Jean MacIntyre - Dream Lover.pdf - ツ angielskie ツ - olkaDr

DEDICATION

To my Dad, Alan E. Thompson,

for giving me a love of writing,

along with his quirky sense of humour….

…and to my very handsome nephew, Jamie Montreuil, for

allowing me to put his ‘head in the clouds.’

Published by Jean MacIntyre at Smashwords

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of

the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to

actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Smashwords Edition License Notes

Thank you for downloading this free ebook. You are welcome to share it with

your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-

commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form. If

you enjoyed this book, please return to Smashwords.com to discover other works

by this author. Thank you for your support.

CHAPTER ONE

What the hell , Charly thought , I've already lost the job so there's nothing to be

gained by being polite.

"Very well, Mr. McKinnon. But I'd like to make a small wager with you. If I win,

you hire me. If I lose, you hire any man you like."

As she was speaking, Charly saw the muscle in his jaw relax, the hostility in his

eyes change to interest and speculation.

"And the nature of this wager?"

"You choose any company files you wish and give them to me. I'll carry out the

inspections under your supervision. Today is Friday. The wager will start

Monday morning at nine and end at five p.m. on Wednesday, if you can spare the

time, of course. And I'll work without pay. You can make my salary retroactive

when you hire me Thursday. Have we got a deal?"

"We have a deal, Miss Benson. I'll meet you here at nine on Monday. But don't

spend any money yet." And he smiled.

It was the first time his face had relaxed since the interview started two hours

earlier. But the smile wasn't friendly. It was smug, a definite smirk. Ah well,

she'd won the first round.

Picking up her résumé she stood, said, "Thank you for your time, gentlemen," and

left the room. The tension that had been with her for the past several hours

drained away as she shrugged into her coat, under the curious glances of the office

staff.

Moving towards the door, she swung around as she heard her name being called.

Bearing down on her was a still-smug Mr. McKinnon, some files held loosely in

his right hand.

"You might like to look these over this weekend. We'll do three a day. See you

Monday."

Taking the files from him, Charly had time only to murmur, "Thank you," before

he had turned back to the boardroom.

Tucking them into her carrying case, along with her résumé, Charly went out and

got behind the wheel of her SUV. Aware that she was still under the surveillance

of the staff, she started the engine and moved off down the road, out of their line

of vision.

Why the devil hadn't the manager told her that Mr. McKinnon was a confirmed

misogynist? Was it just her he hated, or was it women in general? The manager

had assured her the job was as good as hers two days ago, after reviewing her

qualifications and interviewing her. He'd said the meeting with the Board of

Directors was only a formality and a courtesy to herself and the directors.

In retrospect, it was clear he'd known beforehand that there'd be a problem with

McKinnon. Suddenly she was struck with the feeling that she'd been set up. Mr.

McKinnon had bristled from the moment she had walked in the door and the

battle lines had been firmly drawn. His questions had been repeatedly slanted

towards the problem that her femininity would cause. Also her size.

Was it possible he hadn't been told she was a woman? If he'd seen her application

and read her name as Charly Benson, he might have assumed she was a man.

Well, she'd show him!

Five years of intensive study had prepared her well for this job and she knew she

could do it, given the chance. She had spent three years at Mohawk College

studying for her Insurance Institute Certificate and had passed in the top five of

her class. Then, knowing she'd need an edge because she was trying to break into

a man's field, she had spent two more years at Conestoga College in Guelph

graduating with an Electrical Technician's papers.

So now, she was well qualified, maybe even over-qualified and quite aware that

Mr. McKinnon's doubts were well founded. Growing up on her parents' dairy

farm near Picton, she had known of the hesitation with which farmers were

accepting women in men's roles.

Girls now were frequently a part of relief milking teams and were also employed

as milk inspectors. She found it amusing that wives and daughters were often

pressed into service driving tractors with heavy equipment behind them, and often

helped with the milking, feeding and cleaning around the barns. But just let one

of them apply for a job that was traditionally carried out by a man and watch the

hackles rise!

Leaving the town of Picton behind, Charly drove, without conscious thought, to

her parents' retirement home on the outskirts of Belleville. They had sold the

farm last year because Charly was an only child and had no desire to be a dairy

farmer - just a farm Insurance Inspector.

So much was riding on this job. She had bought the SUV with a loan from her

Dad, had student loans to pay back, and wanted to rent or buy her own place so

her parents could enjoy their retirement without having her underfoot. Monday,

Tuesday and Wednesday would probably be the three most important days in her

life so far, and she had to make good.

McKinnon's smug smile likely meant that he'd chosen the most difficult files he

could find and was probably anticipating her downfall with great glee. To be

forewarned was to be forearmed and she would be ready for him. There was

nothing she could do about her five foot four inches in height, but she could

research and memorize the files until she knew them inside out.

Telling her parents only that she'd been given a three-day trial period, Charly

poured over the files until she felt she knew everything there was to know about

them. She had noticed the one right away that was causing McKinnon to smirk.

There was a note on it suggesting that the policy should be cancelled immediately

if repairs to the barn weren't completed. It was dated several weeks ago. The file

also told her there was no mortgage, so the farmer was probably in good shape

financially and his buildings, pigs and equipment were well insured. So what was

his problem?

There didn't appear to be anything remarkable about the other two files, but she

strongly suspected that they were also women-haters. There would be something

to look out for anyway.

She checked her digital camera over carefully and made sure she had an extra

fully charged battery. Although brokers were required to submit photos with the

policy applications, she knew some would be missing and others outdated.

As Monday morning approached, she found herself becoming increasingly

nervous. She had purchased a detailed county map and had located the three

farms, then planned the route she would follow in order to visit them without

backtracking.

Her next problem was what to wear. She had to look professional but her clothes

also had to be wash and wear, so she had bought five serviceable jumpsuits in

deep pastel colours. They were sturdy, washable and quite attractive with an

elasticized waist that emphasized her figure.

But she didn't want to wear one on Monday when Mr. McKinnon would be

accompanying her. Finally deciding on a pair of chocolate brown trousers and tan

blazer, with a tailored antique-gold shirt, she braided her waist-length auburn hair

into one long plait which she twined into a knot on the back of her head. Slipping

her feet into a comfortable pair of sand desert boots, she picked up matching

clutch purse, her files and camera and headed for the car, pulse racing and a knot

in her stomach.

The drive to Picton passed in a blur as her mind concentrated on the files and the

information she had tried to assimilate. Anything to avoid thinking about Mr.

McKinnon and the prospect of having him looking over her shoulder every inch

of the way. But thoughts of him rushed solidly to the forefront when she pulled up

outside the office at 8:50 to find him already there. All six feet two inches, leaning

against his black Cadillac, legs crossed at the ankles, arms folded across his chest.

Determined to hide her nervousness, she drove up beside him and, reaching across

the width of the car, opened the door for him.

"Good morning, Mr. McKinnon. All set?"

Sliding his body into her little SUV wasn't easy and he grunted as he tried to

arrange his long legs between the dash and the seat.

"Sure I'm all set. I'm just along for the ride. Remember?" He glanced at her,

unsmiling, implacable, giving nothing away. Certainly not friendly!

So that's how it's going to be , she thought, as she pulled away from the curb. We'll

see . Glancing side-ways, she realized he hadn't fastened his seatbelt and couldn't

resist telling him to do so.

"Buckle up, please."

"Is your driving that bad?" No sarcasm, but no humour was evident either.

"My driving record is excellent, but why take a chance? Besides, the fines are

heavy."

As he buckled up, she noticed how well dressed he was, and almost giggled aloud

when she realized they must look like Mutt and Jeff because his outfit, with the

exception of the shirt, was almost the same as hers. Brown slacks with a knife-

sharp crease, tan blazer and brown loafers, and almost a foot of difference in their

heights.

"Something amusing you, Miss Benson?"

The words were spoken sharply, and Charly realized he might think she was

laughing at him, so decided to come clean.

"It just struck me that we might have the same tailor, judging by our appearances.

Will anyone believe this wasn't planned?"

"Frankly, I couldn't care less. I'm only concerned with your performance, not

your looks."

And that puts me firmly in my place, I guess, God, what a humourless creature!

How does his wife stand it?

Silence reigned for several miles, and it wasn't until they neared Mr. Baker's farm

that he broke it.

"I assume you're doing Baker's first?"

At her nod of agreement, he continued, "You know what's required?"

"Check the state of his barn, primarily, and inform him he has one week to

complete all necessary repairs, or his policy will be cancelled. Can I ask why it

hasn’t been done before now?"

"Mainly because we've been without an inspector for some time. But I'm sure

you'll manage."

Without looking at him, she could again sense the smugness in his answer. But

there was also an undercurrent of bitterness in his voice when he mentioned the

former inspector and she wondered briefly about it.

She was lucky - very lucky. Because Mr. Baker was just coming from the barn

with a hammer and a fistful of nails as she stepped out of the car. Quickly, she

introduced herself and Mr. McKinnon, and informed him why she was there. It

didn't take long to realize that he was normally crotchety and crabby, and didn't

like strangers. But she poured on the charm, praised the efforts he had made in

repairing the missing boards on the barn, and admired his antique tractor. When

he realized she knew what she was talking about, he began to unbend and walked

with her as she made her inspection.

While her eyes took in details of electrical wiring, general housekeeping, the

presence of fire extinguishers, and she made quick notes on her clipboard, he told

her he'd been in the hospital for an operation, and that his hired man hadn't

bothered with maintenance. She told him about her Dad's farm and about a pet

pig she'd had once, and all the while she was aware of Mr. McKinnon just behind

them, watching and listening.

Out in the sunshine again, she looked around the machine shed and workshop, but

could find nothing to criticize.

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