Hey Jude (Lennox Valley Chronicles #1)

What the fuck am I going to do?

11

JUDE

“Alright, folks, Steph’ll flag any trees and plants needing inspection or showing signs of disease.” I grab a roll of flagging tape from the truck and throw it to Steph, who catches it deftly. I raise my eyebrows and point a finger at her. “Impressive reaction time for a Monday morning. Nice.” Steph gives me a smug look from under her ball cap, crossing her muscular arms over her chest.

Clipboard in hand, I scan down the list of tasks to assign to my team, absentmindedly drumming my pencil along the edge as I delegate.

“Dimitri, you’re pulling up the dead stuff and invasives.” I say, lifting my chin at the dead plants across the clearing. “I’ll set up a tarp for you.”

“Okay, boss.” Dimitri says, a look of determination crossing his sharp features. He reaches up and runs a hand through his dark hair. Dimitri is easily the hardest worker on my team and looks it: his wiry frame is packed with lean muscle and he has a perpetual air of exhaustion about him.

I still smile when I hear Dimitri, or any of my team, call me boss. It was initially a tongue-in-cheek thing a few years back when I’d hired him, fresh out of college, but the nickname ended up sticking. Then the rest of the team picked up the habit.

“Mitch,” I continue, directing my attention to the oldest member of my crew. He’s in his late forties, with bristly, graying hair and deep creases in his forehead, the years of working out in the sun having made him look older than he is. “You can start marking out the utility lines.” I pull a map of the property out of my back pocket and hand it over. “Then you can help me flag out the section we’re going to be calling the too far gone area.” I gesture with the clipboard across the clearing, pointing to a lumpy section of rock, weeds, and tall grass.

Mitch glances over his shoulder and gives me a quick nod.

“And Teddy, you’re on branches. Grab a ladder.”

Teddy, a barrel-chested guy in his mid-thirties with thinning blond hair, holds up his lopping shears. “Can do,” he says with a smirk. He has the appearance and personality of an overgrown kid.

The team moves off to get started as I climb into the truck bed to grab a tarp and some stake flags.

A vehicle rumbles toward the driveway and I look up, expecting Charles or Carol with their groceries, or possibly another work vehicle for something related to the house renovation. A small silver hatchback I don’t recognize emerges from the trees and I stand slowly, my vantage point atop the truck giving me a better view. I don’t know why I’m so curious; plenty of tradespeople are coming and going from the site as the renovations get underway.

Except that’s a lie. I know exactly who I’m waiting to see.

I look away and take a breath, determined to focus on the job in front of me. Jumping down from the truck bed, I circle around to the passenger door, letting Murphy out to join us. It’s an unusually warm, spring-like day and he can amble around out here comfortably while we work. Our unofficial mascot, he joins me on the job site most days. He never gets underfoot, just alternates between sleeping and receiving head scratches and belly rubs from anyone who will indulge him.

Behind me, I hear a car door closing.

“Is he yours?”

I know her voice before I even turn around and catch myself smiling. I don’t want to seem too eager, so I take my time closing the door before turning to face her. When I do, Olena is standing outside her car, Murphy lumbering over to her to say hello. She stoops down to meet him, extending her open hand, which he nuzzles and licks.

“Hi, there,” she says softly, crouching down now and ruffling the fur around Murphy’s neck with both hands.

I can’t help but smile.

He is loving the attention. He noses Olena’s face, licking her cheek.

“Oh, wow, that tickles, buddy,” Olena laughs and rubs at her face with her sleeve.

“Sorry, he’s not normally like that with people,” I say.

“Oh, I don’t mind.” She throws me a quick smile.

It’s true. Murphy’s gotten old enough that this puppy-like display of affection is rare for him. He’s normally not fussed enough by anyone to even get up—unless they have food for him.

“Do you have a dog? Treats in your pocket or something?” I’m a bit baffled that he’s acting so excited.

“No, no dog, no dog treats.” Olena smiles again and shrugs as she scratches around his ears and under his chin. Her eyes lift to mine at the same moment that Murphy pushes his face into hers again, knocking her off balance. She stumbles a step in her crouched position, catching herself with an outstretched hand. She looks back to me, laughing. “What’s his name?”

“Murphy,” I reply, entranced by watching them together. “And yeah, he’s mine.”

“He’s beautiful.” Olena beams, still stroking his fur affectionately.