Will Work For Love (5 page)

“I remember.”

“Local?”

“Nope. I saw her at the airport day before yesterday
when she flew in. She’s here for two weeks, I think,” Chris
said.

“Alone?”

“Not sure. Said she’s staying with friends.”

“Still feel like workin’ today?” Rick asked.

“Got to. At least for a little while. Unless I get a
better offer.”

“And that would be…?”

“Luck. And probably more than I deserve.”

Chris drew some squiggly marks on his outdated desk
calendar before continuing. “Want to hear something that’ll
jumpstart your heart this morning? Check out this message I found
on the answering machine this morning.”

Chris pushed the play button and they both
listened.

Hello Blue Isle Construction. This is the owner of
the East Pointe estate. You were supposed to repair the hurricane
damage at my home and I have discovered that none of it is repaired
yet. I have a big event over the holidays and I expect you to take
care of this immediately.

“All right,” Rick said after taking a deep breath
and nodding slowly. “It, um, doesn’t sound so bad. We can go out
and take a look at it today and see what we can do.”

“Listen to the second message,” Chris said.

Hello again Blue Isle. Your business card says you
specialize in quality construction. I wouldn’t know because
absolutely nothing has been done to repair my estate. I want you
here at eight a.m. sharp on Monday morning with a full crew.

“A full crew,” Rick said. He laughed a little, but
he didn’t look amused. “I guess that means both of us and maybe one
of the part time guys who isn’t already on Christmas vacation.”

“One more message,” said Chris.

If I don’t see you first thing Monday at East
Pointe, my next three phone calls are going to be to the insurance
fraud bureau, the better business bureau, and my lawyer.

“Guess she spent most of Sunday thinking about us,”
Rick said. “Whatever happened to spending Sunday in church?”

“I think we might have some praying to do,” Chris
commented.

“Oh,” Rick said. It was the kind of “oh” that
implied a whole lot more, but also implied that nothing more need
be said because they both knew it.

“Yep.”

“Well,” Rick said hesitantly, “there was a lot of
damage around this island. I guess she’ll have to understand if
maybe hers didn’t get fixed first.”

Chris let out a long breath. “Exactly how I see
it.”

“Heck, we’re probably still waiting for her
insurance company to come through with a down payment anyway,” said
Rick. There was a moment of tense silence. “Right?”

“It’s in.”

Rick nodded. “Well, then, I’ll guess we’ll just meet
up with her and get the job going. Want me to go deal with it? I’ve
tangled with angry females a few times in my life.”

“Nope. Thanks for the offer, but she sounds
dangerous. We’ll both go.” Chris smiled at his foreman and got up.
“Hate to lose a good man like you.”

They both headed for the door of the small
office.

“Did that lady sound familiar at all to you?” Chris
asked.

“Nope. All rich Northerners sound the same to me,”
Rick said.

“I guess that’s probably it.”

Chapter Five

When Chris drove up the driveway at East Pointe with
Rick, his stomach churned. He didn’t like lying to people, even if
his “lie” was more a temporary rearrangement of the truth. He
wouldn’t take an insurance check and not do the work, he just might
not do the work in the order he received the checks. Had he known
the owners of East Pointe were coming for the holidays…well, he
would have managed something. Somehow.

Now, he was in trouble. His notes said the property
belonged to Martin and Kitty East. Kitty. The name suited the woman
who left the message on his phone. She sure had claws. He wondered
why her husband hadn’t been the one to call, but maybe Martin East
was the kind of man who left the dirty work up to someone else.
Most rich people were.

Chris parked the truck outside the closed garage
door, and he and Rick got out and tramped over the curving sidewalk
that led around the side of the house. Beach side would be where
the damage was. Chris remembered coming out here right after the
hurricane and submitting an estimate. There had been many such
visits and a lot of work on claims and damage in the last three
months. This one was only one of many and he didn’t remember the
exact nature of the damage.

Until now. Holy cow. No wonder Kitty had her fur up.
The yard was a disaster with fallen trees. One tree had damaged the
edge of the roof and he’d be damn lucky if it wasn’t causing it to
leak into the house. Damn. He should’ve at least come out here and
covered that part of the roof with a tarp.

A patio and fountain had stones askew, but the worst
of it all was a gazebo and trellis pavilion sort of thing. The sort
of structure that only existed in magazines of the rich and famous,
or maybe in the courtyards of really nice hotels. Hotels with
doormen and keycards for the elevators. The kind he never stayed
in. Even when he could.

There was no denying there was a mountain of work to
do. He could understand why the homeowners were looking for his
head. If he owned a place like this, he’d be upset, too.

Still, this was a playground for the owners. They
visited a couple times a year, probably, when they were “getting
away” from their fabulous homes elsewhere. Maybe it was putting a
wrinkle in their Christmas plans to have a really messy yard. Well,
too bad. Most of the people he worked for on this island owned only
one small home that would fit in the garage of this place.

Chris shook his head as he felt for a notepad and
pen in his shirt pocket. This would be a hell of a lot easier if
he’d been able to sleep last night. It would probably be easier,
too, if he explained the whole situation with the insurance checks
to Rick. Truth is, he wondered if maybe Rick had the whole thing
figured out by now anyway. Maybe there wasn’t any reason to say it
out loud.

Chris walked over to the gazebo with the fallen
columns, collapsed roof, and missing boards. Not all of the boards
were missing. Some were in the fountain or scattered in the bushes
along the front of the house. He’d have to see what he had in the
lumberyard and get a quick order in on the next boat or flight if
he wanted to get this job going any time soon.

Chris took his chances and stepped into the gazebo.
The floor looked solid, but he wasn’t exactly a small man. He
tested it with one foot and then stepped all the way in, carefully
pulling down a few hanging boards from the trellised roof as he
went. He felt absentmindedly for the tape measure usually hooked to
the side of his belt. His hand came up empty.

“Must have fallen off in the truck,” he
muttered.

Rick seemed absorbed in the roofline of the house
where a tree was embedded on an angle. He was already writing down
notes in his notepad and Chris was glad he’d brought him along to
help. The sooner they took stock of the mess and got away from
Kitty’s claws, the better. She hadn’t come out of the house yet and
Chris was starting to hope they’d get away without a
tongue-lashing.

“I’m going to the truck for a sec,” Chris yelled
over to Rick. “Need anything?”

“Ladder.”

“Okay. Be right back.”

****

Whitney went up to her room after breakfast to put
on practical clothes for meeting the contractor. Something not too
feminine. Something that said she meant business. She was pulling
on a loose-fitting T-shirt when she looked out her window
overlooking the lawn. She saw an older man staring fixedly up at
the corner of the house. She caught a flash of blue work shirt of
another man before he disappeared around the corner of the house. A
big man.

Hah. They’re here. Maybe they thought they could
have a good look at the damage and formulate their story before she
got out there. Maybe they were planning to check it out and run so
they wouldn’t have to face her.

Whitney hurriedly threw on the rest of her clothes
and slipped into a pair of sandals. She ran down the stairs and
headed out the beachside double-glass doors. Blue Isle Construction
was going to deal with her, one way or the other.

As she barreled through the doors and swung around
on the older man, the look on his face registered complete
surprise. For a moment, Whitney thought maybe he knew the East
family and therefore knew she wasn’t Kitty East as she had implied
in her phone message. He was probably expecting someone
considerably older.

He walked over to Whitney and stood about ten feet
away, a row of bushes between them.

“Good morning,” he said pleasantly. “Rick
Churchill.”

Whitney waffled between saying something pleasant or
letting her tirade in defense of her friends begin. She wanted to
go for the sassy angry approach, but that was a whole lot easier in
theory than in practice. Especially staring at a man who was
probably somewhere in his fifties, but had enough wrinkles to be
seventy. Rail thin with big rough hands and gentle eyes. His
short-sleeved blue work shirt had Blue Isle Construction
embroidered over a bulging pocket.

“Whitney Oliver,” she replied. She wondered where
she should start. “Thanks for coming out here this morning.”

Whitney wanted to kick herself. They should be
thanking her that she hadn’t called in the island police or FBI or
whoever the heck was in charge of this island. They were the ones
who owed her an explanation and a hell of a lot of repair work for
the wedding that was in twelve short days. What would Taylor think
if she could see this mess right now?

The last thing on earth Whitney wanted to see was
her pregnant best friend collapsing in tears over a wedding that
looked like it was happening in a war zone. Whitney squared her
shoulders and pasted on her serious face. The East family was
counting on her.

“As you can see,” she began, “the hurricane damage
is, as best as I can tell, totally un-repaired. Un-cleaned up.
Un-rebuilt. Un-
everything
.”

Un-everything. I am such a dork. Stay tough. Eyes on
the prize. Wedding in a dozen days.

“And I want it fixed. You have nine days.”

The nine days part was a spur of the moment
innovation, but it was a good one. Taylor’s entire family and her
fiancé’s brother and parents were arriving in ten days. It had to
be perfect when they arrived or she would be a failure. Building in
an extra day was…well, it was good insurance. Not that having good
insurance had done the East family a whole lot of good so far.

Rick’s mouth dropped open a little and Whitney held
her breath while he let out a long slow breath. Instead of
answering right away, he turned his head and looked over the
damaged lawn, the wrecked gazebo and pavilion, and then finally
back up to the tree leaning on the edge of the roof right above
them.

“Nine days,” he repeated slowly. “I’ll make a note
of your request,” he said as he wrote on a thick pocket-sized
notepad.

“What?”

Rick smiled. “I said I understand your request and
will make a note of it.”

“Wait a minute. Does that mean you’re going to
do
it?”

“Honey,” he said patiently, “cleaning up this damage
and doing all the carpentry it would take to put it back to exactly
how it was is going to take a lot longer than nine days.”

“Honey?” Whitney felt an angry heat wave roll up
over her shoulders, across her neck, and up her cheeks. She knew
her ears were turning red and she wanted to pick up one of the
loose boards defiling the shrubs and throw it at Rick Churchill,
grandfather eyes or not.

“Sorry. Comes naturally. Got a daughter just about
your age,” he said apologetically.

“Do you?” Whitney said icily. “I wonder how you’d
feel if your daughter was getting married in this,” Whitney
gestured wildly at the gazebo and pavilion, “mess. Huh? Would you
maybe be just a little more concerned?”

Rick slowly wrote something down in the notebook
again and rocked back on his heels. He appeared to be waiting for
someone to come around the corner of the house.

“Guess that depends on when the wedding is,” Rick
said, turning his attention back to her. “Would probably take a
good month if we really got at it.”

Had he not heard her ultimatum of nine days? What
was with this guy? Too much time in the sun had apparently affected
his hearing. He was stalling.

Whitney crossed her arms over her chest. “The down
payment check from the insurance company was cashed two months ago.
I’m giving you nine days on top of that. I want this place perfect
or you’ll be talking to my lawyer.”

Rick stood stock-still and looked at her. He glanced
around the side of the house and she thought he nodded slightly at
an unseen person over there. Probably the big man in the blue shirt
whom she had caught a glimpse of earlier, a meathead employee. He
was likely hiding out so he wouldn’t have to face the mad lady.

Finally, Rick said, “I’ll make a note of that,
ma’am.”

“Make a note of this, too. I want the mess gone, the
gazebo perfect, the pavilion ship-shape. I want every stone in the
fountain perfect. There is going to be a wedding here on Christmas
Eve and it’s going to be perfect. Unless you can get Santa to fly
in here with a sleigh full of magic, you’d better get your whole
damn company out here. Today. Write that down in your little
book.”

Rick nodded. “Guess I’ll be seeing you later, then,”
he said calmly as he walked slowly around the house toward the
driveway.

Chapter Six

Rick got in the passenger side of the blue pickup
and slammed the door. He didn’t say anything as Chris quickly
backed down the driveway and steered mercilessly onto the winding
road that led away from the East Pointe estate. Both men rode in
silence for a few minutes.