A Time to Bloom (Leah's Garden #2)(48)

“Yeah, yeah, you can just never be sure with these lowlifes.” Clive followed, spitting a stream of brown juice into the dirt.

Did he mean the other workmen or RJ? Trying to ignore the pain jabbing into his skull, RJ leveled a stare at his employee. “All you need to worry about is what I tell you.”

“Sure, captain.” Clive gave a mock salute.

RJ blew out a breath and rubbed the back of his neck. He needed to find some more workers, or preferably better workers. Those he had came from the crew who had built the train station, but most had moved on with the railroad as it continued westward. Many of those who remained seemed to show as much interest in frequenting the liquor and gambling tent as in keeping steady at their work.

A beam clattered to the ground, followed by a string of words that seared even RJ’s ears.

“Hey!” he barked, striding over to the workers. “Careful with that lumber. It cost an arm and a leg to have it brought from Omaha. And watch your language, men, or you’ll be off this job as quickly as I hired you on.”

“Who’re you gonna get to replace us, Boss?” Clive asked laconically.

RJ glared at him until he bent to help another man replace the fallen beam, and then he headed back to the shade of the cottonwood grove, sparse as it was in the noontime heat. Here he had set up a rough table with his plans and tools, along with a water bucket for the men.

“Mr. Easton, sir?”

At the unfamiliar voice, RJ spun around. “Yes?”

A powerfully built man with a red beard approached him, clad in simple homespun with his hat in his hand. “Name’s Liam O’Rourke. I heard you were lookin’ for workers on the boardinghouse here and wondered if you could still use an extra pair of hands.”

“Perhaps.” RJ sized up the man. He certainly had the muscle for the work. “Depends on your experience.”

“I’ve worked many a construction job in New York City, buildin’ warehouses and the sewer system. I know my way around a buildin’ site and even supervised other men before.”

“I hail from New York as well. Though upstate.” RJ pondered. He’d need a foreman at some point unless he never wanted to be able to leave the building site. “When could you start?”

“Today, if ye like. But there’s one thing. I can’t work full days just now. I’ve a homestead also. And I’d need time off for harvest.”

“We should be finished before then. It’s a short-term contract.” But RJ frowned. “Why take time away from your land?”

“We got hit hard by the grasshoppers.” O’Rourke twisted his hat between his hands. “Lost half our corn crop, we did, and much o’ the wheat. We’ve tried to replant some, but harvest will be slim. Me boys, they’re helpin’ in the fields as much as they can, but they’re not strong enough yet for this buildin’ work. But if ye can’t take a man who can only work half days, I understand and will be on my way.”

He stood, waiting.

RJ rubbed his forehead, fighting to think through the pain. Even afternoons would help, and he knew something of what it was like to feel like everything was against you. “Join us for the rest of the day and show me what you can do. If all goes well, I’ll give you a full day’s pay, and you’ll be hired.”

O’Rourke dipped his head. “I thank ye, sir.”

“Easton is fine.” RJ gestured to two men struggling with a roof beam. “Know your way around a roof?”

“That I do.” He headed toward the building frame.

Well. That might have been a hasty decision, but O’Rourke couldn’t be much worse than the crew RJ already had. Bracing himself for the sun again, RJ headed back to the hammers ringing against nailheads. He set to work helping Lars, one of the steadier workers, saw boards in proper lengths for the window frames.

At least the work here gave RJ something to do, something to occupy his mind and hands other than the pain or pining over all he’d lost. But what was he really doing here? Delphinium Nielsen’s innocent questions at the celebration rankled in his memory. He’d never supervised the construction of an entire building before, let alone one as large as a boardinghouse. The only real plans he’d laid had been for Francine’s millinery shop and the home he’d meant to build for them, those projects of his heart now crushed flat under ruined dreams.

What if he made a mistake, in his plans or his direction, and someone was injured? And once this project was complete, what was he to do next? Seek work in Lancaster—soon to be Lincoln—as Anders had suggested? Was he never to return to New York?

If he were still a praying man, he’d ask God what in thunder He was doing with the life of Robert Joseph Easton.

At the call of a female voice some time later, RJ looked up from a turn with the hammer to see Larkspur Nielsen atop the seat of her wagon. He hadn’t even heard the vehicle approach.

“How goes it, Mr. Easton?” She climbed down from the wagon just as a burst of raucous laughter erupted from some of the men nailing the doorframe in place.

RJ whipped off his hat, hoping she hadn’t just heard whatever ribald remark preceded that laughter. Not that Larkspur Nielsen seemed like a woman easily discomfited.

“We’re making progress on the frame,” he said. “Waiting for another load of lumber on tomorrow’s train, but hopefully by the end of the week, we can start boarding in the walls.”