I could offer platitudes about believing his innocence or explain my own history with false accusations. Instead, I shrug. “Because the boatneeds cleaning, Quinn has an excessive amount of energy, and I’ve detailed hulls before. My grandpa had a boat, though it was a lot smaller than the water taxi is.”
It’s the right approach, based on the way Jared’s posture eases. “Sure, then. If her uncle says it’s okay. Lots of disgusting things to be found around the dock.”
I walk backward. “Tomorrow, then. We’ll bring cookies. Quinn says there are rainbow star sprinkles.”
Jared’s lips twitch. “Can’t say I’ve ever had rainbow star sprinkles.”
I smile back, because someone should.
Once, I let gossip drive me into hiding.
Tomorrow, I won’t.
Chapter Fifteen
Emily
The lumber stack towers over Jared’s head as he staggers across the construction yard, his arms wrapped around a bundle meant for two men. Sweat darkens his T-shirt in spreading patches, his face flushed with effort as he struggles to maintain his grip.
The other workers lounge in the shade of the half-built lobby, coffee cups in hand, and not one of them lifts a finger to help.
My tablet digs into my palm as I track his struggle through each step toward the framing area. “Clint. A word.”
My foreman peels himself away from the water cooler, flicking evidence of his breakfast off his shirt. “What’s up, boss?”
I nod toward Jared, who drops the lumber with a thunderous clatter before straightening with a wince. “Why is the marine technician hauling cabinet materials?”
“Oh, Masterson?” Clint shrugs, his tool belt jangling. “He showed up this morning offering to help. Said he doesn’t have any work until this afternoon.”
“And you put him on lumber detail because?”
Clint shifts his weight, suddenly interested in the toe of his boot. “The guys needed the extra hands. He volunteered.”
Of course, he did. Of course, he thought he had to earn his place with sweat and bruises.
Across the yard, Jared rotates his shoulder, pain flashing across his face before he masks it. Without pausing to drink water or catch his breath, he turns back toward the supply pile.
“Hey, Alpha!” one of the framers calls out, his shout carrying across the site. “We need another load over by the east corner!”
“Let the big guy show off!” another worker adds, earning chuckles from his companions.
Jared’s steps falter, his back stiffening at the comments. He peeks toward the group, seeking approval while pretending not to care. When hereaches the lumber pile, he grabs another massive bundle, his arms trembling with the effort.
“You assigned the crew their tasks this morning?” I keep my attention on the tablet, though every muscle in my body urges me to intervene.
“Yeah, standard rotation.” Clint smirks toward Jared. “Masterson’s extra. Figure we might as well use the help.”
“Interesting.” I make a note on my schedule. “The cabinetmakers seem underutilized if they have time to supervise volunteers.”
Clint’s smirk evaporates. “They’re on schedule. Masterson’s doing grunt work.”
“Grunt work is usually assigned to your team.” I take my focus off my tablet, holding his eyes until he looks away. “Tell George and Pete to get their asses over there and help with the lumber. Their coffee break ended fifteen minutes ago.”
Clint opens his mouth to protest, then thinks better of it. “Yes, boss.”
As he trudges toward the lounging cabinetmakers, I tip my head back to admire how the Homestead is coming along. My team was in charge of the original build, and witnessing this transformation is bittersweet. I was proud of the original construction, but with a higher budget forthe repair, this will be a better fit long term for the resort’s goals.
Jared deposits the second bundle, his chest heaving with exertion. Without pause, he heads to where two electricians wrestle coils of conduit, gathering supplies for the additional outlet runs they need to finish before the drywall crew arrives. The older man waves him over.