Best Laid Plans jh-2 Read online

  "As you've probably seen, the blasting went on schedule. Fortunately, we were able to keep it to a minimum and preserve the integrity of the landscape."

  "That was the idea."

  "Was it?" She glanced at the prints, then back at him. "In any case, we'll have the frame of the main building completed by the end of the week. If no changes are made-"

  "None will be."

  "If no changes are made," she repeated between clenched teeth, "we'll meet the first contract deadline. Work on the individual cabanas won't begin until the main building and the health center are under roof. The golf course and tennis courts aren't my province, so you'll have to discuss them with Kendall. That also goes for the landscaping."

  "Fine. Do you know if the tiles for the lobby have been ordered?"

  "I'm an engineer, not a purchaser. Marie Lopez handles supplies."

  "I'll keep that in mind. Question."

  Rather than give him a go-ahead nod, she rose and opened the refrigerator. It was stockpiled with sodas, juices and bottled water. Taking her time with her selection, she opted for the water. She was thirsty, she told herself. The move didn't have anything to do with wanting to put some distance between them. That was just a side benefit. Though she knew it was nasty, she screwed the top off the bottle and drank without offering him any.

  "What?"

  "Is it because I'm a man, an architect or an Easterner?"

  Abra took another long sip. It only took a day in the sun to make you realize that paradise could be found in a bottle of water. "You'll have to clarify that."

  "Is it because I'm a man, an architect or an Easterner that makes you want to spit in my eye?"

  She wouldn't have been annoyed by the question itself, not in the least. But he grinned while he asked. After less than an hour's acquaintance, she'd already damned him a half-dozen times for that smile. Still, she leaned back against the counter, crossed her own tinkles and considered him.

  "I don't give a damn about your sex."

  He continued to grin, but something quick and dangerous came into his eyes. "You like waving red flags at bulls, Wilson?"

  "Yes." It was her turn to smile. Though the curving of her lips softened her mouth, it did nothing to dim the flash of challenge in her eyes. "But to finish my answer-architects are often pompous, temperamental artists who put their egos on paper and expect engineers and builders to preserve it for posterity. I can live with that. I can even respect it-when the architect takes a good, hard look at the environment and creates with it rather than for himself. As for you being an Easterner, that might be the biggest problem. You don't understand the desert, the mountains, the heritage of this land. I don't like the idea of you sitting under an orange tree two thousand miles away and deciding what people here are going to live with."

  Because he was more interested in her than in defending himself, he didn't mention that he had made three trips to the site months before. Most of the design work had been done almost where he was sitting now, rather than back at his home base. He had a vision, but he was a man who drew and built his visions more than a man who spoke of them.

  "If you don't want to build, why do you?"

  "I didn't say I didn't want to build," she said. "I've never thought it necessary to destroy in order to do so."

  "Every time you put a shovel in the ground you take away some land. That's life."

  "Every time you take away some land you should think hard about what you're going to give back. That's morality."

  "An engineer and a philosopher." He was baiting her, and he knew it. Even as he watched, angry color rose to her cheeks. "Before you pour that over my head, let's say I agree with you-to a point. But we're not putting up neon and plastic here. Whether you agree with my design or not, it is my design. It's your job to put it together."

  "I know what my job is."

  "Well, then." As if dismissing the disagreement, Cody began to roll up the plans. "How about dinner?"

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "Dinner," he repeated. When the prints were rolled up, he slid them into their cylinder and rose. "I'd like to have dinner with you."

  Abra wasn't sure it was the most ridiculous statement she'd ever heard, but it certainly ranked in the top ten. "No thanks."

  "You're not married?" That would have mattered.

  "No."

  "Involved?" That wouldn't have.

  Patience wasn't her strong suit. Abra didn't bother to dig for it. "None of your business."

  "You've got a quick trigger, Red." He picked up his hard hat but didn't put it on. "I like that."

  "You've got nerve, Johnson. I don't like that." She moved to the door, pausing just a moment with her hand on the knob. "If you have any questions that deal with the construction, I'll be around."

  He didn't have to move much to put a hand on her shoulder. Under his palm he felt her coil up like a cat ready to spring. "So will I," he reminded her. "We'll have dinner some other time. I figure you owe me a beer."

  After one self-satisfied glance at the top of his head, Abra stepped out into the sun.

  He certainly wasn't what she'd been expecting. He was attractive, but she could handle that. When a woman took root in male territory, she was bound to come into contact with an attractive man from time to time. Still, he looked more like one of her crew than a partner in one of the country's top architectural firms. His dark blond hair, with its sun-bleached tips, was worn too long for the nine-to-five set, and his rangy build held ripples of muscle under the taut, tanned skin. His broad, callused hands were those of a work-ingman. She moved her shoulders as if shrugging off the memory of his touch. She'd felt the strength, the roughness and the appeal of those hands. Then there was that voice, that slow take-your-time drawl.

  She settled the hard hat more securely as she approached the steel skeleton of the building. Some women would have found that voice appealing. She didn't have time to be charmed by a Southern drawl or a cocky grin. She didn't, when it came right down to it, have much time to think of herself as a woman.

  He'd made her feel like one.

  Scowling against the sun, she watched beams being riveted into place. She didn't care for Cody Johnson's ability to make her feel feminine. "Feminine" too often meant "defenseless" and "dependent." Abra had no intention of being either of those. She'd worked too hard and too long at self-sufficiency. A couple of… flutters, she decided, just flutters… weren't going to affect her.

  She wished the can of beer had been full.

  With a grim smile she watched the next beam swing into place. There was something beautiful about watching a building grow. Piece by piece, level by level. It had always fascinated her to watch something strong and useful take shape-just as it had always disturbed her to see the land marred by progress. She'd never been able to resolve that mixture of feelings, and it was because of that that she'd chosen a field that allowed her to have a part in seeing that progress was made with integrity.

  But this one… She shook her head as the sound of riveting guns split the air. This one struck her as an outsider's fantasy, the domed shape, the curves and spirals. She'd spent countless nights at her drawing board with slide rule and calculator, struggling to come up with a satisfactory support system. Architects didn't worry about mundane matters like that, she thought. It was all aesthetics with them. All ego. She'd build the damn thing, she thought, kicking some debris out of her way. She'd build it and build it well. But she didn't have to like it.

  With the sun baking her back, she bent over the transit. They'd had the mountain to deal with, and an uneven bed of rock and sand, but the measurements and placement were right on. She felt a tug of pride as she checked angles and degrees. Inappropriate or not, the structure was going to be perfectly engineered.

  That was important-being perfect. Most of her life she'd had to deal with second best. Her education, her training and her skill had lifted her beyond that. She had no intention of ever settling for second best again, not for h
erself, and not in her work.

  She caught his scent and felt the light tickle of awareness at the back of her neck. Soap and sweat, she thought, and had to fight not to shift uncomfortably. Everybody on the site smelled of soap and sweat, so why was she certain Cody was behind her? She only knew she was certain, and she determinedly remained bent over the eyepiece.

  "Problem?" she said, pleased with the disdain she was able to put into the single word.

  "I don't know until I look. Do you mind?"

  She took her time before stepping back. "Be my guest."

  When he moved forward, she hooked her thumbs in her back pockets and waited. He'd find no discrepancies-even if he knew enough to recognize one. Hearing a shout, she glanced over to see two members of the crew arguing. The heat, she knew, had a nasty way of bringing tempers to a boil. Leaving Cody to his survey, she strode across the broken ground.

  "It's a little early for a break," she said calmly as one crewman grabbed the other by the shirtfront.

  "This sonofabitch nearly took my fingers off with that beam."

  "If this idiot doesn't know when to get out of the way, he deserves to lose a few fingers."

  Neither man had much on her in height, but they were burly, sweaty and on the edge. Without thinking twice, she stepped between them as fists were raised. "Cool off," she ordered.

  "I don't have to take that sh-"

  "You may not have to take his," Abra said levelly, "but you have to take mine. Now cool off or take a walk." She looked from one angry face to the other. "If you two want to beat each other senseless when you're off the clock, be my guest, but either of you takes a swing on my time, you're unemployed. You." She pointed to the man she judged the more volatile of the two. "What's your name?"

  The dark-haired man hesitated briefly, then spit out, "Rodriguez."

  "Well, Rodriguez, go take a break and pour some water over your head." She turned away as if she had no doubts about his immediate obedience. "And you?"

  The second man was ruddy and full faced and was smirking. "Swaggart."

  "Okay, Swaggart, get back to work. And I'd have a little more respect for my partner's hands if I were you, unless you want to count your own fingers and come up short."

  Rodriguez snorted at that but did as he was told and moved away toward the water barrels. Satisfied, Abra signaled to the foreman and advised him to keep the men apart for a few days.

  She'd nearly forgotten about Cody by the time she turned and saw him. He was still standing by the transit, but he wasn't looking through it. Legs spread, hands resting lightly on his hips, he was watching her. When she didn't make a move toward him, he made one toward her.

  "You always step into the middle of a brawl?"

  "When it's necessary."

  He tipped his shaded glasses down to study her, then scooted them up again. "Ever get that chip knocked off your shoulder?"

  She couldn't have said why she had to fight back a grin, but she managed to. "Not yet."

  "Good. Maybe I'll be the first."

  "You can try, but you'd be better off concentrating on this project. More productive."

  He smiled slowly, and the angles of his face shifted with the movement. "I can concentrate on more than one thing at a time. How about you?"

  Instead of answering, she took out a bandanna and wiped the back of her neck. "You know, Johnson, your partner seemed like a sensible man."

  "Nathan is sensible." Before she could stop him, he took the bandanna from her and dabbed at her temples. "He saw you as a perfectionist."

  "And what are you?" She had to resist the urge to grab the cloth back. There was something soothing, a little too soothing, in his touch.

  "You'll have to judge that for yourself." He glanced back at the building. The foundation was strong, the angles clear, but it was just the beginning. "We're going to be working together for some time yet."

  She, too, glanced toward the building. "I can take it if you can." Now she did take the bandanna back, stuffing it casually in her back pocket.

  "Abra." He said her name as if he were experimenting with a taste. "I'm looking forward to it." She jolted involuntarily when he brushed a thumb down her cheek. Pleased with the reaction, he grinned. "See you around."

  Jerk, she thought again as she stomped across the rubble and tried to ignore the tingling along her skin.

  Chapter Two

  If there was one thing she didn't need, Abra thought a few days later, it was to be pulled off the job and into a meeting. She had mechanics working on the main building, riveters working on the health club, and a running feud between Rodriguez and Swaggart to deal with. It wasn't as though those things couldn't be handled without her-it was simply that they could be handled better with her. And here she was cooling her heels in Tim's office waiting for him to show up.

  She didn't have to be told how tight the schedule was. Damn it, she knew what she had to do to see that the contract was brought in on time. She knew all about time.

  Her every waking moment was devoted to this job. Each day was spent sweating out on the site with the crews and the supervisors, dealing with details as small as the delivery of rivets. At night she either tumbled into bed at sundown or worked until three, fueled by coffee and ambition, over her drawing board. The project was hers, hers more than it could ever be Tim Thornway's. It had become personal, in a way she could never have explained. For her, it was a tribute to the man who had had enough faith in her to push her to try for more than second best. In a way, it was her last job for Thomas Thornway, and she wanted it to be perfect.

  It didn't help to have an architect who demanded materials that made cost overruns and shipping delays inevitable. Despite him and his marble sinks and his oversize ceramic tiles, she was going to pull it off. If she wasn't constantly being dragged into the office for endless meetings.

  Impatient, she paced to the window and back again. Time was wasting, and there were few things that annoyed her more than waste of any kind. If she hadn't had a specific point to bring up to Tim, she would have found a way to avoid the meeting altogether. The one thing about Tim, she thought with a humorless smile, was that he wasn't really bright enough to recognize double-talk. In this case, she wanted to make the pitch herself, so she'd come. But-she glanced at her watch-she wasn't going to twiddle her thumbs much longer.

  This had been Thornway's office. She'd always liked the cool, authoritative colors and the lack of frills. Since Tim had taken over, he'd made some changes. Plants, she thought, scowling at a ficus. It wasn't that she disliked plants and thick, splashy pillows, but it annoyed her to find them here.

  Then there were the paintings. Thornway had preferred Indian paintings and landscapes. Tim had replaced them with abstracts that tended to jar Abra's nerves. The new carpet seemed three inches thick and was salmon-colored. The elder Thornway had used a short-napped buff so that the dust and dirt wouldn't show. But then, Tim didn't often visit the sites or ask his foremen to join him for an after-hours drink.

  Stop it, Abra ordered herself. Tim ran things differently, and that was his privilege. It was his business in every way. The fact that she had loved and admired the father so much didn't mean she had to find fault with the son.

  But she did find fault with him, she thought as she studied the tidy, polished surface of his desk. He iacked both the drive and the compassion that had been so much a part of his father. Thornway had wanted to build first for the love of building. With Tim, the profit margin was the bottom line.

  If Thomas Thornway had still been alive, she wouldn't have been preparing to make a break. There was a certain freedom in that, in knowing that this current project would be her last for the company. There would be no regrets in leaving, as there might once have been. Instead, there was excitement, anticipation. Whatever happened next, she would be doing it for herself.

  Terrifying, she thought, closing her eyes. The idea was as terrifying as it was compelling. All unknowns were. Like Cody Johnson.

/>   Catching herself, she walked back to the window. That was ridiculous. He was neither terrifying nor compelling. Nor was he an unknown. He was just a man-a bit of a pest, with the way he kept popping up on the site. He was the kind of man who knew he was a pleasure to look at and exploited it. The kind who always had a line, an angle and an escape route.

  She'd seen men like Cody operate before. Looking back, Abra considered herself lucky that she'd only fallen for a pretty face and a smooth line once. Some women never learned and kept walking blindly into the trap again and again. Her mother was one, Abra thought with a shake of her head. Jessie Wilson would have taken one look at a man like Cody and taken the plunge. Thank God, in this way it was not "like mother like daughter."

  As for herself, Abra wasn't interested in Cody Johnson personally and could barely tolerate him professionally.

  When he walked in seconds later, she wondered why her thoughts and her feelings didn't seem to jibe.

  "Abra, sorry to keep you waiting." Tim, trim in a three-piece suit, offered her a hearty smile. "Lunch ran a bit over."

  She only lifted a brow. This meeting in the middle of the day had caused her to miss her lunch altogether. "I'm more interested in why you called me in from the field."

  "Thought we needed a little one on one." He settled comfortably behind his desk and gestured for both her and Cody to sit.

  "You've seen the reports."

  "Absolutely." He tapped a finger on a file. He had a nice, engaging grin that suited his round face. More than once Abra had thought he'd have done well in politics. If anyone knew how to answer a question without committing himself, it was Tim Thornway. "Efficient, as always. I'm having a dinner meeting with Barlow senior this evening. I'd like to give him something more than facts and figures."

  "You can give him my objections to the interior layout of the main building." She crossed her ankles and spared Cody the briefest glance. Tim began to fiddle with one of his monogrammed pens.