a life of security. He had his reasons, but they were hard to explain. Something about God’s will for his life and being true to his calling. Definitely not ideas he could toss around on a first date.
He laid out the orange cones in a line around the cafeteria and tried to shrug off the suspicion he had wasted the best years of his life as a corporate flunky. He’d tried to make the job work, tried to get involved in other levels besides meeting and greeting VIP visitors to Colorado Supplements. But last week’s meeting with Bob Barrows had clinched his decision. The way Barrows had mocked him for wanting to see the production statistics still rang in his head. He was just the boss’s kid and that would never change. Not there anyway.
It was time for new chapters. He had his savings, a long list of clients built up and an excellent reputation as one of the best snowboarders in Denver.
He was going to focus on disentangling himself from the family company and salvaging his relationship with his father. Sabrina’s teasing expression flickered into his mind. Beautiful, accented women wielding tools were not on the radar, unfortunately. He had plenty of work to do on his own life without making it any more complicated.
* * *
“Sabrina, mija!” Marisol grabbed her in an enormous hug that squeezed the air out of her. Sabrina suspected the enthusiastic greeting was less for her personally than for her toolbox, but she returned it with equal fervor. It was the nicest thing that had happened to her all day and she savored the warmth of her embrace for a moment.
“Show me the equipment and I’ll get started.” She glanced around at the hurrying kitchen staff. Two days before Easter was pretty bad timing. Dios, ayude me. The mission needs this machine to work.
Marisol motioned her to the Hobart chopper and hurried away, calling over her shoulder, “Thank you!” Lines of kitchen staff stood side by side at the long steel tables, chopping vegetables.
Sabrina stood in front of the old Hobart and tried not to groan. They had met before and it hadn’t been a pleasant experience. Sure, it could process six hundred pounds of potatoes an hour, but it was still a cranky old piece of equipment. The blades were sharp and most of the gears were new, but the motor was barely clanking along.
She sighed and set her toolbox on the ground. Running from job to job all that day, she had just sunk into her couch and whispered a prayer of thanksgiving when the phone rang. She’d hustled the girls out of their bath and minutes later been out the door again, Kassey and Gabby in tow. Her mothering skills left a lot to be desired. The poor kids should be in bed, not running all over town.
Straightening up, she brushed back her hair. No, that was no way to think. Her nieces were loved and safe and fed. If everything went well, she’d be their permanent legal guardian within months. She did the best she could and God always filled in the gaps. Self-pity would have to wait for another day.
Soft voices interrupted her thoughts. Marisol had her arm around a young girl, speaking in Spanish to her in soothing tones. She couldn’t have been more than twenty, but looked frail and small. Her face was pinched, her shoulders hunched and the kitchen apron swamped her tiny frame. Large dark eyes darted back and forth, as if searching for danger.
“You’re okay here, Jimena. No one will hurt you. It is loud, but you are safe.”
Sabrina focused on her toolbox and tried not to listen. But the expression on the young girl’s face seemed close to panic. Why would anyone be scared of working in the kitchen? Maybe the equipment made her nervous. She could understand some people, especially those new to the large machines, not feeling comfortable around the loud motors.
“I can leave anytime? I can go?” Jimena’s voice trembled at every word.
“Of course. Do you want to go back to your room?”
Sabrina peeked up to see Marisol ushering the girl back toward the kitchen entryway.
Jimena stopped, taking deep breaths, dark eyes still wide with fear but not as panicked. “I—I would like to try to work here. Just for a little while.”
“Come stand by me. We will work together. And give yourself time. You have been through a very bad experience.” Marisol slipped her arm around the girl’s shoulder. “No one blames you, Jimena. You went for a job. Those men were criminals and they will be caught.”
The two walked slowly back to the gleaming metal table. Jimena stayed close to Marisol, choosing a knife and beginning to work.
Sabrina stared unseeing at the concrete floor. Just when she thought her life was difficult, she heard of something worse. Much worse. She couldn’t even imagine what might have happened to that girl, but she could guess. Stories swirled about young people, especially girls, being lured to job sites and then never being allowed to leave. Months of slave labor was the very least of what happened, and even that was enough to scar a person deeply.
She swallowed. It happened, and more often than anyone thought. A lack of education and family meant desperation. Starvation. Utter poverty. Images of her nieces, laughing and running toward the soccer ball, made her throat constrict. Please, God. Help me keep them from all harm. Help us stay together. Help the judge see that I’m capable of caring for them.
Shrugging off her backpack, she pulled out her coveralls and slipped them on. It was warm in the kitchen, but she never went without her hard hat and safety goggles, even if it meant she was going to be sporting crazy hair and sweaty lines on her face. She glanced at her hands and saw the grease under her nails. Jack had almost swallowed his tongue when she’d shaken his hand. She could see why. A man like Jack was probably surrounded by polished women who got professional haircuts and manicures.
She felt her lips tug up at the thought of what Maya would do at the sight of Jack. Maya, who lived upstairs, was nineteen and officially boy crazy. She would have at least gotten a phone number. The man was obviously athletic, impressively muscled, attired in expensive athletic gear—those things warranted that first glance. Then there was the classically handsome face and shockingly blue eyes, and a matching set of dimples upped the swoon factor. A man like that could have any woman he wanted.
But enough of the daydreaming. She needed to focus or they’d be here all night.
She laid out her small tools and started to remove the front of the food processor. The hinged hood would have to be secured so she could get underneath. Sabrina turned to her toolbox, shaking her head.
“What? It can’t be fixed? We will cancel Easter?” Marisol’s worried voice cut through her thoughts.
“No, sorry, just thinking.” She reached out and squeezed the woman’s shoulder. “I need a prop for the hood.”
Marisol blinked, not understanding.
Sabrina switched to Spanish while peering around the kitchen for something the right height. There had been a metal prop attached to the inside of the Hobart once upon a time, but it had long ago broken off and been discarded. Could she use a chair? No, the legs would be in her way. Frustration coursed through her. She had a small jack that expanded to four feet and supported a hundred pounds, just for machines like the old Hobart, but she’d left it at home.
Marisol lifted a finger in the just-a-minute gesture. “Wait here.”
Sabrina nodded. Not much choice. She could still loosen the parts on the bottom while Marisol went to fetch a small stool or ladder. The machine was clogged with hours-old potato pieces and she scooped the remains to the side, the dank smell clinging to her snug-fitting work gloves. She didn’t mind engine grease, but rotten-vegetable wasn’t high on her list of wearable perfumes.
The enormous kitchen echoed with the steady sound of knives hitting chopping blocks and the dishwasher running in the corner. She felt the rhythm of the place, as comforting as a heartbeat, and relaxed into the work. Her small power drill made a quick job of the screws and in a few minutes the machine stood exposed. Sabrina sat back on her heels and wiped the sweat from her face with one arm.
“Nice hat.”
She startled