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“Plenty,” Sally assured her.
With a wave, Tara went out the back door. Young Trey didn’t bother to look up as Laura wailed a protest and toddled to the back door.
A steady stream of dump trucks, loaded with coal, rolled past the mine office. A fine black dust sooted the building’s windows and metal siding. More of it darkened the vehicles parked in the lot next to it. Buck Haskell parked his truck in a slot marked for visitors. He wasn’t sure that he exactly qualified as a visitor, but it was the closest to the front door.
Conscious of the nervous churning in his stomach, Buck climbed out of the pickup, tucked his shirttail a little deeper inside his jeans, and made the long walk to the door. As he opened it, another truck rumbled past, kicking up a fresh swirl of road dust and soot.
The receptionist looked up when he entered. Like nearly everybody in Blue Moon, she was a stranger to him. But that didn’t ease his tension any.
“May I help you?”
Buck opened his mouth to answer, but his throat locked up. After all the years he had spent in prison, it angered him that a mere slip of a woman could scare him into silence.
Buck tried again. “I’m here to see a Mr. . . . uh—” For a split second, he blanked on the name. Then it came to him. “Mr. Daigle.”
“And this is in regard to what?”
“A job interview.” His palms felt sweaty. Buck buried them in the pockets of his tan windbreaker.
“And you want to see Mr. Daigle?” She eyed him in surprise.
He faltered a second then insisted gruffly, “That’s the name he gave me when he called for me to come in.”
Clearly skeptical, she picked up the phone. “Let me check,” she said, then paused, her fingers above the buttons. “And your name is?”
“Haskell. Buck Haskell.”
“Just a moment.” She punched in a number, waited, then slid a look at Buck and said into the mouthpiece, “There is a Mr. Haskell here. He says he has an appointment with you.” She shot Buck another look and nodded. “Of course. I’ll send him right in. He’s expecting you,” she said to Buck as she hung up the phone. “Down that hall, the second door on your right.”
Nodding his thanks, Buck moved away from the desk and started down the hall. As he approached the door, he felt his throat tightening up again and swallowed nervously.
The door opened before he reached it. A burly man in shirtsleeves and a tie stepped out, his mouth curved in a polite smile of inquiry. “Mr. Haskell?”
“Yes, sir.” Buck halted, automatically squaring his shoulders in reaction to the authority the man exuded.
“We have been expecting you.” The man stepped to the side and motioned for Buck to precede him into the room.
He hesitated a split second, then moved past the man and through the doorway. It was one of those grand offices with lots of gleaming wood, bookshelves, and an oversized desk with a pair of facing chairs. But it was the petite, dark-haired woman, dressed in a flashy denim outfit, who claimed his attention. She stood by the window, her back to the door.
She made a slow, regal turn to face him. The beauty of her face was not one that a man of any age would forget. Even as it made its impact on him, Buck remembered exactly where he had seen her before. It stiffened him. At the same time, the anxiety he had felt toward the coming interview vanished completely.
Her glance bounced off Buck and centered on the man behind him. “That will be all, Daigle. Thank you.”
Swiveling at the hips, Buck looked back as the burly mine manager made a slight bow and withdrew from the off
ice, closing the door behind him. When Buck turned around, she had moved away from the window to approach him. Every step of the way, he was conscious of the measuring inspection of her eyes on him.
“We haven’t been formally introduced, Mr. Haskell.” There was a musical quality to her voice, with just a touch of Texas in it. “I am Tara Calder.”
She extended a hand to him. It took Buck a full second to react to it. “Sorry. I’m not used to shaking hands with people. We didn’t do much of it in prison.” A fact he wanted out and on the table from the start, without apology or explanation. Buck smiled, thinking of how hard it would have been for him to say that to the plant manager.
Her hand gripped his only briefly. Her skin felt as soft as a baby’s to him. He caught a whiff of perfume and knew it was probably the expensive kind.
“Please, have a seat, Mr. Haskell.” She gestured to the chairs with a graceful sweep of her arm.
He looked at the chairs, but didn’t move, his hands tucked back in the pockets of his windbreaker. “I was told to come here for a job interview.”
“That’s what this is,” she assured him, then paused, a sudden knowing gleam lighting her dark eyes. “Perhaps I should have explained—I was Ty’s first wife. For reasons of my own, I chose to keep the Calder name after we broke up.”
