THE LATE-AUGUST HEAT was blistering as Cali stood off to one side of the cement operation with Pete. This was the first test run on mixing concrete. The three hoppers, large steel cylinders with sloping bottoms, stood upright in their sturdy steel frames. One held cement, another sand and the last one gravel. The screw assemblies at the bottom of each fed just the right amount of each material into a large metal mixing drum—or were supposed to. There, a measured amount of water was added to create the specified concrete blend.
Cali’s heart beat a little harder in her chest. Roland Construction was responsible for supplying the different types of concrete for the foundation pours. She’d labored long hours with engineers of the German company that had won the subcontracting bid to erect and operate the plant. Making concrete was like mixing up batter for a cake, she thought, smiling to herself. A number of workmen were moving about, including Albert Golze, the head of the company.
“Looks good,” Pete said to her, giving her a sideways glance. The hot Afghan sun burned overhead and he was sweating freely. So was she. Her green eyes, glimmering with excitement and anticipation, tugged at his heart.
“Yes. Fingers crossed. First pour. Let’s see how today goes.” Cali lifted the radio to her lips and told Golze to start the process.
The machinery began to rumble and roar. The mixing drum turned, and water splashed as it rotated. Cali watched the process with great interest. Today was an important day, a make-or-break moment. A passing breeze cooled her sweaty skin momentarily, under the long-sleeved white blouse protecting her arms from the sun. It had been a smart move to wet down the pink bandanna she always wore around her neck. It acted like a mini air conditioner of sorts.
“Here come the delivery trucks,” she told Pete, pointing to four big vehicles slowly backing down into the area where the drum would release the first batch of concrete. Worry laced her anticipation. This was a nerve-racking ordeal for any contractor wanting to impress her boss.
Pete nodded at her. “I liked your jury-rigging on that dump, since we only have two real concrete mixers out here.”
Cali arched inwardly, relishing his praise. “Lessons learned from other sites in third world countries.” Pete, as owner, was responsible for furnishing six concrete mixing trucks. But two trucks had disappeared en route to the site and two had been damaged beyond repair in road accidents. Replacements were ordered, but no one could guarantee when they would be delivered. They’d had to improvise or fall months behind schedule. Four dump trucks had been requisitioned by Cali, and their beds rebuilt by her welding crews to carry concrete around the site. It was jury-rigging at its best, but in a remote, rural environment like this, she had to have cards up her sleeve to ensure the job came in on time.
Pete watched the lead dump truck ease down the incline, the driver following hand signals of a German construction worker. Pete had to give Golze credit—he and his men had worked their asses off converting four of their best dump trucks into concrete carriers in lieu of the specially designed mixers. Golze and Cali had worked for weeks designing a steel container to fit in the bed of each truck. It was nail-biting time for Pete. He hadn’t been sure what she could come up with as a fix for the problem.
“Think we’ll ever get the required number of mixers out here?” Cali asked. The truck was now ready to receive a load of concrete, and she tried to remain patient. Let it work without a hitch…. Unconsciously, she held her breath again.
“Doubtful,” he responded.
Golze himself was in the control house above the waiting truck bed. If one of the three hopper feeds didn’t work properly, the load would have to be dumped and lost. Not to mention this would slow down the entire schedule, which Pete knew she wanted to avoid. He was tense for her and for himself. Since the Taliban attack a couple of weeks ago, the whole site had been riddled with tension. Today, it was either going to dissolve or stretch to its limit, depending upon what happened in the next few minutes.
Pete saw the different hoppers delivering their ingredients. The sounds of the mixing drum groaning and grinding continued as it slowly turned. He could see the gray slush from where he stood. “So far, so good,” he murmured. Taking a water bottle from his belt, he slugged down half of it. Staying hydrated in a hot desert like this was essential. Cali followed suit.
Pete enjoyed gazing out the corner of his eye at the curve of her long, graceful neck. She was attractive no matter what way she moved or what angle he viewed her from. And since her scrape with death at the hands of the Taliban, his protective nature had been working overtime. He saw the three pink scars on her neck where glass shards had been removed. He’d also noted shiny scars dotting her beautifully tanned arms. It hurt him to see what the bastards had done to her.
The interrogation of the attackers had confirmed they were Taliban. They refused to answer any questions except to tell Pete they hated Americans and would kill them on sight. Hesam’s guards had taken them away for further interrogation. The sheik had discovered the men were part of a larger ring operating from a high mountain village in the Hindu Kush range. With the help of another sheik, Hesam had sent fifty of his soldiers on horseback up to that faraway cave. They had captured twenty-five more Taliban fighters, who were now in custody in Kabul. Since then, there had been no more attacks on the site, and Pete hoped the lull would continue. His mind turned back to the woman standing at his side.
How different Cali was from others he had known. She shrugged off the scars, saying that they were just medals of valor for living life. He liked her attitude. Wisps of red hair clung damply to her temples as she put the bottle back into her belt. Pete had wanted another in-depth conversation with her, but site demands stood in the way. Yes, he was with Cali for up to eighteen hours a day, off and on, but the project took precedence. Often, Javad was at his side, and Pete was grateful not to have to deal with his deeper feelings.
And thinking of Javad, he saw the young man smiling and waving as he limped up the hill toward them. Javad always carried a radio, to communicate with Pete and translate orders to the work crews when necessary. He had a new prosthetic leg, thanks to Pete’s intervention with a Kabul hospital. No longer did the boy have to hobble around on crutches.
Pete nodded a greeting to his approaching assistant, then turned back to watch the operation.
Everything took time and skill. Golze came down off the platform where the operations shed was located—the structure housing the instrument panel that controlled the mixing process. He threw Pete a thumbs-up, grinning broadly.
“He’s confident,” Cali said hopefully. Oh please, let this pour go well. How badly she wanted to show Pete that she had what it took to do the job. Russ had hurt her confidence, and Cali saw this project as a way to prove to herself she still had the goods.
Pete crooked one corner of his mouth upward, and heat suffused her body. That little-boy smile of his was so precious. She ached for just one hour alone with him, such as they’d shared three weeks ago in her trailer. Since then, they’d returned to their usual impersonal, professional behavior. That hour had nearly been her undoing. Under no circumstance could Cali let down her guard like that again.
“I think confidence and construction go together. Both start with a C,” Pete said. “You can’t have one without the other.” His pulse beat a little harder as he watched Golze walk over to the hoppers. So much hinged on this effort.
Cali nodded. She lifted her hard hat, wiped sweat from her brow and settled it back on her head. Golze was giving orders to the hopper operator, an Afghan who was being trained by the knowledgeable concrete foreman. Eventually, all these functions would be handled by locals.
Pete had his own people ready to take test cylinders of the poured concrete. The samples would be cured and then tested at specified standards by junior civil engineers working alongside the German crew. They would check the concrete, not Golze. Pete had his own men on the job because the concrete crew might be tempted to fudge on the numbers and say the mix was fine, when it wasn’t. That way, good concrete got poured and bad batches were rejected.
Again, Pete’s nerves fluttered and his stomach tightened. Bad concrete was a nightmare he didn’t want or need.
Cali watched with anxiety as the drum containing the concrete slowly released its load into the waiting truck. When the gray slush started running into the metal vat, the jury-rigged dump truck groaned and settled on its shocks. Cali knew such vehicles were not specifically designed to haul the monumental weight of several cubic yards of wet concrete. She and Golze had calculated meticulously, matching capacity with material poundage.
“Here we go,” Pete said warily. “Come on, let’s watch the first foundation pour.”
The banked enthusiasm in his voice ignited her own nervous tension. She saw worry and excitement in his face. Mouth dry from anxiety, she took another swig of water, then followed him across the dusty, graveled parking area to their trucks. They would drive the short distance to the actual power plant foundation site.
The dump truck groaned, coughed and backfired. Then slowly it chugged up the dirt incline from the mixer area. Gears ground as the Afghan driver learned firsthand about carrying heavy, wet concrete.
By the time Cali arrived at the pour site, Pete was already feeling hopeful. He watched, mesmerized, as the truck bed lifted with groaning protest. Gray concrete oozed out of the makeshift hopper and ran sluggishly into the waiting forms below. Five German crew members, with Afghan counterparts, were armed with concrete vibrators to insure the mix flowed evenly around the steel reinforcing bars. It was important to get the concrete well distributed; air bubbles took a lot of work and money to correct. The process would continue for four straight hours, the dump trucks interspersed with the two mixers.
“Looks good,” Pete said finally. A sharp drop in tension allowed his stomach to relax. It had been only twenty minutes and that was good for a first pour. Since the concrete would have another slab right above, it wasn’t necessary to steel trowel the surface.
He watched his people put the last of the test cylinders in their boxes. They would be moved to the curing room later, to be crushed at seven-, fourteen- and twenty-one-day intervals to ensure the concrete met specifications. If the samples passed muster, it meant the concrete was good. If they didn’t, concrete that had just been poured would have to be taken out and the process started all over again.
“Yeah, looks real good,” Cali agreed, relieved that things were going so well. She looked up at Pete, who was squinting against the sun. “I need a few minutes to discuss some other things with you. Your office?”
He swung his attention to her. “Sure. We have to celebrate placing two hundred cubic yards of concrete today.” His happiness over their success was tempered by the serious look on Cali’s face. He glanced at his watch to check the time, then told Javad he’d be at the office trailer for about thirty minutes, in case he was needed. The young man smiled and nodded.
Cali walked beside Pete to their trucks. The breeze caressed her hot face, and she took off her damp neckerchief and wiped her dusty cheeks. “Do you look forward to a cold shower every night like I do?”
Pete laughed shortly. “Yeah. Truth be known, I’d like to take one three or four times a day. The grit gets into my clothes and chafes the hell out of me.”
“Ditto,” Cali agreed. “We’re certified dirt balls, there’s no question.” Heart lightening with each step, she felt as if she’d just been released from a dark prison. The converted dump trucks were a triumph.
Glancing over at him, Cali wondered if he was as excited by the success. He was deeply tanned, with strands of black hair plastered to his skull beneath the dark blue hard hat he wore. His mouth held her answer; she could see the corners lifting upward, as if ready to grin. And his gray eyes had lightened considerably.
“Well, while we talk, let’s clean the dirt out of our mouths and throats with some cold Pepsi,” he offered.
PETE DRANK NEARLY HALF a Pepsi before putting the can down in front of him. Wiping his mouth as he sat behind the planning desk, he watched Cali pour her soda into a large plastic tumbler filled with ice cubes. The office staff was in the field, the trailer quiet for once except for radio chatter that didn’t directly concern them.
“Masochist. Now your stomach is going to knot up because it wasn’t prepared for all that cold stuff,” Cali warned him. She took a sip and tried to brace herself for the coming confrontation.
Rubbing his flat, hard belly, Pete said, “You know what? My mouth and throat are very happy now.” He poured the rest of his Pepsi into the glass in front of him. Cali had taken off her hard hat and laid it on the desk behind her. He’d hung his on a peg near the door. “What do we need to cover?”
Cali took several more sips of the icy liquid before speaking. “It concerns my need for an electrical subcontractor.”
“Okay.” Pete hesitated, unsure where this talk was going to go. Not to mention he was distracted by her beauty. Cali’s white blouse was open at the throat and revealed the length of her neck and her delicate collarbones. He shouldn’t notice these things about her. Not now.
“So what about electric?” He held her widening emerald eyes and saw a faint blush sweep up into her cheeks. Damn, but she was alluring. And he wanted her. All of her. But only in his dreams.
Taking a deep breath, Cali gripped the glass. “I want to use Wharton Electric to lay the conduit beneath the concrete foundations that will eventually be poured.”
Frowning, Pete reached into a drawer and pulled out the contractor file. His brows dipped as he opened it. “I don’t see Wharton on the approved list, Cali.”
She grimaced. Why was it so hard to confront Pete on these things? She’d never had problems doing this before. Maybe her career would plummet, after all, due to Russ and his lies. Unsure, Cali compressed her lips. “No, Wharton isn’t on Mr. Elliot’s approved list.”
“What’s wrong with Hartman Electrical? They’re on the list here,” Pete said, tapping his finger on the sheet.
“Have you done any background check on Hartman?” she demanded.
“No, but I’m sure Mr. Elliot and the team in Kabul did. You know contractors who want to work on a project have to submit their data one to two years ahead of time. If their stats and past performance are good, they’re put on the list.”
Right. Cali bit back the retort. Her heart was speeding up noticeably. “Hartman is a small company, Pete. I don’t see how your boss could have okayed a firm whose biggest job to date was a hundred thousand dollars.” She shrugged. “The electrical bid for this project is in the millions.”
“So what’s your point?” Shifting uncomfortably, Pete realized where this was going. Everyone in the industry had their favorite subcontractors.
“My point is that Wharton is a known entity to me, to Roland Construction. They’ve worked around the world on multimillion-dollar projects. Hartman has not.”
Frustration thrummed through Pete. He saw the set of Cali’s jaw and the tightness in her mouth. A delicious mouth that he badly wanted to explore…. The thought was completely out of place, and he shoved it away. Leaning forward, he picked up the list and held it toward her. “But Hartman has been approved. You know I can’t just let a contractor walk in here and ask for someone else. Front office won’t allow that.”
“Hartman doesn’t have the trucks, the machinery or men to properly handle this project, Pete. I don’t know why Elliot put them on the list at all. We need someone who brings in all the equipment and men needed. Someone who doesn’t have to scramble to find it in-country.”
“I don’t do the background research on these contractors,” Pete told her. “That’s not my job. My job is to make sure this site runs with what is given to me.”
“And that’s all well and good,” Cali said, trying to keep the tension out of her voice. “But Hartman isn’t up to the task. They’re a fine contractor for a small job, not something this size. And if you allow them to come in, there will be delays.”
Delay was not a word Pete liked to hear. In every contractor’s legal agreement there were clauses stipulating hefty amounts of money would be paid out for every day the project went over the end date. And Pete knew his reputation would suffer if this site and building went overschedule. Rubbing his mouth, he dropped the paper back on the desk.
“Hartman will come in here,” Cali warned, “and will realize they don’t have what’s needed. They’ll scramble to hire men and supervisors. But from where?” She lifted her hand. “Electrical is a highly complex field. Finding qualified men to lay the conduit and wire is one thing. To get good supervisors who know what to look for, what is right or wrong, is another thing, Pete. That will cause us a lot of time loss.”
Cali wasn’t wrong, and he felt trapped. “I’m sure Hartman can step into the job.” His boss back in Kabul expected him to stick with the preapproved list of contractors. Oh, Pete knew there was a lot of politics in this, and that Kerwin Elliot was a consummate player. It was no secret that every political operative had his favorites for projects. And for whatever reason, Elliot had approved Hartman as one of the potential electrical contractors despite any shortcomings.
“Look, Cali, I don’t okay these contractors. I get handed the list just like you do,” Pete repeated.
“I understand that,” she said, keeping her voice soft yet firm. She saw the frustration in his eyes. Her heart twinged at having to put him in a stressful position, but she couldn’t help it. “If Hartman is allowed to come out here, they will be stretched. They’ll start hiring hacks. I’m worried about the quality of workmanship.”
“I’m not forcing you to use Hartman,” Pete stated. “but I am requiring you to use contractors from this list.”
Damn. Cali wanted to mouth the word but didn’t. The air was taut and nearly crackled between them. Outside, she could hear the graders, bulldozers and other machines roaring and chugging. Only the radio calls back and forth between supervisors in the field broke the brittle silence between them.
“And if I use one of the contractors on the approved list and have them subcontract to Wharton? What will Kabul do?”
Pete shrugged. “Kabul doesn’t care if you spend your money for extra overhead.” He knew Roland would have to pay additional costs to get it done. This was a game played by all contractors to get their favorite subs to do work on a project for them. And he could see Cali’s point and didn’t disagree with her. Hartman was too small and would have problems here, but it was out of his hands to control.
“If I do it that way, Roland will spend roughly fifty thousand dollars. And we’d like reimbursement for that amount.”
Ouch. Pete pushed his fingers through his short-cropped hair in frustration. Even though he sparred with Cali on site problems all the time, he always found her desirable. Times like this just reminded him how impossible any personal relationship would be. Corporate ethics wouldn’t allow it. “I can’t authorize additional payments to you just because Roland wants a different electrical company. You’re going to have to take it out of pocket.”
“That’s not fair,” Cali protested. Why, oh why, did she have to take Pete’s tough words so personally? She wavered internally, her confidence crumbling.
“An owner can’t have the contractor calling the shots on who works on-site, either,” he added. “That’s why we use a preapproved contractors list. We have to maintain a budget and set procedures. You know that.”
Nostrils flaring, Cali knew Pete couldn’t magically dip into some account back in Kabul for the extra funds. “Okay, then I’m willing to eat the overhead costs if you agree to pay the cost on the concrete mixers that never arrived.” She advanced to his desk, her arms across her chest. “By contract, your company was supposed to have six concrete mixers out here for us to use. Four did not show up, as you know. I went and jury-rigged a bunch of dump trucks with my time, men and money to compensate for that problem, Pete. And because of my ingenuity, we are on schedule.”
“I realize that,” he told her. Her body was radiating tension, but so was his. Seeing Cali’s eyes soften a bit at his compliment, he added, “And it’s working.”
“Look, Pete, I need wiggle room here. I know some mixers were stolen and some were wrecked on that damn road from Kabul. Is that my problem? No. You guys have your problems, and you have to cover them. When it came to Roland not having the fence up for security because of delays beyond our control, you still made me accountable for getting it out here and getting it up. Which I did,” she added. “Within schedule.”
“Yes, you did get that fence up in record time,” he admitted.
“Mr. Elliot cannot keep asking Roland to absorb extra costs. You and I agree to waive some of these costs, but there comes a point when your company has to stand up to their obligations, Pete.”
She was right. Taking a pencil, Pete fiddled with it distractedly as he pondered the situation. The jury-rigging Cali came up with was not in the contract. Roland had put out a lot of money to get dump trucks refitted to haul concrete. Plus, the dump trucks weren’t going to be available for any other use after the pours were done. It was a huge monetary loss for Roland.
“I’ll call Elliot this afternoon and I’ll make clear the costs Roland has incurred. We’ll get this straightened out, Cali.”
Pete knew that Roland could send in a team of lawyers to fight for every overcharge not in the contract. That could drag the project out for years. Lawyer fees alone made it wise to settle these skirmishes in the field and not in court.
Her arms fell to her sides. “Thanks.”
“I’m sorry we have to come to blows like this sometimes.”
“Me, too,” Cali said, backing away from the desk. The apology in his eyes melted her, and she wished she could be immune to him. Just see him as the boss and nothing more. She picked up her hard hat and settled it on her head. “If Kabul wants to follow procedures, so does Roland. I’m going back to the hoppers to make sure things are running smooth.”
The door shut and the trailer grew quiet except for the sounds outside. Pete sighed and sat back in his chair, the pencil still in his hand. The last thing he wanted was an argument like this one. They occurred daily over little or big issues. Still, his heart wasn’t into this particular fray. Cali was right; his boss had made a mistake in qualifying such a small electric company. Pete knew such mistakes were part of the construction business.
The hurt lingering in Cali’s green eyes tore at him, and made him feel badly over having to lay down the law. She deserved better than what Kabul was dosing out to her company. And somehow, Pete was going to see that it got fixed in this one skirmish.
For whatever reason, he wanted to see her smile. She didn’t do it often, but he waited for those rare moments. It was like getting a glimpse of the real woman beneath the hard hat. Even after months of working together, he ached to know her on a more personal level. But to go there meant ignoring his past history, and Pete couldn’t do that. When their two-year commitment was over, would he still feel this connection to Cali?
Pete set the pencil back on the desk. He already knew the answer to his silent question.