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grinned, pausing from his task of writing down the myriad messages he needed to return. “‘Wild past’ is right. Remember Mrs. Tiller? She invited us over for dinner, and you brought all those garter snakes in your pockets. I thought the poor woman was going to have a heart attack when one slithered past her plate.”
    Rick shook his head. “How could I forget? You gave me a whippin’ the likes of which I’d never had before.”
    “Hers was about the only good home cookin’ we ever got, besides what Granny Fanny gave us. And Mrs. Tiller never invited us back after that. I coulda killed you,” Cole said, but he felt a prick of conscience all the same. Had he been too hard on Rick? Is that what stood between them? If so, it hardly seemed fair. Cole had been young and desperate to keep them all from winding up in separate foster homes. Maybe he’d forced Rick to knuckle under one too many times—but Rick had been so difficult. Riding himhard was the only way Cole could keep him in line. “I didn’t pound on you because I liked it,” he added, more gruffly than he’d intended.
    Rick shrugged. “Hell, no. I deserved it.”
    For the first time in his life, Cole was tempted to share with him how heavy the load of raising his four brothers had been, how young and inexperienced he’d been at the time, how panicked. There were occasions he had gone without supper so his brothers could have more. Other days he took their turn sitting with Mom so they could get enough sleep to be ready for school. But Rick would never understand what life had been like for Cole. No one would ever understand. Which was why those years were better forgotten, along with Feld, the dusty little town where it had all happened.
    “So, you gonna tell me about your lady friend?” Rick asked.
    Cole ripped off the sheet of paper he’d been writing on and jammed the pen back into its holder. “She’s just someone who’s looking for a job.”
    “She got her real-estate license?”
    “No.”
    “She a contractor, bricklayer, landscaper or roofer?”
    “She look like a subcontractor to you?”
    Rick chuckled. “Hardly.” He punched a few buttons on his calculator and scribbled something down. “She was mighty fine, though. What does she do?”
    “She married out of high school. She’s recently divorced with three kids. I doubt she’s worked many places.”
    “So did you give her the ‘boy, did you screw up not getting a college education’ speech?”
    Cole chose to ignore Rick’s needling. Whatever his brother held against him, he couldn’t change the past. “I told her we don’t have anything except the sales position right now.”
    “That’s true.”
    Taking his messages with him, Cole headed down the hall. He needed to get dressed before anyone else arrived. “You think we could use some help here, around the office?” he asked, turning back.
    Rick looked up. “Another salary wouldn’t translate well on the projected profit and loss statement we need to provide the bank for that new loan.”
    “Yeah, you’re right. Forget it.”
    Cole went to his room and dressed in a pair of jeans and a Perrini Homes T-shirt, then settled in his private office, where his primary tool was the telephone. Rick, with his natural talent for numbers, was the company controller and ran the front office, and Chad, as general contractor, handled most of the subs. But there were still a million details Cole felt more comfortable handling himself—like meeting with the county planners, coordinating inspections, dealing with the appraisers, signing the escrow papers when each house closed, approving new building plans and arranging financing for future projects. His days were long, but he loved his work. Nothing was more fulfilling than seeing a family pull into the driveway of a house he’d built, get out and water their flowers, or stand at the curb and talk to their neighbors.
    But today Cole couldn’t seem to settle into his usual routine.