Ryan's Renovation

“Sorry to hear that,” Ryan mumbled.

“He handled the financial end of the business, and since his death Bobby’s struggled with some cash-flow problems, but things will smooth out.”

Meaning what—the business was in monetary trouble? What did he care? He’d be gone in three months.

“Any questions?” she asked.

“Payday?”

“Fridays.” Her smile faltered—a first since they’d begun the tour. “May I ask you a question?”

A sliver of dread poked Ryan between the shoulder blades. “Sure.”

Her blue eyes turned icy. “What’s an uptown man such as yourself doing working for a trash company?”

WHEN RYAN JONES didn’t immediately respond, Anna congratulated her instincts for being correct. The moment she’d clasped his hand and gazed into his eyes—probing brown eyes—she’d been certain he didn’t hail from a neighborhood in Queens. As a matter of fact, she couldn’t detect any of the five boroughs’ accents in his speech, convincing her that there was much more to the new employee than met the eye.

“I’m taking a sabbatical from my other job,” he offered.

“Sabbatical meaning…you’ve been sent here to fulfill a community-service sentence?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “DUI? Drug possession?” Not long ago she’d read a magazine article about white-collar employees often getting slapped with community service for breaking the law, while blue-collar workers ended up in jail for the same offense.

Ryan’s mouth dropped open, affording Anna a glimpse of perfectly even white teeth—no fillings in his lower molars. She considered herself a good judge of character and decided his slack-jawed expression was genuine.

“I’ve never been arrested for anything in my life,” he insisted.

Maybe she’d gone overboard with the drinking and drug accusations, but one could never be too careful. She took her job seriously and considered her coworkers family—she’d been looking out for their best interests. And truthfully, she didn’t understand why Bobby had hired another employee when the company had trouble meeting payroll.

Nothing about Ryan Jones made sense. A person had a right to privacy, but honestly, the man needed to relax and loosen up. If not, his standoffishness might prevent him from being accepted by the other men. Maybe she should suggest a few pointers on friendliness—

Right then a buzzer sounded. “The crew’s here.” She slipped past Ryan, catching a whiff of cologne. Expensive. Not dime-store stuff. He smelled of sophisticated, refined male. In all her thirty-two years she’d never met a man who piqued her interest more than Ryan. “C’mon. I’ll introduce you to everyone.”

After she pressed a button on the garage wall, the heavy door rose, revealing five pairs of work boots, then five sets of jean-clad legs, five metal lunch boxes, five broad shoulders and, finally, five heads, four wearing baseball caps, the other bald as a bowling ball.

“Morning, guys,” she greeted.

A chorus of “mornin’” bounced off the cement walls.

“Ryan Jones,” she began, then indicated each man as she said his name. “Antonio Moretti.”

“Tony,” he corrected, stepping forward to shake Ryan’s hand. “Only Anna gets away with calling me Antonio.”

“Patrick Felch,” she continued.

“Pat will do.”

Ryan nodded. “Nice to meet you.”

“Joe Smith and Eryk Gorski.”

“Good morning.” Ryan shook their hands.

Eryk shoved a copy of the daily newspaper under his arm and studied Ryan through narrowed eyes. “You look familiar.”

When Ryan didn’t comment, Anna continued. “And Leon Bauer.”

Leon waved, then skimmed his palm over his bald head. A habit the dear man hadn’t been able to break since the last few strands of hair had fallen out five years ago.

“I’ve given the new guy a tour of the station, assigned him a locker and explained the schedule. He’s all yours now.” The hint of uncertainty in Ryan’s eyes tempted Anna to hang out in the garage a few more minutes, but work waited on her desk. “I’ll check in with you later,” she promised with an encouraging smile.

By the end of the week she’d find out everything about Ryan Jones—even if she had to use a chisel and a mallet to break through his stony facade.

Chapter Two

Tense as a cornered rabbit, Ryan shifted from one size-twelve foot to the other as five pairs of eyes studied him. He didn’t appreciate the attention. And he didn’t approve of his grandfather’s motives—no matter how sincere.

“Jones, you’ll be with Eryk and me,” the bald man, Leon, announced, then headed to the break room, the others trailing behind.

Except Eryk. He continued to study Ryan. “I swear I’ve seen you before.”

Maybe the other man had come across the newspaper photo of Ryan after 9/11. “I don’t live around here.”

After a thoughtful nod, Eryk walked off, leaving Ryan alone in the garage. He held his breath until the break-room door closed, then a powerful rush of air burst from his lungs, leaving him dizzy and shaky. He’d given presentations to a convention room full of peers and had never been this nervous.

Those were the times you enjoyed being the center of attention.

The lukewarm welcome from his coworkers convinced Ryan he needed a new game plan to endure the next three months. Something along the lines of…mind his own business, don’t ask personal questions and where the company secretary–slash–boss lady was concerned…don’t, under any circumstances begin a conversation. Aloofness was the key to survival.

“Have you ever worked construction?” Eryk asked, appearing out of nowhere.

“No.” Ryan was wondering how to keep his guard up when a man wearing twenty-pound construction boots walked across a concrete floor without making a sound.

“Demolition?”

“Some.” Ryan’s one experience with destruction had been the night he’d torn apart his bedroom. By the time his anger, hurt and frustration had been exhausted, nothing salvageable remained—save for the memories of 9/11. Those were indestructible.

The break-room door banged against the brick wall. “Let’s go.” The furrows bracketing Leon’s mouth deepened.

“Don’t mind him,” Eryk whispered. “He hasn’t gotten a decent night’s sleep in over a month since his daughter and son-in-law moved in with him.”

Great. Apparently, Girl Friday wasn’t the sole motormouth in the place. Leon slid onto the driver’s seat of the empty dump truck. Ryan hustled to the storage cupboard and grabbed a pair of work gloves. Eryk stood by the passenger door, motioning for Ryan to hop in first.

“Anna said she was able to donate most of the furniture to nonprofit groups, so we might get away with one haul to the dump before we rip out the flooring and fixtures,” Leon commented as the truck edged out of the bay and into the street.

“Good,” Eryk grouched. “I’m dead tired after this weekend.”

“Babysitting does that to you.” Leon chuckled, jabbing Ryan’s side with a bony elbow.

“I can’t believe my sister-in-law talked my brother into having four kids. The brats ambush us when they come over.”