Cathleen Galitz – The Cowboy Takes A Bride (страница 4)

“Yeah, Daddy,” Grant mimicked, disregarding her haughtiness with a sarcastic grin that deepened the dimple in his chin. Crossing his muscled arms across his chest, he continued as if she weren’t there at all. “Since your daughter isn’t inclined to listen to me, would you mind telling her exactly who is responsible for the hiring and firing of personnel in this company?”

Paddy was grinning as he shook his head. “If you two kids would stop fighting long enough, I’d like to introduce you to one another. Maybe then we can go about getting things squared up to everybody’s satisfaction.”

Though that seemed highly unlikely, both Caitlin and Grant felt duly chastised by Paddy’s use of the word kids. Instead of grown-up men and women, independent and capable in their own right, they may as well have been errant siblings squabbling in the back of the family vehicle on one of those interminable vacations that tests a parent’s sanity.

Eager to be the first to appear reasonable and adult, Caitlin patted her father’s arm soothingly. “You’re right, of course. And if somebody would just calm down for a minute, I’m sure you can straighten him out in no time flat.”

Ignoring Grant’s pointed glare, Caitlin focused her attention upon her father’s pallor. He looked older than she remembered. It was no secret that Paddy scorned diets devoid of meat and potatoes, and according to him, exercise was just for people who didn’t have real jobs that demanded physical exertion. Winding her arm through his, Caitlin scrutinized his features more closely. The broken blood vessels in his nose and the sweat on his brow made her nervous. Excessive heat and stress was a bad combination for a man of his age and temperament.

“Are you trying to give my father a heart attack with all your theatrics?” she hissed at Grant.

“Me?” he gasped in disbelief. “You come flouncing onto this rig like the Queen of the Nile, prancing around in front of the crew in those tight jeans acting like you own the place, and I’m the one who’s upset your father?”

Caitlin’s mouth flew open. “Flounced!” she repeated, taking obvious exception to his choice of words. “Pranced!”

Grant cupped a hand to his ear. “Do I hear an echo?”

“Now, now, children…” Paddy’s sigh bespoke a weariness that was bone deep. “It wouldn’t do to have us airing out our family laundry in front of the crew, now would it? I suggest we take our differences inside the trailer away from prying eyes, and sift this all out over a nice, cold beer.”

Caitlin pressed her lips together in a disapproving line. “You know what the doctor said about your triglycerides.”

“You’re not about to start that nonsense again, are you?” Paddy asked. He glanced toward Grant and explained in a note of exasperation. “She likes to nag me about my diet. Says my cholesterol, triglycerides, and conglomerates are all too high.”

The misapplication of his words brought a smile to Caitlin’s face. Despite his grumbling, she knew that her father loved the way she fussed over him.

“You know it’s for your own good,” she persisted.

“Piss-h, posh.” Paddy quickly amended the intended oath and shot Grant a warning glance. Clearly he didn’t want his lily-white princess discovering her daddy had the vernacular of a seasoned drill sergeant.

Grant rolled his eyes. As far as he could tell, this little gal’s power was nothing short of amazing. In less than fifteen minutes, she had his crew acting like wild, hormone-imbalanced adolescents and Paddy like a sainted father straight off some serial from the early days of television. It was sickening to watch and reason enough to reinforce Grant’s resolve to harden his heart against all women. Those like Paddy’s Laura Leigh and his own mother only desert you when times get tough. Those like Aunt Edna use trickery and guile to get what they want. Suspecting that Caitlin straddled both categories, Grant wanted nothing more from her than distance.

He certainly did not want to be trapped in close quarters with her. Those cat-green eyes studying him as if he were her next meal made him way too nervous. Grant suspected that if she were to ever train those phenomenal eyes on him the way she did her father, as if he were the best thing God ever created, he would crumble into pieces like the proverbial Gingerbread Man. And like that desperate little cookie in his favorite children’s story, Grant was determined to run, run as fast he could from this cunning little fox.

“Your daughter’s not the only one worried about your health,” he said slowly as if measuring his words into a beaker. “I don’t think you need a beer either, and considering the fact that Harry just got canned for drinking on the job, I can hardly show up on the drilling floor with beer on my breath.”

Much to Grant’s surprise, Paddy conceded with an affable nod of his head.

“Good point. You and Caitlin can have sodas instead.” Without waiting to hear any argument, he put an arm affectionately around his daughter’s shoulders and directed her toward the trailer. To the delight of the crew, he called out over his shoulder, “Take a break, boys!”

Trailing miserably behind them, Grant couldn’t help recalling that old adage about blood being thicker than water. It fit like a fist in his throat.

He tried not to focus on the tight fit of those designer jeans across her trim backside as she sashayed through the sagebrush in front of him. Grant knew he shouldn’t resent Paddy focusing all his attention on the daughter he’d seen so infrequently over the years, but knowing and feeling were two completely different things. Jealousy reared its ugly head. With the return of the prodigal child, Grant expected Paddy to ask him to kill the fatted calf any minute now.

“Don’t worry,” he heard Caitlin reassure Paddy. “Before you know it, my cooking will replace that petroleum in your veins with healthy red and white blood cells.”

“More’n likely you mean blue blood,” Grant mumbled stepping around them to open the door. Despite his personal feelings toward this hellcat, he was bound to give courtesy its due.

“Such a gentleman,” Caitlin quipped with a deprecating little moue.

Certain that one good kiss would be all it would take to wipe that smirk off those pouty lips, Grant imagined bending her swanlike neck back, pressing his lips against hers, and taming that fiery temper with a single mind-numbing kiss. A mere taste of his potency was sure to leave this pretty little princess limp and willing in his arms. After hanging around with college boys, Grant very much doubted whether Caitlin could handle a real man.

As if trying to shut out such disturbing thoughts, Grant slammed the door behind him. He blamed lack of sleep for the wayward turn his thoughts had taken. Lack of sleep and a decided lack of female companionship. The next time he got to town, Grant vowed to remedy that situation. Even if he liked Caitlin Flynn, which he decidedly did not, he valued his relationship with Paddy far too much to screw things up by even thinking of becoming involved with his precious daughter. Not that Caitlin would risk a nosebleed to look down from her pedestal upon mere oil field trash such as himself.

Stepping in from the intense sunlight outside, Caitlin needed a moment to adjust to the relative dimness of the trailer. Dust motes danced before her eyes. She was surprised to see that the trailer was relatively tidy, though hardly luxurious. Dishes were washed and drying in the wire rack over the sink, clothes were picked up, magazines were stacked neatly beside a sturdy couch of blotchy tweed blends, and an afghan she had lovingly made for her father for Christmas several years ago was draped neatly over the back of a black vinyl recliner. Considering the gritty conditions of the location, Caitlin was impressed. Her father had never struck her as being a particularly fastidious housekeeper.

“Have a seat, darlin’,” Paddy said, pointing to a small kitchenette table and two chairs.

Caitlin obliged, and Grant took an extra folding chair from the closet and set it up directly across the table from her. They exchanged cold glances while Paddy drew an old metal tray of ice cubes from the refrigerator and unceremoniously cracked it on the counter. A minute later he set two glasses of pop and a bottle of ice-cold beer on a table so flimsy that it wobbled beneath the elbows he propped there an instant later.

“There now,” he exclaimed, joining them. “Isn’t this cozy?”

Too cozy, Caitlin thought, drawing herself up primly in her chair so that her knees wouldn’t brush against Grant’s. Those long legs of his could no more be contained beneath the tiny circumference of that table than his ego could be contained within the band of the hard hat he placed between them like some symbolic barrier.

Paddy raised his beer in a salute and took a deep, satisfying draught.

“What’dya say we start over? Caitlin, I’d like you to meet Grant Davis.”

Davis. Davis. Davis… The name sounded oddly familiar. Caitlin searched her memory but couldn’t place it. She seriously doubted whether he was related to any of the San Antonio Davises that her mother set such store by.