Texas Wildcat

He watched as she walked to the liquor cabinet. There was a wonderful gazellelike grace to her walk. He would never tire of watching her. Her dark auburn hair lay thickly on her shoulders, the red highlights glinting like molten fire. “Why whiskey?”

“You looked as though you could handle it,” Kelly remarked.

“Oh?”

“You’re the rugged outdoors type of man.” She gave him a shy look, as if she realized her remark was too personal for the circumstances. “You look as if you could handle anything or anyone.”

Sam stood and walked over to her. He reached out and took the tumbler from her. Their fingers met for only an instant but he was aware of a pleasant sensation as he touched her flesh. “I damn near blew up at you today,” he murmured, “and I apologize. That’s what the flowers are for. Boots told me you flew in as soon as your father died and began running his company.” He lifted his glass in salute to her as she sat down near him on the couch. “Here’s to a lady with courage when it counts.”

Kelly felt heat racing up from her neck to her face. She took a sip of wine, wishing she could steady the sudden pounding of her heart. Tears welled in her eyes as she stared over at Sam. He was being so kind, and she’d gone through so much this week.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. But the tears came anyway and she put the drink down on the coffee table. Her insides were quaking and she wanted to release the backlog of grief she had held in abeyance since the funeral. Her vision blurred as she sat there with both hands against her cheeks. Her lashes were thick with tears. Embarrassed, Kelly rose. “I…I…can’t talk just now…”

He was on his feet in one fluid motion, a huge cat uncoiling from his resting position. Kelly felt the natural warmth of his body as he placed his good arm around her shoulders, drawing her close. His work-roughened hand slid across the muslin, creating a tingling sensation in her flesh. The tender look on his face only increased her need to be held. A small cry escaped from her as she buried her face against his barrellike chest.

“It’s all right,” Sam whispered against her ear. “I’ll just hold you, honey. Go ahead and cry.” She was warm, curving perfectly against the more angular planes of his body. Sam inhaled the fresh, sweet fragrance of her silken hair as he rested his jaw lightly against her head. He felt her body shake with sobs and his grip tightened around her. He wished he had use of his right arm so he could cradle her protectively in his embrace.

The textured weave of the coveralls pressed against Kelly’s cheek as she leaned her head on his chest. His gentle voice encouraged her to vent the grief. He was a stranger. And yet, her heart opened to him like a flower to the rays of the sun. There were no recriminations from Sam Tyler for her unexpected tears. Somehow, Kelly sensed Sam would take this in stride without being embarrassed. Finally, the tears lessened. She remained against him, aware, for the first time, of the drum beat of his heart. It was a soothing sound and Kelly shut her eyes tightly, needing the strength he was giving her.

“Better?” he inquired in a hushed tone, his mouth against her hair.

She gave a convulsive nod of her head, wanting, needing his arm around her body for just one more moment. She felt his fingers tighten momentarily on her shoulder, and unconsciously she nuzzled against his chest.

“Come on,” he urged, “let’s sit down.”

She sniffed. Lifting her eyes, she met Sam’s eyes. His blue gaze held a tender light in its depth. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, “I don’t normally go around crying….”

A slight smile lifted one corner of his sensual mouth. “You don’t strike me as the kind of woman who goes around crying on anyone’s shoulder. So I consider it quite a compliment.”

Her shoulders drooped as she sat down next to him. Kelly buried her face in her hands for a moment. She was grateful for their closeness. “You’ve been through your own personal hell,” she whispered, “I shouldn’t be laying my troubles at your doorstep.”

Sam shook his head, reached out and slid his arm around her shoulders. “No you don’t,” he admonished gently. “Your father had one hell of a reputation as a fighter. And you’re his daughter. I’d wager you get just as stiff-necked and proud as he was. You don’t let anyone help you.”

Kelly responded to his touch. It was all so crazy. Sam Tyler was a stranger. He had come over to drop off the report. Nothing more. But here she was, leaning against his warm strong body, weeping without restraint. She closed her eyes, needing the solace he provided. Her world had gone berserk and she was far too exhausted to try to halt the cataclysmic events tearing her life apart. Sam Tyler represented the only available source of stability at the moment.

“You’re right,” she returned, her voice nearly inaudible. She took a deep breath and tried to compose herself as he continued to lightly massage her shoulders. “I am my father’s daughter.”

Sam managed a soft snort. “Proud, Irish and Texan. One hell of a belligerent combination,” he said without rancor. He gazed down at her with newfound tenderness. It would be easy to close the inches separating them and kiss her. He longed to feel the pliancy of her lips beneath his mouth…what the hell was he thinking about? Sam jerked his torrid thoughts up short.

“Just rest, honey,” he urged quietly. “I’ll sit here and hold you for as long as you need.” He watched as her drooping lids closed. Dark lashes swept across her translucent skin like auburn crescents. The rise and fall of her breasts against him lessened. As the minutes passed her breathing became shallow, indicating that she had fallen asleep. An odd smile curved Sam’s mouth. His day was certainly turning out to hold one surprise after another.

He hadn’t expected to find a woman in charge of Blanchard when he went charging in there with the blown section of pipe. He hadn’t expected to meet a woman who had beauty, intelligence and genuine compassion. Sam looked back down at her. Yes, that was what appealed to him the most about her: the fact that she really cared. Old man Blanchard had always wanted to satisfy his customers by providing a quality product. And his lovely, headstrong daughter was cast from the same mold. Sam found her appealing and couldn’t regret the explosive meeting that had brought them together.

He drew in a breath and his broad brow furrowed with worry. You’d better sleep, Kelly Blanchard, he thought to himself, because when you wake up, there will be more problems to deal with. His frown deepened. How could this tall, proud woman affect him so deeply? Was it her spitfire quality? Her courage? Grimacing, Sam knew he had no easy answer. All he was sure of was that when the situation calmed down, he wanted the opportunity to know her better.

There were a myriad of questions he wanted to ask. Did she have someone waiting for her back in Pittsburgh? More than likely. She was too damn pretty not to have a crowd of male admirers around her at all times. Children? If he recalled correctly, he remembered that Blanchard’s only daughter had gotten a divorce a year ago. And it had been a messy one according to the gossip around the oil and gas industry. In this industry, everyone knew everyone else’s business. Had her ex-husband been unable to deal with her? Sam’s blue eyes twinkled at that thought. Yes, she would be a handful for any man who was threatened by a competent, assertive young woman with brains and moxie to back her up.

He remained an hour before carefully extricating himself and gently depositing Kelly on the couch. He located an afghan and placed it over her. Dusk was settling over the city and if he didn’t leave now, he’d end up falling asleep with her cradled in the crook of his good arm. That wasn’t a bad thought. But he sensed she would feel embarrassed enough about her outburst of tears. Proud women cried in private. A lambent flame burned in his eyes as he reached down, allowing his fingers to trail through the thick tresses of her hair. He had been right: it was like silk. Reluctantly, he broke contact and left the report on the desk with several scribbled notes pointing out certain paragraphs of the text that needed her attention.

* * *

“I’m sorry, Kelly, we just can’t use Blanchard Pipe anymore.” Coots Matthews gave her a regretful look, casting an uneasy glance at his partner, Boots Hansen. “We’d like to, honey, but this is the third time in a month that pipe has failed. We can’t risk our men this way. Conditions at an oil or gas blowout are hazardous enough without our being unable to trust our water piping.” Coots shifted uncomfortably. “You understand?”

Kelly remained silent as she listened to their softly spoken apology. When she had groggily awakened around midnight the night before a flood of embarrassment had filled her. But after reading the report well into the early morning hours, she had more serious things to worry about than her behavior with Sam Tyler. She was convinced something was terribly wrong at Blanchard Pipe.

Her green eyes flashed with pent-up annoyance. “Boots, how long did you know my Dad?”

“A good twenty years,” he admitted.

Kelly swung her gaze to Coots. He was the taller and quieter of the famous firefighting duo. Today his face was even more serious than usual. “How about you, Coots?”

“I recollect it was going on twenty-five.”

She straightened up in the chair. They sat in the conference room at an oval mahogany table. She tapped her finger on the wood surface. “And never once in all those years did you see a Blanchard pipe blow?” Her voice was charged with emotion and conviction. She knew her father’s standards of excellence in a product. He believed in paying a good price for good quality material. “Well?” she demanded, her voice becoming husky.

Coots exchanged a mournful look with his partner. “No, honey, none of it ever failed us.”

Her nostrils flared and she threw back her shoulders. “Listen, I read that report. And there wasn’t enough evidence in it. I’m not willing to concede that it was completely our fault.” She looked each man in the eye. It was a risky play and her stomach was knotting in terror over their possible reactions.

Coots frowned, scratching his head. “Now wait a minute—”

Kelly was on her feet. “No, you wait. I want another chance from both of you. For my Dad, if nothing else. I’ll be damned if I’m going to allow three pipe failures to ruin his business and reputation!” Her voice became strained with unshed tears. “Dad never cheated anyone in his whole life! Don’t you see? He’d never cheat on specifications for metal on these pipes. I’ve got to know what went wrong. Something had to induce the metal failure.”

Boots and Coots exchanged glances. She unconsciously held her breath, watching their facial expressions. “Look,” she went on, heedless of what they might think, “I have a plan. On your next blowout call, take me along. Me and a Blanchard pipe. I’ll pay to bring other pipe along from another manufacturer of your choice just in case ours does fail. I want—no, need—to go out in the field with you guys and see why our pipe failed. At least let me do this before you decide.”

Boots puckered up his mouth and expelled a long breath of air. “I don’t have a problem with that, Kelly. But hell, we can get called anywhere in the world.”

“Besides that,” Coots rumbled in his baritone, “you know these fires may last up to six months before they’re put out.” He glanced up at her with his dark brown eyes. “You got that kind of time to spend out at a site, Kelly?”

She placed her hands on her hips. “For the sake of the men whose lives depend on Blanchard Pipe, I’ll make the time. I simply want to be on site for a couple of weeks to record temperature, barometric pressure and other variable factors that might have overstressed our product. I have to see it for myself.” In reality, Kelly knew that she could have sent someone else from the company, but it was her willingness to become personally involved that would convince Boots and Coots to give her pipe a second chance. “In the meantime, I’ve got our lab people and an independent metallurgical lab analyzing the pipe that failed. I’ll have the results in two weeks. If our design or R and B Steel did not comply with our specs, I’ll be the first to tell you.” Her green eyes darkened to a jade color. “We’ve never sold bad pipe to anyone in the world and I won’t start now.”

Coots raised his eyebrows, his long face clearly revealing his surprise. “We never did think your Dad cheated us, Kelly. Hell, we’ve done business with him for a long time. I’m just worried about our men getting injured again.”

“I know that,” she went on. “And Blanchard will pick up Slim and Sam’s medical expenses. It’s the least we can do. My company’s reputation is on the line. I can’t afford one more failure or twenty years of my Dad’s efforts will go down a dry hole.”

Boots allowed a partial grin. “You sure as hell are your father’s daughter.” He exchanged a glance with Coots. “Sam was say’n the same thing this morning. He felt we ought to give you another chance. He’s highly respected in our field. Sam’s speciality is fluid hydraulics and particularly water systems. So we kinda took his opinion on this problem with a great deal of seriousness.”

Kelly swallowed her surprise. “He did?”

“Sure did, honey,” Coots spoke up, getting quickly to his feet. He jammed the white baseball cap back on his head. “Okay it’s settled. You’ll go with us on the next call. We’ll need another load of pipe—”

“It’s on its way over here right now,” Kelly interrupted, smiling for the first time.

Coots grinned and gave her a wink. “Okay, Kelly Blanchard, we got a deal.” He thrust his hand across the table, gripping her hand.

Kelly nodded. “You bet you do. And believe me, neither of you will regret your decision.”

Boots’s smile widened. “Listen, I’m partial to redheaded Texas tornadoes. Like your father’s, your word’s good enough for us, Kelly.” He pointed his finger at her. “Have our secretary, Arlene, outfit you with our coveralls before you leave here today.”