AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"If you're going to override every man's opinion up to this point, Miss Lowe, you'd better have a pair of cast-iron balls, and you'd better deliver. Now. Are you planning on making sure that you deliver on your promise, and you drive the sale as hard as you can? Or are you going to back out? Because you can back out of anything you like, but—well, that's how we women are, isn't it?"
Morgan leans against the wall. Her body feels heavy, and the one thing she doesn't want right now is to continue the conversation.
"Do you hear what I'm saying, Miss Lowe?"
"Of course."
"Then you'll have some good news for us in a few days, I hope?"
Philip's arms wrap around her waist, his lips press into the back of her neck.
"You'll just have to wait a few days to find out, Mrs. Neill."
"Good to hear. Have a good, productive day, Miss Lowe."
"You too, Ma'am."
She hangs up the phone and turns to Philip. He's pulled on a pair of jeans. They seem to suit him better than the nicer clothes. Between the two of them, they've almost got a single complete set of clothes.
"Work talk?"
"One of our investors thought she'd give me a wake-up call."
He presses another kiss against her lips, and she kisses him back.
"I'm sorry to hear about that."
"I've got what I've got to deal with. When are the boys going to be arriving?"
His face drops. "Yeah, they, ah. They ain't comin' in today."
"Is something wrong?"
His face gets straight again, and then whatever doubt that might have been in his mind is gone from his face.
"Don't worry about it."
The way he's looking doesn't look like something she shouldn't worry about. But against her better judgment…
She'll let it go. Then his lips press against hers and she whatever concerns she had, they would wait.
Chapter Thirty-One
Philip Callahan shouldn't be working. God only knows what he should be doing, but the one thing he knows he shouldn't be doing is carrying a bundle of fence rails on his shoulder out to the truck to finish a job that got stuck in time.
There's a boy in a hospital waiting for surgery.
There's a woman who, for all the surprises in the world, seems to be interested in more than just what she says she's interested in.
And sure, there are animals that need feeding. It's the same as every day. That was hours ago.
More than anything, though, he should have been getting ready for lunch. It's not something that he normally worried about. He ate when he was hungry, and when he wasn't, then he didn't worry about when he was going to get hungry. And there was no 'getting ready' for lunch—he hopped in the truck and headed out.
Most days, he wasn't meeting Glen Brand to talk numbers on a black stallion that he had to trust to rescue him from the tax burden that was doubtless going to drop on his head any day now.
He takes a deep breath and refocuses himself. The rails drop into the bed of the truck easily. This isn't what he should be doing right now. He's right about that. With a deep breath he heads inside. He's not going to go to a meeting in his work clothes, his hands still torn-up and dirty from work in the yard.
An hour later he's walking into the little diner. Glen's got a little pad with him, spiral bound at the top and sized to fit in his breast pocket. It shows a wear that tells Callahan that he can't just assume the sale is final until the ink dries on the contract and the cash is sitting in his account.
