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As Doyle walked behind him, men straightened up and suddenly looked busy. But it was all for show. Just how many times did one square foot of the floor need to be swept? Shane stood in the doorway, warm sun and a cool breeze at his back. The space was already phenomenal.
He ran his hand over the smooth, soft white oak frame. An eleven-foot door with heavy wrought-iron hinges and studs gleamed with a clear coat of varnish. The oak was solid and stately and fit the overall feel of William Doyle. Hay and cement dust motes swirled in the sunlight. With work and effort, the stables would be amazing.
Shane eased back against the doorjamb, cataloging the three dozen men gathered around. He memorized faces and would eventually put names to them, but a trio of men in their thirties put up a red flag. Strong backs, knowledge in their eyes, and bellies gone slightly soft with beer and laziness.
They would be the ones to watch.
Doyle crossed his arms and waited until Dell Murphy noticed him.
Murphy turned when his audience stopped being entertained. He pulled his battered ball cap off, and the middle-aged man’s harried smile made Shane’s shoulders relax. The man wasn’t power hungry. He was doing the best he could. “Just getting the men set up for the afternoon, boss.”
“That’s why I’m here. You’ve been doing great, Murph, but I’ve got a seasoned foreman in from California who’s going to help us out.”
Murphy’s shoulders straightened. “I’ve got it under control.”
“I handed you a raw deal, and you did a great job, but I’ve got a stable full of mares coming in next week. I need this done.” Doyle turned to Shane. “This is Shane Justice. I want you to work with him to get the men scheduled. We’ve got some long days ahead, and I’m willing to pay overtime if you boys are willing.”
The murmur through the crowd along with nods ironed out the rest of the knots in his back. Money talked, and Doyle was going to back up his claim.
Shane dropped his arms to his sides and walked up beside Doyle. “I’m not your pal, I don’t like excuses, and I’m well aware that you’ll hate me by week’s end. But if you give me five days, I’ll give you enough overtime in your paycheck to make it worth it. Buy your girlfriend something pretty, have a round on me at the local bar, I don’t care what you do—but do it after we’re done here. I don’t want hungover idiots shuffling in ten minutes, fifteen minutes, or an hour late. Be here to work, and Doyle will pay you handsomely. Anyone not willing to do the work, let me know now.”
There was a light grumble, and one of the trio spoke up. Color Shane shocked. He was tall and slightly more athletic than his entourage, but he was still soft. “Who are you to come in and take over?”
Doyle opened his mouth, but Shane held up a hand. “For the next week, I’m your boss. Don’t like it? I’ll be happy to give your overtime to men hungrier and willing to work harder than you.”
“You don’t know anything about me, buddy.”
“I know your type. Those two with you probably do twice as much work as you do.”
The dark-haired man beside him found his boots fascinating, and the shorter man with a shaved head stared at Shane with glittering eyes. Oh yeah, trouble right there. Shane inwardly sighed.
He dismissed the man and turned to Murphy. “How about we go into the office and talk? I’m sure you’ll get me up to speed.”
Doyle clapped his hands. “All right. That’s what I like. Thanks for your help, everyone.”
Shane just hoped the handful of troublemakers he’d seen could control themselves until he got the hell out of there.
* * *
Shane pushed through the afternoon. The initial complaints from the men had died down quickly. As he’d thought, most of them were hard workers, but they needed direction. With clear goals in mind, they were able to focus and get their jobs done.
The incentive of overtime didn’t hurt either. He hitched his tool belt on and followed his nose to the fresh-cut pine they were using to frame out the stalls. He nodded to Murphy, and they both fell into an easy rhythm of cutting and nailing. The afternoon passed, and the shadows deepened before he lifted his head.
Rhythm lost, he looked up to see what had caused a commotion. He should have known. Kendall walked through the barn, her sunny hair scraped back in a high tail that twitched with her bouncy walk. She was a beautiful woman, and while unconscious of it most of the time, a room full of men would make any woman strut her stuff. Kendall was no different. He moved into the hallway between the stalls and crossed his arms.
A grin split her face wide with crinkles and lightly bronzed skin and enough bawdy bravado that he wanted to lift her up against the nearest wall and taste her sunshine. The number of men who were probably thinking the same thing tightened his fists under his arms.
Instead of denting her smile, Shane’s scowl made her laugh. Even more men took notice. “There’s my Oscar. I’ve missed you.”
His brows snapped lower when she leaned in and nipped at his jaw.
She looked over her shoulder. “Am I not supposed to kiss the boss? Is that frowned upon?”
“Jesus, Sunshine.”
She gripped his forearm, and the soft press of her breast kicked him where it hurt. “Well, I can’t be in too much trouble.” She jammed her hand into the crook of his arm until he loosened and let her in. “I didn’t realize there were so many young guys on the crew.”
He focused his gaze on the dozen pairs of eyes that looked their way instead of the woman by his side who smelled of horses, hay, and wildflowers. A sprig of wheat hung drunkenly from her hair. He picked it out, hooking his hand around her waist.
