Baby, Come Home by Stephanie Bond Page B

site. “That will allow us to work both sides of the creek and provide an alternate route for emergencies. And later, for bringing heavier loads to and from your recycling plant. I’m thinking something fast and strong, like prefab steel.”
    “That’s not in the budget,” Kendall argued. “Besides, I thought you said you could design this covered bridge to withstand commercial loads.”
    “I can,” Amy said, her ire rising. “But a construction bridge will cut assembly time of the new bridge in half.”
    “So you can leave even sooner than you’d planned?” Kendall lobbed back.
    Amy’s anger sizzled as they glared at each other. The ringing of the telephone broke the moment.
    Marcus glanced at the handset. “Can you two call a truce until we wrap up this phone call? Remember, these people are giving us money. It would be nice to present a united front.”
    Amy and Kendall exchanged brooding glances, then took seats opposite Marcus, their body language stiff. When Marcus answered the call and made introductions all around, Amy pushed down her emotions, and went into presentation mode. She’d worked with preservationists before and spoke to their concerns and motivations. They were delighted to hear the original blueprints for the bridge had been “located,” and ran down a list of forms they would need before releasing the grant money.
    “Who is the primary construction contact?” the representative asked.
    “I am,” Amy and Kendall said in unison, then frowned at each other.
    “Actually,” Marcus said with a deceptively mild tone as he glanced back and forth between them, “ I am. Please send those forms to the attention of Marcus Armstrong. Thank you for your time.” He pushed the disconnect button, then presented both of them with a flat smile. “I need a covered bridge in twelve weeks. Work it out.” He stood and retrieved a coat from a peg, then walked out.
    When the office door banged shut, Amy pursed her mouth. “I thought you said we could be professional.”
    “We can be,” he said, his jaw set stubbornly…so much like Tony. “I guess that means we’ll have to agree to disagree.”
    “We’re very different people,” she added.
    “Always were,” he confirmed.
    His comment stung, but she preferred the truth to fantasy.
    “But I’m starting to see the wisdom in building a construction bridge,” he said.
    Amy met his gaze. So she could leave even sooner than she’d planned.
    “Who knows,” he said casually, “maybe we could cut assembly time down to ten weeks.”
    “Or even eight,” she offered.
    He nodded. “I’ll get a crew on it tomorrow.”
    “Good,” she said.
    “Good,” he said.

11
    F or the next couple of days, Amy concentrated on updating the Evermore Bridge plans to support the deadweight of the bridge itself, along with the live weight of whatever vehicles and loads would be transported over it. She added expansion joints to allow for the extreme temperature swings here in the mountains, and steel crossbeams that should, if ever tested, withstand the forces of an F4 tornado in the unlikely event a similar disaster ever befell the town again. Reinforced concrete in the center of the stacked-stone piers would keep the bridge rooted more securely, and strategic openings near the roof would allow wind to pass through the bridge rather than buffeting it side to side.
    She sat on a boulder overseeing the site where workers were deconstructing the piers as carefully as possible to preserve the stones to be used again. The rock and concrete abutments that supported the bridge where it met land and water were in surprisingly good shape, but would be shored up with reinforced concrete. A crew was building walls to divert creek water away from the abutments to allow the area to dry before the pouring could begin.
    When Nikki Salinger had first arrived in Sweetness, the workers had balked at being treated by a “female” doctor, so Amy wasn’t sure what her own