Back To Luke

THAT AFTERNOON, Luke rounded the corner of the trailer and stopped short. Jayne stood near the flatbed truck that delivered the lumber, hefting one end of several two-by-fours bound together, while someone else picked up the wood in the truck. The load weighed way more than she could handle. Her face was flushed; sweat beaded on it. He strode over to her to shore up the beams.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked hotly as he took the brunt of the weight by standing in front of her and grabbing the long two-by-fours.

“I could ask you the same thing.” He waited until the lumber was set on the ground and the man was off the truck, then turned to the foreman of his general contracting crew, who also oversaw the volunteer work. “Ranaletti, why’d you let her haul this stuff? It weighs a ton.”

“She insisted.” Ranaletti was a good guy and seemed amused. “I thought she’d topple over at first lift. But she didn’t.”

In Luke’s peripheral view, he saw Jayne fume. She bent down, hoisted up the wood and nodded to the guy at the other end. “Let me help you get this over to the foundation, John.” She glared at Luke. “Then I can come back and fight with you.”

“I said I’d carry it.” Not only did her overexertion piss him off, he also wasn’t used to people questioning him on the site.

“Like hell. I was doing just fine until you rushed here on your white horse.”

He stared her down; she moved in closer and nudged him out of the way with her shoulder. “I mean it, Luke.”

Damn it. Let her pull a muscle. Maybe an injury would keep her out of the way. He stepped back.

Though her biceps strained, she carried the lumber—backward no less—over to the foundation. Yanking off her hard hat, she stalked back to him. Those violet eyes looked like purple flame and her damp hair gleamed in the sun. Her face was beet-red. Appealingly, Luke thought incongruously, as she was ready to ream him out. “Don’t you ever do that again.”

“Excuse me? I’ll run this site however I choose. I am the contractor.”

“Damn you, you said you’d stay out of my way. Or did you just mean I should stay out of yours?”

Actually, he had.

“Oh, God, you did.” She stood straight and threw back her shoulders. “Don’t interfere with what I’m doing.” Her expression was haughty and, despite her somewhat bedraggled appearance, she seemed like royalty. “In case you didn’t notice, I carried that just fine.”

He’d noticed. “You’re stronger than you used to be. So what?”

“FYI, I can bench-press my own weight and I run two miles every day. I’m in great shape.”

Because he couldn’t disagree with the proof of her buff body, and because curiosity got the better of him, he asked, “How come?”

“So,” she said, again like queen chiding her subject, “I don’t have to deal with chauvinists like you pushing the little lady out of the way.” She turned and walked back to the truck.

“Ooo-ee,” Ranaletti said, “she sure told you, boss.”

“The bitch.” This from Hank Herman, a framer who had no tact and never dealt well with women in construction.

“Man, how long is she going to be here?” Juan Gomez asked. He was a peacemaker and one of Luke’s favorite workers.

Luke faced his crew. They shouldn’t be letting loose with nasty comments, but since he’d just made an ass out of himself as an example, he didn’t correct them.