Roughneck Cowboy (7 page)

“What?”

“I'm serious about the dating part.”

Me, too
. “I understand.”

“And, Travis?”

“What?”

“That kiss never happened.”

“I know.” At least he and Sara were on the same page about their relationship. If only he hadn't kissed her—now there was no denying he was attracted to her. Acknowledging his attraction to Sara would force Travis to keep his guard up and remain focused on his mission.

Easier said than done.

 

H
E'S EARLY.

Sara moved the living-room curtain and watched Travis park his truck in front of her house. Today had been the most embarrassing, wonderful, worrisome, exciting day in recent memory—and it wasn't over yet.

Her first glimpse of Travis beneath the glow of the streetlight stole her breath. She replayed in her mind the kiss they'd shared in the pasture, and her heart skipped a beat. She'd been kissed a few times in her thirty years but never had a man's mouth triggered mini-earthquakes in all her X-rated places.

Her reaction—rather, overreaction—to a simple kiss served to remind her that she had no business lusting after Travis. It didn't matter if he'd grown up away from the powerful influence of his father. Travis was a Cartwright—the enemy. She'd been fooled once by a smooth-talking, handsome man—no way would she
travel that road again. This time she intended to keep her wits about her and not fall victim to a man's flirty compliments.

Before Travis shut the truck door, he reached into the cab and removed…flowers?
Darn him
. This wasn't a date.

She hurried into the front hall and checked her appearance in the antique mirror she'd purchased at an estate sale. Most days she wore little makeup, but tonight she'd dusted a smoky gray shadow over her eyelids and had added a touch of mauve color to her lips. Worried Travis might believe she'd dolled herself up for him, she'd skipped the perfume and dressed down in a pair of jeans and a navy crew-neck sweater.

The bell bonged. She drew in a steadying breath, then opened the door. “Hello, Travis.”

“Wow that's ugly.”

For a split-second she thought he meant her, then she caught him staring at the cat. She'd thought she'd locked her roommate in the laundry room. “That's Walter.” She scooped up the cat and stepped aside so Travis could enter her home. “He adopted me.”

One morning she'd opened the front door and found the black cat with orange spots lying on her porch, beaten and exhausted. There were bald spots in his fur, one eye had been damaged and couldn't be saved, so the vet had sewn it shut. A chunk of flesh had been missing from his ear, and his tail had been broken.

Once she'd nursed Walter back to life, Sara had intended to release him into the wild, but the cat had refused to leave the house. The one time she'd set him outside, he'd clawed deep scratches in the front door. Since then, he'd remained an indoor cat.

Travis lifted a hand to pet Walter, but yanked it back when the cat hissed.

“Not too friendly, huh, Walt?”

Sara closed the door, then set the cat on the floor. Walter ran off. She motioned to the standing coat rack in the corner and Travis hung up his jacket. The earthy scent of aged leather and musky cologne drifted beneath her nose—much more appealing than the eau de poo he'd worn earlier.

“For you.” He held out a bouquet of daisies.

Daisies. Not roses. Roses were for lovers—daisies for friends, which she and Travis could never be.

“Thank you.” Sara led the way into the kitchen. Travis hovered in the doorway while she arranged the flowers in a vase she confiscated from beneath the sink.

“Smells great. Do you cook real meals all the time?”

“Depends on what you call a real meal?” Sara wasn't a svelte woman. She liked three squares a day and saw no sense in starving herself thin when there were no men around that she was interested in. She placed the vase in the middle of the kitchen table.

“I grill a mean steak on the barbie. Other than that I'm not much of a cook.” He shrugged. “Since my mother died, Charlie and I have lived on microwavable meals and boxed dinners.”

“I'm sorry about your mother, Travis.”

“Thanks. She was a huge help in raising Charlie.”

“I've got beer in the fridge.” She kept her brothers' favorite brands on hand for when they dropped by, which wasn't often. “Or there's iced tea.”

“Beer's good.”

When Travis helped himself to a beer, Sara studied his backside, appreciating the way the denim jeans hugged his butt and thighs. The black T-shirt pulled taut across his broad shoulders, and his biceps flexed as he unscrewed the cap on the bottle.

“Thanks for…” His words trailed off when he caught her staring.

Embarrassed, she mumbled, “I need to bake the rolls…” Travis blocked her path to the oven. His gaze slid down her body and Sara swallowed a groan when her breasts tingled.

“Navy looks good on you.” He stepped aside, but only a few inches and her shoulder brushed his chest.

She slid the pan of rolls into the oven, then set the timer. “You said you wanted to talk about Charlie.” She took the long way around the kitchen table to the sink.

“Tell me about this Trevor kid in her class. Charlie claims the boy makes fun of the size of her brain.” He grinned.

“Trevor is Darla's son. You met Darla at the Christmas-party meeting.”

“Is he a bully?” Travis leaned against the fridge, the action casual as if he'd lounged in her kitchen every day.

“He's not a mean boy. My guess is that he has a crush on Charlie.”

“The kid's teasing the wrong girl. Charlie thinks boys are dumb.”

Life would be simpler if Sara hated all men. “Let's sit in the living room until the rolls are ready.”

“Nice Christmas tree,” Travis said. He wandered
closer and inspected an ornament—a present from one of her students.

Sara didn't know why she bothered with a tree when there was no one besides her to appreciate it. Her brothers hardly noticed her holiday decorations. Sara sat at one end of the couch. “Aside from Trevor teasing her, has Charlie said anything to suggest she's having a difficult time in school?”

“No, that's what worries me.”

“I don't understand,” she said.

Travis joined her on the couch, keeping one cushion between them—close enough for her to enjoy the scent of his cologne, yet far enough away to avoid an accidental touch.

“Charlie's too happy,” Travis said. “If you could have seen her right after my mother died, you wouldn't believe she's the same girl.”

“Is it possible she's in denial about her grandmother's death and refuses to grieve?”

“I don't think so.” He set the beer bottle on the table. “You certainly can do no wrong.”

“Pardon?”

“Ms. Sanders this…Ms. Sanders that. Charlie believes you walk on water. Do you?”

“My brothers will vouch for the fact that I don't.” Sara had noticed in class that Charlie sought her approval several times a day. “It's not unusual for a child to cling to certain people after they lose someone special in their lives.”

“My daughter's clinging to you?”

“She's my shadow.”

“I'll speak to her—”

“Please don't. With time, she'll settle in and become
more independent. I imagine she acts the same way around Juanita.”

“Yeah, she likes hanging out with the housekeeper.” He snapped his fingers. “Now I remember what I was going to ask you. Is it possible for Charlie to sing in the school choir? That was one of her favorite activities before her grandmother became ill.”

“I'll speak to the music teacher. I'm sure she'd allow Charlie to join the group next semester.”

“Thanks.”

“The town gossips are having a field day speculating about your sudden appearance after all these years.”

He chuckled. “What are the stories floating around?”

“One says you're an impostor who's after the Cartwright fortune.” The obvious physical resemblance between Travis and Dominick had put that rumor to death.

“Go on.”

“Then there are those who claim your mother discovered Dominick was having an affair and that's why she left the family.”

“If that's true, then she never got over my father, because there was never another man in my mother's life.”

“Mrs. Abernathy suggests—”

“Who's Mrs. Abernathy?”

“She's married to the manager of the bank in town. She suggested your mother left Dominick for another man but hadn't realized she'd been pregnant with you at the time.”

“When I find out the answer, I'll let you know. So
far my father's managed to dodge my questions about his relationship with my mother.”

“I imagine he's trying to come to grips with Charlotte keeping you from the rest of the family all these years.”

“Mind if I ask you a personal question?”

Payback for her nosiness. “Depends on the question.”

“Why did you buy this house?”

“I wanted to live in town.”

That wasn't a complete lie. She'd also purchased the home hoping to attract a husband.

What no one had figured out was that Sara had hoped the old Victorian would soften her image. It was difficult to camouflage her height or hide her big-boned physique—the kind of woman expected to live and work on a ranch. So she surrounded herself with feminine doilies, turrets and gingerbread trim. The problem was that every man in Tulapoint had known her since childhood.

“How long have you lived in town?” he asked.

“Five years.” She'd hoped to be married and have started a family by now.

The oven timer dinged, reminding her that she'd better feed Travis and send him on his way. She suspected her neighbors were keeping track of the time her guest spent in her home, and she cringed when she thought of the rumors that would greet her at school tomorrow.

“M
s. Sanders isn't gonna like your Christmas tree, Dad.” Charlie held a piece of rebar in place while Travis secured it with wire. They'd been working in the barn for over an hour after his daughter had arrived home from school Thursday afternoon. Charlie had tired of helping him fifty-five minutes ago.

“This isn't my tree,” he said. “It's the classroom's tree.”

“It's not even a tree.” Charlie pointed to Dominick's old dog sleeping on a pile of hay in an empty stall. “Fred thinks it's stupid. Don't you, Fred?” The dog's ears perked, then he yawned and curled into a tighter ball.

“Did you ask Ms. Sanders if you could make an oilrig tree?”

No, he hadn't. “Hey, you didn't come up with any suggestions, so I had to think of something myself. Besides, Ms. Sanders told me to surprise the class.” He'd considered phoning Sara to discuss his idea, but his emotions were still running high after eating supper at her home last night.

Travis had witnessed a softer side to the schoolteacher, which had caught him off guard. Maybe it had
been her one-eyed cat or the lonely tree in the living room that had created an aura of vulnerability around her. Sara was strong, stubborn, compassionate and caring—a woman he could easily fall for. Not until he'd returned to the Lazy River later that night had he realized he'd forgotten to discuss selling the Bar T to Dominick, which raised a white flag in Travis's head.

There had been a lot of changes in his and Charlie's lives—his mother's death, moving to the Lazy River, his job with Cartwright Oil. Charlie starting over in a new school. Now wasn't a good time to become involved with a woman—but Sara wasn't just any woman. She was
Sara
.

“Ms. Sanders doesn't like surprises,” Charlie said.

He'd thought his design clever, considering the town of Tulapoint was smack in the middle of oil country. Travis jiggled the contraption, satisfied the rebar was secure. “Help me attach the evergreen sprigs.”

“The kids are gonna laugh at me.” Charlie scooped up an armful of branches.

“I'll make a deal with you,” Travis said. “If Ms. Sanders doesn't like the tree, I'll buy an artificial one.”

Tomorrow he'd stop by the school before the first bell. If Sara objected to the tree, he'd have plenty of time to purchase a replacement before the party in the afternoon. He eyed his handiwork. “The evergreen branches give it some color.”

Charlie glowered. “It's still ugly.”

His daughter's grumpiness was wearing on him. He tested the four main legs of the structure, making sure they fit snugly into the plywood base. Once he'd secured the braces and attached the duck's nest at the top of the
rig, he'd fashioned a star out of barbed wire. He liked the star. Charlie didn't, because she appeared ready to cry.

“Ah, honey.” He pulled his daughter close for a hug. “What's the matter?”

“I miss Grandma.” She snuggled her blond head against his chest.

“Me, too.” The words burned Travis's throat. He was a crappy father. Just because Charlie appeared to be adjusting to her new life at the Lazy River, didn't mean she'd forgotten her grandmother. His daughter needed him now more than ever and all he'd been concerned with lately was winning favor with his father.

“Grandpa's the only one who's gonna like your tree.” Charlie sniffed.

Dominick was due back from a business trip today and Travis couldn't wait to tell him what had happened at the Wellington Rig site this past Sunday. He'd shown up unannounced to inspect the rig and had detected a sudden change in drilling mud weight and temperature, which indicated the mud had been cut by surface fluids. He'd taken immediate action to correct the situation, thereby averting a dangerous blowout and saving the company millions of dollars, not to mention a few lives.

“Grandpa says he's glad you like oil 'cause Uncle Matt, Aunt Sam and Uncle Duke don't.”

Travis assumed Dominick was happy he and Charlie had moved to Oklahoma, but the old man continued to avoid discussing the past. As much as Travis wished to be a member of the family, he wouldn't fully embrace his father or siblings until he learned why his mother
had walked away from her life at the Lazy River and raised him as an only child.

“Grandpa says you're still really sad that Grandma died.”

Was that the reason Dominick refused to discuss Charlotte—he sensed Travis would never believe anything he said because of the close bond Travis had shared with his mother?

“Is Grandpa right?” Charlie asked.

“Yeah, I'm sad, honey.”

“Grandpa's sad, too.”

“Did he tell you that?”

“No, but he stares at Grandma's picture a lot.”

“What picture?” Travis hadn't noticed any photographs of his mother around the house.

“The picture he keeps in his desk drawer.”

A twinge of sympathy gripped Travis. His first instinct had been to take his mother's side and assume Dominick had been at fault for the breakup of his parents' marriage. What if his mother had been the one to betray their marriage vows?

“Grandpa asked if Grandma ever got sad.”

His mother had been very depressed the last six months of her illness. “What did you tell him?”

“That Grandma stopped smiling 'cause her cancer hurt so much. And guess what?”

Travis brushed the hair off his daughter's forehead. “What?”

“Grandpa's eyes got all shiny, and he hugged me.”

At one time, Dominick must have loved Travis's mother. What had torn them apart? The answers to those questions would have to wait. Right now, it was
time to lighten the mood. “Remember how you made Grandma laugh with your silly faces?”

“Grandma liked this one best.” His daughter pushed the tip of her nose up to resemble a pig's snout and oinked.

Grinning, Travis said, “Let's finish the tree.” He reached for another evergreen sprig when Charlie squealed.

“Grandpa, you're home!” Dominick hovered in the barn doorway, clutching his briefcase and a shopping bag. Charlie flung her arms around his legs.

Dominick placed a protective hand on Charlie's blond head. A zap of jealousy caught Travis by surprise and he swallowed a curse. He was a grown man. He didn't need a hug from his father. Shoving his feelings aside, he worried that Dominick had overheard his and Charlie's conversation.

“That's an interesting oil rig you've got there.” Holding Charlie's hand, Dominick moved farther into the barn.

“Ms. Sanders told Dad to bring a Christmas tree for my class party.”

Shrugging Travis said, “Ms. Sanders never specified a traditional tree.”

“I like it.” Dominick's eyes twinkled and his mustache quivered. Travis ignored the pleasant feeling his father's approval had triggered in his gut.

“What's in there, Grandpa?” Charlie tugged on the shopping bag.

“For you, Charlotte.” Dominick handed Charlie a stuffed teddy bear with a red plaid bow around its neck.

Charlie was so thrilled she hadn't noticed that
Dominick used her proper name. “Thanks, Grandpa.” She hugged the bear.

Travis stared at the stuffed animal, thinking life sure was strange. If his mother hadn't left the Lazy River Ranch, then Dominick might have brought home a teddy bear for him. Purchased a new Chevy truck for his sixteenth birthday. Or sent him to college. Who knows what kind of man Travis would have ended up becoming had he been raised by both his parents.

“I'm gonna play with my new bear.” Charlie poked her head inside the horse stall. “C'mon, Fred.” The old hound got up slowly and followed.

“I'm guessing Charlotte allowed Fred inside the house while I was gone,” Dominick said.

“He sleeps on the bed with her.”

Arthritis made it impossible for the dog to jump, so when Dominick left on his business trip, Travis built a set of steps to place next to Charlie's bed. Juanita donated an old bathroom rug, which Travis had cut into pieces and glued to the wood to prevent Fred from slipping when he climbed the doggie stairs.

Dominick chuckled.

“What's so funny?”

“I'd like to see the expression on Ms. Sanders's face when you present her with the class Christmas tree.”

Travis and his father shared a rare smile. “Next time, she'll know better than to ask a roughneck for help.”

“When's the party?”

“Friday.”

“Tomorrow?”

Invite him
. Travis nodded. “Charlie would like you to come.”

“I'll be there for her.”

Travis would have liked to have had a father there for him when he was growing up. “How was your business trip?”

“I renewed the leases on three wells.”

Travis waited for Dominick to mention the incident at the Wellington rig, instead his father asked, “Have you convinced Ms. Sanders and her brothers to sell out to me?”

“They're accusing you of wielding your influence over the other oil companies and forcing them to—”

“Lowball their leasing bids.”

“Are you?”

Dominick nodded. “Yes, I am.”

“Bullying Sara won't get you far,” Travis said. “She's determined to honor her father's dying wishes.”

“So she's informed me.”

“Will you consider negotiating a drilling lease instead of outright ownership of the property?” Maybe Sara would compromise—allow Dominick access to their oil, but ownership of the ranch would remain in the Sanders family.

“Why bother? The bank will eventually seize the Bar T. At which time, I'll purchase the property at a substantial discount.”

“What if Sara changes her mind and accepts one of your competitor's bids?”

“I'm listening,” Dominick said.

“Make the Sanders an offer they can't refuse.” When his father didn't respond, Travis said, “Before you go any further with the lawsuit, let me see if Sara would be willing to discuss drilling rights instead of ownership.”

Travis stiffened. Would Dominick approve of his strategy or laugh it off?

“Fine. I'll wait on the lawsuit until you've had a chance to talk sense into that gal.” Dominick shifted his briefcase to the other hand. “Anything else eventful happen in my absence?”

His kissing Sara in a cow pasture had been eventful, but Travis doubted his father would appreciate that tidbit of news. “Nope.”

“Modest one, aren't you? Must have inherited that trait from your mother.”

Had Dominick just given his mother a backhanded compliment? “What are you talking about?”

“The Wellington rig.”

Secretly pleased his father intended to acknowledge his work, Travis said, “I was glad I discovered the problem before—”

“I heard the rig foreman gave you a hard time.”

Samuel Pickett had done more than challenge Travis's judgment—the man had taken a swing at him when Travis had accused the foreman of cutting corners and jeopardizing the safety of his crew. Two of the derrick hands had stepped in and prevented an all-out scuffle.

“Your actions saved me hundreds of thousands of dollars in repairs, not to mention employee lives.”

“All in a day's work.”

“You remind me of my father,” Dominick said. “How so?”

“You two have the same temperament. Your grandfather's first name was Wellington.”

“Did my grandfather purchase the Lazy River Ranch?”

“No. Wellington Cartwright didn't believe in putting down roots. He moved me and your grandmother all over Oklahoma in order to keep watch over his wells.”

“How did he die?”

“A blowout.”

The blood drained from Travis's face. “What was he doing on the platform?”

“Your grandfather liked the feel of warm crude on his hands. He insisted that I attend college, because he wanted me to run the company while he worked in the field.” Dominick eyed Travis. “I bet you love changing drill bits and adding lengths of pipe just like your grandfather did.”

“Physical labor has never bothered me.”

“I'd just graduated from college when he was killed. As soon as the funeral was over, your grandmother packed her things and moved to California to live with her sister. I visited from time-to-time and made sure she never wanted for anything. But we didn't discuss Cartwright Oil after my father died.”

“Is my grandmother still alive?”

“She died a few months after Matt was born.” Dominick picked at a piece of lint on his sport coat. “Would you like to go to college?”

College? Was Dominick hoping Travis would to take over the company one day?

“You're not too old if that's what you're thinking,” Dominick said.

“I know.” How did Travis explain that he wasn't sure he wanted such a huge responsibility—to secure and
expand a fortune that would provide for future Cartwright generations.

“I see.” Dominick's shouldered stiffened.

“See what?”

“You haven't decided whether or not you're sticking around.”

His father was a mind reader.

“You'll let me know when you decide, won't you?”

His father turned away, but Travis called after him. “Did you have an affair on my mother? Is that why she left you?”

The sorrow in Dominick's eyes sucked the wind from Travis's lungs. He watched his father leave the barn, wondering why he felt as if he'd just kicked the legs out from under poor old Fred.

 

P
ARENTS, GRANDPARENTS
and younger siblings “oohed” and “aahed” over the children's Victorian-era drawings displayed on the walls of Sara's classroom. The play had gone off without a hitch and now everyone was socializing until the final bell rang.

“The plum pudding is a huge hit.” Darla nodded at the kids sporting chocolate rings around their mouths.