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at her table, gave her an audacious grin, and declared, “There, that’s better,” then dug into his lettuce with gusto.
    She had called him a liar, a cheat, and a pervert. What possible course of conversation could successfully follow that? she wondered uneasily. To her relief, he came up with one.
    “I have to admit, you’re the first lady estimator I’ve ever seen.”
    “I’m the first lady estimator I’ve ever seen,” she admitted.
    The deep lines on either side of his mouth dented in. “How long have you been one?”
    “I began in the business three years ago and have been an estimator for a little over a year.”
    “Why?”
    Her eyebrows curled in puzzlement. “What do you mean, why?”
    “Why choose a career in a tough business like this that’s traditionally been dominated by men?”
    “Because it pays well.”
    He accepted that with a nod of the head. “You work for old Floyd Thorpe, huh?”
    “Yes, I’m sorry to say I do.”
    “He’s a hell-raiser that one—a real shyster.”
    Startled, she looked into his dark eyes. “You know him?”
    “He’s been around Kansas City a long time. Everybody there knows old Floyd. It’s his kind that give construction companies a bad reputation. He’s as crooked as a dog’s hind leg.”
    “But he knows how to make money so he’s excused, right?” she questioned sarcastically.
    Refusing to rise to the bait, Sam asked, “If you dislike him so much, why work for him?”
    “With the construction industry tied directly to new-home starts, need you ask?”
    He wiped his mouth on a napkin. “No, I guess there aren’t a lot of job openings right now, are there?”
    She poked at the fleshy wedge of tomato in her bowl as if it were Thorpe’s fat belly. “The only opening I’ve seen lately is the one between Floyd Thorpe’s front teeth when he spits his slimy tobacco juice at my feet.”
    Brown laughed appreciatively, prompting Lee to look up with a devilish expression on her face. “Can I share a very private joke with you? One that’s exceedingly irreverent?”
    “I love irreverent jokes.”
    Lee sucked on her bottom lip, then confessed, “Privately, when I’m disgusted with my boss, which I usually am, I call him by his initials.”
    “Which are?”
    “F.A.T.” Brown rocked back in his chair and laughed while she continued, “He doesn’t like it generally known what his middle initial is. Maybe that’s why I take such pleasure in including it.”
    The fine white lines about Brown’s eyes disappeared as he crinkled a smile and watched as she jabbed repeatedly at the tomato. His eyes passed over high, wide cheekbones, the proud, straight nose, the black straight hair caught behind her ear, in a plump, smooth bun, the copper skin and near-black eyes.
    “You’re Indian, right?”
    Her eyes flashed up defiantly, and the feathers swung against her jaws. “One quarter Cherokee. He never lets me forget it.”
    Brown glanced at the feathers but withheld comment. “What you’re saying is old Fat knows which side his bread is buttered on, huh?”
    “Exactly. He’s asked me no less than five times to accept the honorary title of vice-president.”
    “Let me guess.” Brown leaned forward. “That would qualify him as a minority contractor, right?”
    She grinned ruefully. “ And make him eligible to bid any and all Minority Business Enterprise jobs the federal government lets, either as prime contractor or subcontractor. As you know, they seem to be the best bet going right now.”
    He studied her from beneath black brows shaped like boomerangs. “I take it you’ve declined the vice-presidency.”
    “With great relish.”
    Again Sam Brown leaned back in his chair and laughed richly. “There are a few contractors in the Kansas City area who’d grin from ear to ear to hear somebody put one over on F.A. after all the times he’s pulled underhanded deals.”
    “I’d grin wider myself if it weren’t for the increase in pay I’m turning