Up in Flames (3 page)

It was slow work, and harder than it looked. After two hours on her knees, her back ached and her fingers were damp inside the heavy rawhide gloves. Zane provided bottled water for the crew and she helped herself to a couple, then discovered using the Porta-Potty required walking past Hooter and Cory, and she tried to drink less. When work stopped at noon, she spent a full minute stretching from side to side and arching her back, working the kinks out. Hooter and Cory strolled past, nudging each other as they watched her.

Cory stopped. “Hey, Sophie, do that arching thing again, where you stick your chest out. I’m getting turned on.”

Boob Man, she decided. She stared pointedly at his crotch. “Good thing you told me, ’cause I couldn’t tell.”

Hooter made feral, grunting sounds that seemed to imply amusement. “How about I show you how I stretch?” he said. “It’s just one part of my body,” he added, in case she didn’t get it.

She couldn’t think of a clever comeback, at least not one that wouldn’t sound like an invitation to Hooter, so she just yawned. “Sorry, babycakes, not interested.”

“Another time, then, sugar.” He and Cory walked off, grunting comments and snorting out laughs. Morons.

Manny looked concerned. “Maybe better to say nothing.”

“Maybe better to shoot him,” she replied. Manny shook his head over her hopeless attitude. To distract him, she pointed to the studio barely visible behind the trees at the back of the yard. “Is that where he films his movies?”

“Parts of them here, I think. Parts in Hollywood.”

She let her gaze wander. Down the hill, Hooter and Cory sat in the truck, looking suspiciously like they were eating. “What do we do for lunch?” she asked Manny.

He raised his eyebrows. “You don’t bring one?”

“No.” Another thing Zane had conveniently forgotten to mention. She sighed, thinking of the peanut butter crackers she’d stuck in the Jeep just in case. They were still there. “I don’t suppose anyone’s driving into town?”

“Not enough time,” he told her. He made a helpless gesture over her bad luck, then walked off toward the truck to join the other men. She watched him go, putting a hand over her grumbling stomach. She could probably follow and beg a few bites. Manny might take pity on her, but starvation was preferable to Hooter’s taunting. Muttering curses at Zane, she sat on a large rock at the edge of the patio, slipped off her gloves, and flexed her fingers, surveying Carl Reznick’s half-finished backyard.

It was going to be beautiful. She didn’t know where Zane had acquired the skill and the equipment to do this, but he obviously hadn’t been sitting around during the past ten years as she’d expected. She considered complimenting his work, despite his being a total prick, but he’d disappeared. After directing the placement of the boulder and unloading the paving stones, he’d spent a long time talking with a man who was working on the plumbing for the waterfall and pool. She wasn’t sure where he’d gone after that, and didn’t want to ask because really, what did she care? And if Hooter, Cory, and Manny thought she was looking to him for protection against the big, mean men, the harassment would move to a new level. It was better to stick to her plan and not talk to Zane at all.

No one talked to her, either. Manny, Hooter, and Cory ate in the truck with the doors open and the radio blasting country music. After twenty-five minutes Manny returned, saying nothing as he handed her an apple. She refrained from hugging him, but just barely, then chomped into it, eating down to the smallest core possible. It wasn’t like he’d saved her life, but it quieted her stomach and placed him several notches above Hooter and Cory on the evolutionary scale.

Zane sat in his pickup, flipping through the papers on his clipboard. The supply orders needed attention, but he was more interested in the conversation going on thirty feet away where his crew was packing up for the day. The men either hadn’t noticed him in his truck, or didn’t care if the boss overheard the way they’d been baiting Sophie.

Zane cracked the window—he wasn’t about to miss it. This was the ridicule he’d looked forward to, and the reason he’d hired her. They’d already done a nice job of making her feel inadequate when she struggled to lift the heavy bags of sand and mortar that the men hefted with little trouble. The damp spots under her arms made him smile; it was a sure bet Dr. Larkin had never broken a sweat studying spiders in a lab.

He imagined she’d never had to ask for help with an assignment before, either. That was the best part, when she’d had to ask Hooter to help her lift a power saw into the truck bed. Her tight-lipped look of resentment was priceless. He hadn’t heard what she’d said afterward, but he hoped it had been
thank you
, because that would really stick in her throat. Not that he’d care to be in Hooter’s debt, either. The big man might be an expert stonemason, but his interpersonal skills were nonexistent, bordering on mean. He was probably giving her a hard time about not being able to do her share of the work, dragging down their progress with her inadequacy, and Zane was missing it. Lowering the window all the way, he shifted closer to the door as he pretended to scan his clipboard.

Sophie was fooling with her ponytail, adjusting it higher off her sweaty neck, when Cory called out to her. “Hey, Sophie, get that tool belt, would ya?”

With a weary nod, she walked over to the tool belt that was inexplicably lying in the dirt a short distance from her. Hooter and Cory stood beside the truck, leaning to the side for a better look as she bent from the waist to pick up the belt. Cory snickered and jabbed his elbow into Hooter.

“Oh, baby,” Hooter moaned loudly enough for her to hear. “Hold that position, I’ll be right there.”

Something hot trickled into Zane’s veins. How long had the tone of the conversation been sexual? He frowned and set the clipboard aside.

“Great ass,” Cory said. “Ain’t that a nice ass, Hooter?”

“Prime,” Hooter agreed.

Shit. Giving Sophie a hard time about the job was one thing, but this crossed a line he didn’t bother to define, the sheer wrongness of Hooter’s possible fantasies being too obvious for words. Plus the legal factor—they probably didn’t even know she could have their asses fired for what they’d said.

Hooter scratched himself. “I’ve been having a hard time all day, watchin’ her on her hands and knees with that sweet little ass pointed right at me,” he told Cory, putting a forceful emphasis on
hard
. “A
real hard
time.”

“Kneeling on the ground, that’s
hard
work, all right,” Cory said, grabbing his crotch as if he’d suddenly taken up gangsta rap. “Fuckin’ hard.”

Goddamn it! Zane grabbed the door handle. No woman should have to put up with that, ever, and it definitely wasn’t going to happen on his job site.

He stepped out of the truck, but no one noticed. The men had their backs to him, and Sophie had her eyes on Hooter and Cory as she straightened. She walked toward them as if she hadn’t heard a thing they’d said, stopping three feet away. “Here ya go,” she said with a smile, and whipped the dangling belt at Hooter’s midsection. He bent and caught it in an automatic move that barely protected his groin from a painful impact with the heavy hammer and chisels as she smiled sweetly. “Anything else I can get you?”

“Fuck,” Hooter muttered, still slightly bent over, and Zane decided the tools hadn’t entirely missed their target.

Sophie walked past, giving Hooter a pat on the arm. “You ought to take better care of your equipment, babycakes.”

Zane choked on a laugh, torn between high-fiving Sophie and belting Hooter and Cory in the jaw. The snarl Hooter aimed at Sophie’s back decided him. He stepped out and slammed the truck door hard enough to get their attention.

“Sophie!” She turned, startled. “I need to go over some paperwork with you. Employee benefits,” he improvised when she hesitated. “Wait in my truck.” He walked past her without a glance, counting on his brisk attitude to forestall any questions. “You three can head back without her,” he said to the men, including Manny, with a hand gesture.

Manny had stood off to the side during the tool belt episode. It was pretty much what he’d expected of the older man, who seemed happy to stay under everyone’s radar, do his job, and go home. He left people alone, and they left him alone. Zane had known that approach wouldn’t work for Sophie, but he hadn’t realized how bad it would be. He needed to set some boundaries, fast.

Corralling Hooter and Cory, he stepped close, forcing them to back against the side of the truck bed. “Hang on, I need a word with you two,” he said.

Hooter grinned. “Did we hurt someone’s little feelings? We did like you said, treated her like one of the guys. Well, mostly.” He and Cory both snickered.

Zane inched closer to Hooter’s bulk, looking the big man in the eye. “When I said I needed a word, that meant I talk and you listen. Got it?”

Hooter’s smile faded to a narrow-eyed look. Cory shot his buddy a worried glance, then turned his wary gaze on Zane.

On the other side of the truck, Manny got in the backseat and closed the door.

Zane kept his voice low. “You’re both from around here, aren’t you? Lived in Barringer’s Pass all your lives?”

They exchanged confused looks, then each gave a jerky nod.

“Right. So you’re probably familiar with a little episode in my family history that happened several years back. It was big news.”

They wouldn’t have to think hard. He watched caution creep over their faces and felt the uncomfortable silence that fell like a dank fog. It had become a familiar feeling over the years. He waited, looking from one to the other, letting them recall every part of it.

The bloody crime scene. The dead bodies. The trial.

No one ever talked about it in his presence, but he knew it was the first thing everyone thought of when they saw him. Probably always would be—the shock from that sort of horror was never truly forgotten. Hooter and Cory would remember.

Cory watched him uneasily. Hooter had frozen in place, as if the slightest movement might set off something he didn’t know how to deal with. Pretty damn perceptive for an asshole.

“Good, I can see you remember,” Zane said, nailing each in turn with a cold stare. “Then I don’t have to explain how I feel about men who abuse women. Let’s just say it sets off some bad memories.” He clenched his jaw, shifting his gaze between them. “Sets off my nasty Thorson temper, too, and I’m not good at controlling it. You get what I’m saying?”

Cory swallowed. Hooter remained motionless, but his eyelids developed a rapid tic as the big man held on to his rising temper. Zane almost wished he’d let it loose. It would give him an excuse to ram a fist into that fat gut, and another into the man’s face. Unfortunately, Hooter wasn’t that dumb, and he kept his anger twitching behind his frozen expression.

“Let me be very clear,” Zane growled, mere inches from Hooter’s face. “If either of you treat Sophie like that again, I will fire your asses on the spot, then kick them so hard you won’t walk for a week. You keep that in mind next time you’re tempted to share your ugly thoughts. Got it?”

He didn’t expect an answer and didn’t get one as he stepped back, ending the staring contest. “Good. See you tomorrow.”

Turning on his heel, he strode back to his truck, working on losing his grim expression before he faced Sophie.

3

S
he’d known what
he was doing as soon as she looked out the windshield. If Hooter and Cory’s stiff posture didn’t give it away, the vicious glare Hooter threw at Zane’s back when he walked away sure did.

Damn it! If Zane thought he was doing her a favor, he was crazy.

She let him start the truck and back up before she turned on him. “You told them to leave me alone, didn’t you?”

He didn’t look at her as he gunned it up the slope, sending dirt and stones flying. “What I say to my other employees is none of your business.” Turning onto the asphalt, he dropped to a sedate speed. “How was your first day of work?”

“Lovely. My coworkers are Neanderthals. And you just made them ten times worse than they already were.”

That earned her a look through slitted eyes. “Believe me, I didn’t.”

“Oh, yes, you did. You warned them to lay off the emotionally fragile little girl, didn’t you? That makes me worse than teacher’s pet, because now they won’t even tease me about being treated like I’m special, they’ll ostracize me. Do you know how hard it is to work with someone when they don’t even acknowledge your presence?”

“Better than you know,” he muttered, so low she almost missed it. He scowled at the road ahead for several seconds. “I don’t allow abusive language on my work sites.”

“I was handling it.”

He gave a cynical snort. “You were giving them what they wanted—an excuse to take it up another notch.”

“What do you care? Whatever happens, it’s none of your business, Zane.”

Anger hardened the line of his jaw. “It’s entirely my business. If I let those idiots keep going, it would give you the perfect excuse to yell sexual harassment, and the next thing I know you’d sue my company right out from under me.”

She bit her lip as she considered his stern profile. “So telling them to back off was self-serving?”

“Damn right.”

She decided she believed him. He’d never go out of his way to spare her feelings. But his characterization of her rankled. “I wouldn’t sue you.”

He choked on a laugh. “Right, because we’re such good friends.”

“No, because I don’t ask others to fight my battles. Look, if you’d let me handle it myself, I might have earned some grudging respect.” She grimaced. “Or at least what passes for respect among the savages.”

He shot her a hard look. “The kind of abuse I heard them dishing out doesn’t lead to respect. It leads to violence.”

She opened her mouth to argue with him, then realized what he was talking about. What he feared. She realized, too, how close to the surface that memory must be, even after so many years, if he saw the possibility of it happening again.

“Zane.” She waited until he glanced at her. “Not every man hates to that extreme. They don’t all resort to murder.”

She saw his throat work before he answered in a low voice. “Some do.”

“The chances are so slim—”

“Don’t try to quote odds,” he said, cutting her off sharply. “They don’t matter. And I don’t care if you think I’m wrong, I’m your boss and it’s my call.”

She rode in silence for several seconds, studying the hard planes of his face and the tight set of his shoulders. “But you don’t think you’re wrong, do you?”

“No, I don’t.” He said it with such a grim certainty that chills rippled down the backs of her arms. “Hooter isn’t the type who respects women. He either likes them, which means he wants to fuck them, or he considers them worthless. Either way, provoking him is stupid.”

His crude language had the impact he’d intended, stripping away any hope that Hooter could respect her if she stood up for herself. She wished Zane only wanted to scare her, but trying to imagine Hooter with a wife, or a girlfriend who was more than a mere sexual diversion, stretched credibility to the point of breaking.

She sighed and leaned back in her seat. “Okay, I believe you.” He didn’t nod or say “Good” or even glance her way, reminding her that being right didn’t make him nice. Or even polite. Gee, what a terrific boss. And such a fun job. “I can’t wait for tomorrow,” she muttered.

“You won’t be working with them tomorrow.”

He must have been more worried than she’d realized. “What will I be doing?”

“Cory’s job. You’ll stay back at the yard, loading all the plants and mulch we’ll need to finish the pool area.”

She had visions of muscling potted trees and shrubs across the yard and onto a flatbed trailer. It might be easier on her knees than laying patio stones, but harder on her back, which was already sore. “Lots of lifting?” she asked, trying not to let her dismay show.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be using the loader. I’ll teach you how.”

“Really?” She perked up at the idea of operating the backhoe, using the large front scoop to move small trees. The combination of power and precision in big machines had always fascinated her. Maybe he needed some holes dug and she could try out the shovel end, too.

“Who will I be working with this time?”

“There isn’t anyone else. You’ll have to do it all yourself.”

She grinned with anticipation, then, when he looked disgusted, tipped her head back and laughed out loud. “This just kills you, doesn’t it?”

“Why would it?” he grumbled.

“Because instead of watching me work up a sweat while I chip my nails and bruise my knees, I’ll be playing with your man toys.”

He frowned at her. “It’s not a game.”

“Oh, I know. But it’s not work, either. Not the sweaty, degrading kind we both know you had in mind when you hired me.”

His irritated scowl warmed her heart like a little slice of victory. “Since when do girls like operating heavy machinery?” he grumbled.

“I don’t know about other girls, but I love the synchronized movements of each hand doing something different to make the shovel arm raise and turn at the same time.” She mimicked pulling and pushing levers with her hands. “It’s all about precision, skill, and timing. Like a ballet.”

He winced as if she’d just dragged her nails over a blackboard.
“A ballet?”

“A remote-controlled ballet,” she decided, pleased with her analogy. Especially since it had horrified him.

He narrowed his eyes at the road ahead. “We’ll see if you still think so after tomorrow.”

Because it so obviously annoyed him, she hummed “The Blue Danube” waltz and continued her pantomime, curving one arm to resemble a shovel attachment swinging sideways as it raised, lowered, and released its load from her suddenly splayed fingers. “I think I’ll bring my iPod for musical accompaniment.”

“No earbuds or headphones,” he ordered. “You have to be able to hear if someone yells at you.”

“You said no one will be there.”

He stared her down. “No iPod.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine, a silent ballet. It’ll still be fun.”

A muscle jumped in his clenched jaw, pleasing her right down to her toes. “You still need gloves and work boots,” he ground out. “Don’t come without them.”

Oh, she wouldn’t. She was looking forward to feminizing the front-end loader, now that she knew it bothered him. Maybe the whole equipment yard. She wondered if work gloves came in pink.

They did. She’d snatched them off the rack at Tractor Supply Company, grinning ecstatically.

The requisite steel-toed boots came in only a disappointing shade of brown, but they were offset by her pink shirt, light-blue jeans, and a pink John Deere cap with a glitter heart. So far the job had cost her more than it had paid, but it was worth it to see Zane’s right eye twitch and his shapely lips clamp into a tight line as she sauntered up to him. If she had to work for him, she’d take whatever petty satisfaction she could from being irritating.

She handed Manny the plate of chocolate chip cookies she’d baked to thank him for the apple he’d given her and savored Hooter’s slitted stare. Then, ignoring the muscles that still ached from yesterday, she slipped on her pink gloves as she crossed the yard and wiggled her fingers in the air. “Ready to rock and roll, boss.”

He scowled at her gloves and T-shirt, and leveled a flat-out glare at her cap. “
Everything
John Deere is green.”

She smiled sweetly. “Not for us John Deere girls. Isn’t it cute?”

He opened his mouth, thought better of whatever he’d been tempted to say, and snapped it closed. “Follow me,” he said gruffly.

She put enough spring in her step to make her dark ponytail do a jaunty swing in case he looked back at her.

The backhoe loader seemed bigger up close. And rustier. “How old is this thing?”

“Twenty-three years, and it runs good as new.” The sharp reply made it sound like a touchy subject.

The large rear wheels were as high as the sparkly lettering across her T-shirt that proclaimed
GIRL,
and the floor of the open cab was a good two feet off the ground. Zane climbed up first, showing her where to step, then offered a hand to help her in. She climbed up to the single swivel seat. He stood behind her in the small space between the seat and a bank of large levers.
Close
behind.

His arm brushed over her shoulder as he held a white hard hat in front of her. She forced herself to ignore the pleasant tingling that rippled through her, irritated that he could still have that effect. She frowned at the hard hat. “You’re kidding. How am I possibly going to hit my head?”

“OSHA rules. Put it on.”

“Does it come in pink?”

“I sure as hell hope not.”

Sighing, she tucked the pink John Deere cap into her back pocket, retied her ponytail at the base of her neck, and slipped the hard hat over her hair.

“Now the seat belt.”

She looked for the straps, found them, and buckled herself in. “Now what?”

“Start the engine.”

This time when he leaned over her shoulder she couldn’t ignore the shivers of awareness and closed her eyes for a moment, breathing deeply. It wasn’t the vague scent of motor oil and shaving lotion she remembered from ten years ago, but something cleaner, barely there. She nearly turned her face into his arm, straining to learn his smell, but caught herself in time and sat rigid and still as he dangled a key in front of her and pointed to the ignition.

She took it. It started like a powerful car with a bad muffler, first cranking, then rumbling to life, vibrating her seat and shaking the gear lever next to it.

Zane leaned forward and she thought she might be forced to wrestle her libido into submission, but he started showing her how to operate the big scoop, steering the tractor as she made it lift and dump, and she forgot everything but the pattern of operation.

Her first attempt was jerky. Forward, back, raise, lower. She could do only one thing at a time. When she dumped the first practice load of sand, it dropped short of where she wanted it, but the second try was right on target. Zane showed her how to smooth it flat with the scoop, another movement in the dance she was performing.

Sophie grinned. “This is great!”

“I’m so glad you like your job,” Zane said dryly.

“What
is
my job? I’m ready to start.”

He leaned forward, pointing as he talked. “Move all of that mulch into the dump truck over there. And don’t bang the paint off the truck while you’re at it.”

She nodded, eyeing the tall sides of the dump truck.

“Then I want those shrubs and trees loaded onto the flatbed.” She followed his finger to a group of shrubs in plastic pots, and saplings with burlap-bound roots. “You’ll have to lower the scoop, muscle the pot onto it, then unload it onto the truck the same way. Without damaging the branches,” he added in a growl.

She nodded again. “I can do it.”

“I’ll be gone for about three hours. If you need anything, Annie’s in the office.”

Her knee began bouncing with impatience. “Okay.”

“Don’t mess with the shovel; you don’t need to use it and I can’t afford to have it broken. It’s a complicated piece of equipment.”

“Yeah, I’m sure only rocket scientists like Cory can do it.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You think you could take this more seriously?”

“You think you could be a little more patronizing? I only have three postgraduate degrees and blind obedience is such a difficult concept for me.”

“I imagine it is.” They exchanged irritated glares. “Just keep the backhoe off that field next to the barn,” he said, pointing to the weedy area at the side and back of the equipment barn.

“Why?”

His eye twitched, and she liked that he didn’t care to have his orders questioned. “The ground is still wet from last night’s rain, and the treads will tear it up.”

Stupid reason—it was just a weed field. “Fine.”

He hovered at her shoulder. “You got all that?”

“Yeah, no problem.”

He still didn’t move. “This thing might be old, but it’s worth thousands of dollars. Don’t try anything stupid.”

“Your confidence is gratifying.”

His mouth tightened. “Any questions?”

“No. Go away, Zane. You’re cutting into my playtime.”

She gave him credit for biting back the automatic,
It’s not a game
, but his piercing scowl said it for him. She waved. “Bye-bye.”