results in a day off.”
“I’m going to call down there again this afternoon.”
“What do you mean, again? Have you been pestering the city’s permit office?”
“I’d hardly refer to keeping a tight rein on my project as pestering.”
Hunt considered this news. Gillian was a pit bull on a bone when it came to the details. Her ability to focus was critical in a host of positive ways during the start-up of a business. But it could get her tail in a wringer if she needled the wrong clerk.
She was putting the same pressure on her contractors. Karl complained that she was on the phone with him at least once a day, and the work hadn’t even begun yet. How would Gillian act once the property was crawling with crews? Could she step aside and let them do the work she was paying them for, or would she be up in their business, questioning every detail?
By all indications, if left to her own devices, Gillian would implode before the first frost. He didn’t have to do anything to derail her plan. She was doing it herself. It should have made him happy, but somehow he didn’t relish the idea of watching her fail. Still he reminded himself she didn’t have as much to lose as he did.
Meanwhile he was making quiet inquiries into funding in case Temple Territory went back on the market. After Gillian trampled every toe in town and made her retreat to the security of corporate life, he’d be ready to step in and make an offer to the bank. Pap’s place would end up in the family after all. Hunt would restore and remodel the kitchen and dining room, but the rest of the mansion would remain as his grandfather had intended; a memorial to the life of an independent Texas oilman. So what if people still claimed Mason Dixon Temple was crooked as a dog’s hind leg? J. R. Ewing was no better, and he was as big a legend as Hunt’s real life namesake, the great H. L. Hunt.
“So what do you suggest I do instead?” Gillian asked. “Wait patiently and let the holiday season come crashing down on my head?”
“What’s the worst that can happen if you don’t open the doors in December?”
Her eyes couldn’t have been any more incredulous if a horn had sprouted from his forehead. “I can’t believe you’re asking that question, as if missing the deadline were an option.”
“I’m not insinuating it is, but you’re sitting here with too little to keep you busy and too many people to pester, so I’m asking you to consider the worst-case scenario and get it over with.”
She dumped a heaping teaspoon of raw cane sugar into her cup and stirred as if her life depended on it. She couldn’t make a permit materialize, but by golly she would make those crystals dissolve.
“I can’t even consider that possibility.”
“You mean you won’t.”
“No, I mean I can’t. There’s more at stake than I’m willing to admit out loud. The consequences of failure are even steeper than the rewards of success.”
She dipped her chin toward her chest. A curtain of golden hair swung out from behind her ear, hiding Gillian’s face from his view. She must have struck a heavy bargain with her daddy to be so worried about the outcome of her first business venture. Naturally she wanted to do well, but it wouldn’t be the end of the world if she didn’t. She was an only child. If her parents had been willing to bankroll her once, they’d do it again. And again.
“ Buenos días, Miss Gillian and Mr. Hunt,” Alma greeted as she came through the door. Hunt jumped to his feet to help with the bag she carried. Fresh mustard greens sprouted from the top of the recycled shopping sack Alma filled almost daily at the farmer’s market.
“Buenos días, señora,” Gillian responded. “¿Cómo es usted?”
“ Muy bien! You’ve been practicing,” Alma said, complimenting Gillian’s efforts to learn some phrases in Spanish.
“It only took a few days in Texas for me to figure out a crash course was in order.”
“These greens are
“I’m going to call down there again this afternoon.”
“What do you mean, again? Have you been pestering the city’s permit office?”
“I’d hardly refer to keeping a tight rein on my project as pestering.”
Hunt considered this news. Gillian was a pit bull on a bone when it came to the details. Her ability to focus was critical in a host of positive ways during the start-up of a business. But it could get her tail in a wringer if she needled the wrong clerk.
She was putting the same pressure on her contractors. Karl complained that she was on the phone with him at least once a day, and the work hadn’t even begun yet. How would Gillian act once the property was crawling with crews? Could she step aside and let them do the work she was paying them for, or would she be up in their business, questioning every detail?
By all indications, if left to her own devices, Gillian would implode before the first frost. He didn’t have to do anything to derail her plan. She was doing it herself. It should have made him happy, but somehow he didn’t relish the idea of watching her fail. Still he reminded himself she didn’t have as much to lose as he did.
Meanwhile he was making quiet inquiries into funding in case Temple Territory went back on the market. After Gillian trampled every toe in town and made her retreat to the security of corporate life, he’d be ready to step in and make an offer to the bank. Pap’s place would end up in the family after all. Hunt would restore and remodel the kitchen and dining room, but the rest of the mansion would remain as his grandfather had intended; a memorial to the life of an independent Texas oilman. So what if people still claimed Mason Dixon Temple was crooked as a dog’s hind leg? J. R. Ewing was no better, and he was as big a legend as Hunt’s real life namesake, the great H. L. Hunt.
“So what do you suggest I do instead?” Gillian asked. “Wait patiently and let the holiday season come crashing down on my head?”
“What’s the worst that can happen if you don’t open the doors in December?”
Her eyes couldn’t have been any more incredulous if a horn had sprouted from his forehead. “I can’t believe you’re asking that question, as if missing the deadline were an option.”
“I’m not insinuating it is, but you’re sitting here with too little to keep you busy and too many people to pester, so I’m asking you to consider the worst-case scenario and get it over with.”
She dumped a heaping teaspoon of raw cane sugar into her cup and stirred as if her life depended on it. She couldn’t make a permit materialize, but by golly she would make those crystals dissolve.
“I can’t even consider that possibility.”
“You mean you won’t.”
“No, I mean I can’t. There’s more at stake than I’m willing to admit out loud. The consequences of failure are even steeper than the rewards of success.”
She dipped her chin toward her chest. A curtain of golden hair swung out from behind her ear, hiding Gillian’s face from his view. She must have struck a heavy bargain with her daddy to be so worried about the outcome of her first business venture. Naturally she wanted to do well, but it wouldn’t be the end of the world if she didn’t. She was an only child. If her parents had been willing to bankroll her once, they’d do it again. And again.
“ Buenos días, Miss Gillian and Mr. Hunt,” Alma greeted as she came through the door. Hunt jumped to his feet to help with the bag she carried. Fresh mustard greens sprouted from the top of the recycled shopping sack Alma filled almost daily at the farmer’s market.
“Buenos días, señora,” Gillian responded. “¿Cómo es usted?”
“ Muy bien! You’ve been practicing,” Alma said, complimenting Gillian’s efforts to learn some phrases in Spanish.
“It only took a few days in Texas for me to figure out a crash course was in order.”
“These greens are
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