who worked a little too close to the edge, shaving his costs by trying to shift some of his risks onto his subcontractors and suppliers. Better to force Charlie to pay her driver to wait on the job than to pay his own crew to wait for the truck to arrive.
She and Red had gone this round before. They’d likely go it again. Red never seemed to figure out how hard he could push his crew or how long he could push the odds. But the talk around town was his twin daughters were going to need braces to fix those twisted teeth, and Red was going to need every penny he could squeeze out of every angle if he was going to pay for them.
“I can take off thirty minutes,” said Charlie. “And that’s my final offer.”
“Thirty minutes? Hell, just last week Buzz wasn’t here any longer than ten. How come you get to charge for overtime, and I don’t get a break for under?”
“Thirty, Red. Take it or leave it.”
“Your old man would have listened to reason. Mitch knew how to run a fair business.”
Charlie’s fingers tightened on the receiver. “Yeah, that’s right,” she said, her voice sounding much steadier than she felt at the moment. “My father would have listened. And then he would have offered exactly the same kind of deal I’ve given you.”
She paused for a moment to control her temper. “I listened, too, Red. I listened in on plenty of conversations just like this one when he was alive—enough to know what I’m doing.”
Red growled and muttered his standard filth about women in the construction business. “Guess I’ll be calling BayRock when I get that Hawthorne job.”
“Guess you might.”
They both knew it was a bluff. Earl Sawyer probably wouldn’t let Red add any charges to his BayRock account right now, since Earl didn’t have Charlie’s patience with delinquent payments. “Thirty,” she said again.
Red ranted a while longer before disconnecting. Charlie slowly, carefully lowered the receiver into its cradle, her fingers shaking. The comment about her father had stung. “Comparing that man to dirt does dirt a disservice.”
“Well,” said Gus with a sympathetic shrug, “we’ll make up the difference on the Hawthorne pour.”
“That job bid already?” Charlie checked her watch. Pinch-hitting as a driver had thrown her day out of whack. “Who got it?”
Gus’s homely face cracked with a wide grin. “Bradford.”
“Yes.” She punched the counter with her fist, already figuring the profit in her head. Bradford Industries was efficient, cooperative, paid on time and was a rock-solid customer. If Bradford got the bid, Keene would do the pour. A big one, with plenty of deep, wide surface area and a minimum of the kind of detail work that kept trucks idling while pump operators and concrete finishers filled and smoothed every nook and cranny.
“David seems happy enough about the news,” said Gus.
“Yeah. Right.”
Charlie regretted the sarcastic remark the moment it flew from her mouth. Her younger brother meant well, most of the time. Well, some of the time, anyway, but his heart simply wasn’t committed to the family business. Never had been, though their father had struggled for years to find some aspect of Keene Concrete that might engage his only son’s interest. Nothing had worked.
David claimed he had a talent for metal sculpting and ambitions to make his mark in the art world, but he’d sold only two pieces and hadn’t completed the application for the San Francisco art academy he hoped to attend. Instead, he’d complained his responsibilities were holding him back, and he’d launched a campaign to sell the business the day after they’d put their father in the ground, two long and difficult years ago.
Charlie sighed. “Is he in his office?”
“Yep.” Gus stared at the mug in his hands. “Been on the phone most of the morning.”
“Could be woman trouble.” David hadn’t yet figured out the math: dating more than one woman at a time didn’t mean his problems would multiply, it meant they’d increase at exponential rates.
“Yep.” Gus turned the mug in one circle, and then another. “Could be.”
Watching Gus spin that mug knotted up Charlie’s guts. She knew her dispatcher was aware of the arguments behind the scenes. David had stormed out of the office more than once lately, threatening to force the issue. To force her to sell.
Bad enough her employees had to deal with a female boss who, at twenty-nine, was younger than most of them. Bad enough they had to deal with the rigors of the job itself, with the long, grueling hours when the weather cooperated and the uncertain hours when it didn’t. She didn’t want them to have to worry about whether they’d keep their jobs on top of all that.
There were few secrets in a town the size of Carnelian Cove, and no secrets when it came to Keene family business, thanks to David’s indiscretion. Their father had split the company stock equally among his three heirs: his wife, his son and his daughter. Once David convinced their mother to let him put it up for sale, Keene Concrete would go to the highest bidder, and Charlie would likely be looking for another steady job along with some of her current employees.
Unless she could convince both her mother and David to help her buy BayRock, which might provide her mother with enough security to soothe her worries and give David a big enough raise to either purchase his loyalty or pay for his tuition. And unless she could make Keene Concrete too big for the hungry conglomerates down south to swallow without getting a bad case of heartburn.
Just last week she’d heard that a Continental Construction rep had been prowling among the sand and gravel suppliers in the neighboring county. That was entirely too close for comfort.
She turned her back on the reception counter and started down the short hall that led to the back offices and storage areas. Avoiding the bookkeeper’s attempt to flag her down and the view of her messy desk piled high with invoices and mail, she stopped at David’s door. It was closed, as usual. She stared at the shiny new brass name plate covering the lettering still visible in the wood below: Mitch Keene, Owner.
Not President or CEO, like the puffed-up titles on David’s nameplate. Owner. Their father had been a plain, quiet man, with a plain, quiet pride in the business he’d built from one delivery truck and a two-year lease on a river bar. He’d taken a simple satisfaction in what he’d been able to provide for his family and offer to his employees, and a quiet pleasure in what he’d contributed to his community. Keene Concrete had earned a reputation for solid dealing to match the solid foundations it poured.
How could David want to auction off that legacy?
She sucked in a deep breath, raised her hand, prayed for patience and knocked on the door.
“Yeah?”
“It’s me,” said Charlie. “I’m coming in.”
Chapter Two
CHARLIE IGNORED DAVID’S SCOWL as she dropped into one of his plush visitors’ chairs.
“Why don’t you ever make ‘coming in’ a question instead of a fact?” he
