CHAPTER THREE
Studying the files that evening, she found them to be quite unremarkable. Just farms. Perhaps McKinnon knew now that she couldn't be thrown. Or perhaps he knew something about them that she didn't. Asking her Dad for a quick rundown on the two other files, she was assured that they were both quite respectable and responsible.
"In fact, I think Tom Harrison is a director for the company, isn't he?" he asked Charly.
"I guess it's quite possible. The day I was in there, I was too busy trying to defend myself against McKinnon's attacks to take any notice of the others. Thanks, Dad. It would be just like him to throw in a director's file and hope I embarrassed myself."
"Now, Charly, he can't be all that bad. I don't know the man personally, but I've never heard anything against him. Are you sure you aren't imagining things?"
"Yeah, I suppose I'm just paranoid because I want this job so badly." She dropped the subject and went to the phone, her good humour restored as she thought of McKinnon's face tomorrow.
"Hi, Uncle Henry. Are you going to be home tomorrow? Yes? Will you do me a favour? I've got to come over there with a stuffed shirt on business and I want you to pretend you don't know me, until I give you a signal. Don't ask why. It's just a little joke among friends. Okay?"
After some muttering, her uncle finally agreed and they said their goodbyes. Charly was grinning as she prepared for bed.
McKinnon never so much as batted an eye when he joined her next morning in her car. She had donned Western boots, snug jeans, and semi-dressy western shirt and had tucked her hair up under her western hat. Outside of a brief "Good morning," he was his usual inscrutable self.
It was just a short drive to her uncle's farm, and Charly could hardly wait to get there. She jumped out of the SUV, picked up her clipboard and headed over to where here uncle was working on a tractor engine. She swung her hips and made the most of her snug jeans, knowing that McKinnon was following and watching. Her uncle straightened up as she approached, and she watched in amazement as he looked past her, smiled and stretched his hand out to McKinnon.
"T. G., how are you?" He asked, shaking hands with him. She looked from one to the other, knowing suddenly that her plan had somehow gone quite wrong. As they talked to each other, ignoring her completely, she became annoyed, then enraged. Turning her back on them, she yanked her hat from her head, forgetting about her hair. As it tumbled in glowing auburn waves to her waist, she stomped into the barn, leaving the others where they were. She was unaware of the gleam in McKinnon's eye as he watched her progress. Her uncle had his back to the barn, so saw only the admiration on T. G.'s face, not the reason for it.
Hurrying through the inspection, Charly wrote up her notes and then set the file aside. Working quickly, she braided her hair and fastened it up as it had been yesterday. The fun hadn't even started and already it was over. Serves me right for trying to get the better of him. When she approached the men again, she found they were deep in conversation, but stopped speaking as soon as they noticed her presence.
"Everything seems to be in order, Mr. McKinnon. I'd like to get on to the next one, if you don't mind. Goodbye, Mr. Thomas."
Throwing an arm around her shoulders, her uncle gave her a squeeze and said, "You don't need to pretend you don't know me, Charly. T. G. already knew we were related. Good luck with your job. I know you'll make a fine inspector."
Feeling like a little girl again, Charly muttered "Goodbye," again and headed for the vehicle. McKinnon sauntered along behind, grinning broadly.
Back in the car, Charly tried to get herself under control. For once, he had the upper hand and she didn't like the feeling. To make matters worse, the next farm was Harrison's. Should she come right out and ask if he was a director? It would make her look even more stupid. Maybe she'd recognize him when she saw him. Deciding to stay quiet, she drove off, hoping for the best.
She did recognize him as soon as he appeared. He had been one of the ones who had spoken up in her defence several times during the interview. Relaxing immediately, Charly chatted away with him as they toured his buildings and examined the wiring. The farm was in excellent condition and obviously paying for itself. But she checked everything over, knowing there were two directors watching her now.
It was again lunchtime when they were finished, and she decided to drive over to Bloomfield, before stopping for lunch. It was a small village but had an excellent restaurant, and the third farm was just outside of town.
Her salad in front of her, Charly became consumed by her curiosity. T. G. McKinnon. Tom Gregory? Timothy George? Terry Glenn? None of them fit, and she just couldn't stand it any longer.
"What does the T. G. stand for?" She looked across the table at McKinnon and wondered if he would answer her, or maintain his usual stony silence.
"My mother said it stood for 'Thank God', because she had three daughters and my Dad wouldn't give up until he had a son. My birth certificate says Thomas Gordon, but I have to look at it now and then to remember, because I've never been anything but T. G. Satisfied?" He was almost smiling, as though he knew she had been sitting there trying to pin a name on him.
"Yes, thank you." Returning to her salad, she decided that T. G. suited him better. He certainly wasn't a Thomas, maybe a Gordon; then again, maybe not. And he had actually said several sentences to her. Wow - a major breakthrough! Her silent contemplation was interrupted when he asked, "And Charly? That's not exactly a feminine name."
"Short for Charlene, but I was wearing denim overalls and trailing Dad around the barn from the time I could walk, so Charly I was. And still am." She looked up at him as she spoke and found his eyes on her mouth. They were no longer indifferent or cold, but only for a moment. He masked his expression quickly, and made a comment about how early they would be through today, barring any unforeseen circumstances.
Again picking up the tab, Charly vowed there would be none. She was beginning to feel as though she'd been inspecting farms for weeks rather than days. And she also felt that McKinnon had lost most of his reservations about her.
The day ended early and without incident. The temperature was still unseasonably high and the weather was beginning to be oppressive. She was glad to get home and take a long hot shower, before studying the files for tomorrow. Tomorrow - the day that would decide her whole future. On one hand, she was quite sure she had the job, but on the other, she still doubted that McKinnon really wanted her on staff. Maybe today he had been friendlier so that she would relax and let her guard down tomorrow.
However, Wednesday morning found Charly dressed in a pale blue jumpsuit, her hair neatly braided and fastened to the back of her head. Her boots had been cleaned and polished and she looked and felt like a professional. The farms they were looking at today were on the other side of Belleville at some distance, so it would be a long day.
McKinnon seemed to be in good humour when she picked him up at the office. He was smiling as he said good morning, and after a quick glance at her outfit, said, "Much more suitable attire, Miss Benson."
"I'm glad you approve, because this will be my standard uniform from now on."
"Oh, you've been hired, have you?"
Blushing, she glanced sideways, and was surprised to see a hint of humour in his smile. Maybe he wasn't such a stuffed shirt after all. Sighing inaudibly, she pulled out into the traffic and decided to enjoy herself.
Easier said than done, she mused, as one after another, the farmers proceeded to complain to her about the insurance they carried, the prices they had to pay, the claims that had been settled unfairly, in their opinion, until her head was swimming. She knew that she must remain loyal to the company at all costs, and yet she didn't wish to alienate any clients.
Surprisingly, McKinnon came to her rescue on several occasions. He was knowledgeable and reasonable, and they seemed to respect his opinion. Maybe they just think I don't know anything because I'm a female. Pus
hing the negative thought aside, she carried out her inspections, aware that the weather was becoming even sultrier.
During lunch, a severe storm warning was issued for the area north east of Belleville. Charly decided to hurry through the next inspection, knowing that McKinnon was probably anxious to get home. There was bound to be a backlash of rain and wind on the Isle. With the radio on, they listened to the updates as they drove to their next destination. The farm was situated on a back road quite some distance from Belleville, and wound through heavy bush. The trees were still, the sky a dull steel grey.
On reaching the farm, Charly didn't waste any time. She asked her questions, ran through her inspection and made her notes. She didn't skip any areas that needed checking on, and as the milking system was an older one, she went over to have a better look at the wiring on the milking machine motor housing. McKinnon had followed her around, and was standing over by the window. She leaned forward to check the wires, her back to him, and suddenly felt a jolt of sexual tension run through her. It was powerful, like a charge of electricity, and her body responded of its own accord.
Straightening slowly, she turned and looked at McKinnon. He was staring out the window, but the telltale flush along his cheekbones told her all she needed to know. So. The man wasn't as inhuman as he appeared. In fact, if that thought originated in his mind, and she knew it had, he was very human, and very susceptible to the sight of a female derriere in tight pants. Well, well, well!
The farmer was obviously concerned about the weather as well. He was letting the cattle out of the yard into a field away from the buildings and opening windows and doors to the barns. Charly knew that since the severe tornadoes in Woodstock and Barrie, farmers all over the province took warnings of severe weather very seriously now. She didn't like the feel of the weather. It was too quiet, too still. Nothing stirred, but the sky had an eerie hue to it and an aura that she could only describe as alive, although the clouds didn't appear to be moving.
Joining McKinnon at the car, she asked, "Can we beat it home?"
"I hope so." Just three words, but she knew he doubted it. "Would you like me to drive?"
"No thanks, if it's okay with you. When I'm nervous, I prefer to have something to do. And I don't mind telling you I'm nervous." As she finished speaking, the radio crackled and the announcer advised them that the warnings had been updated to tornado alerts for Central and Eastern Ontario, to be in effect until at least nine p.m.
Ten miles down the road, Charly suddenly started to shiver. It wasn't cold in the vehicle, and she knew it had nothing to do with the temperature. She had had these warnings before. Stopping the car, she turned to McKinnon and said, "Please don't ask any questions and please don't interrupt me for a few minutes. There's something I have to take care of. Just bear with me."
Closing her eyes, she took a couple of deep breaths, and forced herself to relax totally. Years of meditation practice enabled her to shut out all exterior influences and clear her mind. Envisioning the vehicle, T. G. and herself, she imagined a huge golden, impenetrable bubble around the car. She held the thought in her mind, and as a great sense of peace came over her, she opened her eyes.