practically gleeful.

“Are you saying someone smashed my taillight, and instead of trying to find the culprit and arrest him or her, you’re giving me a ticket?”

“I can also write you up for disturbing the peace and verbally abusing an officer.”

She resisted laying her head on the steering wheel; she had to work on creating some goodwill. She understood Matt’s distrust and resentment—he was her employer and hadn’t been consulted about her hiring. But the townspeople had taken up his cause without knowing the first thing about her.

Unless she wanted to crawl back under her parents’ thumbs and live a luxurious, empty life as Mrs. Trevor Tyler Cunningham IV, she had to prove to these people that she deserved a chance. Her dreams and career plans should matter as much as everyone else’s.

Her head felt like it was full of concrete. Veronica didn’t try to lift it off the pillow as she took in the sounds from outside. Birds chirped incessantly. A single car drove by, close enough she could hear the crunch of rocks under the tires and the slam of a door. Someone shouted, followed shortly by an answering bark from a dog. Light pricked her eyelids.

She’d just closed her eyes. It couldn’t possibly be morning already.

Considering how long it had taken her to make the bedroom and bathroom habitable enough to wash her face and go to sleep, she probably
had
closed her eyes only minutes ago. Despite the gaping hole in the screen, she’d left the window wide open last night. With all the cleaning chemicals she’d gone through, she was afraid of asphyxiating herself if she didn’t let the place air out. She started to fumble for her cell phone to check the time, but then voices across the street carried inside.