Not Just a Cowboy. Caro Carson
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His cronies would declare that women were too emotional to be reliable business partners. The bankers would mutter among themselves about whose turn it was to deal with the harpy this time.
No one ever said those things about Patricia Cargill, because she never let them see her real feelings, even if, like her father’s discarded women, those emotions were justified now and again.
Luke was standing over her like a self-appointed bodyguard. He’d decided she needed protecting. That was probably some kind of psychological complex firefighters were prone to. She could use that to her advantage.
She placed her hand oh-so-lightly on his muscular arm, so very feminine, so very grateful. “I’ve gotten more sleep than you think. That power nap was very refreshing. It’s so very thoughtful of you to be concerned, and I’m sorry to have worried you, but I’m fine.” She took a step in the direction of the admin tent.
“Where are you going?”
“Let’s get your glove. It will only take a minute.” She smiled at him, friendly and unoffended, neither of which she felt. She didn’t give a damn about his stupid glove, but it gave her an easy way to get back to her office.
“Forget it. You’re very charming, Patricia, but you’re very tired.”
For a fraction of a second, she felt fear. She’d failed in an area where she usually excelled. She’d failed to manage this man effectively.
Luke lectured on. “The rules exist for a reason. You’ve been working nonstop, and you’re going to get sick or hurt.”
The rules exist for a reason. She wasn’t sure why, but that sounded so familiar.
“Who takes your place when it’s your turn for downtime?” Luke tapped her clipboard. “I bet you’ve got a whole organizational chart on there. I’m curious who you answer to, because you seem to think the rules don’t apply to you.”
“Karen Weaver is the head of the Austin branch of Texas Rescue,” Patricia said. She sounded stiff. That was an accomplishment, considering she felt furious.
“I bet you make sure every single hospital volunteer from the most prestigious surgeon to the lowliest rookie gets their breaks, but Karen Weaver doesn’t make sure you get yours?” Luke used her own trick on her, running the tips of his fingers lightly down her arm, all solicitous concern.
“Karen is...new,” Patricia said.
Luke laughed. The man laughed, damn him. “She’s new and she doesn’t know half of what you do, does she? You don’t trust her to take care of your baby.”
Bingo. But Patricia wouldn’t say that out loud, not for a million dollars.
Luke’s hand closed on her arm, warm and firm. “Karen isn’t you, but she’s good enough to handle the hospital while everyone’s sleeping.” He turned her toward the sleeping quarters and pulled back the tent flap, then let her go. “Please, take your break.”
She wanted to object. She made all the decisions. She was in charge. But even her anger at his high-handedness wasn’t sustaining her against her exhaustion. He’d brought her to the very threshold of the sleeping quarters. To be only a few feet away from where her inflatable mattress lay, empty and waiting...it was enough to make the most adamant woman waffle.
Luke’s voice, that big, deep voice, spoke very quietly, because he was very close to her ear. “I’m not your boss, and you aren’t mine. You answer to Karen, and I answer to the fire chief. But this afternoon, you gave me orders, and I obeyed them because they were smart. You told me to drink; I did. You told me to sit; I did. So it’s my turn. I’m telling you to get ready for bed. I’m going to bring you a sandwich from the mess tent and place it inside the door, because it’s a sure thing that you haven’t taken time to eat. You’ll eat it and you’ll get some rest when you turn off that walkie-talkie, because you know it’s the smart thing to do. You’ve worked enough.”
Patricia had never had a man speak to her like that. Telling her to stop working. Telling her she’d done enough. It made her melt the way poets believed flowers and verse should make women melt. It made her so weak in the knees, she couldn’t take a step for fear of stumbling.
Weakness was bad.
“You can’t give me orders,” she said, but her voice was husky and tired.
“I just did.” With a firm hand in her lower back, an inch above the curve of her backside, Luke Waterson pushed her gently into the tent, dropped the flap and walked away.
* * *
Patricia felt strange the next day.
It should have been easier to focus on the relief operation after a full meal and a good night’s sleep. Instead, it was harder. That sleep and that meal had come at the hands—the very strong hands—of a fireman who looked like—
Damn it. There she went again, losing her train of thought.
She checked the to-do list on her clipboard. The items that had been done and crossed off were irrelevant. Being at the helm of Texas Rescue’s mobile hospital was like being at the helm of one of her sailboats. Congratulating herself on having handled a gust of wind two minutes ago wouldn’t prevent her boat from capsizing on the next gust. Whether on a lake or at a relief center, Patricia looked ahead, planned ahead, kept an eye on the horizon—or in this case, on her checklist. One unfinished item from yesterday jumped out: Set up additional shade for waiting area.
Patricia tapped her mechanical pencil against her lips. She had the additional tent in the trailer. She just didn’t have the manpower to get it set up. According to the tent’s manual, it would take three people twenty minutes. That meant it would require forty minutes, of course, but she didn’t have three people, anyway. She could serve as one, although she wasn’t good with the sledgehammer when it came to driving the spikes in the ground. At this site, the spikes had been driven right through the asphalt in many cases, and she knew her limits. Driving iron spikes through asphalt, even crumbling, sunbaked asphalt, wasn’t her skill set.
An image of Luke Waterson, never far from her mind this morning, appeared once more. Appeared, and zoomed in on his arms. Those muscles. The way they’d flexed under her fingertips as he’d escorted her back to the tents in the dark...
Luke could drive a spike through asphalt.
Patricia went to her tent and fetched his glove.
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