“I’ll keep an eye on him, if it’ll help,” she offered. “Wouldn’t be the first time. Who do you think busted his Goody’s deal?”
“Marnie Mitchell, you sneak,” I said with small smile.
“He’d kill me if he knew. I could definitely kiss my trust fund goodbye.” She was half laughing, but worry shot through my chest like a comet. “Good thing I decided to get a job instead of letting him turn me into my mother. She doesn’t even know how to pay her bills. Keaton—my dad has never even given her a credit card. He gives her cash and pats her on the head, and she eats it up like she’s the lucky one.” She shook her head in disgust. “I probably wouldn’t have risked it if I relied on the money. He always has his best interest in mind, but I always thought the town was a close second. Lately, I’m not so sure.” With a sigh, she put a smile back on. “Anyway, your discretion is appreciated. And know you’ve got a friend on the inside.”
“Your secret’s safe with me,” I promised.
“I wouldn’t believe it from anybody else, Keaton.”
I ordered drinks, toasting with Marnie before we said our goodbyes and I headed back to our group. My stomach knotted up at the thought of the delicate nature of the trust fund. It had always seemed so solid, a sure thing if there ever was one. But that was an illusion. He could take it just as easily as he’d given it.
When I’d passed out drinks, I grabbed Daisy for a dance, spinning her around the open space near our tables to the tune of Wyatt Schumacker singing “Boot Scootin’ Boogie.” He shook his ass in a pair of Wranglers and a pressed pearl snap, his rodeo championship belt buckle marking the time his hips made, which had the crowd’s full and undivided attention. But not mine.
It was on the weight of my financial situation, the woman in my arms, and the tenuous posessession I held on them both.
I might not have been able to do much about the money, I could hold onto Daisy with both hands.
So that’s just what I did.
22
ROCK/HARD PLACE
KEATON
A week later, I watched as Daisy held her hand over her mouth in an attempt to stop coffee from exiting it with her laughter at something dumb I’d said.
My laughter, however, was free, partly at the sight of her and partly from the sheer joy of her company. When I’d become a man who not only laughs, but cracks jokes, was unknown. All I did know was that I hadn’t known this self in a long, long time.
It was good to see him.
We were just a few minutes from leaving for work for the second time in weeks. Our permits had come in, and we’d called the crew back the next day, anxious to get started again and to get the shelter ready for tenants. The break had done everyone well, Daisy and me most of all.
I almost ignored my phone when it rang, one of the many things I never believed I’d consider, much less do. But when I glanced at the screen from its place on the counter, I frowned.
Seeing my foreman’s name minutes before we got in was not a good omen.
I answered, “Yeah?”
“You’re gonna want to get down here.”
“What happened?”
Grim, he answered, “The equipment is down. All of it.”
“What do you mean, all of it?”
“Three engines blew when we started them. Sand in the oil, I think. A couple of the engines that were too hard to get at have metal superglued in the ignition. Cables clipped, tires slashed—you name it. Every piece of machinery on the site is down. Cops are on their way.”
My breath came in sips, my heart drumming, a string of obscenities beneath the sound of my pulse in my ears.
“I’ll be right there,” I said, hanging up and moving for my keys in the same motion.
“What’s going on?” Daisy asked.
“Site’s been sabotaged,” I answered. “I need to get down there.”
She was already off the island bench and collecting her things. “I’m coming with you.”
I nodded, unable to speak or swallow. We were in the truck within a minute, heading for the construction site as fast as we safely could. When we got there, it was to a flurry of action and inaction. The crew stood mutely near the office building while a handful of police walked around, making notes and picking things up with gloved hands and plastic evidence bags. Another officer was in deep discussion with my foreman, and the two looked up on my arrival with a morbid relief.
The damages were extensive even though none of the equipment was ruined. As the tally climbed, my stomach sank, twisting, into my guts. Ballpark, we estimated somewhere around seventy-five thousand, all done with a pair of bolt cutters, some sand, and a tube of superglue.
Daisy checked on the crew, made coffee, kept everyone calm and cool while the police talked to them all individually, and I stormed straight inside to call my insurance company. My mind raced with accusations and assumptions about who had done it while my mouth answered questions at some distance from the rest of me. Doug, it had to have been Doug and his cronies. We didn’t have a ton of security cameras, just a couple on the corners of the temporary building. But they’d been disabled. Whoever did it came in from the back entrance and disabled them from beneath—all we could see were their hands and the top of a baseball hat.
After the insurance company, I started the arduous process of calling San Antonio and Austin, looking for parts and shops that could accommodate us immediately. Because the bulk of our equipment was here, and with it down, we were shut down. The longer this project went on, the longer it would be until we could move onto something that might pay us better.
The prognosis was not good.
Only two shops had room for us, and we’d have to transport the massive equipment over an hour in different directions to have it looked at. And after waiting for parts and the labor, we were looking at three to four weeks, minimum.
My forehead rested in one hand, my eyes closed, fear and guilt galloping through me. My livelihood, the livelihood of my brothers, and every person who worked for us had suspended indefinitely. And I didn’t know what any of us were going to do.
The coffers were empty but for the money in the trust. And that money wasn’t mine.
Fear turned to panic, the twist in my chest hard and painful. My eyes squeezed shut a little tighter.
When Daisy’s hand came to rest on my shoulder, I snapped up like I’d been whipped. Worry drew her brows, lowered the corners of her mouth.
“Hey,” she said softly.
I turned my chair and pulled her into my lap, wrapping my arms around her. Surprised only for a split second, she threaded her arms around my neck, cradling me. And I held onto her like she was the only thing keeping me tethered. In that moment, she probably was.
After a long moment, my grip on her eased. She leaned back to look down at me, brushing my hair back from my face and holding my jaw.
“It’s gonna be okay,” she promised.
And for the next three days, I did my best to believe her.
Police reports were filed, the equipment picked up and carted off by rigs. Unable to spare anything from other sites, we were shut down. Again.
That third day, I was sitting at my dad’s old desk, trying to make impossible math possible. Daisy was gone for the morning to work their farm, my brothers gone at work, Sophie at school. That deep and painful squeeze in my chest had been present nearly every minute since the shutdown. At times like this, when there was no one around to keep it together for, the feeling overwhelmed me, dragging me under. Once, I’d been unable to keep myself upright, dropping to my knees in the kitchen to try to regulate my breath, wondering if I was having a heart attack. When it passed, I was left shaking and sweating, exhausted for no reason, counting the seconds until someone came home so I could pretend everything was fine again.