“I’m sorry I wasn’t around when you called The Palm. Hap—Mr. Hollister—gave me your message to come by when it was convenient. Is now convenient?”
“Yes, and it was kind of Mr. Hollister to remember.”
“He’s been real decent to me.”
“Well, thank you for coming. Have a seat, please.”
She indicated the metal chair behind him. He lowered himself into it as she resumed her seat behind the desk. She carefully smoothed the back of her skirt and sat down in one fluid motion. Some motions like that she carried off gracefully, without thinking about them. At other times, particularly when she was looking directly at him, her movements were as jerky and uncoordinated as a newborn colt’s. She had the jitters worse than anyone he’d ever met. If he said “boo!” she’d probably faint dead away.
He couldn’t imagine why Miss Janellen Tackett was nervous over this interview. She was the one holding all the aces. He needed her; his future hung in the balance, not the other way around.
“I…” She got a false start and began again after clearing her throat. “We’ve had a job become available.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Her large blue eyes opened even wider. “You knew about it?”
When would he learn to keep his fat trap shut? “I, uh, heard you fired a man after accusing him of stealing.”
“He was stealing!” Her loud exclamation startled them both. She appeared mortified by her outburst. Bowie decided to make it easier on her and in the process chalk up a few points for himself.
“I don’t doubt it for a minute, Miss Tackett. You don’t appear the kind of person who would make accusations until you were sure you were right.”
Bowie had overheard the man everybody called Muley virtually bragging about being fired by “that skinny Tackett bitch.” The harsh names the redneck had called Janellen and the unflattering way he’d talked about her hadn’t jived with Bowie’s memory of the soft-spoken, self-conscious lady he’d met.
He’d asked around, subtly, and found that the Tacketts had a reputation for fairness. They expected an honest day’s work from their employees, but paid well. Miss Tackett was known to be especially reasonable and to cut her people a lot of slack. Muley Bill was obviously a liar as well as a thief.
“That Muley character is a loudmouthed bully, Miss Tackett,” Bowie said. “So I didn’t put too much stock in what he spouted off. I’m only wondering why we’re wasting your valuable time talking about him.”
“He was a pumper.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’m offering you his job.”
His heart lurched, but he kept his expression unreadable. He’d hoped her summons meant a job offer, but he was suspicious of being handed good fortune, fully expecting the other hand to slap him. “That sounds real fine. When do I start?”
She fingered the buttons on her blouse. “What I have in mind,” she said haltingly, “is a probationary position. To see how… how you get along here.”
There it was. The slap. “Yes, ma’am.”
“This is my family’s business, Mr. Cato. I’m the third generation and feel a responsibility to protect—”
“Are you scared of me, Miss Tackett?”
“Scared? No,” she replied with a lying little laugh. “For heaven’s sake, no. It’s just that you might not like working for Tackett Oil. Steady employment might require some difficult adjustments since you were recently released from…”
She shifted in her seat. “If, after a time, both parties agree that it’s working out, I’ll offer you a permanent position. How does that sound?” She gave him a wavering smile.
Bowie also shifted in his chair and carefully regarded his hat as he threaded the brim through his fingers. If anybody else had offered him a temporary job until he proved himself worthy, he’d say “screw you” and stomp out. But he recognized the chip on his shoulder for what it was and curbed his temper.
“Do all your new employees go through this, uh, probationary thing?”
She wet her lips and fiddled some more with the buttons on her blouse. “No, Mr. Cato. But frankly you’re the first person I’ve ever considered hiring who is on parole from prison. I’m responsible for the daily operation of the business. I don’t want to make a mistake.”
“You won’t.”
“I’m certain of that. If I weren’t, I wouldn’t have called you for an interview.”