Buried in Secrets (Carly Moore #4) - Denise Grover Swank Page 0,14

construction site had given him a new sense of purpose. He felt needed and productive, and for the first time in a long time, he actually had some money. “What will you be doing now?”

“I’m workin’ for Bart Drummond himself.”

The blood rushed from my head. I felt like I was going to pass out.

“You don’t look so good,” he said with worry in his eyes. “Maybe you should sit down.”

While part of me really wanted to, I’d draw all sorts of attention. Instead, I leaned against the counter, trying to look as nonchalant as I could manage. “I’m okay,” I said with a dismissive wave. “What sort of things will you be doing?”

He hesitated. “Things on his land. Stuff Carson Purdy used to do.”

“Wow…” I forced myself to smile, but it felt a little wobbly. “How’d that come about?”

“Well,” he said slowly, as though he was having second thoughts about telling me.

I widened my smile to encourage him, but the look in his eyes suggested that I looked like a makeup-less Joker. “I’m sorry, Jerry. You just caught me by surprise. You must be doing an amazing job at the worksite if you’re workin’ for the man himself.”

“Mr. Drummond invited me up to the big house for lunch—me and my foreman—and he asked us both about the job and how things were goin’. Mr. Drummond told me he’d heard I was doin’ good work, and he thought good work should be rewarded. Then he asked me if I wanted a promotion.”

“Wow…”

“It even comes with a house, Carly,” he said, warming to the topic again despite my lack of enthusiasm. “On the Drummond property so I can be there to oversee things.”

I swallowed my rising bile. “Jerry… It’s Bart Drummond.”

Uncertainty wavered in his eyes. “He told me he knew about my involvement in the Carson Purdy mess. He said if nothing else, he owed me a job for savin’ his son.”

“But Jerry…”

“I know what people say about him, Carly,” he said softly. “But he believes in me. He was the one who got the foreman to give me a job in the first place. He wanted to see how I handled the responsibility.” The pride in his eyes was nearly my undoing.

“I’ve always believed in you, Jerry,” I said, past the lump in my throat. With every fiber of my being, I believed Bart Drummond was using him—possibly so he could use him against me at some point—but I couldn’t take this victory from him.

Leaning over the bar counter, I called Max over. He headed toward us, giving me a worried look as he took in my expression.

“Everything okay?” he asked, wiping his hands on a bar towel.

“Jerry needs a drink on the house,” I said, forcing cheerfulness into my voice as I held Max’s gaze. “He just got a promotion. He’s taking over Carson Purdy’s job.”

Max’s eyes flared, and then he cast a glance at Jerry, forcing a smile of his own. “Well, now, that is news. How’d that come about?”

Jerry told him about his lunch with Max’s father, adding more details than he’d shared with me—he’d served steak and baked potatoes!—and Max didn’t look any less horrified than I felt.

“Why ain’t you two more happy for me?” Jerry asked, sounding hurt.

I leaned closer and lowered my voice. “Jerry, it’s Bart Drummond.”

“You already said that.”

I turned to Max for help, and he stared at me like a deer in headlights for a solid ten seconds before he forced a grin. “You’re right, Carly. This calls for a drink on the house.” Then he headed down the bar to pull a draft.

“I know it’s Bart,” Jerry said with a serious expression. “But I need this job. Okay?”

My lip quivered and tears flooded my eyes. “If you’re hurtin’ for money, we’ll figure something out, okay?”

“No,” he said solemnly. “I want this. I need you to be happy for me, okay?”

I nodded and hugged him, ignoring the fact that he smelled like sweat and damp earth. I couldn’t imagine Bart Drummond letting him into that fancy house on the side of the mountain, full of expensive furniture. Not smelling like this. The asshole had probably made him eat outside.

Jerry kissed my cheek, then pulled away from me. “I know you’re upset because you’ll be seein’ less of me, but I’ll still come see you.”

I nodded, swiping a stray tear from my cheek. “You better.” I sniffed, trying to collect myself. “What can I get you for dinner?”

He ordered meatloaf and mashed potatoes. Resisting