He was so annoying. She ground her teeth together and bit her tongue. Finally, fed up, she looked upward. “Can I help you?”
“You could sound a little more friendly.”
“Why? We’re not friends.”
“You’re supposed to be professional.”
“So are you. Please move along to your own desk. This is mine.”
“Don’t make me tell Sam that we can’t work together,” he said. “I’d hate to see you lose your job.”
She battled her temper, and then her temper won. “You mean you would love it. New receptionist here means new meat for you.”
“I’m a good guy.”
“Just keep telling yourself that.”
Greg bent down, leaning closer. “It doesn’t have to be this way. There’s no reason for so much animosity.”
Indignation flooded her. She lifted a hand to keep him from coming any closer. “A little personal space, please.”
He muttered something uncomplimentary and then stalked off. Charity forced her attention back to her computer but her hands were shaking as she tried to type and she found it hard to focus. Greg was awful. She hated having to work with him. She went to bed dreading work, and woke up even more miserable. She couldn’t afford to quit now, just before the holidays, but it was definitely time to look for a new job. Maybe working for her sister wouldn’t be that bad.
Or maybe pursuing design and custom work wouldn’t be bad either.
The little voice in her head made her catch her breath. Ever since she’d met Quinn, that little voice had been pretty talkative, and it was loud right now.
Why not pursue her dreams? Why had she given up on them?
She’d always had a flare for fashion, and she loved making gorgeous clothes… perhaps it wasn’t ridiculous to become Marietta’s first fashion designer. It wasn’t as if she had to leave Marietta to do it, and she didn’t need much to get started, as she already had her sewing machines and embroidery machines and everything else required. The key thing would be getting the word out, and letting people know she was taking custom orders. The local bridal shop, Married in Marietta, could carry some of her evening wear, and maybe one day, she could even have her own shop downtown to display her designs.
Her friends here had their own businesses. McKenna was a photographer and worked out of her home. Sadie had her shabby chic business on Main Street. Her sister, Amanda, had started small, working for someone else on Main Street, before opening her own salon two years ago. If they could do it, she could. She just had to be confident, and wouldn’t it be fun to prove the naysayers wrong?
After replying to a couple of emails requiring immediate attention, Charity put in a call to Sadie, who was also married to Rory, Quinn’s brother.
“Sam told me about the accident at the Gallagher Tree Farm,” Charity said when Sadie answered. “I understand that Sawyer is in surgery and Jenna’s having contractions?”
“I just talked to Jenna,” Sadie said. “The contractions have stopped. She and the baby are fine, but they’re keeping her overnight for observation.”
“So both of them will be at the hospital tonight?”
“It sounds like it, but she’s hoping they’ll both be allowed to return home tomorrow. She knows Sawyer will be anxious about needing to get back to work, but it’s the same leg he broke a couple years ago. ER called in Wyatt Gallagher—the orthopedist, not related to the tree farm Gallaghers—to do the surgery and he’s one of the best in the county. Sawyer should be fine in the long run.”
*
The early morning chaos had calmed down enough at the Gallagher Christmas Tree Farm for Quinn to take a tour of the premises and figure out what he needed to do.
He was also craving a cup of coffee as he hadn’t had one yet today. Normally he had a cup before breakfast but today he’d been woken up by a call from his sister, alerting him to an accident that had just taken place at the Gallaghers. McKenna said an ambulance was on the way but he was the closest person she knew to the Gallagher property and help was needed there, fast.
Quinn knew how important neighbors were in the ranching community and he threw on clothes and headed straight over. Quinn used to play ball with Sawyer when they were kids, and the boys from Paradise Valley would always carpool together. Because Sawyer was closer to town, he was always the first to be dropped off, and the last to be picked up. The Gallaghers’ tree farm had been in their family for generations, with their land butting up against the national forest on the lower slopes of Copper Mountain.
It felt good to see the old wooden sign pointing to the farm. That meant he was almost there. Not long after, he pulled into the gravel parking lot. To the right was the barn, and in between were dozens of trees, some up in stands, others on the ground.
A tall, thin man in a baseball cap ran toward Quinn as he climbed from the truck. “I’ve got Sawyer’s leg out of the baler but it’s broken. There’s blood everywhere. You can see a bone sticking out,” the man said.
Quinn had seen some bad breaks in baseball and he knew the basics for a compound fracture—stop the bleeding, splint, and wrap with tape or gauze.
Reaching the cluster of people near the barn, he spotted Sawyer on a wool blanket on the ground and a woman kneeling next to him, holding his hand.
Quinn crouched at his side, his gaze skimming Sawyer’s leg with the tattered cord trousers matted with blood. “Hey, bud,” he said, giving Sawyer a smile. “How is it going?”
“Mr. Baseball,” Sawyer drawled, managing a sickly smile.
“Next time you want an autograph, just give me a call. Happy to drop one off. No need for theatrics.” Quinn glanced at Sawyer’s wife. “Hi, Jenna. I’m Quinn. My sister thinks the world of you.”
“The feeling is reciprocated.” Jenna’s head lifted. Her eyes were pink and shiny. “His leg doesn’t look good.”
Quinn carefully rolled up the trouser leg, and she was right. It didn’t look good. He was going to need some TLC at the hospital. “The ambulance should be here soon, but in case there’s a holdup, I need to slow the bleeding and get a splint on him. I need gauze, tape, and two pieces of wood, shouldn’t be hard to find here at a tree farm.”
“I’ve got the first aid kit from the barn,” Jenna said.
“I’ll get the wood,” the man in the baseball cap said.
Sawyer groaned as Quinn gently pulled the tattered fabric from the wound. Jenna blinked hard. “Where is that ambulance?” she whispered huskily, clearly panicked.
“It’ll come,” Quinn reassured her.
She bit her lip and grimaced, her hand going to her prominent belly. “I think the baby wants to come, too.”
“What?” Sawyer tried to sit up. “Are you having contractions?”
“Something’s going on.” She glanced at Quinn. “Baby Gallagher isn’t supposed to arrive until late January.”
“Tell the baby to wait,” Sawyer ordered. “Dad says s
o.”
In the distance, the wail of a siren could be heard.
“Thank God,” Jenna muttered.
Quinn added his own prayer. He’d been prepared to splint Sawyer’s leg, but this was much better.
It wasn’t until the shrieking ambulance was gone that Quinn turned to the man in the baseball cap. “So what happened here?”
“Crazy accident. I lost my footing and Sawyer moved quick to help me, and then he got hurt.”
Quinn studied the guy for a moment. “Can I be straight with you?”
The man hesitated then nodded.
“You smell like booze. I didn’t want to say anything in front of the Gallaghers, but have you been drinking?”
The other man took a step back, affronted. “Just a shot to warm me up. We don’t have heat at my place right now. Generator’s broke.”
“Does Sawyer know this?”
“About the generator?”
“That you’re struggling.”
The man looked uneasy. “I don’t want to lose my job.”
“Sawyer and I go way back. He wouldn’t fire you over being down on your luck, but drinking on the job? That puts not just you, but him, and his entire business at risk.” Quinn’s arms folded across his chest. “What’s your name?”
“Rob Harris.”
“Rob, I’m sorry you’re having a hard time, but you can’t bring that into work. In other words, you can’t drink before you come here. You can’t drink while here. You can’t drink until you get home. So right now, get your things, I’m going to send you home—”
“What?”
“Come back tomorrow sober and work hard, and I’ll make sure no one docks your wages, but if I ever smell alcohol, or suspect you’re drinking while on the job, you’re gone, and there won’t be another chance.”
Rob gave Quinn a long, unhappy look. “I can’t go home now. My wife won’t understand.”
Quinn reached into his back pocket and pulled his wallet out of his jeans. He opened the wallet and extracted two fifty-dollar bills plus a number of twenties and folded them over before handing the wad of bills to Rob. “Tell her you were given the day off to fix the generator. And do it.”