Rules Of Engagement. Jamie Denton
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slipped her pencil behind her ear and looked up at him, her dark brown eyes filled with concern. “The superintendent on the MasCon job has called four times in the past three hours. The guys never came back after lunch, and Dan Castle is fuming, threatening to pull us off the job for good this time if there isn’t a stable crew on site first thing in the morning.”
Morgan’s frown deepened. He didn’t need this, not with the huge bonus at stake that MasCon would pay if the job was completed early. Not only could he reward his men for all their hard work, but the extra cash would go a long way toward helping with his brother and sister’s college expenses. “Do you know where they are?”
The frown tugging her peppery brows together expressed her own irritation. “They went to see if they could bail Eddie out of jail.”
Morgan shoved his hand through his hair and blew out a stream of breath that did little to ebb his growing annoyance. “I told Steve this morning when he called that I was taking care of it.”
“When Eddie didn’t show up for work by lunch, the guys decided to take matters into their own hands.” Sylvia shrugged. “I tried to talk them into waiting, but they feel responsible for what happened to Eddie last night and they wanted to help.”
“Son of a—”
The phone rang and Sylvia grabbed it. “Price Construction.” Her professional tone conveyed none of her earlier frustration. “Yes, Mr. Castle, he just arrived. One moment please.”
She tapped the hold button and gave him a sympathetic grin. “It’s Dan Castle. Again.”
For all of two seconds, Morgan thought about asking Sylvia to tell Castle the problem would be resolved immediately, but he’d never been one to shirk his responsibilities, and he wasn’t about to start now with something as important as the future of his company at stake.
He nodded abruptly and crossed the open space to the small office in the back. Dropping into the chair behind his desk, he took in a deep breath and lifted the receiver, hoping he could placate the job superintendent enough to salvage his company’s reputation.
“Hello, Dan,” he said, slipping a pen from the drawer. “I just found out about the crew, and I apologize. I’ll have the men on site first thing tomorrow.”
“Because your guys left, we’re now a day and a half behind schedule,” Dan Castle roared into the phone. “How do you expect the ceiling crew to install grid or the electricians to do their job if I don’t have any walls for them to work with?”
Morgan checked his watch and nearly groaned. It was after five, so offering to send a new crew was useless. “They’ll be there, Dan.”
“They’d better be. I’ve got an uptight safety inspector threatening to red-tag the site because some cub installer wore tennis shoes to the job, and this guy’s coming back tomorrow. I don’t need this kind of aggravation, Price.”
“Dan, I promise you, the men will be on the job tomorrow. Six o’clock sharp.” And he’d personally ensure they were up to every safety code in the book before they left the shop and headed out to the site. The last thing he needed was for his men to be responsible for a red-tag shutdown. “We’ll bring the job in on time. You have my word on it.”
“Right now your word doesn’t mean a whole hell of a lot,” Dan complained.
Morgan cringed. MasCon was an important contract, not only because of the money he’d make on the current project, but he had a half-dozen more big jobs lined up with the general contractor, which would provide his men with steady work well into the following year. If they were pulled from the job and their future contracts canceled, word would spread that Price Construction was unreliable. That was something he couldn’t afford, especially with the construction industry in a major slump.
“They’ll be there,” Morgan said. If he had to personally man the job, he’d do it. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d put his tool belt back on to bring a job in on time.
“They’d better be,” Dan threatened, “or don’t bother coming back. And for every day the job is in the hole, you can bet you’ll be hit with the penalties.”
Before Morgan could offer a reply, the line went dead. He hung up the phone and scrubbed a hand down his face. God, he didn’t need this now.
Sylvia walked into his sparsely furnished office and set another phone message on his desk, this one from a supplier promising to have material delivered to another job site the following day. “Steve just called,” she told him, planting her hands on her ample hips. “They managed to bail Eddie out of jail, but the kid’s got an arraignment at ten tomorrow morning.”
Morgan reached for the phone. He had to call the guys and let them know they needed to be in the shop early. Then he’d let them know that he wasn’t happy with the stunt they’d pulled today.
“Don’t bother,” she said as he flipped through the Rolodex file for Steve’s number. “Steve said the four of them won’t be at work tomorrow.”
“What? I need them on that job, Sylvia.” If he had no crew on site as promised, he could kiss the future of Price Construction, and that of his kid brother and sister, goodbye. People were depending on him—not only the family he’d taken care of for as long as he could remember, but there were other drywall carpenters banking on him to keep them from the unemployment lines.
“I told Steve they’d better show,” she said. “They’re on their way in now to talk to you. Steve said since you didn’t get Eddie the lawyer like you promised, the guys are planning to go to court with him in the morning.”
“And do what? Plead stupidity for getting Eddie drunk on his twenty-first birthday?” he complained irritably.
Sylvia shrugged, her gaze filled with sympathy. “They feel responsible, Morgan.”
“How responsible are they going to feel if we don’t have any work?” he muttered, retrieving the telephone book from the bottom desk drawer. How he was going to find a lawyer at this time of the evening, he didn’t know.
Twenty minutes later, he shoved the phone book away in disgust. He still hadn’t found an attorney willing to take a minor drunk and disorderly charge at the last minute. And he’d only been able to find two lawyers in their offices past five o’clock.
Visions of expressive sapphire eyes and honey-blond hair drifted through his mind unbidden. He needed a miracle. And he couldn’t find one if he kept thinking about the blue-eyed angel and wondering if the rest of her was just as inspirational.
MIRACLES CAME in all shapes and sizes, her great-grandmother, Ethel Cassidy, used to tell her great-granddaughters. Jill was convinced her miracle was six foot two with fierce gray eyes and a body made for sin.
She pulled over to the curb to study the guide map again. Most of her time was spent in Los Angeles and the San Fernando Valley, so she was unfamiliar with the Inland Empire and having serious doubts of ever finding Morgan Price’s home.
Unwilling to give up hope, she flipped off the overhead light and continued farther up Canyon Crest Boulevard, finally locating the street she’d been searching for for the better part of an hour. After a series of twists and turns on curving and hilly side streets and a couple of cul-de-sacs, she found the house.
Malibu lights illuminated a concrete path from the driveway to the front door of a modest, single-story tract house with a neatly trimmed lawn and a few newly planted evergreens that would eventually grow into decent sized shrubbery. An older model Ford Explorer parked in the driveway in front of a two-car garage and a light shining in the living room window convinced her that her miracle was home. She breathed a sigh of relief that she hadn’t driven for two and a half hours through a sea of red taillights for nothing, and cut the engine of her Dodge Intrepid. Pulling her briefcase from the passenger seat, she gathered her courage and marched to the door before she could change her mind.
Jill rang the bell and waited. She had no guarantee that he’d