Not Just a Cowboy (Texas Rescue) Page 2

  Her administrative team, all wearing Texas Rescue shirts, kept working as Patricia headed for the card table that served as her desk. Only a few nodded at her. The rest seemed almost unnaturally busy.

  She didn’t take their lack of acknowledgment personally. She was the boss. They were trying to look too busy for her to question their workload.

  She was grateful, actually, to slip into the metal folding chair without making any small talk. She placed her clipboard and radio to the right of her waiting laptop, opened its lid, and waited for the computer to boot up—none of which took her mind off that kiss between Quinn and Diana.

  The kind of desire she’d just witnessed had been different than the kind she was generally exposed to. Her father was on his third wife and his millionth mistress. He was all about the pet names, the slap-and-tickle, the almost juvenile quest for sex. Quinn had been looking at the woman he loved in a totally different way. Like she was important—no, crucial. Like she was his world.

  That kind of desire would be demanding. Unpleasantly so. Burdensome, to have a man need her so completely. It would only get in the way of what Patricia wanted in life.

  She didn’t want the perpetual adolescence of a man like her father, but neither did she want the intensity of a soul mate. No, she just wanted a husband who would be an asset, who would efficiently partner her as she achieved her goals in life. A man who would slide as seamlessly into her world as one of her beloved sailboats glided through water, barely disturbing the surface.

  “Coming through!”

  A fireman crashed through the tent’s door, dragging another firefighter behind him. He pulled off his friend’s helmet and tossed it on the ground as he yelled “Water!”

  No one moved. Lined up in their matching polo shirts, Patricia’s entire workforce froze with their fingers over their keyboards.

  The next second, Patricia was on her feet, coming around her table toward the men. Clearly, the second guy was overheated and on the verge of passing out.

  “There’s cool air here,” she said, stepping out of the way as she pointed toward the side of the tent where the blower was located.

  The first man, a giant in his helmet and bulky uniform, hauled his stumbling buddy past her. He dropped to one knee as he lowered the man to the asphalt in front of the cooler, then took his own helmet off and set it lightly on the ground. He let his head drop as he took one long, deep breath. His black hair was soaked through and his own skin was flushed from heat, but then his one-second break was apparently over, and he was back in motion.

  To Patricia, the two men were a heap of reflective tape, canvas straps, rubber boots, and flashlights tucked into more straps and pockets on their bulky, beige uniforms. It took her a moment to make out what the first man was doing. He’d zeroed in on the toggles that held his friend’s coat shut.

  His friend fumbled at his own chest with clunky, gloved hands. “S’my coat.” His words were slurred. “I get it.”

  “Yeah, sure.” The black-haired fireman pushed his buddy’s hands out of the way and kept unfastening.

  Patricia knelt beside him, ignoring the rough asphalt on her bare knees, and tugged off the overheated man’s gloves. “Do you want me to radio the ER? We’ve got a back board in here that we could use as a stretcher.” She turned to speak over her shoulder to the nearest person. “Bring me my walkie-talkie.”

  “He’ll be fine once he’s cooled off.” The black-haired man tugged the heavy coat all the way off his friend, then let the man lie flat on his back in front of the cooler. “You’re feeling better already, Zach, right? Zach?”

  He slapped the man’s cheek lightly with the back of his gloved hand. By now, Patricia’s team had gathered around. She took her walkie-talkie from her staff member, and the black-haired firefighter took one of the bottles of water that were being held out. He dumped it over Zach’s hair. The water puddled onto the asphalt beneath him.

  Zach pushed his arm away, still clumsy in his movements. “Stop it, jackass.” His words were less slurred, a good sign, even if he spoke less like an admin clerk and more like a...well, like a fireman.

  The black-haired man turned to Patricia. Their eyes met, and after a second’s pause, he winked. “Told you. He’s feeling better already.”

  Patricia kept looking at his impossibly handsome, cheerfully confident face and forgot whatever it was she’d been about to say. He had blue eyes—not just any blue, but the exact shade that reminded her of sailing on blue water, under blue sky.

  He shook off his own gloves in one sharp movement, then shrugged out of his own coat. As he bent to stuff his coat under his friend’s head, Patricia bent, too, but there was nothing for her to do as he efficiently lifted his friend’s head with one hand and shoved his coat in place. She straightened up, sitting back on her heels and brushing the grit off her knees, but she stayed next to him, ready to help, watching as he worked.

  As the muscles in his shoulders moved, his red suspenders crisscrossed over the black T-shirt he wore. A brief glance down the man’s back showed that those suspenders were necessary; his torso was lean and trim, while the canvas firefighter pants were loose and baggy. The stereotypical red straps weren’t just designed to make women swoon....

  She looked away quickly when he finished his makeshift pillow and straightened, too.

  Propping his left forearm on his bended knee, he extended his right toward her in a handshake.

  “Thank you for your help, ma’am.” His voice was as deep as he was large. Deep, with a Texas twang. “My name’s Luke Waterson. Pleased to meet you.”

  He had cowboy manners even when he was under stress, introducing himself like this. She had to hand that to him as she placed her hand in his. His skin was warm and dry as she returned his handshake in a businesslike manner. He was still a giant of a man without his fireman’s coat, broad-chested with shoulder and arm muscles that were clearly defined under his T-shirt, but he returned her shake without a trace of the bone-crushing grip many men used.

  Patricia knew some men just weren’t aware how strong their grip was, but others—including her father’s cronies—used the too-hard handshake as a form of intimidation. If this fireman had wanted to play that game, Patricia would have been ready.

  But he didn’t hold her hand too long or too tightly. He let her go, but that grin deepened, lifting one corner of his mouth higher than the other as he kept those sailing-blue eyes on her.

  Patricia looked away first. Not very Cargill of her, but then again, men didn’t often look at her the way this young fireman did. A bone-crushing handshake? No problem. She could handle that. But to be winked at and grinned at like she was...was...a college coed...

  As if.

  She’d never been that flirtatious and carefree, not even when she’d been a college co-ed. In college, she’d come home on weekends to make sure her father’s latest bed partner wasn’t robbing them blind. She’d gone over every expense and co-signed every one of her father’s checks before they were cashed.

  Lord, college had been a decade ago. What was it about this fireman—this Luke Waterson—that made her think of being twenty-two instead of thirty-two?

  He used his heavy helmet to fan Zach’s face, a move that made his well-defined bicep flex. Frankly, the man looked like a male stripper in a fireman’s costume. Maybe that explained her sudden coed feeling. When she’d been twenty-two, she’d been to enough bachelorette parties to last her a lifetime. If she’d seen one male review with imitation firemen dancing for money, then she’d seen them all.

  Those brides had been divorced and planning their second weddings as everyone in her social circle approached their thirtieth birthdays together. Patricia had declined the second round of bachelorette weekends. Always the bridesmaid, happy to have escaped being the bride.

  Until this year.

  The real fireman used his forearm to swipe his forehead, the bulge of his bicep exactly at her eye level. Oh, this Luke was eye candy for women, all rig
ht. Muscular, physical—

  There’s no reason to be so distracted. This is absurd.

  She was head of personnel, and this man was wiping his brow because he was nearly as overheated as the unfortunate Zach-on-the-asphalt. If Patricia didn’t take care of Luke, she’d soon be short two firemen on her personnel roster.

  She plucked one of the water bottles out of her nearest staff member’s hand. The young lady didn’t move, her gaze fastened upon Luke.

  Annoyed with her staff for being as distracted as she’d let herself be, Patricia stood and looked around the circle of people. “Thank you. You can go back to work now.”

  Her team scattered. Patricia felt more herself. It was good to be in charge. Good to have a job to do.

  She handed Luke the bottle. “Drink this.”

  He obeyed her, but that grin never quite left his face as he knelt on one knee before her, keeping his gaze on her face as he tilted his head back and let the cool water flow down his throat.

  Look away, Patricia. Use your radio. Contact the fire chief and let him know where his men are. Look away.

  But she didn’t. She watched the man drink his water, watched him pitch it effortlessly, accurately, into the nearest trash can, and watched him resume his casual position, one forearm on his knee. He reached down to press his fingers against his friend’s wrist once more.

  “He’s fine,” Luke announced after a few seconds of counting heartbeats. “It’s easy to get light-headed out there. Nothing some shade and some water couldn’t fix.”

  “Is there anything else I can get you?”

  He touched the brim of an imaginary hat in a two-fingered salute. “Thank you for the water, ma’am. You never told me your name.”

  “Patricia,” she said. She had to clear her throat delicately, for the briefest moment, and then, instead of describing herself the way she always did, as Patricia Cargill, she said something different. “I’m the personnel director.”

  “Well, Patricia,” he said, and then he smiled, a flash of white teeth and an expression of genuine pleasure in his tanned face. His grin had only been a tease compared to this stunning smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  He meant it, she could tell. He’d checked her out, he found her attractive, and that smile was inviting her in, inviting her to smile, too, inviting her to enjoy a little getting-to-know you flirtation.

  Patricia couldn’t smile back. She wasn’t like that. Flirting for fun was a luxury for people who didn’t have obligations. She’d never learned how to do it. She’d known only responsibility, even when she’d been twenty-two and men had been interested in her for more than her bank account and Cargill connections.

  It almost hurt to look at Luke Waterson’s open smile, at the clear expression of approval and interest on his handsome face.

  She preferred not to waste energy on useless emotions. And so, she nodded politely and she turned away.

  Chapter Two

  So, the princess doesn’t want to play.

  He’d given her the smile, the one that had kept the woman of his choice by his side for as long as he could remember, whether at a bonfire after a high school football game or at a bar after a livestock show in Austin. Patricia-the-personnel-director, apparently, was immune.

  That was a real shame. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been around a woman who was so...smooth. Smooth hair, smooth skin, a woman who handled everything and everyone smoothly. She spoke in a smooth, neutral voice, yet everyone ran to do her bidding as if she were a drill sergeant barking out threats. This Patricia was the real deal, a Texas beauty who looked like a princess but had a spine of steel.

  It was a shame she wasn’t interested. He watched her walk away, headed for the chair she’d been in when he’d first hauled Zach in here. He liked the way she moved, brisk and businesslike.

  Businesslike. He should have thought of that. She was clearly the boss in here. The boss couldn’t flirt in front of her staff. If they weren’t in her office space, would he be able to get her to smile?

  Luke switched his helmet to his other hand and kept fanning Zach. Maybe it wasn’t that she wasn’t interested. She’d been a little flustered when they’d shaken hands, not knowing quite where to look. Maybe she wasn’t interested in being interested. That was a whole different ballgame.

  She wore diamonds in her ears, discreet little studs, but none on her fingers. If she wasn’t married or engaged, why not give him a smile?

  When he reached for Zach’s wrist to check his pulse, Zach shook him off. “I’ll live,” he said, managing to sound tired and pissed off at the same time.

  Patricia picked up a clipboard and turned their way.

  Luke ducked a bit closer to Zach and spoke under his breath. “Be a pal and lay still a while longer.”

  Patricia returned to his side of the tent. She didn’t crack a smile, but she crouched beside him once more. Her arm brushed his, and she jerked a tiny bit, as if she’d touched something she shouldn’t. It was the smallest of breaks in an otherwise excellent poker face, but Luke was certain: she wasn’t totally immune to him.

  He sure as hell wasn’t immune to her.

  “You can stop fanning him,” she said. “Rest. I’ll take over. You need to cool down, too.”

  Aw, yeah. Talk to me some more. Her voice fit her looks, sophisticated, assured. She had the faintest accent, enough to identify her as a Texan, but she was no cowgirl. She had the voice of a woman raised with Big Money, the kind of woman who’d gone to college and majored in art history, he’d bet.

  She started fanning Zach with her clipboard, so Luke put his helmet down and studied her profile until she glanced at him. She had eyes as dark brown as her hair was pale blond. She didn’t drop her gaze this time. Luke was torn between admiring her self-control and wishing she’d act flustered once more.

  She kept fanning Zach with her clipboard in one hand. With her other hand, she handed Luke another bottle of water. “Here, drink this. You’re as hot as he is.”

  He nearly laughed at that. Maybe she wouldn’t flirt back with him in front of her staff, but he couldn’t resist such an easy opening. “Well, ma’am, I’d say thank you for the compliment, but only being as hot as Zach isn’t truly that flattering. He’s just your average-looking slacker, laying down on the job.”

  Zach grunted, but didn’t bother opening his eyes. Zach had always been a good wing man.

  Luke gestured toward him with the bottle of water. “That eloquent grunt means Zach agrees.”

  Patricia looked away again, but not in a flustered way. Nope, now she just raised one brow in faint disgust and turned away, the princess not lowering herself to comment on the peasants’ looks.

  Luke chuckled, enjoying this brush with a Texas beauty queen, even if it led nowhere. It was something else to be in the presence of royalty.

  She pointed toward the unopened bottle in his hand, but before she could repeat her order, he raised his hand in surrender.

  “I’m drinking. I’m drinking.” He had to stop chuckling in order to down the second bottle of water.

  Princess Patricia stood abruptly, but she only stepped a foot away to grab a metal folding chair and then place it next to him. “Here, you’ll be more comfortable.”

  Not quite royalty, then. Or at least, she was hard-working and considerate royalty.

  “Thank you, ma’am.” Before rising, he clapped Zach on the shoulder. “How ’bout you sit up and drink some water now?”

  “I’ll get another chair,” Patricia said.

  Then it happened. She turned away for a chair. He turned away to extend his hand to Zach. He hauled his friend to his feet; she set a folding chair next to the first. They finished at the same second, turning back toward each other, and collided. He steadied her with two hands. Her elegant fingers grasped the edge of his red suspender for balance. The rubber edge of her boat shoe caught on the rubber of his fireman’s boot, tripping her, and she clung a little tighter. She was tall, but he w
as taller, and into the side of his neck she exhaled a single, awkward, warm and breathy “oh.”

  In that moment, as he stood solidly on his own two feet and held Patricia in his hands, Luke knew that a slender, soft woman had just knocked all two hundred pounds of him flat on his back.

  She looked away, then down on the ground, flustered again. The diamond stud in her delicate ear lobe grazed his chin. She let go of his suspender and pushed back a half step, turning to collect her clipboard off the chair she’d placed for him. “Stay as long as you need to,” she said without making eye contact. “I’ll let the fire chief know where you are.”

  She left, pushing the tent flap out of her way as impatiently as Luke had when he’d been coming in.

  Luke sat heavily where her clipboard had been, frowning as Zach guzzled his water next to him. Patricia had felt every bit of electricity he had, he’d bet the ranch on it. He’d never had a woman who was so attracted to him be so eager to get away from him. There had to be a reason, but damn if he could guess what it might be.

  Zach finished his water and started a second bottle. Halfway through, he stopped for a breath. He jerked his head toward the door flap. “Give it up now, rookie. You aren’t getting a piece of that action. Ever.”

  “Not here,” Luke silenced him tersely. There were too many people listening to the firemen who’d landed themselves in the middle of a bunch of paper pushers. Luke sat back against the cold metal of the chair and crossed his arms over his chest.

  So, Patricia didn’t want to flirt. He could understand that on one level, but he felt instinctively that it went beyond being on duty or in charge. She’d hightailed it out of there, if such an elegant woman could be said to move so hastily, yet they’d just experienced chemistry with a capital C. Chemistry that couldn’t be denied. Chemistry that Luke wanted to explore.

  “You ready?” he asked Zach. Without waiting for Zach’s grunt of agreement, Luke stood, then started picking up coats, gloves, and his helmet. As the men headed toward the exit, they passed Patricia’s table. Luke dropped one glove, kicking it mid-stride to land precisely under a chair. Her chair.