Cathleen Galitz – The Cowboy Takes A Bride (страница 2)

“You lost?”

It sounded more like a statement of fact than a question.

“Not at all. I know exactly where I am.”

It was disturbing to hear the soft Southern drawl which attached itself to her words. Her professors had worked hard to school the “hick” out of her, but that accent still crept into her voice whenever Caitlin was feeling particularly nervous. She made a conscious effort to eradicate it as she offered the man further explanation.

“I’m the new geologist.”

How wonderful it felt to say the words aloud since they not only validated her presence here but also affirmed the dream she had set her heart upon since childhood. Everyone from her mother to her high school advisor had discouraged her from pursuing such a “manly” degree. Laura Leigh had wanted her daughter to attend the same small, private institution from which she had been graduated. Caitlin had flatly refused. A college founded on the principle that young ladies needed to be culturally “finished” was definitely not for her. Only recently had her mother’s alma mater allowed men on campus for anything more than uneventful mixers. Not that dating had been uppermost in Caitlin’s mind. Unlike so many of the girls she had grown up around, the degree she was looking for was not her MRS.

“I said I’m the new geologist,” she repeated, hoping it would lessen the tension that settled into the pit of her stomach like a bad meal.

Nothing in her college classes had prepared her for feeling so hopelessly out of place. So utterly vulnerable.

A smile played around the edges of the man’s mouth as he scratched his chin thoughtfully. Caitlin could almost hear the soft rasping sound the whiskers of his five o’clock shadow made against his fingertips. A telltale tremor rippled through her body. Though she didn’t expect all rig workers to be as clean-shaven as the preppy college boys she had left behind, neither was she prepared to be screened on-site by a man who looked like he would be just as at home piloting a Viking ship as driving heavy equipment. What a Hollywood producer could do with a hunk like that!

The subordinate position she held on the steps placed Caitlin at a decided disadvantage. She hoped he would attribute the flush of color in her cheeks to the summer heat—not to her discomfort at being eye level with the snap of his jeans. Her old roommate took perverse pleasure in kidding her about her sexual inexperience. Roxy said those furious blushes may as well have been a scarlet sign marking Caitlin as the oldest collegiate virgin in America.

Forcing her eyes away from the worn fly on the man’s stonewashed jeans, she scanned the tight white T-shirt that emphasized both the broad plane of his chest and the breadth of his muscled forearms. Sweat stains left no doubt that these muscles had been earned the old-fashioned way, not in some posh gym with tanning beds and a personal trainer.

Taking a deep breath, she attempted to insert a note of authority into her voice. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get to work.”

The man refused to budge. Leaning insolently against the metal railing, he leveled a pair of electric blue eyes at her and asked, “And just who exactly hired you, Miss Scarlett?”

The smile that curled his lips made Caitlin as defensive as the derisive Southern moniker he’d tossed at her. Just because she wasn’t a local didn’t automatically mean she was stupid, any more than being carded at bars by doormen who claimed she looked younger than her age didn’t mean she hadn’t earned the college degree that gave her every right to be here. After enduring four years in traditionally male-dominated classes and having to fight for every ounce of respect owed her, Caitlin wasn’t easily intimidated.

“I was hired by the owner, Rhett, and I’m certainly not going to show you my diploma to get by,” she snapped impatiently.

Caitlin’s ire only deepened the dimples on either side of the man’s arrogant smile. Hoisting a huge steel-toed boot on the top of the railing, the Viking positioned his leg across the stairs like a gate. Had he actually snorted in mirth at her reference to her college diploma? She wasn’t sure which bothered her more—the sense of danger that the leering men had instilled in her with their sexist hootings or the feeling that this virile bouncer was laughing at her.

There was no hint of patience in his voice when he spoke again. “Sorry, lady. Whoever led you to believe that you had a job here has played a real mean practical joke on you. We’re not hiring at the moment so the best advice I can offer you, besides dropping the snotty college attitude, is to turn that fancy rig of yours around and head back the same way you came. You’ll find a public phone and directions at Lysite. You can’t miss it. It’s the nearest town in any direction.”

Town? Surely he wasn’t referring to that wide spot in the road she’d passed where a handful of buildings, most notably a couple of bars, sprouted up like loosely rooted tumbleweeds. Why, with a huff and a puff a good wind could blow the place away.

Setting her jaw in determination, Caitlin forced the words through clenched teeth. “If you don’t move out of the way, mister, I’ll be forced to go over your head. I’d hate to have you fired,” she lied. In fact nothing would give her more pleasure than to terminate this sexist clod’s position.

At that, the man threw his head back and howled with laughter. “If only you could, honey, you’d probably be doing me the biggest favor of my life. But since that’s not the case, I’m going to do you a favor. I’ll personally escort you back to your Jeep and point you in the opposite direction of trouble. Someday maybe you’ll appreciate the fact that somebody was concerned enough to send you on your way with your virtue intact.”

It was Caitlin’s turn to snort. Drawing herself up to her full five foot six, she braced her shoulders as if preparing to run the man over like a tackling dummy. Good breeding was all that kept her from uttering the oath bubbling on the tip of her tongue.

“With a head as thick as yours,” she said, spitting her words out like slick watermelon seeds, “that hard hat you’re wearing must be strictly for decoration.”

All pretense of gallantry vanished from the man’s eyes with the swiftness of a summer storm. Jerking himself into a rigid upright position, he swept the hat in question from his head and glared at her. The fact that his thick dark hair was tousled and wet with sweat made him look no less sexy, no less imposing than a bodyguard. He typified the expression “glowering good looks.”

“I don’t give a damn if you’re a geologist or the Pope’s own emissary, a drilling rig is no place for a lady—even if I do use the term loosely,” he barked, crowding down onto the step beside her.

Caitlin had to turn sideways to avoid backing down. The step was so narrow that she was sure the man could feel her heart thumping wildly inside of her chest as it brushed against his. At the contact, she felt a jolt of pure sexual energy race though her, short-circuiting the electrodes that connected her brain to her body. Frozen in place, she gaped at him as if seeing Frankenstein’s monster come to life.

“I’m not going to tell you again,” he said. “If you don’t turn around right now and clear out on your own, I’ll be forced to bodily remove you from the premises.”

It took every bit of Caitlin’s self-restraint to keep from slapping the smirk right off that handsome face. She didn’t doubt for a moment that he meant what he said. An image of herself slung over this barbarian’s shoulder like so much chattel to the crew’s gleeful delight made her shudder. She had worked too hard and come too far to be dismissed in such a comic, brutal manner.

This wasn’t at all how she had envisioned her first day on the job.

One of the men gathered about the drilling floor hollered out, “Betcha Harry wouldn’t be so quick to run off such a fine-looking geologist.”

“Don’t mind him, sweetheart. Come on up,” entreated another. “You can check out my rocks anytime!”

Grant whipped his head around like a rattlesnake ready to strike. Just what he didn’t need—an audience to observe some saucy college girl bent on undermining his authority. The fact that the crew was enjoying the show only served to strengthen his resolve to get her out of here before all hell broke loose. That and the fact that she was trying to blink back the moisture in her eyes.

Damn it all to hell! The one thing in the world Grant couldn’t handle was a woman’s tears. A moment ago he was contemplating whether to hoist her over his shoulder. Now suddenly he found himself wanting to enfold the poor little thing in his arms and protect her from the crudity of men who saw but one thing in a woman. Looking at the youthful hope, the unquenchable resolve burning in this girl’s eyes, he realized such chivalry would be as useless as trying to stop a moth from immolating itself on a bare lightbulb.

“I thought I told you to get back to work!” Grant called out over his shoulder.

If he were ever able to pinpoint who’d uttered that crude piece of innuendo that had this pretty little thing blushing six unbecoming shades of red, he intended to personally throttle him.