Unwrapped (6 page)

No, Jac wasn't pregnant.

She couldn't be.

T
he holiday season was more of an annoyance than an enjoyment for Patrick. It slowed down the delivery of building materials and equipment. Gave employees an excuse for taking days off. And made his family even crazier than they were to begin with.

“Lose something?” Patrick looked down at his father, who was crouched behind Patrick's desk.

Even on all fours, the man was intimidating. His thick hair curled over his scowling forehead in a mixture of faded red and gray, and his face was weathered from years of working in the sun. But while his face looked every bit of sixty-five, his body looked closer to forty. His chest was wide, his biceps defined, and his hands as big as dinner plates.

He used those hands to push up from the floor and brush off his jeans before sitting down in Patrick's chair like it was his office instead of his son's. “I thought you were working at the Welbourne site today. We're already a week behind on that project. Which means you need to move your tail.” Patrick had a hard time keeping his temper in check. Of course he always had a hard time keeping his temper in check with Big Al. Which might've explained his terse reply.

“More like two weeks.”

“Two weeks!” Big Al's voice boomed before he glanced at the closed door and lowered it a few levels. “What do you mean we're behind two weeks? I gave Sam Welbourne my word that we'd have it done by the end of January. What in the hell is the problem?”

Trying not to show his irritation, Patrick leaned against the desk and crossed his arms. “The problem, Dad, is you. You had no business promising Sam anything. Especially when you're supposed to be retired.”

His father's eyes darkened. “You had better watch the way you talk to me, Paddy. This is still my company, and I can still hire—and fire—anyone who gets too big for their britches.”

“Go right ahead and fire me.” Patrick came away from the desk, now as angry as his father. “But then who will do the actual building, Dad? Cassie's husband, James, is busy securing all the bids and contracts. Jacob and Matthew take care of all the legal issues. Cassie and Rory design the buildings. Which leaves one person in charge of making sure things get built.” He tapped his chest. “Me. And I'm getting pretty damned sick and tired of getting all the shit when things don't go the way you think they should.” He glanced at the plans rolled open on his desk. “And what are you doing in my office when you have one three times as big down the hall?”

His father's face turned almost as red as his hair and beard. It took Patrick only a second to figure it all out. As quickly as his temper had flared, it cooled. Finding a chink in his dad's armor was much more fun than fighting.

Patrick grinned. “Mom doesn't know you're working, does she?” The hard gleam in his father's eyes told Patrick that he'd hit the mark. He looked back at the plans. “So how long have you been sneaking in here to avoid being caught?”

His father studied him for a moment, then surprised Patrick by not denying it. “The last couple months.” He slumped back in the chair and ran a hand over his close-cropped beard. “I've tried to forget about business and be the attentive husband your mother wants. But damned if I can do it and still keep my sanity. Doesn't the woman understand that I'll go crazy if I don't get to build things?”

As much as Patrick didn't like agreeing with his father, he understood where he was coming from. Once construction was in your blood, it was hard to get out. Even as a child, Patrick's favorite toys had been Legos and Lincoln Logs. He'd spent hours in his room erecting multicolored plastic cities and entire log cabin communities. Unlike his sister, Cassie, and brother Rory, he wasn't interested in the design aspect as much as the actual hands-on building. There was nothing like taking an architectural concept and turning it into reality. A sleek modern hotel. A sprawling shopping mall. Or even a tiny office building. So he couldn't blame his father for not wanting to give that up.

“Don't get me wrong,” Big Al continued. “I enjoyed going to Hawaii with your mother and looking at the fall leaves in New England. Hell, I didn't even mind the golf lessons she signed us up for in the summer.” He leaned forward and thumped his fist on the desk. “But damned if I'm going to put on some sissy shoes and learn how to tango, or hop on a river cruise ship so I can come home with pictures of some old crumbling castles, or get another pedicure, or—”

Patrick laughed. “Mom talked you into a pedicure?”

His father shot him a warning look. “Your mother can talk me into just about anything. Something you'll figure out once you're married.” He lifted his bushy eyebrows. “How's it going with that little brunette you brought to Thanksgiving? Your mother is convinced that she's the right one for you.”

“Heather's not the one,” Patrick said irritably. At least he thought her name was Heather. He wasn't good at remembering women's names. Although there was one name he'd had trouble forgetting. Even now just the thought of her name brought up an image of full, pouting lips and sweet, supple breasts. Which in turn caused a swift kick of depression. It was this depressed feeling that had caused him to invite Heather to Thanksgiving dinner with his family. He'd thought it would clear his head of Halloween night. All it had done was make his parents jump on the marriage bandwagon.

Walking over to the drawing hanger that held the blueprints, he searched for the building specs he'd stopped by the office to get. “So why don't you just tell Mom that you miss work and want to come out of retirement?” The thought of having his father breathing down his neck day in and day out had him rephrasing. “Not full time, but a couple hours a day.”

“Because it would break her heart. In the last few months, your mother has grown extremely attached to me. Hell, she can't go to the grocery store without dragging me along.”

That didn't sound like Patrick's mother. Mary Katherine McPherson had always been a strong and independent woman who had her own interests, including working at a domestic violence shelter. She wasn't the clingy type. Something Patrick had always admired. But now that his father mentioned it, his mother hadn't been herself lately. Of course, being that she was a woman, it could just be a mood swing.

“So if she doesn't like you out of her sight,” he said, “how did you get away today?”

“She's at the doctor with your Aunt Louise.”

Patrick glanced over. “Is Wheezie okay?”

“She's fine. Your mother is just hoping the doctor can talk her into using a walker.” His father shook his head. “Damned ornery woman. After her fall last spring, you'd think she wouldn't want to go anywhere without one.”

Wheezie was stubborn. And a bit of a know-it-all. While Patrick's entire family had liked Heather, Wheezie had taken Patrick aside during dessert and informed him that he had the wrong girl and they needed to keep looking. Patrick wasn't looking for anything but a few minutes of peace and quiet.

Finding the specs, he pulled them from the hanger and rolled them up. “I'm heading back to the Welbourne job.”

His father got to his feet and followed him to the door. “If we offer the crew overtime, do you think we can get it done by January?”

“Maybe. But you have to remember that people don't like to work overtime around the holidays.”

“Try a bonus and see if that doesn't work,” his father said. When they reached the door, he grabbed Patrick's arm. For a guy in his mid-sixties, he had one hell of a firm grip. “I'm assuming my secret is safe with you.”

“Unless Mom asks me.” Patrick shrugged. “Then you're on your own.”

His father's scowl deepened before he poked his head into the hallway. The coast must've been clear because he hurried out and headed for the stairs. Since the M&M offices were on the eighth floor, taking the stairs instead of the elevator proved how much his father didn't want to get caught.

“Was that Grandpa?”

Patrick turned to find his niece Gabby standing behind him. Since starting high school, she'd worked at the office in the afternoons as the receptionist. Today she wore a business suit and a pair of trendy black-framed glasses. As cute as she looked, Patrick couldn't help missing the tomboy who'd loved riding dirt bikes and following him around the jobsite with the tool belt he'd given her cinched around her waist.

“Hey, Gabs,” he said. “Since when do you wear glasses?”

She pulled her gaze from Big Al's retreating back and blushed. “They aren't real glasses. They're just for fashion.”

He really didn't understand why anyone would want to wear glasses for fashion. Unfortunately, the expectant look on Gabby's face said that he needed to come up with a reply.

“Well…they look fashionable.”

“You don't think that they're stupid?”

His eyes narrowed. “Did someone tell you that they looked stupid?”

“No-o-o.” She drew out the word. “Geez, Uncle Patrick, you don't have to be so protective. You embarrassed the heck out of me the last time you showed up at my high school.”

Just the thought of the incident had Patrick scowling. “Male teachers have no business keeping sixteen-year-old girls after school. I don't care how much they're messing around in class. If he had a problem with your behavior, he should've called your parents. Although I think the problem was his more than yours.”

She giggled. “That's because you think I can do no wrong, Uncle Paddy.”

He smiled. “There might be a little of that.” He went to ruffle her hair, but she stepped out of his reach before he could and held out a message slip. “Some man from the city called this afternoon and wanted to talk with you. It sounded like it was important.”

Patrick took the note and glanced at the name. He didn't recognize it, but that didn't mean anything. The city was always hiring a new pain-in-the-butt inspector who made Patrick's life hell. Deciding to return the call later, he pocketed the note as he followed Gabby to the receptionist's desk.

“So what do you want for Christmas this year, Gabs? There's a new four-stroke motocross bike out that I thought we could talk your dad into.”

She took her seat behind the desk. “Actually, I'm not into motocross as much as I used to be.” Some of Patrick's disappointment must've shown because she quickly added, “But if you want to go riding this weekend, I'm up for it.”

He grinned. “That's my girl. I'll pick you up around eight on Saturday.”

Patrick spent the rest of the afternoon trying to play catch-up at the Welbourne site. By six thirty he was beat and decided to call it a day. Normally he picked up takeout on the way home, but tonight he was too tired to make the effort. Which proved to be a mistake when he got to his condo and looked in the refrigerator. His dinner choices consisted of green-tinted bologna, two slices of moldy pepperoni pizza, and a bag of shriveled mini carrots.

A whine had him looking down at his overweight basset hound, Gilmore, who sat next to Gomer, a large pit bull mix.

“I know how you feel, buddy.” Patrick took out the bag of carrots and tossed Gilmore and Gomer each one before taking one for himself. They actually weren't too bad, so he finished off the bag as he got out the dry food for the dogs and his three cats—Jinx, Tom, and Hellcat. It had never been his intention to have such a large menagerie of animals, but for some reason, strays kept showing up in his life.

After the animals were fed, he got a bottle of Scottish ale from the fridge, then grabbed some stale crackers and a jar of peanut butter from the cupboard and sat down on the barstool next to Miss Featherbee. The blow-up doll had been a college-graduation prank from Matthew, a gift that most men would've trashed long ago. But Patrick had never trashed a gift from his family, and over the years, he'd grown attached to Miss Featherbee. She didn't text, never complained about his coming home late, and was a great listener.

“How ya doin', dollface?” Patrick said as he dipped a cracker into the peanut butter jar. “Anything exciting happen today?” He popped the cracker in his mouth and washed it down with a gulp of ale. “Yeah, me neither. Just another day of dealing with unions, inspectors—shit!” He wiped his hands on a paper towel before pulling the message memo that Gabby had given him from his pants pocket and reaching for his phone. It wasn't until after he'd dialed that he glanced at his watch and realized that there was no way in hell a city inspector would still be at work. It turned out he was wrong.

“It's about damned time.”

Surprised by the way the inspector answered the phone, it took a moment for Patrick to reply. “This is Patrick McPherson from M&M Construction. I got a message that you called.”

“Oh yes…Mr. McPherson. I'm afraid that we're going to have to shut down your building on Eighth Avenue. It seems that you have numerous code violations.”

Patrick bristled. “Wait a minute. We already had the inspection and everything passed. Now you're telling me that we're in violation?”

“That's exactly what I'm telling you.”

It took a real effort not to lose his cool. “I'd like to talk to your department head. I believe his name is Ross Williams. Is he there?”

“Yes, but he's bopping his secretary right now so he'll have to call you back.”

Patrick blinked. “He's what?” A booming laugh came through the receiver. A laugh Patrick remembered all too well. “Jonesy?”

“Got ya!” Jonesy said. “I swear I could almost see the veins popping out of your neck, Paddy. Although you've learned to control your temper much better than you did in college. In college you would've already been here and had me in a choke hold. Remember the time that we were in the rugby scrum and the guy on the other team said something about your mother? It took five of us to pull you off him.”