“Yeah, Jess. State and federal money. Money from taxpayers like Mom and Grandma Glory and you and me.”
Jess gave him a droll expression and swigged his coffee. Finn should’ve known better than to use that argument. It never worked on his brother, who seemed to have extremely blurry vision when it came to focusing on matters of ethics and moral conscience.
“All right, look, if that doesn’t set a fire in your belly consider this. The state was always Dad’s and Uncle Jo’s best employer. They got contracts from them year after year because they worked their asses off to bring in almost all their projects on time.”
“Lot of good it did them,” Jess said glumly as he plopped down at a desk that was covered with foot-high stacks of paper. “Let’s face it, Madigan Construction is hardly Fortune 500 material.”
“Madigan Construction gave you the financial means for a secure, happy childhood, private schools, a college education. Thanks to its growth in the last year, it’ll do the same for the next generation—”
“I know, I know.” Jess put up his hands to stave off Finn’s familiar lecture. “Christ, sometimes I think Dad skipped rebirth and just reincarnated straight into you. You sound exactly like him sometimes.”
“Thanks.”
Jess started and met his brother’s gaze. He hadn’t meant it as a compliment, of course, but he saw Finn’s point. They’d all worshipped their bigger-than-life, quick to smile, charismatic father. There wasn’t one Madigan who wasn’t still sore from the wound of his abrupt death.
“You’re welcome,” Jess conceded under his breath as he stood and set down his mug. “So, what’s on the agenda, fearless leader?”
“I need you surveying at that new stretch we contracted two weeks ago. We need to make that a priority before—”
“Snow flies,” Jess finished the familiar litany with a roll of his eyes.
“It’s true. We’ll have an extra month or so with the viaduct, since we’re not as reliant on ground temperature.”
“Jess?” Finn asked abruptly when his brother reached for the trailer door, surv
eying equipment cradled in one arm. Jess paused, his head ducked beneath the threshold.
“Your date last night… Did she say much about Kitten?”
“Who’s Kitten?”
“The little redhead,” Finn elaborated irritably, using language Jess would comprehend. When his brother still looked perplexed, Finn cradled his hands over his chest, mimicking Jess’s former crude breast-cradling gesture. Comprehension dawned on Jess’ face.
“Oh…right, the vanity plates. Kitten, huh? She was a hot one. I always was partial to redheads. Funny, I thought Carla called her something else. Carla and I didn’t have much opportunity for talking about buddies, if you know what I mean.” He flashed his patented Don Juan smile. Molly Madigan’s gamine green eyes took on a whole new definition in her second-oldest son’s face. “Why? What do you want to know about her?”
What did Finn want to know? He wanted to know plenty. How many men Kitten Ormond had entertained between her thighs in the last month, for starters. Why it was that even though he wouldn’t like the probable answer to that question, he still couldn’t stop thinking about the vibrancy of her laughter, the excitement of discovering the depths of her sensuality…the look of vague surprise intermingled with intense pleasure on her lovely face when she came.
Or why the hell she’d made love to him like a sizzling firecracker on his foyer floor—exploding several times to amazing effect—only to leave him high and hard in a cold, empty bed?
What did Finn want to know about Kitten? Her goddamned phone number would be great for starters.
Despite his self-admonishments for doing it, he’d already tried to call her using directory assistance this morning. Kitten Ormond’s number was unlisted.
Maybe one of the most crucial things he’d like to know was why he cared about all those things one way or another. Kitten probably thought he was nothing but a blue-collar stiff without a working neural pathway in his brain, a slab of male flesh who conveniently didn’t require batteries.
Finn knew the type.
If he’d been forced to admit it, he also knew why he’d tried to contact her this morning. The sex had been phenomenal. Incredible. Electric. He’d had a take it or leave it attitude toward sex since Julia left him.
But after Kitten, he was in the mood to take it all right. In spades. He wasn’t looking for any serious commitment, granted. Not after everything he’d just been through. Fortunately Kitten seemed like the type who was just out for a good time, which worked just dandy for him.
He was certain she’d enjoyed the sex as much as he had so he’d sure as hell like to know what made her run out of his condo like she was a fugitive. Surely he owed her at least a phone call. What if something catastrophic had occurred?
“I want to know how to get in contact with her but she’s not listed. Could you ask Carla for her number?”
Jess shrugged before he headed out the door. “Why don’t you make things easier on yourself and just call Caleb? It’s not like you don’t know the little minx’s license plates,” Jess said with a lascivious rise of his eyebrows. He stuck his face back in the crack of the trailer door before he shut it.
“And hey…if you manage to find her try not to let her get away this time, okay? This is exactly what you need—a hot fling to help jolt you out of this depression you’ve been in since Dad died…and since Julia left you.”