Gruff voices came from one of the covered windows, and he looked over at it, noticing that the printed shade hadn’t been drawn down all the way. The shade itself was a giant version of the roller type that snapped up—a plastic ring dangled from it, resting on the floor. He could see workboots coming and going in the gap at the bottom.
They didn’t have much room to move around, and the job wasn’t going well. Their low comments made that clear enough.
Then a woman’s voice with a sultry note to it intervened. She was probably the owner of the boutique, since she seemed to be giving the orders, though she wasn’t barking them out.
Sam glanced at the placard he held, wondering if he should bring it inside. It was a plausible excuse for a quick look around. He could hand it over and leave if he didn’t spot anything he thought Annie would like.
Then the skateboarder sneakers came over to the window and stepped on the ring, drawing the shade taut to the floor.
Sam smiled to himself. He didn’t think the kid meant to be so clumsy, but he had a feeling a minor disaster was imminent.
He heard the female voice say something. The sneaker lifted as the kid took a step.
The roller shade flew up.
Both sneakers were suddenly airborne. There was a loud thump, then a groan.
Sam saw four guys in the background of the window recess, putting down tools to go to the kid, who was getting up off the floor, red in the face. Then the owner of the female voice walked right in front of the window without looking out.
Wow.
Sam was riveted to the sidewalk.
He couldn’t help but stare. Glossy, very dark hair was pulled back from her face in a practical ponytail that did something wonderful for her delicate features and full lips. Her arms were akimbo, hands on her hips.
Twenty-five, twenty-six. Around there. Younger than he was but not by much. Sam took in what she was wearing. On top, a plain shirt, sleeves rolled up. Beneath that were not-exactly-baggy shorts over dark tights.
Nice curves. Amazing legs.
Her ribbed socks rolled down into small-size workboots. A narrow leather pouch on her belt held a multiuse tool, the real kind. He had one just like it.
He looked up again. Without thinking, he tipped the brim of the Stetson to her. She seemed puzzled by the gesture.
Sam gazed into her eyes.
They were hazel, flecked with chocolate, framed by dark, thick lashes. Her finely arched brows drew together. She glared at him.
He ventured a smile.
With a swift downward motion, she yanked the ring and covered the window again.
It seemed unfair. After all, he hadn’t made the shade fly up. But obviously she had work to do, someone on her crew had just taken a spill, and she didn’t like being gawked at.
Sam heard the people inside the window move around. Someone bumped against it, and the shade flew up again.
This time she was nowhere in sight. Disappointed, he glanced at the framework under construction in the confined space, not able to figure out what it was going to be. The carpenters ignored him.
The college kid was climbing a ladder positioned between the framework and a hanging backdrop painted with a snow scene that hung from a rod.
Sam shook his head. One sneaker had come untied.
Three steps up, he tripped on the shoelace and fell sideways off the ladder, clutching wildly at the paper backdrop. The light dowel it hung from detached from the rigging, and the torn backdrop rippled down over his head as he thudded to the floor. A stream of swear words issued from under the paper as the kid fought free.
The woman in shorts scrambled back into the window space and tried to help the kid before one of the burly guys intervened to lift him. An elderly lady stopped to see what Sam was looking at.
“Oh, my,” she said in a reedy voice, peering through the glass. “I think that poor boy sprained his ankle, don’t you? He can’t put his weight on it.”
“Ah—I really don’t know, ma’am.”
Sam moved to one side, not wanting to get caught staring a second time, and the elderly lady moved on.
A few minutes later, the burly carpenter assisted the kid out the door, holding onto the skinny arm around his shoulders. “Take it easy, Josh. Go slow,” the man advised.
The kid leaned on him and hopped on one foot. They made it to the curb, where Josh looked anxiously at the oncoming traffic.
“Close enough. Mom oughta be here soon,” he muttered, then cursed loudly. “I never knew a sprain could hurt so much.”
“Get an X-ray,” the carpenter advised.
Josh nodded, then winced in pain. “Just my luck. Nicole was nice enough to hire me and now this.”
Sam made a mental note of the name, assuming that it belonged to the dark-haired goddess in shorts and workboots. The kid cursed again, distracting him.
“The ladder went over just like that,” he groaned. “Now you guys are gonna be shorthanded.”
“I think we can manage without you,” the carpenter said dryly. A car pulled over and honked. “That your mom?”
“Yeah.”
The two of them walked and hopped, respectively, off the curb as a motherly woman got out and opened the passenger side door, fussing over her son until he was settled and they drove away.
The burly carpenter went back into the boutique. The door was still open. Sam looked at his watch. He still had time.
Inside, a discussion quickly escalated into an argument when another female voice took over, shrill and tense. He caught some of it.
Four-week selling season. No time to waste. She could be sued. Whose idea was it to hire an inexperienced kid? And so on.
That had to be the boutique owner. She could be the woman Josh had mentioned, but Sam doubted it. She didn’t sound nice enough to hire an inexperienced kid, for one thing. He could hear the one he thought was Nicole reply when she could get a word in, and the deeper voices of the men.
He got the gist of the argument and picked up a few additional details. Nicole was an independent contractor, and she paid her men out of her own pocket. The Christmas job would go to another crew if they couldn’t get it done by Saturday. She needed all-around help, someone who could fix or rig just about anything.
That would be me,
he thought.
A few seconds later, a very thin woman wrapped up in a ruffled thing stormed out, pulling a monogrammed suitcase behind her.
He checked. No letter N. Definitely not Nicole.
Her high heels clicked on the pavement as she blasted past Sam without seeing him, teetering on the curb and waving.
“Taxi!” she screamed, attracting a few stares. “Taxi!”
One swerved in her direction, ignoring the honks of other cars, and pulled up.
She jammed the handle of the rolling suitcase down and jerked the door open, slamming it shut when she and the suitcase were squared away.
“JFK,” he heard her snap at the driver. “Get going. I have a flight to catch.”
Off they went. Sam breathed in relief.
He saw movement in the boutique window again out of the corner of his eye and knew Nicole was back on the job by the sound of her voice and the indistinct replies from the crew.
There had to be something he could do. He thought it over. He only needed a couple more hours to attach the remaining branches to his tree, and another day, tops, to get the lights on. Greg had said there would be more work, but he hadn’t been specific. No reason Sam couldn’t take on a one-day gig after the tree installation was completed.
Sam flipped over the placard in his hand and took a pen from the inside pocket of his jacket. He jotted down a question on the blank side, then walked in front of the window.
It took a few seconds to catch Nicole’s eye—she was close to the glass but studying what they had built so far, her back to Sam. One of the carpenters pointed his way and she turned around, exasperation in her beautiful hazel eyes.
He held up the placard before she could yank down the shade again. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. She read the scribbled question.
Help Wanted?
Nicole looked him over. Sam had the feeling she was measuring the size of his shoulders. He squared them and stood tall, smiling at her.
She frowned.
What was he thinking? Sam set the placard on the sidewalk and reached for his wallet. He pulled out his Colorado driver’s license and the folded letter that confirmed his employment for seasonal work in New York, signed by Greg and stamped by a municipal official. He unfolded it and spread out his fingers to hold up the license and the letter against the window.
She looked around at her crew and back at him. She peered at his ID and read the letter. Slowly. Then she gestured to the burly man who’d helped Josh into his mother’s car. He came over and checked everything a second time, then tapped the letter from his side of the glass.
“I know Greg really well. Did a job with him two weeks ago, in fact,” Sam heard him say. “He has a crew rigging the Christmas display in that pocket park down the street.”
“I’m working with them today—I mean, we’re almost done. I’m on lunch break,” Sam said.
The carpenter glanced at him, then exchanged a look with Nicole. “If you want, I can have Greg vouch for this guy right now.”
She hesitated for a second, then nodded. The carpenter took a cell phone out of his pocket.
“Thanks,” Sam said, making sure his voice was loud enough to be heard through the glass. “And hey, ask Greg if he wants me to bring back a sandwich.”
Nicole gestured to him to come inside.
Not quite believing his good luck, Sam went in through the open door. The boutique was open for business. A chatty salesclerk was ringing up a customer to his left. He caught a glimpse of himself in a counter mirror and took off his Stetson. Sam quickly ran a hand over his hair. It wouldn’t cooperate.
He sighed and turned right. The burly guy put his cell phone in his shirt pocket as Nicole jumped down out of the window.
“Hi,” she said, looking Sam over again as she dusted off her hands. “I’m Nicole Young, he’s Bob Eady” She pointed to the other three men. “Keith. Russ. Hank.”
No last names for those three. Probably hired for the day, Sam thought. There were nods of acknowledgment.
“I’m Sam Bennett,” he said to one and all, but his gaze stayed on Nicole.
Bob got right to the point. “We need to finish this job by Saturday—can you sign on?”
“Not a problem,” Sam replied. “Only for a day, right?”
Bob nodded. “Greg says you know your stuff and he says he can spare you by the day after tomorrow. And he wants you to call him about the sandwich,” he added.
“Yes to everything,” Sam said, wondering if that was why his boss had been so cooperative.
Nicole reached for a rolled-up sheet of graph paper and handed it to him. “Here ya go.” She sighed. “Josh’s copy of my design with all the specs. Study it. See you Friday.”
She turned and stepped back up into the window, crumpling up the ruined backdrop and stuffing it into a garbage bag.
“You’re the designer?” Sam asked. “Not the lady in ruffles?” He realized his mistake when Nicole shot him an annoyed look and added quickly, “Just making sure.”
“That’s Darci Powers. She owns the boutique. You won’t have to deal with her. Besides, she’s on her way to Aspen for a week.”
One of the guys muttered in gratitude.
“Oh,” Sam replied. “Nice place to be this time of year.”
“Is it? I wouldn’t know. Anyway, to answer your question, I am most definitely the designer—and the crew boss,” Nicole said briskly. “You’re working for me and I pay cash. A hundred dollars a day.”
“Okay. Great.” He hoped he didn’t sound ridiculously eager. Not about the money—about working with her, for her. Now that was something to get excited about.
Nicole picked up the fallen dowel and ran a hand over it. “Shoot. This is cracked.” She snapped it over her thigh and tossed the halves into a corner. “Westside Lumber won’t deliver an order under fifty bucks. Keith, take the A train down to Canal Street and get two more dowels, same length. And pick up more backdrop paper at Pearl Paint while you’re there.”
Sam absorbed the information. It was going to be interesting to work a job where materials arrived via subway.
Hank and Russ joined her in the window and tested the frame thing while Nicole maneuvered underneath it to look for other cracks. Bob, the biggest man on the crew, went up next, while Sam watched, trying to figure out how they all stayed out of each other’s way.
Nicole crawled out from under the frame on hands and knees. “Have you ever worked in a store window?” she asked him.
“Um, no.”