sunglasses to look over them at her. "You're real good at it, too. Think of it this way. The pavers are stored on the way to the building. By loading first, then coming in, I'm actually being more efficient."
The smile morphed into a smirk. "That'd be important, I'd think, if we were doing, say, a projection of man-hours."
He took a moment to lean against the truck and study her. Then he loaded another stack of pavers.
"You standing here watching me means you're wasting time, and likely adding to your own man-hours."
"You don't come in to handle the paperwork, Kitridge, I'll hunt you down."
"Don't tempt me."
He took his time, but he came in.
He was calculating how best to annoy Stella again. Her eyes went the color of Texas bluebonnets when she was pissed off. But when he stepped in, he saw Hayley.
"Hey."
"Hey," she said back and smiled. "I'm Hayley Phillips. A family connection to Roz's first husband? I'm working here now."
"Logan. Nice to meet you. Don't let this Yankee scare you." He nodded toward Stella. "Where are the sacred forms, and the ritual knife so I can slice open a vein and sign them in blood?"
"My office."
"Uh-huh." But he lingered rather than following her. "When's the baby due?" he asked Hayley.
"May."
"Feeling okay?"
"Never better."
"Good. This here's a nice outfit, a good place to work most of the time. Welcome aboard." He sauntered into Stella's office, where she was already at her computer, with the form on the screen.
"I'll type this one up to save time. There's a whole stack of them in that folder. Take it. All you have to do is fill them in as needed, date, sign or initial. Drop them off."
"Uh-huh." He looked around the room. The desk was cleared off. There were no cartons, no books sitting on the floor or stacked on chairs.
That was too bad, he thought. He'd liked the workaday chaos of it.
"Where's all the stuff in here?"
"Where it belongs. Those pavers were the eighteen-inch round, number A-23?"
"They were eighteen-inch rounds." He picked up the framed photo on her desk and studied the picture of her boys and their dog. "Cute."
"Yes, they are. Are the pavers for personal use or for a scheduled job?"
"Red, you ever loosen up?"
"No. We Yankees never do."
He ran his tongue over his teeth. "Ura-hmm."
"Do you know how sick I am of being referred to as 'the Yankee,' as though it were a foreign species, or a disease? Half the customers who come in here look me over like I'm from another planet and may not be coming in peace. Then I have to tell them I was born here, answer all sorts of questions about why I left, why I'm back, who my people are, for Christ's sake, before I can get down to any sort of business. I'm from Michigan, not the moon, and the Civil damn War's been over for quite some time."
Yep, just like Texas bluebonnets. "That would be the War Between the damn States this side of the Mason-Dixon, honey. And looks to me like you loosen up just fine when you get riled enough."
"Don't 'honey' me in that southern-fried twang."
"You know, Red, I like you better this way."
"Oh, shut up. Pavers. Personal or professional use?"
"Well, that depends on your point of view." Since there was room now, he edged a hip onto the corner of the desk. "They're for a friend. I'm putting in a walkway for her - my own time, no labor charge. I told her I'd pick up the materials and give her a bill from the center."
"We'll consider that personal use and apply your employee discount." She began tapping keys.
"How many pavers?"
"Twenty-two."
She tapped again and gave him the price per paver, before discount, after discount.
Impressed despite himself, he tapped the monitor. "You got a math nerd trapped in there?"
"Just the wonders of the twenty-first century. You'd find it quicker than counting on your fingers."
"I don't know. I've got pretty fast fingers." Drumming them on his thigh, he kept his gaze on her face.
"I need three white pine."
"For this same friend?"
"No." His grin flashed, fast and crooked. If she wanted to interpret "friend" as "lover," he couldn't see any point in saying the pavers were for Mrs. Kingsley, his tenth-grade English teacher. "Pine's for a client. Roland Guppy. Yes, like the fish. You've probably got him somewhere in your vast and mysterious files. We did a job for him last fall."
Since there was a coffeemaker on the table against the wall,