All Jacked Up (Rough Riders #8)(3)

Welcome to his world.


“Oh, and on top of that, I have to hire a qualified expert, already certified by the committee, to oversee the remodeling process. So the specialist can reassure the committee that my contractors aren’t destroying the ‘unique and key’ elements that make it a historic building.”


Jack dealt with the pros and cons of rebuilding versus restoration every damn day and it never got easier. Or clearer.


“This place was— is—in absolute disrepair. Know what’s asinine? The committee would let the building fall to ruin rather than allow me to make desperately needed improvements that don’t meet with some—” she gestured wildly, “—obscure set of rules. Which was why I contacted Full Circle Consulting.”


“Lucky me,” he drawled.


“I had not a friggin’ clue you owned the company or trust me, Jack, I never would’ve called you.”


“I’m deeply hurt.”


“Don’t give me ideas,” she warned.


“Did you try another company?”


“They turned me down. The project is too small and they’re too busy. The other companies I found aren’t certified in Wyoming. It could take up to a year for the official certification process, provided they actually give a damn about becoming certified in Wyoming—which most don’t.”


“Look. To be honest, it’s not about the money. I don’t have the time—”


“For a small-potatoes project like this? You could’ve saved yourself some of that precious time and called me rather than driving up here from Colorado. Or was the prospect of seeing my disappointment too big a temptation to resist? Did you rub your hands with glee at the thought of crushing my dreams?”


“Keely, just listen—”


“Don’t you dare try and placate me, Jack Donohue.”


“I’m not. What was the name of the other company you contacted?”


“BDM Incorporated. They’re based out of Chicago. Anyway, it doesn’t really matter now, does it?


I’m screwed.” She spun on the bootheel and disappeared around the corner.


Jack clenched his fist by his side. BDM. His former partner Baxter’s company. Baxter’s luxury of blithely turning down work, when Jack raced all over the damn country taking every job in every podunk town from Barrow, Alaska to Bangor, Maine, burned his ass.


You don’t have to take every job. You don’t need the money.


True, but it was a matter of pride to prove to the restoration community that his expertise was just as much in demand as Baxter’s after their professional split. Jack suspected the reason Baxter’s company had refused to consider Keely’s restoration was because BDM was in the queue for a prestigious project in Utah.


A select group of architectural specialists had been invited to bid on a complete restoration of two city blocks in the small burg of Milford, Utah. The Milford Historical Preservation Consortium was a privately funded organization, insistent upon hiring a company whose morals and ideals meshed with theirs.


Although Jack’s professional qualifications were top-flight, his personal qualifications had disappointed the committee. No long-term relationship, no wife, no kids, no religious affiliation.


Baxter retained the advantage on the Milford project because he was married. During their partnership, Baxter’s main focus had been drumming up business. Jack stayed in the trenches with the contractors and traveled extensively while Baxter remained in the Chicago office. Baxter’s availability was why Jack’s former girlfriend Martine was now Baxter’s wife.


Martine. Beautiful. Educated. Sophisticated. Every quality Jack had required in a woman. The double whammy of Martine and Baxter’s betrayal had nearly crippled him. Baxter was twenty years Martine’s senior, a balding man with a big gut and a bigger mouth, but Baxter’s bank account was his biggest asset.


Rather than allow the situation to explode into an ugly scandal, Jack bowed out of the partnership, licked his wounds, relocated to Colorado and hung out his shingle. Now his former partner was his main competition.


Too bad Jack couldn’t conjure up a wife. Then Baxter would be out on his fat ass as far as the Milford job. Jack wanted that project and he’d do anything to get it.


Anything.


So what are you doing in Wyoming, pissing with Keely McKay? She can’t help you.


But you could help her. This is a noble project. And you’re a quart low on nobility since you’ve been chasing the gravy train the last few years.


Nudged by his conscience, Jack followed the foot-traffic pattern on the dusty floor, mentally tallying the building wreckage as he bypassed it.


Keely stood in front of a busted window, staring at the faded blacktop. She whirled around, her body stiffening at his approach.


Jack’s body stiffened too—for an entirely different reason. The sweet perfume of spring lilacs wafted toward him. Pure lust grabbed him by the short hairs. That intoxicating aroma had haunted him since the night he’d filled his lungs with her scent. Breathing nothing but her. Tasting nothing but her. Swallowing her hunger and letting it feed his… He shook his head to clear the memory. It hadn’t ended well. Every encounter with Keely McKay ended badly.